Ancient India’s battle of ideas: Yudhisthira & Arjuna are ideal kings. Don’t be like Ashoka

Representational image | Krishna talking with Yudhishthira and his brothers | Photo via Wikimedia Commons

Violence has been deeply ingrained in societies throughout human history. The Cambridge World History of Violence notes: “A number of scholars…have argued that violence and war are part of human nature, a part of our biological makeup.” The emergence of a distinct warrior ideology, coupled with professional warrior classes, marked a new epoch in this history of inter-group violence. Political violence in ancient India is admirably illustrated by Upinder Singh in her brilliant book, Political Violence in Ancient India. Beyond the political, there is also religious violence in the ritual sacrifice of animals and culinary violence in killing animals for food.

There is, however, a silver lining to this dark cloud of human violence. As surprising as it seems, “violence has been in decline over long stretches of history, and today we are probably living in the most peaceful moment of our species’ time on earth,” according to cognitive psychologist and  Harvard University professor Steven Pinker.

Questioning the morality of violence, however, is not limited to modern times. We find such questioning in antiquity as well, illustrated in crises of conscience. I want to highlight three such crises exemplified by Ashoka, Yudhisthira, and Arjuna.

Fraught life of India’s warrior classes

Reminiscing about his war with Kalinga, Ashoka expressed deep remorse for the death and destruction it caused. The Mahabharata, likewise, depicts a despondent Yudhisthira reflecting on the war between the Kurus and Pandavas resulting in mass carnage. Arjuna, Yudhisthira’s younger brother, had his crisis right before the war, and it set the scene for the Bhagavad Gita. Standing between the two armies and contemplating the imminent slaughter, Arjuna laid down his bow and arrows and announced: “I will not fight.” These two crises of conscience bookend the great war of the Mahabharata.

These three historical and literary narratives illustrate the fraught life and expectations of India’s ruling and warrior classes. They represent both individual crises of conscience and, more broadly, the moral dilemma facing a class of people destined to fight—to kill or be killed.

Fame stands at the forefront of the warrior ethic. “For fame,” a Tamil saying goes, “they would lay down their very lives.” And the Bhagavad Gita claims: “For a man of honour, infamy is worse than death.” This ethic valourised fighting and killing over the ascetic virtues of compassion and ahimsa. Our three heroes were, for all we can tell, happily walking along the warrior path.

But then something happened. A new ethic intervened—an ethic of interiority forging a sensitive conscience. They began to question basic premises of the warrior ethic.

Ashoka’s crisis of conscience

The clearest example of that is Ashoka. His crisis of conscience is also unique. He transformed his remorse and mental anguish into a proactive programme of mass moral education. His remorse spurred him to create a new moral philosophy centred on dharma and anchored in ahimsa—non-violence, no killing—as a universal and cardinal virtue.

His new moral philosophy made him abjure not only war, but also killing animals for ritual or food, or hunting them for sport. Ashoka’s crisis was both a cathartic and a creative moment. That moment became the springboard for the rest of his life, which he dedicated thereafter to the propagation of his new moral philosophy.

We can say with some confidence that without that crisis of conscience, there would have been no Ashoka as we know him, probably not even the production of his inscriptions. His imperial rule would have been of the garden variety, not different from any other ancient ruler. What prompted this crisis? I think it was the exposure to the Buddhist ethic that cultivated his conscience, a conscience that would not let him take his butchering of the Kalinga people as normal.

The literary creation of the figures of Yudhisthira and Arjuna in the Mahabharata was likely a response to the historical example of Ashoka’s crisis of conscience that was productive of a moral and political philosophy at variance with the traditional Brahmanical ideology. The juxtaposition of these three rulers is the result of recent scholarship on the Sanskrit epics.

Ashokan reforms vs Brahmanical vision

Irrespective of the motivations of the epic authors, Yudhisthira and Arjuna throw further light on the trope of conscientious objections to war and the resultant carnage in ancient India. As the epic scholar James Fitzgerald notes in his introduction to the translation of the Shanti Parvan in which Yudhisthira’s crisis is depicted: “It seems fair to conjecture that the emergence of the Mauryan empire generally and Aśoka’s dharma campaign in particular were profound challenges to many pious brahmins, and these events may well have been a strong stimulus to the creation…of the apocalyptic Mahābhārata narrative” (The Mahābhārata 12, page 120).

The war ends, but Yudhisthira is unable to celebrate his victory. Beset with grief, he blames himself for the carnage he had caused. He curses the warrior ethic that produces such misery. “Damn the warrior’s way!” He would rather follow the path of forest ascetics: forbearance, self-control, truthfulness, ahimsa. He deplores the greed and selfishness that caused this catastrophe. For what? For a trifling kingdom? “We are not dogs,” he says, “but we behaved like dogs greedy for a piece of meat.”

Unlike Ashoka and Yudhisthira, Arjuna experiences his crisis at the beginning of the war. He did not have to experience the carnage. He could foresee it. The very thought of the inevitable massacres stirs his conscience. The first two chapters of the Bhagavad Gita, which is an integral part of the Mahabharata, set the scene for Arjuna’s crisis of conscience. Krishna drives Arjuna’s chariot to the no-man’s land between the opposing armies. Arjuna sees fathers, grandfathers, sons, and grandsons standing ready to kill each other for the sake of a kingdom. “My limbs have gone wobbly, my mouth is parched, my body trembles, and my hair bristles,” Arjuna tells Krishna, and exclaims: “I will not fight!”

The crises of Yudhisthira and Arjuna are remarkable, but they were not turned into positive agendas. Instead, advisers convinced them to give up their momentary weakness and return to the warrior’s path. Yudhisthira was able to put his remorse behind him and assume his royal duties. Krishna advised Arjuna: “Don’t be a wimp! It does not become you. Give up this miserable weakness of heart, Arjuna, and stand up!”

Historians have pointed to the seminal period of three or four centuries following the Ashokan reforms, which were antithetical to Brahmanical conceptions of society and kingship. Ashoka ignored the varna system; Brahmins placed it at the centre of their social philosophy. Ashoka supported all religious groups; Brahmins viewed the king as devoted solely to them and promoting the Brahmanical varnashramadharma.

These centuries constituted a seminal period of Indian history because it saw a battle of ideas, a battle that could have gone either way. And in that battle, the Brahmanical side won. Major weapons in this victory included literary compositions such as the epic story of Yudhisthira and Arjuna. The ideal king of Brahmanism possessed two cardinal virtues: devotion to Brahmins called Brahmanya and upholding the Brahmanical vision of society.

The epic writers presented the examples of Yudhisthira and Arjuna as models for future rulers. The epic tells the kings—overcome your doubts and moral crises, do your duty, follow your dharma, be like Yudhisthira. The story carries the implicit advice: Don’t be like Ashoka.

Patrick Olivelle is Professor Emeritus of Asian Studies, The University of Texas at Austin. He is known for his work on early Indian religions, law, and statecraft. Views are personal.

(Edited by Zoya Bhatti)