An Early Indian Interpretive Puzzle Vedi

J Indian Philos (2018) 46:983–1007
https://doi.org/10.1007/s10781-018-9372-4
An Early Indian Interpretive Puzzle: Vedic Etymologies

as a Tool for Thinking
Paolo Visigalli1,2
Published online: 1 October 2018

© Springer Nature B.V. 2018
Abstract Etymologies are often encountered in Vedic prose, in Brāhmanas and

˙
early Upanisads. Though they have received a fair amount of scholarly attention,
˙
Vedic etymologies still present a challenge to interpreters. To respond to it, I
critically review previous interpretations, and focus on three case studies, Aitareya
Brāhmaṇa 1.1.2, Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad 1.3, and Chāndogya Upaniṣad 6.8. In
my interpretation, I emphasize the need for a contextual reading, foreground Vedic
etymologies’ complexity and sophistication, and call attention to the variety of
purposes they serve to achieve as well as to Vedic etymologists’ agency. Supple-
menting conventional interpretations concentrating mostly on their religious-
magical aspects, I describe Vedic etymologies as discursive devices used by Vedic
authors to further their thoughts and agendas.
Keywords Brāhmanas · Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad · Chāndogya Upaniṣad ·

˙
Etymology · Nirvacana · Rhetorical tools · Vedic
Introduction
Etymologies are pervasive in Vedic prose, in Brāhmanas and early Upanisads, and
˙ ˙
have received a fair amount of scholarly attention.1 Early scholarly interpretations
tended to be dismissive. Vedic etymologies were hastily equated with modern
1
For an overview of modern scholarship, see Deeg (1995, pp. 67–73). See also my review in the section
‘Scholarly Interpretations’ below.
& Paolo Visigalli

pvisigalli83@gmail.com
1
Shanghai Normal University, Humanities and Communication College, Shanghai, China
2
New York University, Shanghai, China
123
984 P. Visigalli
historical etymologies and often rejected as wrong etymologies. Vedic etymologies

also fell into disrepute through their association with the speculations advanced in
the Brāhmanas, speculations that, according to a line of interpretation epitomized in
˙
Friedrich Max Müller’s influential statement, lack rationality and “deserve to be
studied as the physician studies the twaddle of idiots, and the raving of madmen”2.
More recent scholars have distanced themselves from early interpretations. It is
often emphasized that Vedic and modern etymologies are radically different from
each other, and Max Müller’s words are cited to illustrate the Orientalist biases
underlying some nineteenth-century Indology.3 Clearly, it is no longer possible to
dismiss Vedic etymologies as mere hocus pocus, puerile jeux des mots, or the
linguistic expression of a primitive or pathological thought. Nonetheless, I would
argue that current conventional interpretations, what I label below as “the
religious-magical interpretation”, rely, to a greater or lesser extent, on early
scholars’ interpretive categories. This is most visible in contemporary scholars’
retention of early scholars’ key interpretive terms like “magic” or “mystical”
(which, though often employed, are rarely qualified). It would seem to me that
current interpreters’ rejection of early scholars’ negative value judgement has not,
however, been accompanied by a sustained attempt to articulate a more
sophisticated understanding of Vedic etymologies, what they are, and what
purposes they serve.
Reliance on early interpretive categories does not only bespeak the difficulty in
breaking away from earlier scholars’ influence. More intriguingly, this also attests to
the fact that Vedic etymologies pose lasting problems to interpretation. In this
respect it is revealing to note, as I will show in greater detail below, how many
readers of the Vedic literature have been irked, and sometimes dismayed, by the
frequency and intricacy of Vedic etymologies. Even the most perceptive and
sympathetic interpreters show signs of impatience.4 There is, indeed, something that
makes Vedic etymologies profoundly alien to modern taste and sensibilities,
something that makes them a veritable interpretive puzzle. The essay wants to make
progress on this puzzle.
Before we begin, two terms require qualification, “Vedic” and “etymology”.
In Vedic literature we encounter a wide variety of etymological practices, which
exhibit varying levels of etymological self-awareness, and are used for different
purposes. Thus, for example, figurae etymologicae and paronomasia characterize the
2
Max Müller (1859, p. 389). Significantly, Müller supports his statement by citing the beginning of
Aitareya Brāhmaṇa that contains several etymologies, which I will examine below. As Tull (1991) and
Yelle (2013, 33 f.) have shown, Müller regards the Brāhmanas as illustrative of an inevitable historical
movement from a pristine ideal state into a state of decay and˙ disease, a trajectory that especially affects
language and mythology. For a collection of early scholars’ dismissive interpretations of the Brāhmanas,
see Smith (1989, pp. 32–34). ˙
3
On the difference between Vedic and modern etymologies, see, inter alia, Bronkhorst (2001). For
contemporary scholars’ citations of Max Müller’s words, see Tull (1991, pp. 43–44; 49 note 134 [with
references]).
4
See, for example, Olivelle (1998, p. 25) “One finds with an almost annoying frequency such
“etymological” connections in these documents…To understand these etymological connections, then,
we must enter—which is not the same as to believe in or to accept—the framework of their own
worldview; dismissing them as fanciful does not further understanding” (emphasis added).
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An Early Indian Interpretive Puzzle: Vedic… 985
poetic diction of the Ṛgveda, India’s earliest literary monument, and etymological
alliterations abound in the magical and healing spells of the Atharvaveda.5 This
essay considers only the etymologies in Vedic prose, and even within this domain it
does not lay claim to completeness. Below, I examine three case-studies: Aitareya
Brāhmaṇa (AB) 1.1.2, Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad (BU) 1.3, and Chāndogya
Upaniṣad (CU) 6.8.6 I do not presume that my conclusions can be applied
wholesale to other Vedic etymologies. Nonetheless, by examining Vedic etymolo-
gies in the context in which they occur, I want to try to unravel their logic, and draw
attention to their complexity and sophistication, as well as to the etymologists’
agency and agenda—all aspects that previous interpretations have insufficiently
emphasized.
In this essay, I use “etymology” in full awareness of the potential critique of
anachronism according to which one should employ this term only to refer to the
modern discipline of historical etymology.7 Even though it may well be true that
“etymology” nowadays is most commonly employed to refer to the modern
discipline of historical etymology, it should not be forgotten that throughout
Western literary traditions the term has designated a dazzlingly wide variety of
forms of etymological discourses.8 Accordingly, I prefer taking etymology as a
capacious blanket term capable of encompassing also Indian forms of etymologiz-
ing, rather than devising yet another circumlocution.9
Scholarly Interpretations
What are the Vedic etymologies? Two main ways of answering this question can be
identified in scholarship. Let’s call them the “anachronistic” and the “religious-
magical interpretation”.10
5
For these and other kinds of etymological practices in Vedic literature, see the evidence collected and
discussed in Gonda (1959) and Deeg (1995).
6
I selected the etymologies in AB 1.1.2 due to their paradigmatic status in scholarship (see below). BU
1.3 and CU 6.8 are two other famous passages, but the role that etymological discourse plays in them has
not been fully recognized. Note that all the three passages I selected comprise of several connected
etymologies; Max Deeg (1995, pp. 415–416) calls such passages “etymological clusters (‘Nester’)”.
7
See, in particular, Bronkhorst’s (1981/2001) and Kahrs’ (1983/1984/1998/2005) criticism against
anachronistic interpretations of Yāska’s etymologizing.
8
For a general overview, see, e.g., Genette (1976), Kany (1987), and Del Bello (2007). Much interesting
material is also contained in Chambon and Lüdi (1991). For etymologies in the Classical Western
traditions, see, inter alia, Katz (2010), Most (2016), and, in particular, Sluiter (2015). For a discussion of
some forms of twentieth-century etymological discourses, particularly in France, see Walpole (2016,
pp. 178–215, chapter 5). For the uses of puns and etymologies in literature and psychanalysis, see Culler
(1988).
9
For a more extensive discussion, see Visigalli (2017: 101 note 2).
10
Additionally, two recurrent foci of attention are visible in scholarship; they do not, however, constitute
general interpretations of Vedic etymologies. Let’s call them the “linguistic” and “historical focus”. As
for the former, some scholars have examined Vedic etymologies linguistically, as possible evidence for
the words’ actual pronunciation, particularly for the possible influence of Middle Indic. See Gonda (1955,
p. 63); Mehendale (1963, p. 41) on etymologies in the early Upanisads; Jamison (1986, pp. 166–167) on
˙
trisyllabic satya in the Upanisads. From a similar linguistic viewpoint, scholars have examined the
˙
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986 P. Visigalli
The former takes Vedic etymologies as being the same as modern historical
etymologies, and, accordingly, assesses them by the parameters of modern historical
linguistics.11 As a result, Vedic etymologies are often evaluated negatively as
“fanciful”12; “arbitrary, nay absurd”13; “neck-breaking (‘halsbreched’)”14; “fantas-
tic”15; “complete failures and product of fantasies”16, “false”17; “erratic and often
linguistically faulty”18.19 Conversely, Vedic etymologies that resemble modern
historical etymologies are judged positively as “correct and valuable”20; capable of
“stand[ing] any criticism on the part of modern linguistic science” or at least
“sensible or open to discussion”21.
This interpretation anachronistically imposes Western categories on Vedic
etymologies. Though, I think, no contemporary scholar would explicitly subscribe
to it, echoes of the “anachronistic interpretation” are still pervasive.22
Footnote 10 continued
etymologies in Nirukta (see Sköld 1926, pp. 128–135), in Pali (Norman 1980), in Prakrit (Balbir 1991,
p. 133), and in Chinese Buddhist translations (Karashima 2016, 2017, pp. 146–155). Scholars sharing the
“historical focus” regularly counter the “anachronistic interpretation”, arguing that Vedic etymologies
should not be equated with modern etymologies, but understood “historically” as the early formative
stage in the development of the linguistic ideas of the Indians. (On the relevance of “history” to inter-
pretations of Vedic etymologies, see note 28 below.) Accordingly, such scholars emphasize the
relationship between Vedic etymologies and Yāska’s Nirukta, the mature treatise on etymologizing. See
Liebich (1919, 7 f.), Poucha (1935), Gonda (1955, p. 66), Deeg (1995, pp. 36, 72).
11
The “anachronistic interpretation” has been influential also in scholarship on Yāska’s Nirukta. See
references in note 7 above.
12
Müller (1859, p. 393 note 5) on the etymologies of iṣṭi, āhuti, and ūti in AB 1.1.2. For my analysis of
these etymologies, see below.
13
Schröder (1887, p. 135) on the etymologies in the Yajurveda.
14
Deussen (1921 [1897], p. 188) on the etymologies in CU 8.5.
15
Oldenberg (1919, p. 221) on etymologies in the Brāhmanas.
16
˙
Gonda (1955, p. 62) on etymologies in the Brāhmanas.
17
˙
Scharfe (1977, p. 78) on the etymology of iṣṭi in AB 1.1.2.
18
Scharf (2013, p. 228) where he refers to iṣṭi (\ √iṣ) in AB 1.1.2.
19
For further references, see Gonda (1955, p. 62 notes 3–6) and Deeg (1995, p. 67 note 215).
20
Schröder (1887: 135).
21
Gonda (1955, p. 65). Further references in Deeg (1995, pp. 71–72).
22
Consider terms such as “pseudo-etymology” or “folk-etymology”, which are often used to refer to
Indic (not only Vedic) etymologies [see, e.g. Karashima (2016) and Bodhi (2000, pp. 429, 438); see
however (Idem: 362, 1085), where Bodhi considers Pali etymologies as serving a “pedagogic purpose”].
Far from being innocent, such terms are hangovers from the anachronistic interpretation and make sense
only within that interpretive framework. So “pseudo-etymology” presupposes modern historical
etymology as the only true etymological standard. The same can be said of “folk-etymology”, which
is also wrong for an additional reason. In contradistinction to folk-etymologies, which are the end product
of a rather naı̈ve process of semantic and morphological reanalysis, Indic etymologies are “the product of
a deliberate examination of the words” (Deeg 1995, p. 42 “das Produkt einer bewußten Auseinander-
setzung mit dem Wort”). Further, as we will see, in all likelihood ancient Indian etymologists were not
uneducated “folk” but learned men with sophisticated linguistic views; see Olivelle (1998, p. 25).
123
The “religious-magical interpretation” is the conventional view on Vedic

etymologies.23 It argues that Vedic etymologies must be understood within the
context of the Vedic peoples’ religious-magical worldview, particularly in relation
with the so-called “Vedic identifications”. Due to its centrality to the “religious-
magical interpretation”, the notion of Vedic identifications must be briefly
introduced.
It is commonly believed that the Vedic thinkers conceived of the universe as a
complex web of identifications or equivalences among seemingly disparate
elements of reality. Mastering such a web was presumed to yield powerful
knowledge.24 I give only one example of Vedic identifications: the proposition “y is
x”.25 This is typically expressed in Vedic in the form of “x vai/eva y”, where “y” is
the subject, the copula “is” is implicit (as is common in Sanskrit), and vai and eva
are two particles that follow the pre-posed predicate “x”.26 Take as an example the
opening of the Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad: uṣā [“x”] vā [= vai] aśvasya medhasya
śiraḥ [“y”]; “the head of the sacrificial horse [‘y’], clearly [vai], is the dawn [‘x’]”
(trans. Olivelle 1998: 37).
In the “religious-magical interpretation”, Vedic etymologies are considered in
relation with, and as an expression of, the Vedic identifications.27 Two interlinked
assumptions about Vedic Indians’ beliefs about (the power of) language underline
this interpretation. I give them here singly, for analytical convenience:
23
Lévi (1898, p. 30 note 6); Liebich (1919, p. 7) [against Roth (1853, pp. 220–221)]; Oldenberg (1919,
pp. 118, 221); Schayer (1925, pp. 36–37) [where he cites approvingly Liebich]; Gonda (1955, pp. 75, 78);
Thieme (1980); von Simson (1988, p. 87) [where he cites Thieme]; Deeg (1995, pp. 65, 411–412);
Bronkhorst (2001); see also Yelle (2003, p. 5, 2013, pp. 71–75), note however that Yelle is concerned
mainly with the etymologies found in Tantric texts. It is not out of place to mention here that several
scholars describe Yāska’s etymologies in the Nirukta in opposition to the magic aspect of Vedic
etymologies; the former are often described as an effort to systematize and rationalize the latter. See
Gonda (1955, pp. 67–68); Thieme (1980, p. 488); Deeg (1995, pp. 411, 419); Kahrs (1998, p. 148); and
Bronkhorst (1981, p. 9, 2001, p. 152).
24
See the general exposition in Olivelle (1998, pp. 24–27) and Jamison and Brereton (2014, pp. 23–24).
For a review of earlier interpretations and a most insightful discussion, see Wezler (1996). Michaels
(1998/2003) considers Vedic identifications as the earliest expression of what he dubs “the Identificatory
Habitus”, which he regards as one of the chief characteristics of Indian thought.
25
Vedic identifications are expressed in different ways (see Oldenberg 1919, pp. 110–123), and by
means of a number of (semi-) technical terms (the most common are: bandhu, pratimā, ādeśa, upaniṣad,
rūpa, nidāna, saṃpad, saṃkhyāna). I hope to examine Vedic identifications more thoroughly in a work-
in-progress.
26
On the difference between vai and eva, see Kobayashi (2013). See also Wezler (1996, pp. 519–520
[vai]) and Brereton (1988, pp. 2–3) [eva].
27
What exactly is the relationship between the Vedic etymologies and identifications? I think that the
academic literature does not clearly delineate this relationship. Here I only note a few representative
scholarly statements. Schröder (1887, pp. 135–137) introduces etymologies as “another portion of the
theological investigations of the Yajurveda”; see also Winternitz (1909 [1905], p. 177). Oldenberg (1919,
p. 118) discusses etymologies as “motivations” (“Begründungen”) of the Vedic identifications. Similarly,
for Schayer (1925, p. 36) “the magic etymology motivates (“begründet”) the equivalence of the
substances”. Bronkhorst (2001, p. 156) suggests that etymologies and identifications share three features:
they “establish links with the hidden realm of mythology”; reveal a kind of knowledge “stated to convey
numerous advantages”; and convey “the idea of a network of connections”.
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988 P. Visigalli
1. The word is the world. For Vedic thinkers, to know the name of something—in
particular, the secret, true name—is tantamount to knowing the real essence of
the thing that the name denotes.
2. Magical efficacy. Since knowing the name is equivalent to knowing the thing
itself, the knowledge of the former produces magical control over the latter.
In this interpretation, Vedic Indians regarded the phonetic relations among words
exploited by Vedic etymologies as indicative of a deeper, substantial relation. Such
a relation did not only concern the names, but also the essence of the things denoted.
Vedic etymologies were supposed to have a pragmatic, real-world effect. In short,
they worked like magical spells.
My view on Vedic etymologies differs from the “religious-magical interpreta-
tion” in some significant respects. I agree that Vedic etymologies should be studied
in connection with the Vedic worldview, particularly the Vedic identifications and
the Vedic peoples’ beliefs on the power of language. I also agree that a magical
aspect is often present in such etymologies.28 What I do not agree with is the
(unspoken) assumption underlying the “religious-magical interpretation” that Vedic
etymologies constitute one fairly uniform phenomenon and serve one main purpose:
to provide the Vedic thinkers with an access to the “magic”, “mystical” dimension
they relished inhabiting.
With the following close reading of three case studies, I foreground Vedic
etymologies’ complexity and sophistication, and show how Vedic thinkers
creatively used etymologies as a discursive tool for furthering their arguments
and agendas.29
28
Belief in the power of words and its magical efficacy were crucial aspects of much Vedic thought.
As Jamison (1991, p. 21) put it, “[t]his aspect of Vedic (and Indo-European) society…is now a
commonplace of the field”. However, I would suggest that the role of magic has been overemphasized in
scholarly interpretations of Vedic etymologies, thereby relegating Vedic etymological discourse to some
ultimately alien and incommensurable thought-world. Instrumental in producing this somewhat
essentialized interpretation is the claim about Vedic etymologies’ serious nature, claim that regularly
coordinates with the claim about their magic function. [See Liebich (1919, p. 7) “durchaus ernst”; where
he (unjustly) criticizes Roth (1853, pp. 220–221); see note 34 below. Liebich’s ideas are cited
approvingly in Schayer (1925, p. 37) and Deeg (1995, p. 35 note 12); see also Gonda (1955, p. 64,
passim); Thieme (1980, p. 485) “ernst”.] By emphasizing that Vedic authors took etymologies dead
seriously, scholars partly wanted to salvage Vedic etymologies from the kind of early scholars’ discredit
discussed above (they are just inane wordplays, or mistaken etymologies), and provide what they
considered a historically sensitive interpretation. [See, e.g. Liebich (1919, p. 7) “historisch gedacht”;
Thieme (1980, p. 485) “geschichtlich zu verstehen” emphasis added.] However, such a three-pronged
(magic, serious, and historical) interpretation produced an overly reified depiction of Vedic etymologies.
A fuller critical discussion should consider how this interpretation connects with the parallel claims about
the magic and serious nature of Vedic identifications. It would also be interesting to explore how such
claims about identifications are reminiscent of Lévy-Bruhl’s postulation of a pre-logical, primitive
mentality. Lévy-Bruhl’s influence on the study of Vedic identifications (pace Smith 1989, p. 33 note 15)
is evidenced by Oldenberg’s (1915, pp. 10–11, 1919, pp. 118, 122) references to Les functions mentales
dans les sociétés inférieures (1910). For a parallel case, see Brown’s (2006) study of Lévy-Bruhl’s
significant influence on Sinologists.
29
A list of studies that foreground the discursive, rhetorical or hermeneutic aspect of Indic forms of
etymology would include: von Simson (1988) and Visigalli (2016) on Aggaññasutta; Balbir (1991) on
Jain and Buddhist commentators; Patton (1996: chapter 5) on the links between etymological and
cosmological speculations in Vedic; Kahrs (1998, chapter 3) on Śaiva Kashmir; Lincoln (2006, pp. 130–
123
Defining the hotṛ Priest’s Role (Aitareya Brāhmaṇa [AB] 1.1.2)
In scholarship, the etymology in AB 1.1.2 enjoys a paradigmatic status. It (or, more

precisely, only one part of it, the etymological analysis of iṣṭi) has often been cited
as exemplifying Vedic etymologies tout court.30 Notably, the etymology attracted
the attention of Friedrich Max Müller (1859, pp. 393–395) and Paul Thieme (1980,
pp. 486–488). The former cited the beginning of the AB, including AB 1.1.2, to
corroborate his above-mentioned claim that the speculations in the Brāhmanas
˙
resemble “the twaddle of idiots, and the raving of madmen” (389). The latter
referred to AB 1.1.2 to illustrate his thesis that Vedic etymologies are the expression
of a magical way of thinking (“das magische Denken”). A different interpretation
will be advanced below.
For clarity’s sake, I divide AB 1.1.2 into four sections, each section focuses on
one key word that is being analyzed etymologically (iṣṭi, āhuti, ūti, hotṛ)
1. iṣṭi
yajño vai devebhya udakrāmat, tam iṣṭibhiḥ praiṣam aichan. yad iṣṭibhiḥ
praiṣam aichaṃs, tad iṣṭīnām iṣṭitvaṃ. tam anvavindann. anuvittayajño
rādhnoti ya evaṃ veda.
Sacrifice went away from the gods. They wished (aichan \ √iṣ) to retrieve it
(praiṣam)31 with iṣṭis.32 That they wished to retrieve it with iṣṭis, this is what
gave the name to and discloses the true nature of iṣṭis.33 They obtained it [i.e.
the sacrifice]. Who knows thus rejoices as one who has obtained the sacrifice.
The passage links etymologically the name iṣ-ṭis with the imperfect aichan (\√iṣ
‘they wished’) and the infinitive (ṇamul gerund) pra-iṣ-am (‘to retrieve’). Some
modern commentators (Müller 1859, p. 394 note 5; Scharfe 1977, p. 78; Scharf
2013, p. 228) point out that the etymology is faulty: iṣṭis does not derive from √iṣ ‘to
desire’, but from √yaj ‘to sacrifice’. This criticism misses the point. The etymology
does not involve two elements only, but three (iṣ-ṭis; pra-iṣ-am; and aichan \ √iṣ).
Footnote 29 continued
131) on CU 1.3.6-7; Stoker (2007) and Minkowski (2016, pp. 105–107) on Madhva; Apple (2009) on
Mahāyana texts; Jurewicz (2016) on the etymologies of agni in ŚB 2.2.4.2; 6.1.1.11.
30
See Liebich (1919, pp. 6–7); Schayer (1925, p. 37); Scharfe (1977, p. 78); Deeg (1995, pp. 34–35);
Scharf (2013, p. 228).
31
praiṣam has been rendered as meaning either “find” (Müller 1859, p. 393), “seek after” (Haugh 1922
[1863], p. 5), or “start up” (Keith 1925, p. 108), “set in motion” (Scharf 2013, p. 228). I think the first
meaning better fits the context: sacrifice has departed from the gods who are eager to have it back, ‘to
obtain’ (anu√vid) it, as the text says below.
32
According to Haugh (1922 [1863], p. 6 note 14), iṣṭi is a technical term that refers to “a series of
oblations to different deities, consisting chiefly of puroḍāśa” or rice-cake. “At every Iṣṭi, the Hotar calls
the particular gods to whom rice-cake portions are to be presented, by their names to appear. At the
Dikṣaṇīya Iṣṭi, for instance, he says: agna agnim āvaha viṣṇum āvaha, i.e., Agni! Bring hither Agni! Bring
hither Visnu… ”.
33
˙˙
I borrow Olivelle’s (1998, p. 488) rendition of the Sanskrit formula consisting in the juxtaposition of
the genitive and the abstract Sanskrit nouns. For Olivelle (Ibid.), “[t]he Sanskrit abstract nouns used to
indicate these [etymological] relationships imply both how a word originated and the true nature of the
thing denoted by that word”.
123
990 P. Visigalli
The etymology’s purpose cannot therefore be to provide a grammatical derivation of

word x (here: iṣṭis) from root y (here: √iṣ).
Generalizing the case under scrutiny, we must ask: if Vedic etymologies do not
derive word x from root y, what purpose do they serve? Commenting on AB 1.1.2,
Theodor Aufrecht (1879, p. 432) proposed long ago that “such seeming/false
(‘scheinbar’) derivations are frequent in the Brāhmanas and serve to motivate or
˙
illustrate a particular theological view; by no means do they express the speaker’s
34
grammatical conviction”. More recently, Patrick Olivelle (1998, p. 25) has
similarly argued that the ancient etymologists “knew the philological etymologies of
the terms they deal with, but their quest was not for such common and well-known
connections but for deeper and hidden ones…”
In this view, which I share, Vedic etymologists knew the philological correct
derivation of the words under analysis, but deliberately ignored them to look for
different etymological connections.
With respect to the etymology under discussion, we may note two things. First,
connecting iṣṭi, praiṣam and aichan presupposes acquaintance with the inner-
workings of Sanskrit grammar. While the element iṣ is evident in iṣ-ṭi and pra-iṣ-
am, that is not the case in aichan, where an underlining iṣ can only be deduced from
other forms of the same verbal root (e.g. iṣ-ya-te, third person singular passive).
Second, consider the philologically correct etymology: iṣṭis ‘sacrificial offerings’
(Keith 1925, p. 108) derives from √yaj ‘to sacrifice’. The etymology comes close to
an uninformative truism. Speculatively, it may be suggested that the Vedic
etymologist ignored the philological derivation in order to explore the non-obvious
new associations between iṣṭi, aichan and praiṣam. I will build on this line of
interpretation as we proceed.
34
“Solche scheinbare Ableitungen sind in die Brāhmana häufig und dienen entweder zur Begründung
oder Veranschaulichung einer bestimmten theologischen ˙ Ansicht, drücken jedoch keineswegs die
grammatische Überzeugung des Sprechender aus”. Aufrecht’s influential statement is cited by Keith
(1925, p. 108 note 1); Thieme (1980, p. 487); Scharfe (1977, p. 78); and Deeg (1995, p. 315). (Owing to
their commitments to the “magic-religious interpretation”, Thieme and Deeg partly misconstrue
Aufrecht’s words. The former takes them as meaning that Vedic etymologies are true only in the domain
of magic, but not in the domain of grammar. The latter criticizes Aufrecht for assuming that Vedic
etymologists cared for grammar, whereas, for Deeg, they cared for magic.)
To gain clarity on how scholarly interpretations influence each other, it is worth noting that Aufrecht
supports his claim by referring to Roth’s (1853, p. 220) opinion that Vedic “etymologies were not taken
seriously by their [Vedic] authors, but gain[ed] a certain weight through the connection with other ideas in
the religious system” (“Eymologien, mit welchen es ihrem eigenen Erfinder nicht Ernst ist, die aber durch
Verbindung mit anderen Begriffen im religiösen System ein gewisses Gewicht erhalten”). Roth’s words
are cited also by Liebich (1919, p. 7), who takes issue with Roth for downplaying the serious nature of
Vedic etymologies. As we saw in note 28, Liebich’s position became influential, and the idea that Vedic
etymologies are serious became a recurrent element in the “magic-religious interpretation”. It should
however be noted that Liebich misinterprets the sense of “serious” (“Ernst”) in Roth’s statement. I think
that it is sufficiently clear that Roth did not mean to deny that the Vedic etymologists took their
etymologies seriously, but only wanted to suggest that such etymologies were not necessarily seen by
their authors as expressing their “philological correct” view. Thus, Roth’s ideas resemble Aufrecht’s, and
are, in my opinion, quite right. I will elaborate on them below.
123
2. āhuti
āhūtayo vai nāmaitā yad āhutaya, etābhir vai devān yajamāno hvayati, tad
āhutīnām āhutitvam.
These, i.e. the ‘oblations’ (āhutis), clearly (vai), are ‘invocations’ (āhūtis) by
name (nāma). With these the patron of the sacrifice invokes the gods; this is
what gave the name to and discloses the true nature of oblation.
Modern linguists analyze āhuti ‘oblation’ and āhūti ‘invocation’ as having two
distinct derivations: the former derives from ā-√hav ‘to pour an oblation into the
fire’, the latter from ā-√hav ‘to invoke’. In the passage under scrutiny, however, the
Vedic etymologist’s concern is not to provide a philological derivation. Nor should
the passage be taken as providing evidence of the etymologist’s confusion or lack of
discrimination between āhuti ‘oblation’ and āhūti ‘invocation’. Rather, the
etymology constitutes a deliberate move; drawing on the common Vedic opposition
between an exoteric and an esoteric name, the etymologist identifies the true, hidden
name of āhuti ‘oblation’ with āhūti ‘invocation’.35 I think that the etymologist’s aim
is this: he uses etymological analyses to argue that the Hotr is superior to the
˙
Adhvaryu priest. Let’s recall the ritual performance. The āhutis ‘oblations’ are
poured into the fire by the Atharvavedic priest called Adhvaryu. Such oblations are
accompanied by the recitation of Rgvedic verses done by the Rgvedic priest, the
˙ ˙
Hotr. I think that identifying āhutis ‘oblations’ with āhūtis ‘invocations’ permits the
˙
etymologist to claim that it is only through the recitation (done by the Hotr) of the
˙
accompanying Rgvedic verses that the offering of the oblations (performed by the
˙
Adhvaryu) are made efficacious. In my view, the claim that the Hotr is superior to
˙
the Adhvaryu constitutes the subtext of the etymology in AB 1.1.2.
3. ūti
ūtayaḥ khalu vai tā nāma yābhir devā yajamānasya havam āyanti. ye vai
panthāno yāḥ srutayas tā vā ūtayas; ta u evaitat svargayāṇā yajamānasya
bhavanti.
They [tāḥ = āhūtayaḥ] are, indeed, ‘ways’ (ūtayaḥ) by name, by means of
which the gods come to the invocation of the patron of the sacrifice. The ways
(ūtayas), clearly, are the courses (panthānas), the pathways (srutayas); they
lead to heaven the patron of the sacrifice.
According to modern etymologists, ūtayaḥ (\ūti) derives from √av ‘to help, favor’,
and is commonly rendered as ‘help, support, furtherance’. In this passage, again, the
Vedic etymologist is not concerned with the correct derivation, but further
speculates on āhūtayaḥ etymologically. In the etymology above [2. āhuti], āhūtayaḥ
(contrasted with the āhutayaḥ ‘oblations’ performed by the Adhvaryu) was
interpreted as the means enabling the patron of the sacrifice (through the medium of
the Hotr) to invoke the gods. In this etymology [3. ūti], āhūtayaḥ is elucidated
˙
further: it is equated with the ‘ways’ ūtayaḥ whereby the gods arrive at the sacrifice,
and with the ‘pathways’ srutayas (glossed with panthānas ‘courses’) that lead the
patron of the sacrifice to heaven.
35
On the Vedic opposition, see references in note 74 below.
123
992 P. Visigalli
In my interpretation, etymological analyses permit the Vedic etymologist to

equate two sets of words: ūtayaḥ ≈ [āh]ūtayaḥ; and ūtayaḥ ≈ [sr]utayaḥ.36 Note that
this double equation seems to be premised on the implicit recognition of two
phonetic rules that account for the formal equivalence of the two sets of
etymologized words. First, there is the disappearance of the initial first two sounds:
[Ø]ūtayaḥ : [āh]ūtayaḥ = [Ø]ūtayaḥ : [sr]utayaḥ. Second, like in [2. āhuti], the
difference between long and short ‘u’ seems to be neglected: ūtayaḥ : [sr]utayaḥ =
āhutayaḥ : āhūtayaḥ.
4. hotṛ.
tad āhur: yad anyo juhoty, atha yo ’nu cāha yajati ca kasmāt taṃ hotety
ācakṣata iti. yad vāva sa tatra yathābhājanaṃ devatā amum āvahāmum
āvahety āvāhayati, tad eva hotur hotṛtvaṃ. hotā bhavati, hotety enam ācakṣate
ya evaṃ veda.
They say: as another [i.e. the Adhvaryu] ‘hotr-s’ [i.e. juhoti ‘pours the
sacrificial oblations’], then why do they call ‘hotṛ’ the one who recites the
anuvākyās (‘invitatory formulas’) and the yājyās (‘sacrificial formulas’)?
Because, indeed, there [i.e. in the sacrifice] he has the gods come hither
[āvāhayati \ ā-√vah], according to their respective share [in sacrifice], saying
[to Agni]37 “bring (ā-√vah) such and such [god] hither!” This indeed is what
gave the name to and discloses the true nature of hotṛ. He becomes a hotṛ; they
call him hotṛ the one who knows thus.
Why is the sacrificial priest Hotr called thus? At first sight, the word hotṛ would
˙
appear to be related with the verb juhoti ‘to pour the oblation into the fire’. Yet, as we
saw, this ritual action is performed by the Adhvaryu priest. The Hotr recites the
˙
anuvākyās ‘invitatory formulas’ and the yājyās ‘sacrificial formulas’; hence, as the
38
commentator suggests, one would rather expect for the Hotr to be called anuvāktṛ
˙
‘the reciter of the invitatory formulas’ or yaṣṭṛ ‘the reciter of the sacrificial formulas’.
To answer the above question, the Vedic etymologist links hotṛ with ā-√vah
‘bring hither, fetch’. hotṛ is elucidated in relation with the Hotr priest’s action of
˙
causing the fire to bring the gods to the sacrifice (āvāhayati). Like in the
etymologies above [2 āhuti; 3 ūti], here too it seems reasonable to suggest that the
equation hotṛ ≈ āvāhayati is premised on some implicit phonetic rules. The
36
Aufrecht (1879, p. 432) notes that “the offerings [āhutayaḥ] are the invitations [āhūtayaḥ] of the gods,
or the trails upon which the gods arrive at the sacrificer’s call (ā ūtayaḥ)”. [“Die Spenden sind
Einladungen der Götter, oder die Bahnen auf denen die Götter zu dem Rufe des Opfernden kommen (ā
ūtayaḥ)”.] Arguably, he identifies two etymologies of āhuti: āhutayaḥ ≈ āhūtayaḥ; āhutayaḥ ≈ ā ūtayaḥ. I
disagree with this in two respects. First, I think that the etymology under scrutiny [3. ūti] further
elucidates āhūtayaḥ, and does not give a second etymological analysis of āhutayaḥ. Second, I do not think
that the etymologist envisages a connection between ā (\ āyanti) ūtayaḥ and āhutayaḥ (or āhūtayaḥ).
There might perhaps be another implicit etymological connection between āhūtaya and havam (√hav [ -
hūtaya) āyanti (ā- [ ā-hūtaya).
37
The Hotr does not address the deity directly, but through Agni’s intermediary. See Haugh (1922
˙ 13) cited in note 32.
[1863], 5 note
38
Sāyana (1896, p. 16).
˙
123
etymologist might posit the disappearance of the initial sound (ā-vah- [ Ø-hav- [
ho-tṛ) and the intervention of metathesis (vāh [ hāv [ ho-tṛ).39
We must now ask: what is the purpose of the intricate etymological cluster in AB
1.1.2? Let’s first consider Paul Thieme’s interpretation, to which I referred above. For
Thieme, this etymology illustrates the “magical thought” and “magical logic” (“das
magische Denken”, “magische[r] Logik” 486) characteristic of the etymologies in the
Brāhmanas. Given their phonetic similarities, the words āhuti ‘oblation’ and āhūti
˙
‘invocation’ and the concepts they denote are seen as “magically identical” (“magisch
identisch” 487, emphasis in the original). The etymological identifications are
presumed to yield “magical power” (“magische Kraft” 486). Etymologies are
embedded in a magical worldview: they grant one control over reality through the
esoteric knowledge of the power (śakti 492) inhabiting the words. Thieme’s
interpretation is illustrative of the “religious-magical interpretation”.
I would agree that a magical component is present in the etymological analyses in
AB 1.1.2. They reveal esoteric knowledge that is supposed to bring about real-world
effects. As stated in the concluding phalaśruti, one who knows thus will be employed
as a hotṛ. Nonetheless, the etymology is not only, indeed not even primarily, about
magic. I would rather emphasize the sophistication of the etymological analyses and
how they serve the etymologist’s agenda. As we saw, the analyses draw on insights
into Sanskrit’s inner-workings and posit non-obvious phonetic changes. I would also
argue that the etymologist knew, but intentionally disregarded, the philological correct
etymologies. Why? We can identify two reasons. First, disregarding the correct
etymologies permitted him do away with the domain of ordinary (linguistic)
knowledge, and, instead, lay claim to an esoteric knowledge (iṣṭīnām iṣṭitvaṃ,
āhutīnām āhutitvam, hotur hotṛtvaṃ). Second, there is an argumentative subtext: the
author used etymologies to build an argument aimed at emphasizing the Hotr’s role in
˙
sacrifice, as opposed to that of the Adhvaryu. In this respect, recall that both the AB and
the Hotr priest are associated with the Ṛgveda.40
Identifying the Breath Within the Mouth (āsanya prāṇa) (Bṛhadāraṇyaka

Upaniṣad [BU] 1.3)
BU 1.3 centers on the superiority of the ‘breath within the mouth’ (āsanya prāṇa).41
Several etymologies occur in this section. I concentrate on the etymological
analyses of Ayāsya Āṅgirasa (BU 1.3.8, 19) and those of Brhaspati and
˙
39
Partly different implicit phonetic rules are identified by Thieme (1980, p. 487) and Deeg (1995,
p. 315).
40
I would thus differ with Bronkhorst’s (2001, p. 191) view that “etymologies are not performative acts
and have no persuasive validity, as far as I can see; they certainly don’t in early and classical Indian
literature. Their aim appears to be to bring to light existing connections or identities (i.e., connections or
identities that are presumed to exist), not to bring about new connections or to persuade others.”
41
Fujii (1999) has studied BU 1.3 in comparison with the parallel passages in Chāndogya Upaniṣad (CU
1.2) and Jaiminīya Upaniṣad Brāhmaṇa (JUB 1.60-2.12). The superiority of breath over the other vital
functions is a common theme in the Upanisads; see references in Olivelle (1998, p. 490 [on BU 1.3.2-6]).
˙
123
994 P. Visigalli
Brahmanaspati (BU 1.3.20-21). I aim to show that etymological analyses coordinate

˙
with identifications to generate a coherent train of speculations.
BU 1.3 opens by describing the contest between the gods and the antigods. To
defeat their adversaries, the gods set out to perform a sacrifice by means of the
udgītha ‘High Chant’, the central part of the Sāmavedic formula sung by the Udgātr
˙
priest. The gods employ the five faculties (‘speech’ vāc; ‘smell’ prāṇa;42 ‘sight’
cakṣus; ‘hearing’ śrotra; and ‘mind’ manas) as their Udgātr, but none of these can
˙
withstand the antigods’ counterattack. Then the gods turn to the ‘breath-within-the-
mouth’ (BU 1.3.7 āsanya prāṇa); this sings the High Chant effectively, whereby the
antigods are defeated.
Next the gods cannot see the breath within the mouth any longer, so they ask:
“what has become of him?” (kva nu so ’bhūd).43 At which, it is replied:
BU 1.3.8: ayam āsye ’ntar iti | so ’yāsya āṅgiraso ’ṅgānāṃ hi rasaḥ ||
“This one here (ayam), within the mouth (āsye)”. That is Ayāsya, the
Āṅgirasa, for [it (=breath-within-the-mouth) is] the sap (rasa) of the bodily
parts (aṅga).44
The breath-within-the-mouth, the narrative’s main character, is identified with the
ṛṣi Ayāsya the Āṅgirasa.45 Both words making up the name are analyzed
etymologically, whereby they are shown to refer to the same referent, the breath-
within-the-mouth. Ayāsya is analyzed as “[t]his one here (ayam), within the mouth
(āsye)”; Āṅgirasa as a compound whose meaning “the sap (rasa) of the bodily parts
(aṅga)” conveys the notion of breath as the fundamental power inhabiting the body.
We encounter Ayāsya Āṅgirasa again in BU 1.3.19, where a more elaborate
etymology of Āṅgirasa is given:
42
The meaning ‘smell’ for prāṇa is clear from the context: prāṇa “keeps for itself whatever is pleasant in
what it smells (BU 1.3.3)” (tr. Olivelle) yat kalyāṇaṃ jighrati tad ātmane. Fujii (1999, p. 56 and note 14)
suggests that prāṇa is used here to refer to inhalation. The parallel passage in CU 1.2.2 has nāsikya prāṇa
‘the breath within the nose’.
43
As noted by Whitney (1886, p. 8) and Hoffmann (1975, p. 99), kva…bhū constitute an idiomatic
phrase in Vedic meaning “what has become of x”, “what has happened with x”.
44
Different interpretations of this passage are possible. The particle iti can be taken as either a direct
speech marker [so Hume (1921, p. 77) and Olivelle (1998, p. 41)], or as having the sense “thus, therefore”
[so Müller (1879, p. 80); Deussen (1921 [1897], p. 388); Senart (1967 [1934], p. 6); Slaje (2009, p. 106)].
Further, interpretations differ as to whose voice is recorded here. Thus, for example, Müller (1879, p. 80)
takes the entire passage as being uttered by a narrator; conversely, Deussen (1921 [1897], p. 388) takes it
as the gods’ answer. In my tentative interpretation, I take iti as marking the direct speech uttered by the
Upanisadic teacher. In addressing his pupils, the teacher points to his own mouth’s cavity—ayaṃ
˙ thereby linking the mythical narrative of the contest between the gods and antigods with the
‘here’—,
moment of instruction.
45
The word ayāsya occurs in the Ṛgveda, where it is used as an attribute for Soma and Indra [see
Mayrhofer (1986–2001, p. 104)]; it means something like ‘irrepressible’ [thus Jamison and Brereton’s
(2014, p. 1271) rendition ad ṚV 9.44.1 and 10.67.1]. The Anukramaṇī ascribes Ayāsya a few Rigvedic
hymns (ṚV 9.44-46; 10.67; 68). In Vedic texts, Ayāsya Āṅgirasa figures as an Udgātr that speaks
˙
authoritatively about the High Chant. He is also mentioned in BU 1.3.24 and in the genealogies of the
Upanisadic teachers in BU 2.6.3; 4.6.3. For further references, see Macdonell and Keith (1912, pp. 32–
33). ˙
123
[1] so ’yāsya āṅgiraso ’ṅgānāṃ hi rasaḥ | [2] prāṇo vā aṅgānāṃ rasaḥ | [3]
prāṇo hi vā aṅgānāṃ rasaḥ | [4] tasmād yasmāt kasmāc cāṅgāt prāṇa
utkrāmati tad eva tac chuṣyati | [5] eṣa hi vā aṅgānāṃ rasaḥ
[1] That [=the-breath-within-the-mouth] [is] Ayāsya, the Āṅgirasa, for [it (=
the-breath-within-the-mouth) is] the sap of the bodily parts. [2] The sap of the
bodily parts, clearly, is breath. [3] For it is indeed clear that the sap of the
bodily parts is breath; [4] hence, from whichever bodily part breath departs
that one withers thereupon, [5] for the sap of the bodily parts is indeed this
[=the-breath-within-the-mouth].
The passage is open to different interpretations. One way of reconstructing its
rationale is this: [1] The breath-within-the-mouth (āsanya prāṇa) is first identified
with the sage Ayāsya the Āṅgirasa, on account of the etymology of Āṅgirasa as “of
the bodily parts” (aṅga) “the sap” (rasa). [2] The sap of the bodily parts (≈ āsanya
prāṇa ≈ Āṅgirasa) is identified with prāṇa, the vivifying breath. The text seems to
differentiate the āsanya prāṇa, located in the mouth, and the prāṇa, the vivifying
breath that, as shown in [4], circulates throughout the body.46 [3] The identification
given in [2] is restated as the reason that introduces the empirical argument
advanced in [4].47 [5] concludes the reasoning by identifying the sap of the bodily
parts with the breath-within-the-mouth.
Despite different interpretations are possible, it is sufficiently clear that the
passage builds a series of identifications: breath-within-the-mouth ≈ Ayāsya
Āṅgirasa ≈ aṅgānāṃ rasaḥ ≈ prāṇa.
The series is expanded in BU 1.3.20-21, where the names of two gods, Brhaspati
˙
and Brahmanaspati, are analyzed as referring to prāṇa, the vivifying life principle.
˙
This is done by analyzing Brhaspati and Brahmanaspati in the same way as
˙ ˙
Āṅgirasa, that is, as determinative compounds (tatpuruṣa), in which the relation
between the main (°pati) and subordinate (bṛhas°, braḥmaṇas°) members is a
genitival one:
eṣa u eva bṛhaspatiḥ | vāg vai bṛhatī | tasyā eṣa patis tasmād u bṛhaspatiḥ || 20
|| eṣa u eva brahmaṇaspatiḥ | vāg vai brahma | tasyā eṣa patis tasmād u
brahmaṇaspatiḥ || 21
46
Of the translations that I have consulted, Deussen’s (1921 [1897], p. 389) brings out this difference
most clearly, distinguishing between the breath-within-the-mouth (“der Lebensodem”, masculine) [1],
and the vivifying breath (“das Leben”, neuter) [2].
47
One can take [3] as relating, syntactically and logically, with either [2] or [4]. In the first parsing, [3]
would restate (emphasize?) the identification made in [2]. For Whitney (1890, p. 421)—who translates it
as “breath [is] the essence of the members; for (hi) breath [really is] the essence of the members”—the
passage under discussion exemplifies “the full naı̈veté of such…demonstrations” that are frequent in the
Upanisads. Whitney’s interpretation coordinates with his belief that “considerable parts” of the Upanisads
˙ purest nonsense” (1886, pp. 2, 5). The Upanisadic thinker’s logic may be more nuanced than
are “the ˙
what Whitney is ready to admit, however. Another parsing ˙ is possible. In my translation, I follow Senart
(1967 [1934], p. 7) and take [3] and [4] together.
123
996 P. Visigalli
|| Further, Brhaspati is none other than this one [viz. prāṇa ≈ Āṅgirasa].48
˙
Brhatı̄, clearly, is speech. This one [viz. prāṇa ≈ Āṅgirasa] is her [i.e.
˙
speech’s] lord-husband (°pati)49—therefore, Brhaspati [20]. Further,
˙
Brahmanaspati is none other than this one [viz. prāṇa ≈ Āṅgirasa]. Brahma,
˙
clearly, is speech. This one [viz. prāṇa ≈ Āṅgirasa] is her [i.e. speech’s] lord-
husband—therefore, Brahmanaspati [21].
˙
This dense passage identifies Āṅgirasa, which had already been identified with
prāṇa in BU 1.3.19, with Brhaspati and Brahmanaspati.50 The logic of the
˙ ˙
identification consists in analyzing all three words (āṅgirasa; bṛhaspati;
brahmaṇaspati) as determinative compounds, whose main members (°rasa, °pati)
relate to the subordinate members (āṅgi°, bṛhas°, brahmaṇas°) in a genitival
relation (‘of’). Specifically, bṛhas-pati and brahmaṇas-pati are likewise analyzed as
consisting of a masculine main (°pati ‘the lord-husband’) and a feminine
subordinate member. Understanding the latter member (bṛhas°, brahmaṇas°) as
feminine requires two further steps. First, the subordinate members are glossed with
bṛhatī (f.) and brahman (n.), respectively. The glosses have a specific meaning—
bṛhatī is the name of a verse; brahman means powerful speech formula—, but also
seem to refer to the Rgvedic verses and the Yajurvedic formulas. They thus seem to
˙
refer metonymically to the Rgveda and Yajurveda.51 Second, bṛhatī (f.) and
˙
brahman (n.) are identified with ‘speech’ vāc (f.).
In the final analysis, identifying bṛhas° ([ bṛhatī) and brahmaṇas° ([ brahman)
with the feminine principle ‘speech’ vāc permits the etymologist to regard bṛhas-
pati and brahmaṇas-pati as having the same meaning. They both mean ‘the lord-
husband (pati) of speech (bṛhas° ≈ bṛhatī ≈ vāc; brahmaṇas° ≈ brahma ≈ vāc)’—
that is, breath. Thus, breath (prāṇa) comes to be regarded as the most fundamental
principle, the vivifying element in the body (BU 1.3.19), as well as the basis of
speech and of the sacred Vedas (BU 1.3.20-21).
The next passage (BU 1.3.22) gives two etymological analyses of Sāman.
Interestingly, the first one continues the model of analysis used for elucidating
Brhaspati and Brahmanaspati. sāman is analyzed as a tatpuruṣa compound, sā-ama:
˙ ˙
the subordinate member, the feminine sā ‘she’, is identified with speech (vāc f.); the
main member, the masculine ama ‘he’, is identified with prāṇa:
48
I take eṣa (20, 21, 22) as the predicate, and Brhaspati (20), Brahmanaspati (21), and sāma (22) as the
subjects. On the predicate-subject word order in ˙Vedic, see most recently
˙ Hock (2015, pp. 37–40) with
references.
49
The rendition “lord-husband” tries to capture both possible meanings of pati (‘lord, master’ and
‘husband’).
50
For the identification Ayāsya Āṅgirasa ≈ Brhaspati ≈ Brahmanaspati, cf. ṚV 10.67. This hymn, which
˙
contains the word ayā́s(i)ya (verse 1), is ascribed ˙
to Ayāsya Āṅgirasa, and identifies Brhaspati and
Brahmanaspati with Indra. Cf. Jamison and Brereton (2014, p. 1488). ˙
51
˙
I say “seem” because this interpretation is not certain. Śaṅkara (1891, pp. 76–77), followed by some
modern translators [Müller 1879, p. 82; Deussen (1921 [1897], p. 389; Hume 1921, p. 79 note 1 and 2],
regard bṛhatī, brahman, and sāman (BU 1.3.22) as referring to the Rgveda, Yajurveda, and Sāmaveda. It
˙
is however possible that the Upanisadic passage does not imply a parallelism with the three Vedas, but
˙
this was read into it by later commentators.
123
eṣa52 u eva sāma | vāg vai sāmaiṣa sā cāmaś ceti tat sāmnas sāmatvam |
Further, sāma is none other than this one [prāṇa ≈ Āṅgirasa];53 sāma, clearly,
is speech. This one [eṣa,54 i.e. prāṇa ≈ Āṅgirasa] is sā ‘she’ and ama ‘he’—
this is what gave the name to and discloses the true nature of sāma.
Let’s take stock of what we have seen so far. I believe that previous
commentators have not sufficiently emphasized the key role played by etymology
in BU 1.3.55 In my view, etymology functions as the section’s discursive engine. I
understand this to mean two things. First, the etymological analysis of Ayāsya as
“this one here (ayam), within the mouth (āsye)” enables the Upanisatkāra to
˙
connect the mythical narrative of the contest between gods and antigods with the
figure of the ṛṣi Ayāsya Āṅgirasa. Second, more importantly, the analysis of
56
āṅgirasa as “the sap (rasa) of the bodily parts (aṅga)” provides the Upanisatkāra
˙
with an analytic model with which he analyses three other words (bṛhaspati;
brahmaṇaspati; sāman). The deliberate application of this analytic model permits
the Upanisatkāra to recognize breath as the single, fundamental principle
˙
underlying a seemingly disparate reality. In the final analysis, etymological
analyses provide the tool whereby the Upanisadic thinker obtains the characteristic
˙
Upanisadic goal of “an integrative vision, a view of the whole which draws
˙
together the separate elements of the world and of human experience and
compresses them into a single form”.57
52
According to the normal rules of Vedic syntax [for which see Ickler (1973, pp. 4–6) and Brereton
(1986, pp. 99–101; 1988, p. 3 note 10)], eṣa (whose antecedent is prāṇa m.), should agree in gender with
sāman (n.). As noted by Fujii (1999, p. 74 note 51), here eṣa may preserve its original masculine gender
“probably because the same expression [eṣa u eva] is repeated in succession in BU 1.3.20-25 [sic, read
1.3.20-21, 23] and the stress is laid on the prāṇa itself not on the things identified with it.”
53
Of all translations that I have consulted, only Fujii (1999, p. 74) presupposes a syntactical parsing of
the sentence like mine, predicate (eṣa) + eva + subject (sāma): “And the sāman is nothing but this
[breath in the mouth]”. However, Fujii (Ibid.) translates the syntactically identic sentence at BU 1.3.20
(eṣa u eva bṛhaspatir) differently: “And it is he (the breath in the mouth) who is Brhaspati”.
54
˙
Because it is masculine, the pronoun eṣa must refer to prāṇa; so Böhtlingk (1889a, p. 7) “er (der
Hauch)” [“he (breath)”]. Fujii (1999, p. 74) takes it as referring to sāman (n.), but provides no explanation
for the gender disagreement. Though it may be somewhat speculative, another parsing of the sentence is
possible, on the basis of a different resolution of the sandhi in sāmaiṣa. While all commentators parse it as
sāma-eṣa, I wonder whether it may be possible to parse it as sā-ama(ḥ)-eṣa. The latter parsing would give
a different syntax (vāg vai sā. ama(ḥ)-eṣa…), and could be translated as following: “sā ‘she’, clearly, is
speech; this one [i.e. prāṇa ≈ Āṅgirasa] is ama ‘he’. sā ‘she’ and ama ‘he’—this is what gave the name to
and discloses the true nature of sāma.” The analysis sā ‘she’ and ama ‘he’ is reminiscent of a Vedic
formula linked with a marriage motif, see Fujii (1999, p. 75).
55
See, for instance, Olivelle (1998, p. 490) “etymological play”; Fujii (1999, p. 69) “folk etymology”;
and Slaje (2009, p. 490) “Volksetymologie”.
56
And, if the interpretation proposed above is correct (note 44), with the teacher-disciple moment of
instruction.
57
Brereton (1990, p. 118).
123
998 P. Visigalli
Sleep, Hunger, Thirst and the Cosmological Chain (Chāndogya Upaniṣad

[CU] 6.8)
In CU 6.8, Uddālaka teaches Śvetaketu how to recognize (vi-√jñā) svapnānta the

‘nature of sleep’58 and aśanā(yā)-pipāse59 ‘hunger [and] thirst’. In his teaching,
Uddālaka uses etymological analyses. Below I unravel the logic of these analyses, and
show how they are consistent with Uddālaka’s cosmology advanced in CU 6.1-7.60
For clarity’s sake, I organize the passage under discussion into three parts:
[1] uddālako hāruṇiḥ śvetaketuṃ putram uvāca svapnāntaṃ me somya
vijānīhīti | yatraitat puruṣaḥ svapiti nāma satā somya tadā saṃpanno bhavati
| svam apīto bhavati | tasmād enaṃ svapitīty ācakṣate | svaṃ hy apīto bhavati ||
6.8.1 ||61
Uddālaka Āruni said to his son Śvetaketu: “My dear, recognize [vi-√jñā] the
˙
nature of sleep [which] I [am explaining to you].62 When (yatra) a person here
58
So Edgerton (1965, p. 173) and Olivelle (1998, p. 251). Deussen (1921 [1897], p. 164) “Zustand”
(‘condition’); Hume (1921, p. 244) “condition of sleep”; Ickler (1973, p. 53) “das Wesen” (‘the essence’);
see also Deeg (1995, p. 392 note 265). Note that svapnānta occurs also in BU 4.3.13. The above
translators do not, however, ascribe to svapnānta there a philosophically salient sense.
59
It is uncertain which one between aśanā and aśanāyā was the original reading; both readings are
attested, and both words occur in Vedic in the sense of ‘hunger’. In light of etymology [2] below aśanāyā
might perhaps be preferable; cf. Böhtlingk (1889b, p. 105). See however Deeg (1995, p. 363) who posits
aśanā.
60
The relation between CU 6.1-7 and 6.8-16 has been much discussed, some scholars emphasizing the
two sections’ discontinuity (Bodewitz 2001: 289), others their points of contact (Deussen 1921 [1897],
p. 153; Slaje 2009, p. 565). Here I only point out the relation between etymologies and the previous
section. Given that Uddālaka’s teaching takes the form of a cosmogonic account (CU 6.2), scholars
sometimes refers to it as a cosmogony; see, most recently, Acharya (2016). I think however that Uddālaka
discusses cosmogony obliquely, his main concern being understanding the cosmos in its current state.
Therefore, I prefer speaking of cosmology. Cf. Brereton’s (1990, p. 120) perceptive remark on the
opening of AU, which, I think, is applicable also to CU 6: “Although this narrative [the opening of AU]
has the form of a creation story, it is better read not as describing the actual process of creation, but as
establishing the connections that now exist within the world”.
61
I leave out CU 6.8.2, which does not contain etymologies and describes ‘mind’ (manas) as ‘tied’
(√bandh) to ‘breath’ (prāṇa). This passage probably gives a second definition of sleep. When one is
asleep, mind, which is a form of food (CU 6.5.4; 6.6.5), enters, i.e., is absorbed into breath, which is a
form of water (CU 6.5.4; 6.6.5; 6.7.1). Note that the process of absorption (mind ≈ food [ breath ≈
water), which is given also in [2] below, is reminiscent of Uddālaka’s cosmological chain in CU 6.2. See
my comments below.
62
Though it is commonly translated as “from me” [see, e.g., Böhtlingk (1889b, p. 65); Deussen (1921
[1897], p. 14); Hume (1921, p. 244); Edgerton (1965, p. 173); Olivelle (1998, p. 251)], me is not, strictly
speaking, an ablative, but a genitive. While it is possible to take the genitive in the sense of an ablative, I
wonder whether me may not be regarded as a genitive to be construed with an implied participle of a verb
of speaking. Compare the passage under discussion (svapnāntaṃ me somya vijānīhīti) with BU(M) 4.5.5:
vācam vyācakṣāṇasya tu me nididhyāsasva “ But you [Maitreyı̄] focus on the words that I am explaining”.
Both passages present an initial accusative followed by me and an imperative; in BU(M) 4.5.5 me is
preceded by the participle vyācakṣāṇasya. Cf. also Śaṅkara’s (1913, p. 356) commentary on CU 6.8.1,
where the genitive me is glossed with mama plus the present participle of “saying” (svapnāntaṃ me
mama nigadato). Possibly the omission of the genitive participle in CU may represent a “colloquial
shortening”; cf. Brereton (2006, p. 329 note 12 [ad BU(K) 2.4.4]). My tentative translation follows this
interpretation.
123
(etat)63 is said to ‘sleep’ (svapiti), then (tadā), son, he is merged (saṃ-√pad)

with the existent (sat). He is someone who has entered (apīto) into his own
(svam). Therefore, with respect to him it is said: ‘He sleeps’ (svapiti); for he is
someone who has entered into his own” (6.8.1).
[2] aśanāyāpipāse me somya vijānīhīti | yatraitat puruṣo ’śiśiṣati nāmāpa eva
tad aśitaṃ nayante | tad yathā gonāyo ’śvanāyaḥ puruṣanāya ity evaṃ tad āpa
ācakṣate ’śanāyeti | tatraitac chuṅgam utpatitaṃ somya vijānīhi | nedam
amūlaṃ bhaviṣyatīti || 6.8.3 || tasya kva mūlaṃ syād anyatrānnāt | evam eva
khalu somyānnena śuṅgenāpo mūlam anviccha | adbhiḥ somya śuṅgena tejo
mūlam anviccha | tejasā somya śuṅgena san mūlam anviccha | sanmūlāḥ
somyemāḥ sarvāḥ prajāḥ sadāyatanāḥ satpratiṣṭhāḥ || 6.8.4 ||
“My dear, recognize hunger and thirst [which] I [am explaining to you]. When
a person here is said to be ‘hungry’, then (tad), water (āpas), in reality (eva),
drives away [(nayante) i.e. re-absorbs into itself] what he has eaten. So, like
[someone who drives away a cow, a horse, a person] is called ‘cow-driver’
(go-nāya), ‘horse-driver’, ‘person-driver’, so water is called the ‘food-driver’
(aśa-nāyā [\ √nī]).64 With respect to this, my dear, recognize this (etad) as
bud that has come out. It (idam) will not be without root (6.8.3). Where else
would its root be but in food? In the same way, my dear, with food as the bud,
consider water as its root. My dear, with water as the bud, consider heat as its
root. My dear, with heat as the bud, consider the existent as its root. My dear,
all these creatures have the existent as their root, the existent as their basis, the
existent as their foundation” (6.8.4).
[3] atha yatraitat puruṣaḥ pipāsati nāma teja eva tat pītaṃ nayate | tad yathā
gonāyo ’śvanāyaḥ puruṣanāya ity evaṃ tat teja ācaṣṭa udanyeti | tatraitad eva
śuṅgam utpatitaṃ somya vijānīhi | nedam amūlaṃ bhaviṣyatīti || 6.8.5 || tasya
kva mūlaṃ syād anyatrādbhyaḥ | adbhiḥ somya śuṅgena tejo mūlam anviccha |
tejasā somya śuṅgena san mūlam anviccha | sanmūlāḥ somyemāḥ sarvāḥ
prajāḥ sadāyatanāḥ satpratiṣṭhāḥ […]|| 6.8.6 ||
“Further, when a person here is said to be ‘thirsty’, then (tat), heat (tejas), in
reality (eva), drives away [(nayate) i.e. re-absorbs into itself] what he has
drunk. So, like [someone who drives away a cow, a horse, a person] is called
‘cow-driver’, ‘horse-driver’, ‘person-driver’, so heat is called the ‘water-
63
In this passage and in the parallel places in [2] and [3], the exact sense of etat is somewhat unclear.
Deeg (1995, p. 363 note 158) proposes construing etat with nāma. Slaje (2009, p. 311; 566 [note]) takes it
as a neuter referring to what follows, and translates it “Wo es so ist, daß…” ‘where it is so, that…’.
Neither solution is particularly convincing. yatraitat occurs 11 times in CU. Though closer scrutiny is
required, my impression is that yatraitat is used to anchor the Upanisadic speculations to the ordinary
domain of ‘here’, which is familiar to both the Upanisadic characters ˙and audience alike.
64
˙
The sandhi aśanāyeti can be solved in the following ways: (i) aśanāyā, substantive or adjective fem.
sing.; (ii) aśanāyaḥ, substantive m. sing., modelled on gonāya, aśvanāya, puruṣanāya; (iii) aśanāyāḥ,
substantive or adjective fem. plural, referring to āpas ‘water’; (iv) aśanāyāḥ substantive or adjective m.
plural. I prefer (i), assuming that aśanāyā is an ordinary Vedic word, and that the Upanisatkāra refers to it.
˙
I think that the feminine words aśanāyā and udanyā [3] may refer to an implied devatā ‘deity’. Recall that
the ‘existent’ (sat) and the evolutes (heat, water, food) are often referred to as devatā in CU 6 (3.2, 3, 4;
4.7; 8.6; 15.1, 2).
123
1000 P. Visigalli
driver’ (uda-nyā [\ √nī]).65 With respect to this, my dear, recognize this same
(eva) one as a bud that has come out. It will not be without root (6.8.5). Where
else would its root be but in water? My dear, with water as the bud, consider
heat as its root. My dear, with heat as the bud, consider the existent as its root.
My dear, all these creatures have the existent as their root, the existent as their
basis, the existent as their foundation […]” (6.8.6).
‘Sleep’ (svapna), ‘hunger’ (aśanāyā), and ‘thirst’ (pipāsā \ aśanāyāpipāse) are
identified with the ‘existent’ (sat), ‘water’ (āpas), and ‘heat’ (tejas). The
identifications are attained by means of etymologies and, in [2] and [3], by using
a ‘bud’ (evolute) / ‘root’ (śuṅga/mūla) model of analysis. To fully understand [1],
[2], [3], we should recognize their close link with the cosmological chain taught in
CU 6.2, where the basic principle, ‘the existent’ (sat), is said to generate ‘heat’
(tejas), heat ‘water’ (āpas), and water ‘food’ (anna).
Before we discus [1], [2], [3] in detail, one observation about Uddālaka’s way of
analysis is in order. The items taken up for analysis are nouns (svapna; aśanāyā;
pipāsā), but Uddālaka begins his explanation by referring to their corresponding
verbal forms (svapiti; aśiśiṣati; pipāsati) ‘[a person (puruṣa)] is sleeping; is hungry;
is thirsty’). This might be consistent with Indian indigenous linguists’ view that
nouns are derived from verbs.66
To facilitate following the discussion below, I first give [1], [2], [3]
schematically:
[1] svapna ‘sleep’[svapiti ‘one is sleeping’\svam [≈ sat] apīto bhavati ‘one
has entered into one’s own [≈ the existent]’.
[2] aśanāyā ‘hunger’ \ ‘the food (aśa)-driver (nāyā \ √nī)’ ≈ āpas ‘water’.
[3] pipāsā ‘thirst’ [ udanyā ‘thirst’ \ ‘the water (uda)-driver (nyā \ √nī) ≈
tejas ‘heat’.
[1] Sleep (svapna), through its verbal form svapiti, is analyzed as ‘one has entered
into one’s one’ (svam apīto). The passage indicates that ‘one’s own’ (sva) is ‘the
existent’ (sat). When one is asleep, one merges (sam-√pad) with the underlying
basic principle out of which all worldly evolutes derive. To fully understand the
etymology, we should remember that sleep is often described in Vedic texts as a
process of reabsorption (analogous to death), whereby the other vital functions enter
(api-√i) into breath, seen as the most prominent among them (e.g. CU 4.3.3; ŚB
10.3.3.6).67 Speculations about dream and dreamless sleep are also relevant here (e.
65
I solve the sandhi to get udanyā, a feminine noun, coined by analogy with aśanāyā, and similarly
referring to an implied devatā ‘deity’. For more on udanyā, see below.
66
Commenting on the etymologies in the principal Upanisads, Mehendale (1963, p. 41) opines that “[t]
he underlying idea of these etymologies appears to be the same˙ as that of the Nairuktas viz. that all nouns
are derived from verb”. Mehendale’s reference is to Nirukta 1.12: nāmāny ākhyātajāni “nouns arise from
verbs”. For different interpretations of this statements, see Kahrs (1998, p. 35) and Scharf (2013, p. 229).
67
Note, for example, that saṃ-√pad ‘merge’ is used also in CU 6.8.6 to describe the process of death,
whereby the faculties merge one into the other, leading to the final merging with the ‘highest deity’
(paramā devatā), the ‘existent’ (sat); cf. Ickler (1973, p. 20). On the close relation between sleep and
death, see Jamison’s (1982–1983, p. 14) remark.
123
g. BU 2.1.17-19; 4.3.8-38). Uddālaka builds on such speculations, replacing breath

or the state of absorption characteristic of sleep with sat.
[2] ‘Hunger’ (aśanāyā) is, in fact, ‘water’ (āpas). Their identity is revealed
etymologically. By analogy with words such as ‘cattle-driver’ (go-nāya), ‘hunger’ is
analysed as ‘food (aśa)-driver (nāyā [\√nī])’, which is said to refer to ‘water’.
When a person is hungry, Uddālaka tells us, water drives away what he has eaten. I
take ‘drive [away]’ (nayante) as meaning ‘to reintegrate [into itself]’. The idea is, I
think, that water reabsorbs food—its direct evolute in the cosmological chain—into
itself. Once the food one had consumed is reintegrated in water, one becomes
hungry.68
[3] ‘Thirst’ (pipāsā) is, in fact, ‘heat’ (tejas). The word udanyā, to which the
meaning ‘thirst’ is ascribed, is introduced, and analysed on the model of aśanāyā as
‘water (uda)-driver (nyā [\√nī])’. This is said to refer to ‘heat’ (tejas). One is thirsty
as a result of heat’s driving away, i.e. absorbing into itself, what one had drunk.
[1] differs from [2] and [3], whereas the latter two are closely similar. Most
noticeably, the passage containing the ‘bud’ (evolute) / ‘root’ (śuṅga/mūla) model
of analysis occurs only in [2] and [3]. Problematic in that passage is the
interpretation of etat ‘this’. It seems best to follow Śaṅkara (1913, p. 360) and take it
as referring to the body (śarīra).69 After etymologizing hunger and thirst as ‘food-
driver’ [2] and ‘water-driver’ [3], Uddālaka urges Śvetaketu (and, obliquely, the
Upanisadic audience) to recognize (vi-√jñā) his own body as a ‘bud (evolute)’
˙
(śuṅga), whose ‘root’ is food [2] and water [3]. By applying the same model, food
can be explained as the evolute of water, water of heat, heat of the existent, which is
the basis and foundation of all creatures.
Another difference concerns the identifications. While [2] and [3] directly
identify ‘hunger’ (aśanāyā) and ‘thirst’ (pipāsā [ udanyā) with the two evolutes
‘water’ and ‘heat’, [1] does not say that sleep is ‘the existent’ (sat), but that when
‘one is asleep’ (svapiti; a verb), one is merged with the existent.70
The reasons for the asymmetry ([1] vs [2], [3]) become clear once we realize that
[3] is modelled on [2]. I think that the Upanisatkāra created the etymology in [3] to
˙
68
Most translators render ‘drive’ (√nī) simply as ‘drive away, remove’. But no clarifications are given as
to what ‘remove’ may mean exactly. [See, e.g. Hume (1921, p. 245) “water is leading off”; Edgerton
(1965, p. 174) “water is leading away (removing) what he has eaten”; Olivelle (1998, p. 251) “the water
drives away”; but see Deussen (1921 [1897], p. 157) “Wegführung (zum Aufbau des Organismus)”
‘leading away (for the construction of the organism)’]. Possibly the idea that water drives away food, and
heat water [3], is based on empirical observations. Food is expelled from the body in what may be seen as
a form of water, as feces and urine (?). Water is expelled as perspiration, caused by heat. The use of the
ātmanepada (naya(n)te) [whose semantic nuances are ignored by most translators, but are finely captured
by Geldner (1928, p. 113) “so führt das Wasser das Gegessene mit sich fort” ‘so water carries with itself
what one has eaten’] might support my interpretation—water drives away food for itself, i.e. absorbs it
into itself.
69
For a brief discussion (and rejection) of the interpretation that etat refers to hunger (and thirst, by
implication), see Olivelle (1998, p. 560). Slaje (2009, p. 566) astutely construes tatraitat with the
preceding yatraitat; this seems to me to be somewhat strained; see also note 63.
70
Note a further difference: yatra in the expression yatraitat puruṣaḥ […] nāma correlates with tadā in
[1], but with tad in [2] and [3].
123
1002 P. Visigalli
match the etymology in [2]. In what follows, I try to show that [3] is derivative of
[2]. Doing so will require us to closely observe the Upanisatkāra’s modus operandi.
˙
To begin with, to fully understand [2] and [3], and their relation, we should
recognize their close links with the teaching articulated in CU 6.1-7, particularly
with two tenets: the cosmologic chain (sat [ tejas [ āpas [ anna), and the
associated view that worldly phenomena can be analysed as manifestation of the
three ‘deities’ (devatā), food, water, and heat. Committed to these two tenets, the
Upanisatkāra uses etymologies to corroborate them.
˙
How to explain ‘hunger’ (aśanāyā) on the basis of such tenets? Relying on the
cosmologic idea that food is an evolute of water, and finding aid in the analysability
of the word aśanāyā ‘hunger’ itself, the Upanisatkāra explains that when a person is
˙
hungry, what really happens is that the evolute water drives away (i.e. reabsorbs into
itself) what one has eaten (aśitam nayante). Juxtaposition with words such as ‘cow-
driver’ (go-nāya) clarifies the structure and meaning of aśa-nāyā ‘food-driver’,
whose referent is identified with water. The etymological analysis both coordinates
with and reinforces the cosmologic view that food is an evolute of water.
Then the Upanisatkāra sets out to explain ‘thirst’ (pipāsā), using the same model
˙
employed to explain ‘hunger’. He says that when a person is thirsty, what really
happens is that the evolute ‘heat’ (tejas) drives away (i.e. reabsorbs into itself) what
one has drunk (pītam nayate). At first, one may be struck by what looks like an
incoherent etymology. For the phonetic resemblance is partial, at best (pipāsā \
pītaṃ nayate), and nayate has no match in pipāsā but seems to have been taken over
automatically from the above etymology of aśanāyā.71 Further reflection shows that
the Upanisatkāra does not provide here an etymology of the word pipāsā, but
˙
explains the phenomenon of thirst, modelling his explanation on the one given
above for ‘hunger’. So the evident mismatch between the analysis of ‘thirst’ (pītaṃ
nayate) and the word for ‘thirst’ (pipāsā) should not be seen as a botched-up
etymology, but rather as a further indication that the Upanisatkara’s main concern is
˙
with explaining ‘thirst’ in light of the two tenets mentioned above. The
Upanisatkāra first explains ‘thirst’ in light of his cosmologic view—i.e. heat
˙
reabsorbs water. Only after that does he begin fishing around for an etymology that
fits his cosmologic view.
Given that the word pipāsā is not a good descriptor of the phenomenon ‘thirst’,
and because his explanation must parallel the above one for hunger, the
Upanisatkāra faces some constraints. His solution is the word udanyā ‘thirst’.
˙
Getting that word requires some lexical engineering. In Vedic the adjective udanya,
a regular derivative of udan ‘water’, means ‘watery’; it does not mean ‘thirst’.72
Undaunted by this, the Upanisatkāra engineers the feminine noun udanyā (possibly
˙
thinking of devatā as the implied referent; see note 64), ascribes to it the meaning
‘thirst’, and analyses it as ‘the water-driver’ (uda-nyā).
71
See Deeg (1995, p. 374).
72
See Mayrhofer (1986–2001, p. 215 [entry udán]).
123
I hope that the above discussion shows that [3] is derivative of [2].73 The
Upanisatkāra’s main purpose in analysing ‘thirst’ is to match the explanation of
˙
‘hunger’ as ‘food-driver’ (aśa-nāyā). Doing so enables him to obtain his main
purpose, to explain both phenomena (‘hunger’ and ‘thirst’) in terms of his basic
cosmologic view.
In addition, we may note that introducing the (invented) word udanyā next to the
ordinary word pipāsā is reminiscent of Vedic speculations about hidden, esoteric
names that contrast with ordinary names. The original, true names were tampered
with by the gods, “for the gods love what is hidden, as it were, and hate what is
evident” (parókapriyā iva hí devāˊ ḥ pratyákṣadviṣaḥ; BU 4.2.2).74 While the
influence of received Vedic ideas is thus clear, the Upanisatkāra draws on them
˙
creatively to build his etymology.
To conclude, in CU 6.8 etymologies are not bits of arcane language mysticism.
But they are sophisticated and coherent analyses which provide the Upanisatkāra
˙
with additional evidence to further corroborate the innovative cosmologic teaching
advanced in CU 6.1-7. Building on traditional ideas, he employs etymologies
creatively, not as an end to themselves, but as analytical and rhetorical tools for
explaining ‘sleep’, ‘hunger’ and ‘thirst’ in terms of the existent, water, and heat.
Conclusion
In this essay, I have called attention to the complexity and sophistication of Vedic
etymologies, the variety of purposes they help to achieve, and the etymologists’
agency. To refine and supplement conventional interpretations, I have argued
against describing Vedic etymologies derivatively as the linguistic symptoms of an
underlying religious-magical Vedic worldview. Rather, through a close reading of
three case studies, I tried to reveal Vedic etymologies’ complex logic and
coherency.
I have also emphasized the importance of considering Vedic etymologies in the
context in which they occur, rather than arbitrarily studying them in isolation.
Contextual reading permitted us to reasonably identify the etymologies’ different
purposes: to argue for the ritual superiority of the Hotr over the Adhvaryu priest (AB
˙
1.1.2); provide the Upanisadic thinker with an analytic model for finding the unity
˙
73
Possibly another clue as to the derivative nature of [3] can be seen in Uddālaka’s instruction to
recognize this body as a ‘bud’, whose ‘root’ is to be identified in food [2] and water [3]. It would seem to
me more consistent with Vedic speculations to regard food as the ‘root’ of the body, rather than water. In
this respect, note that evam eva khalu somyānnena śuṅgenāpo mūlam anviccha (“In the same way, my
dear, with food as the bud, consider water as its root”) occurs in [2] only. After one recognizes (vi-√jñā)
that one’s body is a ‘bud’ having food as its ‘root’, one can then apply (anu-√iṣ) the same model to food
itself, and the other evolutes. While the absence in [3] of this linking passage can be explained in various
ways, one such way would be considering it as a further indication of [3]’s derivative nature.
74
On this and similar expressions, and their possible connection with Yāska’s Nirukta, see Visigalli
(2017, pp. 121–126). For the opposition in Vedic between what is parokṣa ‘beyond sight’ and pratyakṣa
‘before one’s eyes’, see Oldenberg (1919, p. 221), Pinault (1989, p. 316), and Wezler (1996, pp. 501–
504).
123
1004 P. Visigalli
underlying disparate entities (BU 1.3); and permit Uddālaka to muster further
support for his innovative teaching (CU 6.8).
Recognition of Vedic etymologies’ complexity and variety of purposes led me to
foreground the etymologists’ agency. Rather than passively voicing an underlying
magical worldview, they self-consciously and creatively employ etymologies to
consolidate, explore, but also modify that worldview. In the final analysis,
etymologies are an important device in the Vedic thinkers’ discursive and
conceptual “toolbox”—they are a powerful and malleable tool for thinking.
Acknowledgements I wish to thank the journal’s editor and the anonymous reviewer for several helpful
comments.
Conflict of interest The author states that there is no conflict of interest.
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J Indian Philos (2018) 46:983–1007

An Early Indian Interpretive Puzzle: Vedic Etymologies

Published online: 1 October 2018

Abstract Etymologies are often encountered in Vedic prose, in Brāhmanas and

Keywords Brāhmanas · Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad · Chāndogya Upaniṣad ·

& Paolo Visigalli

historical etymologies and often rejected as wrong etymologies. Vedic etymologies

The “religious-magical interpretation” is the conventional view on Vedic

Deﬁning the hotṛ Priest’s Role (Aitareya Brāhmaṇa [AB] 1.1.2)

In scholarship, the etymology in AB 1.1.2 enjoys a paradigmatic status. It (or, more

The etymology’s purpose cannot therefore be to provide a grammatical derivation of

In my interpretation, etymological analyses permit the Vedic etymologist to

Identifying the Breath Within the Mouth (āsanya prāṇa) (Bṛhadāraṇyaka

Brahmanaspati (BU 1.3.20-21). I aim to show that etymological analyses coordinate

Sleep, Hunger, Thirst and the Cosmological Chain (Chāndogya Upaniṣad

In CU 6.8, Uddālaka teaches Śvetaketu how to recognize (vi-√jñā) svapnānta the

(etat)63 is said to ‘sleep’ (svapiti), then (tadā), son, he is merged (saṃ-√pad)

g. BU 2.1.17-19; 4.3.8-38). Uddālaka builds on such speculations, replacing breath

Conﬂict of interest The author states that there is no conflict of interest.

Simson, G. (1988). Etymologie als Mittel ideologischer Auseinandersetzung; Bemerkungen zum

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