Sanskrit Studies 00

WORDS IN AND OUT OF HISTORY: INDIAN SEMANTIC
DERIVATION (NIRVACANA) AND MODERN ETYMOLOGY

IN DIALOGUE
Paolo Visigalli
Scholar in residence at the Center for Global Asia
New York University Shanghai
“The fact is, man is an etymologizing animal.”

Abram Smythe Palmer
Etymologizing — the practice of connecting one word with one or more other similar-
sounding words that are believed to elucidate its meaning1 — is a complex and putatively
universal phenomenon.2 Thus, to take two representative examples far apart in time and
space, etymologizing practices figure prominently in some episodes of the Hebrew
Bible,3 but also provide some modern influential thinkers with an important mode of
argument.4 Perhaps etymologizing is so pervasive because it offers a pliable and pow-
erful tool for addressing a key question, namely, why is something called what it is?
While this question has universal appeal, only a few cultures seem to have
addressed it systematically by means of a sustained linguistic inquiry.5 This essay
explores two kinds of such inquiries comparatively, the Indian discipline of semantic
derivation (nirvacana) 6 as systematized in the Nirukta (ca. third century b.c.e.) and
in modern historical etymology. Although the essay’s primary focus is on semantic
derivation, I will constantly refer to modern etymology. In so doing, I propose to
undertake two tasks: to provide a finer interpretation of the central tenets of Indian
semantic derivation, and to bring them to bear, in their otherness and in a theoreti-
cally enriching way, on the ways in which we think of meaning and etymology.
First, (1) I will give an example and provide a description of modern etymology
and semantic derivation. In reviewing modern scholarship on semantic derivation,
(2) I will then argue that a systematic comparison with modern etymology is a desid-
eratum. Accordingly, I will compare the two disciplines’ foci of attention and modes
of inquiry (3, 4, 5) and briefly consider their respective practitioners and how they
accommodate the role of subjectivity in their investigations (6). I will then discuss the
discipline’s respective aims (7). Finally, (8) I will consider how the two disciplines
conceive of the relation between time and language, and then suggest a new way in
which we can think about the disciplines’ relation to one another.
1. Modern Etymology and Indian Semantic Derivation
In a 1980 article on etymology, the renowned Indologist Paul Thieme suggested a

new etymology of the Sanskrit agni ‘fire’, ‘fire god’. Juxtaposing this word with the
Philosophy East & West Volume 67, Number 4 October 2017 1143–1190 1143
© 2017 by University of Hawai‘i Press
words for ‘fire’ in Latin (ignis), Lithuanian (ugnìs), and Old Slavic (ognь), he posited
the reconstructed Indo-European form *ṇgnis. He then analyzed it as *ṇg-ni-: *ṇg-,
the weakened form (technically known as ‘zero grade’) of the Indo-European ele-
ment *nog-, plus the nominal suffix -ni-. Noting that *nog- appears in the Sanskrit
nag-na ‘naked’, Gothic naqaþs ‘naked’, and Slavic noga ‘foot’, Thieme suggested that
the Sanskrit agni “refers to an archaic representation of fire as a living, male entity,
which differs from all others in that it has no skin or hide, that is, it is ‘naked’.”7
Approximately twenty-three centuries earlier, somewhere in the north of the In-
dian subcontinent, a Brahmin named Yāska had given a very different ‘etymological’
explanation of agni. He elucidates its meaning with four paraphrases:
Why Agni [i.e., why is Agni called ‘Agni’]?8 (1) He is the agraṇī (‘led-in-the-front’) [i.e.,]
‘agra-ly’ (‘firstly’) he is ‘praṇī-ed’ (‘led’) in the sacrifices. (2) Bending [toward something],
he ‘nī-s’ (‘leads’) [it toward its own] aṅga (‘limb’) [i.e., he makes it part of his own body].
(3) According to Sthaulāṣṭīvi, [Agni is called ‘Agni’ because he is] ‘a-knopana’ (‘non-
moistening’); he does not moisten [things] [i.e.,] it does not wet [things]. (4) According to
Śākapūṇi, [agni] derives from three verbal bases: from ‘i’ (‘to go’); from ‘a(ñ)j’ (‘to shine’)
or ‘dah’ (‘to burn’); and from ‘nī’ (‘to lead’). Indeed, he receives the sound ‘a’ from ‘i’
(‘to go’), ‘g ’ from ‘a(ñ)j’ (‘to shine’) or from ‘dah’ (‘to burn’), plus ‘nī’ (‘to lead’) as last.9
I will return to this passage below. For the present, note the letters highlighted in
bold: each paraphrase is intimately linked to the noun agni through an etymological
tapestry of phonetic similarities. It is clear that in Yāska’s opinion the paraphrases are
‘included’ or ‘contained’ in the noun agni. Or, conversely, “this entire theological
phraseology”10 can be drawn out of the name agni, which subsumes it as a sort of
shorthand or cipher.
1.1. Modern Historical Etymology
Historical etymology is a modern linguistic discipline. It is part of the wider field

of historical linguistics that emerged in early nineteenth-century Western Europe,
in the wake of the discovery of Sanskrit and the reconstruction of the ancestral
Indo-European language.11 Because the successive generations of its theoreticians
and practitioners have held divergent opinions, modern etymology is not a mono
lithic block.12 It seems safe, however, to agree with Philip Durkin’s authoritative
definition — modern etymology is “the whole endeavour of attempting to provide a
coherent account of a word’s history (or pre-history).” Specifically, it is “the applica-
tion, at the level of an individual word, of methods and insights drawn from many
different areas of historical linguistics, in order to produce a coherent account of that
word’s history.”13 Most fundamentally, historical linguistics and etymology share the
conviction that there are discoverable and predictable regularities in the way sounds
change across time. Thus, in an ideal situation, it is possible to identify regular sound
correspondences between sets of sounds belonging to different stages of the same
language, or to related languages. For instance, it has been ascertained that the ‘p’ in
Latin corresponds to ‘f ’ in the Germanic languages, for example in the Latin ‘pater’
1144 Philosophy East & West

and English ‘father’ (both words can be traced back to a reconstructed Indo-European
‘*ph2tḗr’ ).
Although the regularity of sound changes is the central pillar of modern etymol-
ogy, this should not be overstated. In contrast to the late nineteenth-century so-called
Junggrammatiker school,14 which advocated the inescapable regularity of linguistic
laws, later etymologists have adopted a more nuanced stance. They have become
aware that the rules governing phonetic change are not unassailable and that in all
languages there is a residuum, more or less numerous, of “individual developments,
i.e., of word biographies that exhibit the more or less sporadic intervention, to vary-
ing extents, of forces that refuse to fall into any rigid schemata.”15 The fact is that
etymology and historical linguistics are not hard sciences.16 The American linguist
William D. Whitney expressed this point well already in 1875: “As linguistics is a
historical science, so its evidences are historical, and its methods of proof of the
same character. There is no absolute demonstration about it; there is only probability,
in the same varying degree as elsewhere in historical inquiry.”17
1.2. Indian Semantic Derivation (Nirvacana)
Systematized in Yāska’s Nirukta (ca. third century b.c.e.),18 semantic derivation is a

Sanskrit linguistic and hermeneutic discipline. One of the earliest systematic works
of Vedic exegesis, the Nirukta is a commentary on the Nighaṇṭu, a list of words
mainly extracted from the Rigveda. As stated in the first chapter of the Nirukta, the
aim of semantic derivation is to elucidate the meaning of Vedic words and mantras.19
Specifically, as we will see, Yāska teaches a method whereby the meaning of mor-
phologically obscure (Vedic) nouns can be elucidated. For Yāska, all nouns (nāma)
are derived from some action expressed by a verbal base (Nirukta 1.12).20 To do a
semantic derivation is to elucidate the link between the noun and the underlying
action. As Eivind Kahrs has emphasized,21 this is not the same as linking the noun
with a verbal root. As he admits, however, it is only natural that a link with an action
involves in turn a link with a verbal root.22
For example, recall the third paraphrase of agni given above. Sthaulāṣṭīvi, one
of Yāska’s predecessors,23 elucidates the noun agni by linking it with the action of
a-knopana ‘non-moistening’ (a- privative plus knopana ‘moistening’), which in turn
refers to the root knū ‘to be/make wet’.24
Semantic derivation is traditionally regarded as one of the six ancillary disci-
plines (vedāṅgas ‘limbs of the Veda’) instrumental in preserving and interpreting the
Veda. Although robust evidence indicates that semantic derivation-like hermeneutics
is often resorted to, notably in commentarial literature, more research needs to be
done to gain a fuller picture of the role of (forms of ) semantic derivation in post-Vedic
Indian literary traditions.25
Modern etymology and semantic derivation emerged more than twenty centu-
ries apart, as the culturally specific products of two very different civilizations.
Although they would thus seem to have very little in common apart from purporting
to elucidate, in their respective ways, why something is called what it is, in what
Paolo Visigalli 1145

follows I want to argue that a comparative study of the two is not only advisable but
also inevitable.
2. Scholarly Interpretations of Indian Semantic Derivation
It seems legitimate to identify two basic positions in modern scholars’ interpretations

of semantic derivation.26 The first one characterizes most scholarship produced from
the first modern edition of the Nirukta (1852) until three decades ago. As Eivind
Kahrs has shown,27 early interpretations of the Nirukta were heavily influenced by
the cultural climate of the time, dominated by modern historical and Indo-European
linguistics. Accordingly, most scholars looked at semantic derivation through the lens
of modern historical etymology.28 While the adoption of this position did not neces-
sarily prompt an unfavorable assessment of the Nirukta,29 it did entail the conviction
that semantic analysis and modern etymology are two equivalent kinds of linguistic
inquiry: the former is seen as the imperfect prototype of the latter, even if historical
continuity between the two is excluded. The following quotation from one emi-
nent Nirukta scholar of the first half of the twentieth century spells out some of the
implications inherent in this position: “. . . Yāska’s greatness, even if every one of his
etymological explanations is proved to be wrong — as many are manifestly so, — lies
in the fact that he is the first to claim a scientific foundation, and also the first to
formulate general principles of etymology.”30 Thus, for Lakshman Sarup, the crucial
feature that sets Yāska apart from all other premodern etymologists (Plato included)
is that, on the whole, he followed a scientific method. Scientificity, as defined by
modern etymology, is thus superimposed on Yāska’s semantic derivation. It is the
one common parameter by which semantic derivation and modern etymology can
be gauged (and adjudicated).
The second interpretive position was first significantly articulated in Johannes
Bronkhorst’s (1981) and Eivind Kahrs’ (1983 and 1984) ground-breaking contribu-
tions. Taking issue with previous scholarship, they argued that considering semantic
derivation by the standards of modern historical etymology had generated severe
and persistent misconceptions. Instead, in emphasizing the radical difference of the
two kinds of inquiry, they argued that semantic derivation should be understood
on its own terms. This stance still informs the best current scholarship on semantic
derivation.31
We must now try to gain clarity on these two interpretive positions. The first one
has little to recommend itself. Adopting a teleological orientation, it seeks forcefully
to interpret semantic derivation by the standards of modern etymology, which are
presumed to be the only truly valid linguistic notions. The second stance is a power-
ful corrective to the earlier one. It argues that instead of conflating the two kinds of
inquiries, one should try to understand semantic derivation in light of emic notions
and categories.
Despite the evident merits of this kind of contextual interpretation, its unreflec-
tive acceptance runs the risk of overstating the incommensurability of semantic der-
ivation and modern etymology. This could in turn lead to a relativistic interpretation

of both, which, I believe, is neither appropriate nor profitable. It is not appropriate
because it denies a priori any possibility of looking at semantic derivation and mod-
ern etymology comparatively. Yet, this denial is contradicted by factual evidence:
scholarship on semantic derivation has always also looked at modern etymology. In
early scholarship, the comparative aspect appears in the unanalyzed assumption that
semantic derivation is basically the same discipline as modern etymology; in recent
scholarship, it appears as part of an explicit strategy to stress their radical difference.
Another reflection may give this argument additional force: it is perhaps impossible
to sweep modern etymology under the proverbial rug, because all scholars approach-
ing semantic derivation can be legitimately expected to have some explicit or im
plicit notion of modern linguistics and etymology.32 Therefore, it would seem far
more preferable to think the comparison with modern etymology all the way through,
instead of doing so fitfully.
A comparative exploration is profitable because it would enhance our stance’s
clarity and self-reflexivity. First, by stimulating greater care in discriminating exact
meanings, a comparative investigation would put the differences between the two
kinds of inquiry into sharper relief. Second, by looking outside the confines of each
inquiry by means of comparison, we could gain a fresh view on several issues, which
would otherwise be (wrongly) perceived as being self-evident and hence taken for
granted. Third, comparison would help us recognize more clearly the historicity of
the two inquiries. We could thus come to better appreciate the actual diversity of the
origins and nature of the ideas that developed into them, as well as the cultural fac-
tors that impelled the two disciplines and their theoreticians to follow one path of
inquiry rather than another.33 Lastly, in contrast with a way of doing scholarship that
may run the risk of investigating semantic derivation as merely an antiquarian pur-
suit, a comparative investigation would try to recuperate semantic derivation as a
valid South Asian form of knowledge.34 This would add a certain urgency to the way
we think about semantic derivation: it is not a dead letter, but a dialogic partner,
whose insights into language and meanings can contribute to enriching how we
currently think about similar topics.
The remainder of this essay should be understood as a first modest step in the
direction delineated above. Even though, as it will become clear, my main concern
is to gain a deeper understanding of some of Yāska’s key tenets, I will explore them
in relation to the comparable tenets of modern etymology. Specifically, I will explore
comparatively the following questions: What words need etymologizing? What are
the fundamental principles of etymologizing? How many etymological analyses can
be provided for one word? Who are the people who carry out such analyses? What
is the role of subjectivity that goes into making a historical etymology and a semantic
derivation? And, finally, what are the aims that the two inquiries try to achieve?
3. Words Worth Etymologizing
As Philip Durkin reminds us,35 there can be several principles guiding the modern
etymologist in the choice of what words to etymologize, ranging from pragmatic

ones, such as the limitation in time to devote to research or the extent of the linguis-
tic corpus, to theoretical or subjective ones, such as the etymologist’s special interest
in a specific morphological or semantic word category. On a general level, this
choice has been conditioned by the kind of linguistic evidence and by the time in
which the etymological research was carried out. With broad strokes, Kurt Baldinger
charts two stages in the development of modern etymology, placing an important
shift in the research focus around 1900.36 While most pre-nineteenth-century ety-
mologists worked on Indo-European ancient languages and were mainly concerned
with reconstructing the phonetics and morphology of the proto-language, post-
nineteenth-century Romance linguists focused on the historical trajectories of words,
from their Latin origins until modern time. Baldinger conveniently dubs the first
kind of etymology ‘étymologie-origine’ and the second one ‘étymologie-histoire du
mot’.37
Despite the fact that there are many factors that determine which words are
worth etymologizing, the notion of ‘opacity’, along with its opposite ‘transparency’,
may provide a useful framework for qualifying a large swath of etymologized words.38
A word is opaque with respect to its phonetic or semantic aspect. In the first case, its
morphological formation cannot be readily explained on the basis of the productive
processes of word-formation typical of the language under investigation. In the
second, its current meaning or some of the meanings it presents in its historical
development are problematic.
We may profitably apply the notion of morphological opacity to Indian seman-
tic derivation. In formulating three fundamental principles of semantic derivation
(Nirukta 2.1), Yāska identifies three corresponding word categories on account of
what we may call their increasing degree of morphological opacity. Thus, the first
principle deals with words that are transparent; that is, their morphological formation
can be explained by the standard processes of word formation, which by Yāska’s
time had already been codified by indigenous Sanskrit grammar (vyākaraṇa). The
second and third principles deal with words that have a semi-opaque and a totally
opaque morphological formation. Impervious to the rules of grammar, these last two
word categories are the proper linguistic domain of semantic derivation.
These three word categories do not receive a name in the Nirukta.39 It is only
in Durga’s commentary that they are called pratyakṣavṛtti ‘with an evident for
mation’, parokṣavṛtti ‘with a formation that is out of sight (i.e., unintelligible)’, and
atiparokṣavṛtti ‘with a formation that is completely out of sight (i.e., completely
unintelligible)’.40
Some examples are in order here. Words such as kāraka ‘doer’ and hāraka
‘grasper’ belong to the first category.41 They are transparent; that is, they can readily
be explained as agent noun of the roots kṛ ‘to do’ and hṛ ‘to grasp’ by normal
morpho-phonological rules of word-formation in Sanskrit. The word agni is an exam-
ple of the second category. It is semi-opaque; that is, although its morphological
formation is not immediately evident, agni can be elucidated by applying an analytic
procedure taught in the Nirukta (the second principle of semantic derivation). The
words bilma42 ‘splinter’ (?) and lakṣmī ‘[the goddess of ] fortune’ are examples of the

third word category. Although their morphological formation is totally opaque, these
words, too, can be analyzed by a specific analytic procedure (third principle of
semantic derivation).
4. Principles of Etymologizing
Although modern etymology and semantic derivation alike recognize that a word is
made of both a phonetic and a semantic aspect, they consider their relative impor-
tance for the purpose of etymologizing in the opposite way. For modern etymologists,
sound change, however complex and controversial it may be, “provides the most
important tool available to any etymologist.”43 Indeed, the identification of regular
sound change and its definition by means of linguistic rules are the defining traits of
modern etymology.44 As for meaning, on the other hand, there are no rules that have
the same degree of cogency. As Sheldon Harrison somewhat provocatively puts it:
“In general, unless a particular meaning comparison grossly offends some very gen-
eral sense of metaphor, it’s ‘anything goes’ with regard to meaning.”45
Conversely, in the Indian tradition, it is meaning (artha) that is supposed to offer
the safest guide for the semantic analysts, whereas considerations about the phonetic
aspect (śabda) play a subordinate role. The following detailed investigation of the
fundamental principles of semantic derivations will support and qualify this state-
ment. But before looking at these principles in detail, we briefly need to consider a
passage (Nirukta 1.12) that reveals some of Yāska’s key theoretical assumptions.
After having introduced and discussed the notion of the four word-classes
(Nirukta 1.1 f.) — nāma ‘nominal words’,46 ākhyāta ‘verbs’, upasarga ‘prepositions’,
and nipāta ‘particles’ — Yāska states:
With regard to this [= the four word-classes] nominal words arise from verbs, according
to Śākaṭāyana; this is also the doctrine of the semantic analysts; not all [nominal words],
according to Gārgya and some of the grammarians. . . .47
From the discussion that follows, it is clear that Yāska shares the doctrine of the
semantic analysts. This doctrine is based on the conviction that it is possible to
elucidate synchronically a nominal word by linking it with an underlying action
expressed by a verbal base.48 From this passage we can draw out two important
implications. First, Yāska’s semantic derivation deals with ‘nominal words’ (nāma)
only; as a rule, it does not analyze words belonging to the three other word classes.49
Second, Yāska maintains that all (sarvāṇi) nominal words can be derived from verbs,
with no exception.
4.1. Yāska’s First Principle of Semantic Derivation: Transparent Words
So, in the case of words where accent and grammatical formation would be in agree-
ment with the meaning [that is to be expressed] [and are] accompanied by a [phonetic]
quality which is in accordance with the grammatical derivation, they should be analyzed
accordingly.50

Thus, if a word can be explained by regular processes of word-formation, one should
do so. Since by Yāska’s time indigenous Sanskrit grammar (vyākaraṇa) had already
codified these processes, semantic derivation is of no help in elucidating transparent
words. Although Yāska does not use the word vyākaraṇa here, the reference to gram-
mar is nonetheless sure. The decisive argument is that the wording of this passage is
almost verbatim identical with another passage in Nirukta 1.14, which is explicitly
said by Yāska to give the grammarians’ (vaiyākaraṇa) opinion.51 Thus, from this (and
other) passage(s) it emerges that Yāska was fully aware of and well versed in a sophis-
ticated form of grammatical discipline that he refers to as vyākaraṇa.52
4.2. Yāska’s Second Principle of Semantic Derivation: Semi-opaque Words

But when the meaning is not accompanied [by a regular accent and a grammatical for-
mation] [and a phonetic] modification is not in accordance with the grammatical deriva-
tion, one, being intent on the meaning (arthanitya), should examine [the word] through
some similarity with the [phonetic] formation (vṛtti) [that is attested for other words].53
In order to derive semantically a semi-opaque word, the semantic analyst first

focuses on its meaning (arthanitya),54 and then proceeds to identify some “similarity
of [phonetic] formation” (vṛttisāmānya) that the word shares with other words.
The interpretation of the compound vṛttisāmānya is problematic, because it is
difficult to determine what exactly vṛtti means.55 My interpretation and translation
basically follow that of Kahrs. He paraphrases the second principle thus:
[I]n cases where the accent and grammatical formation are not regular and therefore
do not reveal the concealed meaning of a word, and the phonetic modifications of
the stem do not give any indication of a verbal root, one should proceed to analyze, with
a particular meaning in mind, on the basis of similarity with a phonetic change [vṛt-
tisāmānyā] that has been accepted by the grammarians for the explanation of some other
form elsewhere.56
To illustrate this interpretation, Kahrs adduces as example the divine proper name
indra. If indra is to be elucidated by linking it with the action expressed by the verbal
root indh ‘to kindle’ (Nirukta 10.8), then one has to account for the phonetic change
dh > d (*indhra > indra). This can be done by means of similarity (sāmānya) with
phonetic changes found in grammar, such as in the third person singular present of
√dhā ‘to put’: *dhadhāti > dadhāti.57
While I agree with Kahrs’ interpretation in general, a close reading of Yāska’s
four semantic derivations of the semi-opaque word agni (Nirukta 7.14) will be cru-
cial to attaining a fuller understanding of the inner workings of the second principle
in particular and of semantic derivation in general.
4.2.1. First Semantic Derivation of Agni ‘Fire’.
In what follows, what I suggest is in part bound to be speculative, because it involves

the reading of Yāska’s thought processes. In particular, it is difficult to be certain
about the phonetic changes Yāska posited in each semantic derivation, because he
does not spell them out, nor do they readily match the sixteen rules of phonetic

changes given in Nirukta 2.1–2.58 Moreover, as we will see, Yāska treats the word’s
phonetic aspect heavy-handedly, to make it better fit with the wished-for semantic
input.
An important point can be made straightaway: all four semantic derivations
elucidate the semi-opaque word agni by linking it with a transparent counterpart
by means of some phonetic changes. Schematically, this can be represented thus:
semi-opaque surface word agni ↔ (phonetic changes) ↔ underlying transparent
counterpart.
Yāska’s first semantic derivation of agni runs as follows:
Why Agni [i.e., why is Agni called ‘Agni’]? He is the agraṇī (‘led-in-the-front’) [i.e.,]
‘agra-ly’ (‘firstly’) he is ‘praṇī-ed’ (‘led’) in the sacrifices.59
If my interpretation of this passage is correct, Yāska first focuses on a specific mean-

ing of agni. Then, acting upon this semantic input, he posits agraṇī as the transparent
counterpart; some (implicit) phonetic changes provide the link between the recon-
structed transparent and the semi-opaque form (agraṇī ↔ agni ).
The meaning of agni that Yāska focuses upon is complex. It combines the mean-
ing of agra- ‘first /foremost’, in a spatial, temporal, and also figurative sense, and that
of √nī ‘leading / being led’.60 It is crucial to note that Yāska did not invent this mean-
ing, but he seems to have relied, to a large extent, on traditional sources. In particu-
lar, it seems reasonable to identify two such sources in the rite of the agnipraṇayana
‘the bringing forward of the fire’61 and Vedic proto-forms of semantic derivations.
A prerequisite to the performance of all solemn rituals (śrauta), the rite of the
‘bringing forward of the fire’ regulates the ignition of the offertory fire (āhavanīya).
During its performance, the sacrificer picks up a fire brand from the household fire
(gārhapatya) situated in the West of the sacrificial area and ‘leads’ (pra-√ṇī) it to the
Eastern area where he ignites the offertory fire.62 Two aspects of this rite may espe-
cially resonate in Yāska’s semantic derivation: (1) that fire is the foremost ritual instru-
ment, and (2) that it needs to be led ([agni]praṇayana- is a derivative of pra- √nī) to
the East first, before any solemn ritual can be performed.
In addition, Vedic proto-forms of semantic derivation link agni with forms of agri/
agra in an etymological constellation.63 Consider, for instance, the following passage
from the Śatapathabrāhmaṇa:
Thus, that embryo which was inside, was emitted as the agri (‘first’). Since he was emitted
‘agra-ly’ (‘at the beginning’) of all this [creation], therefore he is the agri (‘first’). Being
[truly] the agri (‘first’), they call him agni in a cryptic way, for the gods cherish what is
cryptic.64
Despite the fact that, for the reasons I indicated above, there is no certainty on this
score, it is reasonable to suggest that Yāska posited the following phonetic changes
to account for the link between the underlying transparent form and its semi-opaque
surface counterpart: (agraṇī ↔ agni) (1) -ra- ↔ Ø; (2) -ṇ- ↔ -n-; (3) -ī ↔ -i. (1) seems
to be a case of internal syllable loss (-ra-).65 (2) Because of the disappearance of
the preceding r, the cerebralized ṇ automatically becomes n. (3) Changes in vowel
quantity (and quality) are often met with in Yāska’s semantic derivations.66

4.2.2. Second Semantic Derivation of Agni ‘Fire’.
Bending [toward something], he ‘nī-s’ (‘leads’) [it toward its own] aṅga (‘limb’) [i.e., he
makes it part of his (agni’s) own body].67
Although no transparent counterpart of agni is given in this semantic derivation, it

seems reasonable to suggest that Yāska alludes to an underlying form structurally
similar to the one given above — *aṅganī ‘limb-leading’, a compound of aṅga ‘limb,
body’ and ṇī ‘leading’.68
If this is correct, this semantic derivation seems to bring out an innovative
meaning of agni, since the link with aṅga ‘limb, body’ appears to have no obvious
antecedent in the extant Vedic literature. Yāska might then have suggested this
specific meaning himself. However this may be, it is noteworthy that this semantic
derivation appears to be based on empirical observations: the flames of an expand-
ing fire seem to bend toward (saṃnamamāna) nearby objects, whereby these latter
are led (√nī ) into its body (aṅga).69
It seems licit to say that Yāska saw the following phonetic changes at work:
(aṅgaṇī ↔ agni) (1) -ṅ- ↔ Ø; (2) -a- ↔ Ø; (3) -nī ↔ -ni. (1) Yāska must have been
aware of the common phenomenon in Sanskrit (especially in verbal inflection) that a
nasal infix occurs in some forms of the same root but is absent from others. (2) It
seems to be another case of disappearance of word-internal sound. (3) It is another
change in vowel quantity.
4.2.3. Third Semantic Derivation of Agni ‘Fire’.

According to Sthaulāṣṭīvi, [Agni is called ‘Agni’ because he is] ‘a-knopana’ (‘non-
moistening’); he does not moisten [things] [i.e.,] it does not wet [things].70
Sthaulāṣṭīvi gives an antiphrastical interpretation of agni: ‘fire’ does not moisten

things; that is, it does the exact opposite — it dries things up.71 Like the preceding
one, also this semantic derivation does not seem to have obvious antecedents in the
extant Vedic literature, where forms of √knū ‘to be/make wet’ are exceedingly rare.72
In particular, Vishva Bandhu’s mammoth Vedic Word Concordance (1935–1965) re-
fers to this passage as the only occurrence of aknopana. We are thus led to suspect
that Sthaulāṣṭīvi “made up” this word. This suspicion finds support in the observation
that it is not uncommon to find verbal nouns in -ana attested only in the Nirukta,
where they seem to have been made ad hoc “for the technical purposes of nirvacana
analysis.”73
Also in this semantic derivation there is no certainty about the underlying coun-
terpart of agni and the exact phonetic changes that are involved. By suggesting that
this semantic derivation rests on the loose application of a rule of phonetic modifica-
tion given in Nirukta 2.1 — “and also there is modification of the final sound [of the
root]” (athāpy antavyāpattir bhavati) — Max Deeg proposes identifying *aknū as the
underlying form of agni (*[akn]ū ↔ [agn]i ).74 Although this may well be possible,
the reference to this rule does not, however, explain all modifications. To begin with,
by analogy with the two underlying forms agraṇī and *aṅganī, we should perhaps
posit a similar intermediate form *aknī. The derivational process would then be

as follows: *aknū ↔ *aknī ↔ agni. Further, if, on the one hand, the modification
*(a)-k-(nū) ↔ (a)-g-(ni) is rather straightforward (the modification of a voiceless con-
sonant into its homorganic voiced counterpart is a very common phenomenon in
Sanskrit, a fact that must have been well known to Sthaulāṣṭhīvi), it is more difficult
to guess why Sthaulāṣṭhīvi needed to make up precisely the word a-knopana. If all
that he needed was a verbal noun in -ana, then he might just as well have made
up the form *a-knav-ana (cf., e.g., √śrū ‘to hear’ > śrav-aṇa). Speculatively, we may
suggest that he only knew of forms of √knū having the meaning ‘to be wet’, and he
therefore needed a causative form (i.e., to make something wet / to wet) for his
semantic derivation to be logically consistent.75
4.2.4. Fourth Semantic Derivation of Agni ‘Fire’.
According to Śākapūṇi, [agni] derives [lit. is born] from three verbs: from ‘i’ (‘to go’); from
‘a(ñ)j’ (‘to anoint’) or ‘dah’ (‘to burn’); and from ‘nī’ (‘to lead’). Indeed, he receives the
sound ‘a’ from ‘i’ (‘to go’); ‘g’ from ‘a(ñ)j’ (‘to shine’) or from ‘dah’ (‘to burn’); plus ‘nī’
(‘to lead’) as the last [element].76
This semantic derivation differs from the preceding ones in that it links agni directly
with activities expressed by verbs, instead of linking it first with a transparent “nom-
inal” counterpart. Agni is a sort of portmanteau (or, perhaps, acrostic) word resulting
from the combination of a (<√i ‘going’), g (<√a(ñ)j ‘anointing’ or √dah ‘burning’), and
ni (√nī ‘leading’).
Although no exact parallel is attested, Vedic evidence might illuminate the
semantic link envisaged by Śākapūṇi. Consider, for example, the following passage
from the Śatapathabrāhmaṇa, which connects agni and agra- ‘first /foremost’ with
√i ‘to go’:
He [scil. Prajāpati ‘the lord of creatures’] thus generated him [scil. Agni] first (agre) of the
gods; and therefore (he is called) Agni, for agni (they say) is the same as agri. He, being
generated, went forth as the first (pūrva); for of him who goes first, they say that he goes
[√i] at the head (agre). Such, then, is the origin and nature of that Agni.77
The mythological and ritual references that resonate in this passage need not detain
us here. It suffices to note that agni ‘goes first’ (agri + √i), as this befits its central role
in the Vedic pantheon.
Vedic evidence can also cast light upon some other aspects of this semantic
derivation. Forms of √a(ñ)j ‘to anoint’ commonly refer to the action of pouring ritual
libations into the fire; and these libations are said to make fire burn (√dah) more
brightly.78 Also, there are a few passages where √a(ñ)j ‘to anoint’ and √nī ‘to lead’
occur together: agni is asked to lead the anointed offerings to the gods.79
As for the phonetic changes involved, this semantic derivation shows — if it still
be needed — the great liberty the semantic analyst is granted. Unlikely and even un-
precedented phonetic changes can be posited in order to get the phonetics to support
the semantic link. Thus, the sound ‘a’ is taken from √i ‘to go’, although it is unclear
how this may be possible. In his commentary on the first hymn of the Rigveda (to
Agni), Sāyaṇa cites this semantic derivation and suggests that a is being taken from

the word ayana (<√i ) ‘going’.80 The phonetic link between the sound g and √a(ñ)j is
less problematic. Although forms of √a(ñ)j that present the sound g are very rare, the
change j > g is commonly attested for other roots, for example √yuj ‘to yoke’: yuj-yate
‘she/he/it is (being) yoked’, yug-dhvam ‘you (pl.) yoke!’
To recapitulate, when he deals with a semi-opaque word, Yāska first focuses on
its meaning(s) and then proceeds to posit its corresponding transparent counterpart(s),
which is (are) linked with the semi-opaque surface form by means of some phonetic
changes, that is, an acceptable ‘similarity in [phonetic] formation’ (vṛttisāmānya).
Now, the question is: what are the sources that provide Yāska with such ‘similarity’?
Three such sources can be identified. First, Yāska draws upon phonetic changes
that are taught in Sanskrit indigenous grammar (vyākaraṇa).81 There is a signifi-
cant difference, however, between the grammarians’ and Yāska’s modus operandi.
While, for the former, phonetic modifications operate in specific contexts, Yāska re-
fers to phonetic rules ad hoc, whenever they come in handy in his analyses. This
difference can be observed, for instance, in connection with the following phonetic
rule (Nirukta 2.1–2): “then also with weak forms of asti (‘to be’) the beginning of [the
root] disappears [e.g.,] staḥ (‘they two are’), santi (‘they are’)” (athāpy aster nivṛt-
tisthāneṣv ādilopo bhavati | staḥ | santīti |). Seemingly borrowed from grammar, this
rule has a precisely circumscribed domain of application, that is, the weak forms of
√as ‘to be’. Yāska, however, applies this rule indiscriminately.82
Second, Yāska draws acceptable phonetic changes from Vedic proto-forms of
semantic derivation. Because these are part of the sacred tradition, Yāska must have
considered them and the phonetic modifications implied therein as authoritative.83
Third, Yāska draws phonetic modifications from the work of other semantic
analysts. Although Yāska sometimes disapproves of their derivations,84 in other cases
he cites them approvingly, as in the third (Sthaulāṣṭīvi) and fourth (Śākapūṇi) seman-
tic derivation of agni. This implies that Yāska also approves of the phonetic modifica-
tions therein posited.
4.3. Yāska’s Third Principle of Semantic Derivation: Opaque Words
Even when some similarity [with the phonetic formation] [that is attested for other
words]85 is not found, one [being intent upon the meaning]86 should analyze [the word]
on the basis of some similarities in syllables or sounds.87
Yāska’s semantic derivation of the word lakṣmī ‘[the goddess of ] fortune’ illustrates
how this principle works:88
[L]akṣmī [is so called] on account of obtaining (labh-); or [it is so called] on account of

characterizing (lakṣ-); or [it is so called] on account of marking (lāñch-); or [it is so called]
on account of laṣ-, expressive of the action of desiring; or [it is so called] on account of
lag-, expressive of the action of adhering to; or [it is so called] on account of lajj-, expres-
sive of the action of boasting.89
Yāska links lakṣmī with six actions expressed by six distinct verbal bases. The phonetic
link is evident: all verbal bases share the syllable la with the word lakṣmī; it is thus a

case of ‘similarity of syllable’ (akṣara . . . sāmānya). It is more difficult to identify the
semantic links envisaged by Yāska. As Vedic evidence is of no help, we have to rely
on Durga’s commentary:
[1. ‘obtain’:] only those possessed of fortune obtain [what they want] not the others;
[2. ‘characterize’:] for the one possessed of fortune is indeed [well-] characterized;
[3. ‘mark’:] for one is marked by her [i.e., fortune], as it were; [4. ‘desiring’:] for all people
covet her; [5. ‘adhering to’:] like a woman who is worth embracing proceeds toward the
man; [6. ‘boasting’:] for those possessed of fortune do not boast about themselves.90
4.4. Yāska’s Principles of Semantic Derivation: Concluding Remarks
The evidence discussed above helps us gain clarity on the respective role of meaning
(artha) and phonetics (śabda) in semantic derivation. In addition to recognizing that
considerations about a word’s meaning are the starting point of any semantic deriva-
tion, we have also noted some of the ways in which such meaning(s) is (are) estab-
lished by the semantic analyst. Specifically, we have observed that the role that
received tradition plays in this respect is considerable. This is illustrated by the
first and fourth semantic derivations, in which the meaning of agni results from the
interplay between considerations about its ritual function and Vedic proto-forms of
semantic derivation. Even though such forms of received knowledge are important,
however, it would be wrong to overstate the semantic analyst’s reliance on tradition.
Indeed, as we saw, Yāska also enjoys wide room for independent maneuvering: he
re-adapts the Vedic models, accepts innovative semantic derivations (Sthaulāṣṭīvi’s
fourth semantic derivation), and develops his own (second semantic derivation).
As for phonetics, we saw that the semantic analyst is given noticeable freedom.
Although several rules are given in the Nirukta, the semantic analyst has discretion
over what rules to apply and how exactly to apply them. The semantic analyst’s wide
latitude in dealing with the word’s phonetics emerges clearly from the following
passage, which is a corollary of the third principle of semantic derivation: “One
should not pay attention to the grammatical formation, for [phonetic] changes pos-
sess a wide range [of possibilities].”91 That is, one should never desist from doing a
semantic derivation, even if this involves disregarding grammatical and phonetic
formation. In short, we may reformulate Sheldon Harrison’s pronouncement cited
above, and say that, at the end of the day, “it’s ‘anything goes’ with regard to pho
netics ” in semantic derivation.
In addition to clarifying the role of meaning and phonetics in Yāska’s etymolo-
gizing, the close reading above highlights a fundamental difference between the
second and third principle of semantic derivation, which has so far been insufficiently
emphasized.92 While semi-opaque words, that is, words falling within the scope of
the second principle, can be analyzed in their entirety, totally opaque words, that is,
words falling within the scope of the third principle, can be analyzed only par
tially. Thus, for example, in deriving agni semantically, one can account for all of its
sounds; whereas for lakṣmī one can only account for the initial syllable la-; no eluci-
dation is provided for -kṣmī.93 This recognition leads us to emphasize an important

point, which bears on the general interpretation of Yāska’s linguistic project: Yāska’s
etymologizing is based on a derivational model, in which surface word-forms are
derived from underlying forms.94 To explain, as we saw, a derivational model under-
lines Yāska’s first principle of etymologizing, which appears to be identical with, or
at least very similar to, the derivational model of Sanskrit grammar (vyākaraṇa). The
second principle of semantic derivation also works on the basis of a derivational
model in which surface word-forms (agni) are derived from underlying forms (agraṇī;
*aṅganī; [*aknū] *aknī; [√i →] a [√a(ñ)j or √dah →] g [√nī →] ni). Although this
model is less sophisticated than the one of Sanskrit grammar, it is nevertheless
reminiscent of it. To foreground the centrality of both semantics and the derivational
model in Yāska’s linguistic project, I propose to translate nirvacana as ‘semantic
derivation’.
Sanskrit grammar is not the only shaping influence on nirvacana, but the proto-
type of Yāska’s derivational model can be identified in a particular kind of Vedic
proto-form of semantic derivation. This latter is clearly recognizable because its in-
stances are marked off by (variants of ) the formula ‘for the gods cherish what is cryp-
tic, as it were, and hate what is evident’ (parokṣapriyā iva hi devāḥ pratyakṣadviṣaḥ).
In these instances, two names for the same referent are given: the first ‘cryptic’
(parokṣa) name is a semi-opaque word of ordinary Sanskrit; the second ‘evident’
(pratyakṣa) name is its transparent counterpart, which is said to be known to the gods
only. Consider the following three examples:
Clearly, the true name of the person in the right eye is Indha [‘kindler’]. Even though he
is really Indha, people cryptically call him Indra, because gods in some ways love the
cryptic and despise the evident.95
Therefore [he had the] name of idaṃdra [i.e., idam ‘this’ plus √dṛś ‘to see’; ‘the one who
saw this (universe)’]. Indeed he had the name of idaṃdra; being truly idaṃdra, they call
him Indra in a cryptic way, for the gods cherish what is cryptic.96
The seed of Prajāpati, once it had been spilt, ran [away]; it became a pond. The gods said:
“may this seed of Prajāpati not be spoiled.” Since they said “may this seed of Prajāpati
not be spoiled” (mā . . . duṣat) it became māduṣa. This is what gave the name to and dis-
closes the true nature of māduṣa. This name of māduṣa is what is [commonly known as]
‘man’ (mānuṣa). That which truly is māduṣa is called mānuṣa in a cryptic way, for the gods
cherish what is cryptic, as it were.97
The complex ways in which these passages relate to Vedic religious, ritual, and myth-
ical conceptions need not concern us here. The point is: as in Yāska’s second princi-
ple, semi-opaque words are here linked with their underlying transparent counterpart:
indra ↔ [*indhra] ↔ indha ‘the kindler’; indra ↔ idaṃ-dra ‘the one who saw this
(universe)’; mānuṣa ‘man’ ↔ mā-duṣa[t] ‘may it not be spoilt’.
5. Multiple Etymological Explanations
Modern etymology and semantic derivation differ about how many etymological
elucidations can be provided for one word. While modern etymologists seek to

stablish one historical etymology for each word they investigate, Yāska (as we saw)
e
often provides multiple semantic derivations for one word. This difference calls for an
investigation of the respective intellectual premises.
Etymologists are keenly aware that the etymological reconstruction of one word
is fraught with difficulties. Because any one word is part and parcel of the language
system, the reconstruction of its biography involves exploring a (potentially very
large) number of other closely associated words, their complex interrelationships,
and contaminations. Also, it is now commonly believed, though, but in a few cases
difficult to prove, that a considerable number of words are polygenetic. This means
that the same meaning and form appear to have arisen independently in different
times or places. As Philip Durkin succinctly puts it, words “are not coined once and
for all, but enter a language on numerous separate occasions.”98 Due to these (and
other) factors, it is sometimes difficult to ascertain the one ‘correct’ etymology of
a word. Matters of subjective interpretation sometimes play a significant role in
choosing which one of several equally possible etymologies should be preferred,
especially when the available evidence is scanty or ambiguous.99 Nevertheless, it
seems fair to say that, ideally, modern etymologists attempt to discover the one
hypothetical etymology that best fits the available evidence and hence automatically
disallows all other proposed etymologies.
In order to grasp the intellectual premises behind Yāska’s multiple semantic
derivations,100 it is necessary to turn to Nirukta 2.6–7:
If the activities [associated with a word] are uniform, the semantic derivations are uni-
form; if the activities are multiform, the semantic derivations are multiform: [and] they
should be analyzed according to meaning.101
Johannes Bronkhorst gives a clear paraphrase of this principle: “Where one word has
several meanings, it gets several derivations, each derivation accounting for one of
the meanings. Where the different meanings are not too dissimilar, the derivations
may be the same; where they lie farther apart, the derivations differ.”102
But how does Yāska distinguish between ‘several meanings’? A close reading of
Yāska’s interpretation of the polysemic word go (Nirukta 2.5) will provide us with a
better understanding of this principle and its actual application. The first word in the
Nighaṇṭu list, go, is one of the twenty-one synonyms for ‘earth’. Yāska elucidates this
meaning with the following semantic derivation:
Go is a name of ‘earth’ because it goes (√gam) [or it is gone upon, i.e., tread upon,] a
long way; and because living beings go (√gam) upon it. Or, it is from ‘going’ (√gā); o is a
noun-maker (i.e., suffix).103
As Yāska hastens to add, go is also commonly used as a ‘name for domesticated

animal’ (paśunāma) ‘for the very same [reason]’ (etasmād eva).104 Although some
details of this passage are problematic,105 it seems safe to say that Yāska considers the
reason why ‘earth’ is called go to be sufficient to account also for the reason why
‘domesticated animal, i.e., cow’ is called go. That is, these two meanings (‘earth’ and

‘cow’) can be explained in a similar way, by referring to the same action expressed
by ‘to go’ (√gam or √gā). One semantic derivation, therefore, is enough.
Yet, the word go occurs in the Rigveda with meanings other than ‘earth’ and
‘cow’. Yāska considers some of these as ‘[semantic] derivatives [i.e., metonymies]’
(tāddhita) of the primary meaning ‘cow’.106 Each of these derivative meanings is illus-
trated with pertinent Rigvedic citations. Thus, go can mean ‘milk’ (payas) (ṚV 9.46.4c),
‘cow-skin’ (adhiṣavaṇacarman) (ṚV 10.94.9b), ‘cow’s skin and gluing material [ap-
parently derived from cow]’ (carma ca śleṣmā ca) (ṚV 6.47.26c), and ‘cow’s sinews
and gluing material’ (snāva ca śleṣmā ca) (ṚV 6.75.11b).107 By introducing the notion
of semantic derivatives, Yāska obviates the need for positing another semantic deri-
vation. For the semantic derivation of the primary meaning ‘cow’ is enough to ac-
count for these additional meanings.
Then, Yāska considers go used in the sense of jyā ‘bow-string’.108 He provides
two alternatives explanations. On the one hand, if the bow-string is made of cow’s
tendons, the meaning ‘bow-string’ can still be explained as another semantic deriva-
tive of the primary meaning ‘cow’. On the other, if the bow-string is made of some
other material (like mūrva grass),109 then a new semantic derivation is needed. Yāska
accounts for this latter case by linking go with the action expressed by the verb ‘to
go’ (√gam) in a causative sense, thereby interpreting ‘bow-string’ as ‘[that which]
cause arrows to go [i.e., sets arrows into motion]’.110
Yāska identifies yet three other meanings of go in the Rigveda: ‘sun’ (āditya) (ṚV
7.56.3), the ‘one ray’ (eko raśmir) of the sun that illuminates the moon (ṚV 1.184.15a),
and, when used in the plural gāvaḥ, ‘all the rays’ (sarve’ pi raśmayo) of the sun
(ṚV 1.154.6b).111 The semantic gap between the primary meaning ‘cow’ and its
semantic derivatives, on the one hand, and these three additional meanings, on the
other, is too wide. Therefore, Yāska needs to provide another semantic derivation. He
does so in a passage that accounts for go used in the meaning of ‘sun’ and ‘sky’112
(Nirukta 2.14):
[G]o is [used in the sense of ] sun. [This is because] it makes the essences go (√gam); they
[i.e., the essences] go (√gam) in the atmosphere. Further, [go is also used in the sense of ]
sky, because it [scil. sky] goes (√gam) over the earth a long way; and because the h
eavenly
bodies go (√gam) on it.113
In summary, Yāska first provides a semantic derivation for the two fundamental
meanings of go (‘earth’ and ‘cow’). This semantic derivation also accounts for some
additional meanings, which are understood as semantic derivatives/metonymies
(tāddhita) of the meaning ‘cow’. In accordance with the principle enunciated at
Nirukta 2.7, Yāska then provides new semantic derivations for those meanings that
are considered to be too dissimilar from the fundamental meanings.
5.1. Multiple Semantic Derivations of the Word Nighaṇṭu
One of the most striking examples of multiple semantic derivations occurs at the very
beginning of the Nirukta. There Yāska provides three distinct semantic derivations for
the plural word nighaṇṭavaḥ (singular nighaṇṭu), which denotes the ‘traditional list of

Vedic words’ (samāmnāya, i.e., the Nighaṇṭu word list) that is at the basis of the
Nirukta.114
Why [are] nighaṇṭavaḥ [called ‘nighaṇṭavaḥ’]? These are (1) nigamāḥ “Vedic citations”;
[i.e.,] they have been handed down after having been variously collected from sacred
literature. According to Aupamanyava, although they truly are nigantavaḥ (i.e., citations
from the Veda / words that make the meaning of the Veda understood) on account of the
action of nigamana (i.e., quoting /making understood),115 they are called nighaṇṭavaḥ.116
(2) Or they could be [so called] on account of the action of “striking = reciting” (ā-√han)
[i.e.,] they are recited together (samāhatāḥ); (3) or [they could be so called on account of
the action of collecting *samāharaṇāt],117 for they are collected together (samāhṛtāḥ).118
To come to grips with this dense passage, it is useful to turn to Durga’s commentary.
He identifies three distinct semantic derivations of nighaṇṭavaḥ: (1) from ‘making
understood’ (ni-√gam), because the nighaṇṭavaḥ make the meaning of the Vedic
mantras understood; (2) from ‘reciting’ (sam-ā-√han), because they are recited in
the form of a traditional list (i.e., the Nighaṇṭu word list); (3) from ‘collecting’
(sam-ā-√hṛ), because they have been collected, i.e., excerpted, from Vedic mantras.
Durga provides a three-tiered derivational model to elucidate the word
nighaṇṭavaḥ. The first tier presents the totally opaque surface form (atiparokṣavṛtti)
nighaṇṭavaḥ; the second and third tiers present its semi-opaque (parokṣavṛtti) and
transparent (pratyakṣavṛtti) counterparts, respectively.119 The forms on the three tiers
are linked to one another by means of a set of phonetic modifications (or substitu-
tions). Durga’s derivational model can be schematically represented as follows:
1.
ni-√gam:
ni-gāmayitāraḥ (pratyakṣavṛtti) ↔ ni-gantavaḥ
(parokṣavṛtti) ↔ nighaṇṭavaḥ (atiparokṣavṛtti)
Two phonetic modifications intervene between nigantavaḥ and nighaṇṭavaḥ: -g- >
-gh-, -t- > -ṭ-.120
2.
sam-ā-√han:
sam-ā-hantavaḥ (pratyakṣavṛtti) ↔ sam-ā-hatāḥ
Two phonetic modifications intervene between samāhatāḥ and nighaṇṭavaḥ: -h- >
-gh-, -t- > -ṭ-. Two modifications (or, better, substitutions) also concern the preverbs
(upasargas): the ‘change’ of sam- > ni- (upasargavyatyaya), and the ‘ellipsis’ of -ā- >
Ø (upasargādhyāhara).
3.
sam-ā-√hṛ :
sam-ā-hartavaḥ (pratyakṣavṛtti) ↔ sam-ā-hṛtāḥ
Durga posits the same phonetic modifications as for (2) sam-ā-√han.
The first semantic derivation links nighaṇṭavaḥ with the transparent underlying form
nigamayitāraḥ, a causative agent noun meaning ‘those that make the meaning of the

Vedic mantras understood’.121 The second one links nighaṇṭavaḥ with samāhantavaḥ
“for in this five-chapter-long collection (saṃgrahe [scil. the Nighaṇṭu] which glosses
sam-ā-han-tavaḥ), up to a certain limit [maryādayā, which glosses sam-ā-han-tavaḥ],
these [i.e., the nighaṇṭavaḥ] are recited [path-, which glosses sam-ā-han-tavaḥ].”122
The third semantic derivation links nighaṇṭavaḥ with samāhartavaḥ, because they are
excerpted (sam-ā-√hṛ) from the Vedic mantras.
Durga seems to consider all three semantic derivations to be equally valid.
Semantically, each of them is based on an equally acceptable interpretation of the
meaning of nighaṇṭavaḥ. Formally, each of them elucidates the totally opaque forma-
tion nighaṇṭavaḥ by positing equally acceptable phonetic modifications.
Now, the question is: does Durga’s commentary provide a reliable interpretation
of Nirukta 1.1? The answer has implications well beyond this particular passage,
because most scholars seem to have accepted Durga’s three-tiered model as provid-
ing the key to a general interpretation of Yāska’s semantic derivation. Specifically,
Durga’s three word-categories (pratyakṣavṛtti, parokṣavṛitti, and atiparokṣavṛtti) are
considered to overlap squarely with Yāska’s three principles of semantic derivation.123
However, it is problematic to retrospectively read Durga’s threefold classification
back into Yāska’s three principles of semantic derivation. First, the forms termed by
Durga pratyakṣavṛtti (nigāmayitāraḥ, samāhantavaḥ, and samāhartavaḥ) are absent
from the Nirukta passage, in which we only find the three forms that Durga terms
parokṣavṛtti (nigantavaḥ [attributed to Aupamanyava], samāhatāḥ, and samāhṛtāḥ). It
may be suggested that this is because Yāska considers nighaṇṭavaḥ a semi-opaque
word, which therefore falls within the purview of the second principle of semantic
derivation. This means that nighaṇṭavaḥ can be elucidated in its entirety by linking it
with an underlying transparent form. But it also means that if we were to apply
Durga’s terminology, nighaṇṭavaḥ would be a parokṣavṛtti word, and not an atipa-
rokṣavṛtti word.
Second, there is a fundamental difference between Durga’s three-tiered deriva-
tional model and Yāska’s three principles of semantic derivation. While Durga main-
tains that totally opaque words (atiparokṣavṛtti) can formally be elucidated in their
entirety, Yāska does not go that far. As we saw above with the example of lakṣmī,
Yāska’s third principle deals with words the formation of which can only be ex-
plained, in part, by similarity of syllable or sounds.
6. The Practitioners and the Role of Subjectivity in Their Analyses
In addition to providing a more detailed illustration of some of the central tenets

of Yāska’s etymologizing, the preceding exploration has shown the extent to which
modern etymology and semantic derivation differ from one another. As we have
seen, they differ both with respect to what words they choose to analyze and, more
crucially, with regard to the intellectual principles and modes of inquiry that under-
line their respective analyses. Owing to the two radically different cultural milieus in
which the two inquiries emerged, the presence of such differences is hardly surpris-
ing. Yet, in my opinion, it would be unsatisfactory to stop at the observation that these

two kinds of etymologizing simply do two different things. And it would be tanta-
mount to a foregone conclusion. While it is manifestly clear that modern etymology
and semantic derivation are different in many respects, and each type of etymologiz-
ing is fit for the aim it is put to, it is also important to call attention to some of their
shared similarities. To this end, this section briefly examines the respective practi-
tioners’ sociocultural backgrounds, and explores the role of subjectivity in the mak-
ing of an etymology and semantic derivation.
In her monograph on nineteenth-century linguistics, Anna Morpurgo Davies
draws attention to the close link between the emergence and diffusion of modern
historical linguistics and its establishment as an academic discipline.124 Linguistics
(and with it etymology), which in its infancy was by and large tantamount to Indo-
European comparative grammar, became an academically institutionalized disci-
pline first in Germany and then in the rest of Europe and North America. This
prompted the creation of a “craft of linguistics.”125 This also applies to more recent
times: modern linguists and etymologists are, in general, university-trained profes-
sional linguists who discuss and disseminate their linguistic research in specialized
arenas, such as conferences and journals.
All historical and sociological investigations of ancient India are affected by an
often lamented dearth of contextual evidence.126 Although early Sanskrit texts pro-
vide a wealth of information, they do so within a rather limited purview: they are the
output of the Brahmanical elite, composed for other Brahmins, and they are mainly
concerned with matters of ritual and religion. Furthermore, we have no archaeolog-
ical evidence that can be securely connected with the textual evidence. It is therefore
not surprising that we can talk about the practitioners of semantic derivation only in
general terms as members of the Brahmanical elites. The Nirukta offers some more
precise information, however. Consider, in particular, the passage in which Yāska
warns that semantic derivation should be taught only to students who have already
mastered the Vedas and traditional grammar (vyākaraṇa).127 Yāska’s qualifications
seem to serve two interrelated purposes: to make sure that only ‘authorized’ disciples
are allowed in, and to guarantee that the would-be semantic analysts had already
acquired some indispensable linguistic knowledge, which is evidently taken for
granted in semantic derivation.
We may thus detect some broad similarities between modern etymologists and
Indian semantic analysts. Both likewise undergo a long linguistic training whereby
they acquire a body of specialized linguistic knowledge and are taught the technical
know-how to carry out their respective learned activities. With their respective peers,
they form a group of language experts, sharing common intellectual premises and
participating in a common discourse.
I now turn to the role that subjectivity plays in both inquiries. At first sight, mod-
ern etymologists and semantic analysts seem to be doing two very different things
when they go about etymologizing. While the former are supposed to painstakingly
collect evidence and then scrutinize it in light of well-defined and objective criteria,
the latter’s mode of inquiry appears to be irremediably subjective. It is crucial to
recognize, however, that modern etymology does not amount to a routine operation

whose results are mechanically reached through the application of certain rules.128
Even though this view had strong supporters in the past (the late nineteenth-century
“Neogrammarians”), more recent and contemporary etymologists underscore the
presence of a subjective element in the making of an etymology.129 True, modern
scholars cannot agree with Leo Spitzer’s bon mot “do not look for etymologies; find
them!”130 Nor would it be fair to overemphasize the importance of “blinding flashes
of insights,” “intuition,” or “Einfälle,”131 to the detriment of long-term and systematic
research involving evidence collection and a close pondering of several competing
etymological options. Nevertheless, it is undeniable that “there is an ineradicable
element of casualness”132 and subjectivity in etymological identifications.
Do we find any statement in the Nirukta about the role played by the inquirer’s
subjectivity? Finding out what Indian semantic analysts thought about this is not an
easy matter. What follows is admittedly speculative; still, I do think it possible to draw
some reasonable conclusions based on the available evidence. To this end, consider
Yāska’s interpretation of Rigveda 10.71.4 (Nirukta 1.19). For Yāska, this verse alludes
to the way in which the semantic analyst understands meaning. Although Yāska does
not qualify it, from the context it is safe to deduce that ‘meaning’ (artha) refers to the
meaning of a Vedic mantra, or, more specifically, of a single Vedic word:
And many a one, though seeing, does not see speech; and many a one, though hearing,
does not hear her; and to many a one she unfolds [her] body, like a wife to [her] husband,
longing, beautifully dressed.133
And seeing, one does not see speech, and hearing, [one] does not hear her: this half
[-verse] describes the ignorant. And to one [speech] unfolds her body [i.e.,] uncovers her-
Self; by this quarter of the verse [= ṚV 10.71.4.c] knowledge is described as the illumina-
tion of meaning. By the last quarter of the verse a simile [is expressed]: like a wife to [her]
husband, longing, wearing clean clothes in the days immediately following her period,
thus, he sees her [and] hears her; thus [i.e., with the second half of the verse] the praise
of the one who knows the meaning (artha-) [is expressed].134
Thus, according to Yāska, the verse illustrates the antithesis between those who know
the meaning and those who do not. It is not sufficient to ‘see’ and ‘hear’, for ‘the
illumination of meaning’ (prakāśanam arthasya) is granted to few only, evidently
those who are trained in semantic derivation. Expressed in terms of a sudden mani-
festation, the dawning of meaning upon the semantic analyst — which I take to allude
to a moment of unanalyzable, subjective intuition, perhaps not dissimilar to what
is later commonly known in Sanskrit as pratibhā135 — is likened to the uncovering of
the wife’s body to her husband, when she is most overcome by desire.
In his commentary, Durga further qualifies this manifestation thus:
For just like a wife with all the limbs of her body uncovered, longing [i.e.,] desiring, shows
herself with love to her cherished husband; when she is dressed with proper clothes [i.e.,]
dressed with clean clothes; dressed with clean clothes [i.e.,] non-menstruating in the days
immediately following her period; for then the woman desires the man most intensely; for
this reason there is the simile with this condition. Just like that man [i.e., the man to whom

such a wife reveals her body] sees that woman as she actually is, but not another one
whose limbs are all covered up with thick garment — in the same way, only that man sees
this speech [= vāc] as it actually is, the one who, having separated word-by-word and
having analyzed her [= vāc], sees her meaning as both in aggregation and separation.136
Durga’s conclusive remarks are especially noteworthy: the sudden manifestation of

meaning not only depends on the whims of the deity of speech but is brought about
by the active co-participation of the semantic analyst. Specifically, Durga refers to
the semantic analyst’s capability to analyze speech and consider its meaning both
as a whole and in its individual elements (samastavyastam). It is reasonable to think
that here Durga refers to two stages in the exegete’s process of grappling with the
Vedic mantras; arguably, prerequisite to a full understanding of the mantras is the
comprehension of the individual words (vyasta) and the way in which they combine
together as an aggregate meaning (samasta). Thus, far from being the unsolicited
manifestation of the goddess of speech, the moment of sudden intuition, or ‘illumi-
nation of meaning’ as Yāska puts it, is the climax of a long and laborious process on
the part of the semantic analyst.
From the preceding exploration it follows that subjective intuition plays an im-
portant role in the making of both a historical etymology and a semantic derivation.
We may elaborate on this finding further, and suggest that the differences between
the two kinds of inquiries cannot usefully be characterized merely in terms of ‘objec-
tive’ versus ‘subjective’. On the one hand, although the constraints are highly flexible
on what can count as a viable semantic derivation, the semantic analyst’s imagina-
tion cannot simply run wild. There are, we might say, certain ‘rules of the game’ by
which the semantic analyst must play in order for any particular semantic derivation
to be taken seriously. On the other hand, despite its exacting rules, modern etymol-
ogy is, as we have seen, far from being refractory to subjectivity. For one thing, the
recognition of such similarities between modern etymology and semantic deriva-
tion should not be taken to minimize the differences I have highlighted above. For
another, however, it also suggests that both kinds of inquiries reach their respective
linguistic goals by an admixture of systematic work and subjective intuition.
7. Aims of Etymologizing
Most modern etymologists would probably agree that their discipline’s main aim is
to enrich our knowledge of the past, and specifically of how language and the human
institutions reflected therein changed. It is striking, however, that there seems to be
a paucity of explicit statements problematizing this aim, at least in the reference
dictionaries, handbooks, and articles that I am familiar with. It might perhaps be
argued that this tendency is the flip side of modern etymology’s highly demanding
standards. Or else, the deliberate probing into such questions as the raison d’être of
etymology as a discipline, and the epistemological status of its results, are perhaps
beyond the concerns of most etymologists, while they fall squarely within the pur-
view of, say, historians, who put to use the results of etymological investigations.

However, it would be wrong to stress modern etymology’s lack of reflexivity,
because etymologists display varying degrees of self-awareness regarding how their
detailed research tallies with broader epistemological and historical issues. What
I want to emphasize here is this: the idea that etymology’s principal aim is to add up
to our historical knowledge has a long pedigree; it is in direct continuity with claims
frequently found in discussions about etymology from before the emergence of mod-
ern historical etymology.137 A paradigmatic example is the claim put forth by the
early nineteenth-century Italian poet and philologist Giacomo Leopardi, who argued
that etymology serves to throw light on “the history of the first and most obscure
incunabula of society, and of its first steps.”138
The partial continuity of aims between premodern and modern etymology is
worthy of consideration: it reveals an interesting asymmetry in the ways in which
modern etymologists conceive of their own discipline in contrast with premodern
forms of etymologizing. If, on the one hand, they keenly criticize the lack of method
and the unbridled imagination with which premodern etymologists pursued their
investigations,139 they nevertheless seem to pursue a partially similar aim — or at least
they do not seem to scrutinize it with the same exactitude they use for scrutinizing
their methodological assumptions.
The aims that semantic derivation purports to achieve are spelled out in the first
chapter of the Nirukta. According to a Sanskrit rhetorical model, any authoritative
scholastic treatise (śāstra) needs to begin by enunciating and discussing its aims.140
Although the word for aim (prayojana), which will later become standard in śāstra
texts, is not used, Yāska’s discussion of the four aims of semantic derivation may well
be the prototype for the later śāstra model.141 Note two points straightaway: first, the
aim mentioned first appears to be the main one; the three others reinforce it, rather
than introduce new independent aims. And second, Yāska’s discussion of the aims is
framed within a polemic controversy with different competing parties.
I will confine my analysis to the first aim. Yāska begins by claiming that semantic
derivation is indispensable for understanding the meaning of Vedic mantras (Nirukta
1.15): “moreover, without it, a clear understanding of meaning with respect to [ Vedic]
mantras is not possible.”142 Yāska further argues that “for one who does not have a
clear understanding of the meaning, there is no way to ascertain the accent and mor-
phological formation.”143 This leads him to state that his own “branch of knowledge”
(vidyāsthāna) is “a complement to grammar (vyākaraṇa), moreover something which
is a means to its own end.”144
The exact import of this somewhat terse passage is open to interpretation. It
seems clear, however, that for Yāska semantic derivation is not only a necessary
complement to grammar, but is also superior to it. While it presupposes grammar
(first principle of semantic derivation), semantic derivation pushes further the limits
of inquiry, by attending to ‘ungrammatical’, that is, semi-opaque and opaque words
(second and third principles). But Yāska seems to make a bigger claim when he
argues that the proper identification of the accent and morphological formation of a
word — the exclusive preserve of grammarians — depends on a previous understand-
ing of the word’s meaning. It is not clear what Yāska intends here with “meaning”:

is it the meaning of grammatically irregular Vedic words? Or is it meaning in abso-
lute terms, regardless of the word’s morphological formation? The first interpreta-
tion seems preferable, because of the limited scope of the first aim, that is, the
comprehension of Vedic mantras, which, we can infer, results from understanding
the meaning of ‘ungrammatical’ Vedic words through their semantic derivation. If
this interpretation is correct, Yāska’s claim is then intriguingly reminiscent of the
modern etymologists’ way of grappling with a morphologically opaque word. In
order to analyze the word’s formation and then proceed to investigate its etymology,
etymologists need first to have some notion about the word’s meaning. That is, lean-
ings toward different semantic interpretations pave the way for different morpholog-
ical and etymological analyses.145
Next, Yāska faces the challenge posed by a certain Kautsa, who criticizes seman-
tic derivation’s first aim by arguing: “if [semantic derivation] is for the sake of provid-
ing a clear understanding of the meaning of the [Vedic] mantras, then it is something
which is meaningless/useless [anarthakaṃ], because [Vedic] mantras are meaning-
less.”146 Rather than being testimony to an “early anti-Vedic skepticism,” which
“challenges the most fundamental beliefs”147 of the time, Kautsa’s stance, it has been
suggested,148 incorporates ritualist tenets. That is, for Kautsa, the meaning of the
mantras is immaterial, what counts is the mantras’ efficacy — when correctly recited
in ritual — to bring about reality-changing effects, either in this or the next world.
Kautsa’s argument and Yāska’s counter-argument need not detain us here;149 what
I care to emphasize is that Yāska’s reflection on his discipline’s aims is enmeshed in
a polemic controversy within a sophisticated and competitive intellectual milieu.
In addition, it is notable that Yāska’s identification of his discipline’s main aim
(to make the meaning of Vedic words and mantras understood) is basically in agree-
ment with what modern scholars consider to be the reason behind the composition
of the Nirukta. As Eivind Kahrs puts it, “[f ]rom the Niruka of Yāska it is clear that al-
ready by his time there were difficulties in understanding Vedic words and passages,
a fact which indicates that the tradition had been broken as far as understanding the
meaning of the hymns is concerned. It is to restore or achieve this meaning that the
method of nirvacana analysis is outlined and put into practice in the Nirukta.”150
But how does Yāska ‘restore’ the forgotten meaning of Vedic words? Take the
semantic derivations of agni and lakṣmī. It is precisely because he knows their re-
spective referents beforehand that Yāska is able to articulate those semantic consid-
erations that are the first step in the process of semantic derivation. Yet that prior
knowledge is not available in the case of unknown words. In this case, Yāska seeks
to tease out their meaning from the context, that is, the Vedic verse within which they
occur. It is a matter of dispute whether Yāska explicitly mentions context as one of
the principles that semantic analysts should follow.151 It is, however, clear from his
actual practice that Yāska makes constant use of it, as he cites and explains the
Nighaṇṭu words with the Rigvedic verse within which they occur.
Consider, for example, Yāska’s interpretation of the obscure Vedic word kāṇukā
(ṚV 8.77.4): “In one go, Indra drank thirty lakes together, kāṇukā of Soma.” Faced
with this obscure hapax, Yāska looks for clues from the context. First, he considers

kāṇukā as a neuter plural with a Vedic ending (Skt. -āni ), and construes it with the
plural neuter word ‘lakes’ (sarāṃsi). In doing so, Yāska appears to consider kānukā
as an adjective being formed by kānu- plus the common Sanskrit suffix -ka. He
elucidates the obscure element kānu- by providing three underlying transparent
forms (and thus applying the second principle of semantic derivation): kānta-(ka-)
‘pleasing [to Indra]’, krānta-(ka-) ‘filled up [with Soma]’, and kṛta-(ka-) ‘consecrated
[to Indra]’.
Then, Yāska explores a different syntactical parsing of the verse. In taking kāṇukā
as a nominative singular (perhaps, by analogy with the rare masculine words ending
in –ā), he construes it with Indra; kāṇukā is then glossed with kānta ‘lover of / satis-
fied by [Soma]’. Finally, Yāska suggests yet another semantic and morphological elu-
cidation. He seems to consider kāṇu-kā as deriving from the undeclinable kaṇe-hatya
‘quenching one’s desire’, which is attested in Pāṇini’s grammar.152 Thereby, Yāska
interprets kaṇe- as the opaque counterpart of the transparent word kānti ‘desire’, and
the element -kā as deriving from the action ‘to kill’ (√han, -hatya), here intended in
the metaphorical sense ‘to quench’. Yāska thus glosses kāṇukā with “kaṇe-ghāta-
‘one [i.e., Indra] who has quenched one’s desire [for Soma]’, i.e., kaṇe-hata- ‘Ibid.’,
i.e., kānti-hata- ‘Ibid’.”153
To conclude, it is clear that modern etymology and semantic derivation are
aiming at doing different things, while they entertain different notions about what is
at stake and how best to carry out their respective analyses. Yet, despite these differ
ences, some broad similarities are worthy of attention. First, both inquiries show a
high degree of self-reflexivity, and while this is expected for a modern discipline like
historical etymology, it should not be taken for granted for semantic derivation.
Specifically, Yāska’s reflexivity about his discipline’s raison d’être is noteworthy, and,
as briefly suggested above, points to the existence of a vibrant intellectual milieu
with competing views. There might even be room for the tantalizing suggestion that
Yāska’s discussion of his discipline’s aims exhibits a higher degree of self-reflexivity
than comparable discussions by some modern etymologists. In this respect, consider
the observation above, which will be amplified in the following section, that, among
certain etymologists, it is possible to discern the unexamined continuity of certain
ideas linking premodern and modern forms of etymologies.
Second, both inquiries are agreed on a powerful way for retrieving the words’
meaning and thereby achieve their respective aims: to look at the context for clues to
elucidate the opaque words.
Now, attending to the ways in which the two linguistic inquiries envision the
relationship between time and language will bring the differences and similarities
between modern etymology and semantic derivation into sharper relief.
8. Words in and out of History
Modern etymologists and Yāska conceptualize the relationship between time and
language in two radically different ways.154 While the former commit to the notion
that words and languages are historical phenomena and hence subject to contin

uous development and change, the latter seems to purposively eliminate all time
references from his semantic derivations. This suppression of time resonates with
the conviction — most notably articulated in Mīmāṃsā — that Sanskrit is a divine,
eternal language. The abolition of time in semantic derivation, then, could “be the
result of an exegesis which suppresses time in order to secure the eternality of the
Vedas.”155
Diverging notions of time as a category affecting language result in different atti-
tudes on the part of the inquirers regarding their respective findings. On the one
hand, because they entertain the conviction that the (linguistic) past they investigate
is distinct from the present, modern etymologists do not necessarily expect their find-
ings to tally with present notions and values. Rather, etymological investigations are
expected to bring out differences and discontinuities (besides similarities and conti-
nuities). Recall Thieme’s etymology of agni as the ‘naked’ one: for the modern reader,
this is nothing short of a surprise.156 On the other hand, because no historical dis-
tance plays into semantic derivations, there obtains an unmediated relationship be-
tween the semantic analyst and the analyzed Vedic words. Recall the four semantic
derivations of agni: they all follow different pathways, yet none of them results in a
disruption between the word’s meaning, which is being revealed, and the semantic
analyst’s cultural horizon. Conversely, the discontinuity between the past of the sa-
cred texts and the present of the exegete is done away with, whereby the immediacy
of the text-exegete relationship is reinforced.
Further, the different ways of relating to time seem also to bear on how the
two disciplines conceive of the relationship between linguistic and non-linguistic
domains, and how this relationship is played out in the respective inquiries. Mod-
ern etymology’s sense of historicity appears to facilitate an openness toward non-
linguistic domains that seems to be largely absent from semantic derivation. To
explain: it may be suggested that modern etymology is constitutionally open toward
non-linguistic domains in two ways.
First, etymologists tracing the history of a word — what Baldinger termed
‘étymologie-histoire du mot’ — need to consider several non-linguistic factors such
as changes in ideas, modes, and costumes, and often acquaint themselves with the
heterogeneity and materiality of the different historical contexts they investigate.157
It is true that semantic analysts also take into account non-linguistic cultural as-
pects. Thus, for example, it will be recalled that in his semantic derivations of agni
Yāska appears to refer to and be influenced by ritual, mythological, and empirically
grounded considerations. Yet Yāska’s forays into non-linguistic domains seem to
be mostly confined within the boundaries of ritual and traditional lore, which are
believed to be (and portrayed as) timeless.
Second, a particular strand of etymological research aimed at reconstructing the
origins of words — what Baldinger termed ‘étymologie-origine’ — seems to present a
built-in openness toward non-linguistic domains in that it purports to elucidate how
a word originated as a response to external, non-linguistic factors.
Thieme’s etymology of agni is a case in point. In what follows, I will consider
Thieme’s notion of etymology in some detail as it offers a paradigmatic example of

this strand of etymological research. This will in turn lead us to problematize the
commonly accepted clear-cut distinction between modern etymology and semantic
derivation.
Given at the conclusion of an essay that sharply contrasts the achievements
of modern scientific etymology with the lack of method of Yāska’s semantic deriva-
tion and other forms of premodern etymology in general, the etymology of agni is
an example of what Thieme considers to count as etymology in the strict sense
(‘im strengen Sinne’): “the functional derivation of a word that goes back to its pre-
history.” For Thieme, modern etymology is an objective method for reconstructing
“linguistic relations that are not attested.”158 However, upon closer inspection,
Thieme’s claim to scientific objectivity starts breaking down. If, phonetically, the
reconstruction of *ṇg-ni- is firmly placed within the realm of possible phonetic
developments,159 the reconstruction of the word’s original semantics seems to “have
an almost deliberately fanciful quality” to it.160 However suggestive, the interpreta-
tion of *ṇg-ni- as ‘the naked’ one appears to be based on a priori considerations and
on a highly subjective etymological ‘Einfall’. Nothing makes it impossible, yet noth-
ing validates it either.161
Not only is this etymology far from being objective, but also Thieme’s general
notion of etymology is problematic. In the same essay, Thieme elaborates on his
definition of etymology by citing from Wilhelm Schulze’s study of words for ‘marsh’
in several Indo-European languages.162 Upon noticing that these words are etymo-
logically related to words for several different colors, Schulze states: “[t]he marsh
is iridescent also for the etymologist, who seeks to work his way towards the act
of name-giving (Akte der Namenschöpfung), and to bring back to life the word-
generating impressions (wortzeugenden Eindrücke).”163
In Schulze’s pronouncement on etymology two interrelated ideas stand out, both
of which are the sedimentation of a long and complex history. First, we see that ety-
mology is believed to be a means for retrieving the kernel of life underlying the gen-
esis of a word. The etymologist, then, is supposed to be able to recuperate (re-enact?)
this lived experience, which has been concretized in a linguistic form. This idea
characterizes modern etymology from the start. We already find it in the work of
August Pott, the recognized founder of the discipline. In the introduction to his
Etymologische Forschungen (1833), for instance, Pott poetically argued that “the
letters . . . are not really dead,” and “it is the linguist’s duty to unfetter the life that is
bound up in them.”164
Second, we see that the moment of genesis of a word is conceived of as a linguis-
tic response to external sensorial stimuli. Words are thus considered to be a hybrid
entity, half answer to extra-linguistic stimuli, and half linguistic elaboration upon
them. Variations on this theme are ubiquitous. For instance, to cite an author repre-
sentative of a strand of thought that may have directly influenced Schulze and Thieme,
we find a similar idea underpinning the influential Göttername (1896) by the classi-
cist and scholar of religions Hermann Usener.165 In this work, Usener seeks to cast
light on the origins and development of religious ideas by exploring etymologically
the names for gods. Usener in turn builds on Wilhelm von Humboldt’s notion of the

hybridity of language: language is both a ‘copy’ (Abbild) and a ‘sign’ (Zeichen) in that
it is “the product of the impression of external objects (Gegenstände)” as well as “the
result of the speakers’ arbitrariness.”166 Filtered through an imprecise number of
interpretations and re-adaptations, this idea may well go back all the way to ancient
Greece and the Stoics.167
This admittedly incomplete exercise in reconstructing the genealogy of Schulze’s
and Thieme’s ideas makes a point sufficiently clear: despite the revolutionary discov-
ery of phonetic rules and the consequent formation of an exacting method for etymo-
logical reconstruction, there is, nonetheless, a significant continuity of ideas linking
some strands of modern etymology with pre-nineteenth-century forms of etymolo
gizing. The recognition of this continuity helps undermine the simplistic view, advo-
cated by Thieme and others, which contrasts the putative scientific objectivity of
modern etymology with the likewise putative lack of rationale of premodern forms of
etymologizing.
As I have tried to show in this essay, Indian semantic derivation and modern ety-
mology are not incommensurable; the gap between the two is not unsurmountable.
Close scrutiny reveals that semantic derivation is a sophisticated linguistic disci-
pline in its own right, based on rational linguistic axioms; therefore, it cannot be
dismissed as irrational hocus-pocus or as a proto-version of modern etymology.
On the other hand, some strands of modern historical etymology — specifically the
étymologie-origine strand as championed by Paul Thieme — show some areas resis-
tant to objectivity; it would be naive, then, to accept Thieme’s claim at face value and
unconditionally grant modern etymology the status of a fully sanitized and objective
science.
These observations invite caution when making sweeping statements about the
respective status of modern etymology and semantic derivation. Thus, without taking
for granted their incommensurability, or simplistically conflating their etymological
projects, we should recognize a certain degree of similarity (even if not historical
continuity) between the two disciplines.
In this regard, it is illuminating to look at modern etymology and semantic
derivation as two forms of discursive production. Taking a cue from Derek Attridge’s
exploration of the status of modern etymology, we could then consider these two
disciplines as different forms of “imaginative story-telling,”168 as two narrative dis-
courses that aim to shape the present by telling a story about its past. The crucial
difference is this: while Thieme’s story reinforces the myth of objective truth, Yāska’s
strengthens the myth of transcendent immutability.
An important consequence follows from considering these two kinds of inquiries
as two forms of discourse, conditioned by their respective cultural climate and (con-
sciously or unconsciously) formulated to narrate a certain story in the service of
certain goals: what they put forth as linguistic truth are in fact truth-claims. This rec-
ognition invites us to wonder whether modern etymology’s project provides the de
facto right answer to the question of why something is called what it is, or rather if it
is not only one viable option, which in the act of revealing one possible etymological
elucidation it necessarily obscures others.

Notes
I am grateful to Henry Albery, Johannes Bronkhorst, Mikel Burley, Giovanni Ciotti,

Daniele Cuneo, Susanne Gödde, Alastair Gornall, Dieter Gunkel, Jens-Uwe Hart-
mann, Eivind Kahrs, and Charles Li, for reading an earlier draft of this essay and giv-
ing many valuable comments.
1 – This definition is tentative and does not claim to account satisfactorily for all
forms and functions of etymologizing; see also Deeg 1995, p. 37, and Bronk-
horst 2001, p. 148.
2 – Some linguists speak of an ‘instinct étymologique’; see Béguelin 2001–2002,
p. 158. There is, of course, a varied and extensive literature on etymologizing;
for an attempt to account for the universality of etymologizing, see Bronkhorst
2001. Chambon and Lüdi 1991 offers a rich collection of papers dealing with
theories and practices of etymologizing in several cultures.
3 – See, e.g., Genesis 2 : 7 and 2 : 23, and see Noegel 2000.
4 – See Attridge 1987, p. 193. For etymologizing in Heidegger, see, e.g., Eiland
1982, Marten 1991, and Willer 2003, pp. 15–16, with references; on D errida’s
use of etymologizing, see, inter alia, Del Bello 2007, pp. 141 ff. On etymolo-
gizing in modern literature and psychoanalysis one can see the relevant essays
in Culler 1988.
5 – Among premodern cultures we find explicit attempts to theorize etymolo
gizing, i.e., the emergence of a systematic meta-discourse or second-order
thinking ( — on the definition of ‘second order thinking’ see Elkana 1986,
pp. 40 – 43) in ancient India and early Greece. On Greece, see, e.g., Sluiter
1997, pp. 155 ff.; Sluiter 2015; and Schmitter 2000. For traces of systematic
speculations on etymologizing in ancient Mesopotamia, see Bottéro 1992,
p. 87 f. For an overview of etymological theories and practices in the Western
tradition, from ancient Greece until the nineteenth century, see Pisani 1975,
pp. 11– 47; Sanders 1977, pp. 9– 41; Kany 1987, pp. 13–30; and Belardi 2002.
6 – The term nirvacana has been translated in different ways, thereby reflecting
different interpretations of the linguistic discipline it denotes. In this essay,
I propose to translate nirvacana as ‘semantic derivation’ and nairukta, a prac-
titioner of nirvacana, as ‘semantic analyst’. The reasons for this will become
clear as we proceed.
7 – Thieme 1995a, p. 1020. Unless otherwise noted, all translations are my own.
Thieme’s etymology is not accepted by all specialists; see the entry agni in
Mayrhofer 1986 –2001, with references. For more recent etymological recon-
structions of the Indo-European word for ‘fire’, see the entry ignis in De Vaan
2008 and Weiss 2009, p. 196.
8 – My interpretation of kasmāt (lit. ‘wherefrom’, ‘why’) follows Kahrs 1983.

9 – Nirukta 7.14: agniḥ kasmāt | agraṇīr bhavati | agraṃ yajñeṣu praṇīyate |
aṅgaṃ nayati sannamamānaḥ | aknopano bhavatīti sthaulāṣṭīviḥ | na k nopayati
na snehayati | tribhya ākhyātebhyo jāyate iti śākapūṇiḥ | itāt | aktād dagdhād
vā | nītāt | sa khalv eter akāram ādatte gakāram anakter vā dahater vā nīḥ
paraḥ |.
10 – Bottéro 1992, p. 88, where he examines a seemingly analogous — yet by no
means identical — case of exegesis of divine names in Ancient Mesopotamia:
the “fifty names” of the god Marduk in the final section of the Epic of Creation
(Enûma eliš).
11 – On the formation of historical linguistics in the nineteenth century, see Davies
1998. For some observations about the influence that Sanskrit indigenous lin-
guistics had on its formation, see Thieme 1995a, pp. 1018–1019; idem. 1995b,
pp. 1170 –1171; Beekes 2011, p. 13; and Trautmann 2011, pp. 10 ff., along
with Baxter’s (2011, pp. 23 ff.) response. See also Belardi 2002, pp. 247–248.
12 – On the varying nature of the styles, presuppositions, and purposes of ety
mological inquiry, from the early nineteenth century until 1990, see Malkiel
1993. Baldinger 1990 provides a clear synopsis of the major trends in etymol-
ogy in the nineteenth and the first half of the twentieth century.
13 – Durkin 2009, p. 2.
14 – On this “school,” see Lehmann 1993, pp. 5–9, and Davies 1998, pp. 229–
278.
15 – Malkiel 1993, p. 169, where he mentions some of these “forces.”
16 – On the relationship between nineteenth-century linguistics and the sciences,
see, inter alia, Davies 1998, pp. 17–18.
17 – Whitney 1875, p. 312. Whitney’s ideas seem to be shared by his “arch-enemy”
Max Müller; see Müller 1888, pp. xiv–xv.
18 – There is no consensus on the dating of the Nirukta; see Kahrs 1998, pp. 13–14.
My inclination is to accept Bronkhorst’s (2001, p. 152) argument, which
places Yāska around 250 b.c.e.
19 – On this aim, see section 7 below.
20 – On Nirukta 1.12, see section 4 below.
21 – Kahrs 1983, pp. 232 ff.
22 – Kahrs 2002, p. 177.
23 – In the Nirukta, Yāska references seventeen predecessors; cf. Bhattacharya
1958, pp. 62–96. Yāska’s discipline of semantic derivation has a long prehis-
tory in Vedic literature. On Vedic proto-forms of semantic derivation and their
relation to the Nirukta, see Deeg 1995.

24 – One more example: “stream (sindhu, lit. ‘the river Indus’) [is so called] on
account of streaming (syandana) ” (Nirukta 9.26: sindhuḥ syandanāt | ). The
noun ‘stream’ (sindhu) is linked with the action of ‘streaming’ (syandana),
which in turn refers to the root syand.
25 – A fairly exhaustive list of studies on semantic derivation in Vedic and post-
Vedic Indian literatures is given in Bronkhorst 2001, p. 148 n. 2. See also
Minard’s (1956, p. 62 [§ 147b]) remarks on the “mystical etymologies” in the
Śatapathabrāhmaṇa, Yelle’s (2003, pp. 75–106) study of etymologizing in
Tantric mantras, and Baums’ (2009) references to semantic derivations in re-
cently discovered Gāndhārī texts.
26 – For a review of modern interpretations of the Nirukta, see Bronkhorst 1981,
pp. 1–3, and Deeg 1995, pp. 67– 68.
27 – Kahrs 2005, pp. 1–25.
28 – Bronkhorst 1981, p. 2, calls the misconception that Yāska was concerned with
a historical elucidation of words “the historical interpretation of the Nirukta”;
he identifies its first emergence in Max Müller (1853), and argues that it had
remained virtually unchallenged in scholarship since.
29 – Negative assessments, however, are frequently found in scholarship; see Deeg
1995, p. 67. Conversely, some Indian scholars have uncritically extolled
Yāska’s achievements; see ibid., pp. 69–70.
30 – Sarup 1920 –1927, p. 64.
31 – In this respect, consider the two most important recent contributions on se-
mantic derivation. In the introduction to his monograph on nirvacana, Eivind
Kahrs (1998, p. 8) emphasizes that semantic derivation should be under-
stood on its own terms, as part of the wider Indian universe of discourse.
He thus identifies the framework within which semantic derivation operates
with a substitutional model that also underlies other Indian forms of discourse,
notably ritual and grammar; see ibid., pp. 175 ff., 276 –279. In stressing the
difference between semantic derivation and modern etymology, Johannes
Bronkhorst (2001) argues that semantic derivation should be understood
against the backdrop of similar etymologizing practices attested in virtually all
premodern cultures. He then suggests considering the “universal (human)
phenomenon” (p. 171) of etymologizing with another allegedly universal phe-
nomenon, magic (p. 191). Cf. also Bronkhorst 1981, pp. 8–9.
32
–
A case for a hermeneutically self-reflexive and humanistic interpretation
of Indian forms of knowledge is made by Pollock 2009; see, in particular,
p. 957.
33 – I here elaborate on Pingree’s (1992, p. 561) plea for a comprehensive history
of science, which is not limited to Europe.

34 – I borrow the nomenclature ‘South Asian forms of knowledge’, in the sense of
‘the knowledge South Asians themselves have produced about their world or
themselves’, from Pollock 2014, p. 2.
35 – Durkin 2009, pp. 59– 60.
36 – Baldinger 1990; see also Wartburg 1977 and Malkiel 1993.
37 – Baldinger 1990, p. 46.
38 – On ‘opacity’, see Durkin 2009, p. 59.
39 – In Nirukta 4.1, Yāska uses a general term anavagatasaṃskāra ‘words whose
morphological formation is unintelligible [by means of grammar]’.
40 – Cf. Durga 1921, p. 7, lines 10 ff., on Nirukta 1.1; and p. 121, lines 14 ff.;
pp. 124 ff. on Nirukta 2.1. On Durga’s threefold classification, see also 5.1
and note 119 below. The dating of Durga’s commentary is uncertain; see Kahrs
1998, p. 14. My translation of Durga’s technical terms follows Kahrs 1998,
pp. 36 –37.
41 – Examples given in Durga 1921, p. 123, line 21.
42 – Example in Durga 1921, p. 124, line 2. Bilma occurs in the compound bil-
magrahaṇa in Nirukta 1.20, in a passage that recounts the origin and trans
mission of the Nighaṇṭu word list. There, Yāska glosses bilma as ‘division’ (?)
(bhilma) or ‘shining’ (bhāsana). Durga 1921 (p. 115, lines 17–19) explains that
‘division’ refers to the different Vedic schools, and ‘shining’ to the fact that
the meaning of the Veda shines forth when the vedāṅgas, that is, the ancillary
Vedic disciplines (which include semantic derivation), are known. Bilma also
occurs in ṚV 2.35.12; on its meaning see Mayrhofer (1986 –2001, p. 226),
‘splinter, piece of kindling’ (Span).
43 – Durkin 2009, p. 286.
44 – Baldinger 1991, p. 8, where he dubs the discovery of regular sound changes
“one of the great achievements of the nineteenth century.”
45 – Harrison 2003, p. 219; cited in Durkin 2009, p. 223. Cf., further, Durkin’s
(2009, p. 287) observation: “There is no tool comparable to the historical
grammar enabling us to group and categorize semantic changes, and it is hard
to imagine how one could be conceived. Nonetheless, our best measure of
whether a particular hypothesized meaning change is plausible is whether we
can find cases of similar changes in well-documented word histories.”
46 – On the rendering ‘nominal words’ for nāma, see Bronkhorst 1981, p. 4, with
references.
47 – Nirukta 1.12: tatra nāmāny ākhyātajānīti śākaṭāyano nairuktasamayaś ca | na
sarvāṇīti gārgyo vaiyākaraṇānāṃ caike. . . . |.
48 – See Bronkhorst 1981, p. 4, and Kahrs 1998, p. 35.

49 – There are some exceptions, however. As Bhate (1981, p. 235 n. 2) notes, Yāska
occasionally analyzes undeclinables (Nirukta 3.21: svasti; Nirukta 4.25:
nīcaiḥ, uccaiḥ), and sometimes traces the origin of nouns to elements that
are not verbal bases, such as the onomatopoetic origin of kāka (Nirukta
3.18), dundubhi (Nirukta 9.1), and kitava (Nirukta 3.22), and the derivation of
prathama (Nirukta 2.22) and aṇu (Nirukta 4.22) from upasargas.
50 – Nirukta 2.1: tad yeṣu padeṣu svarasaṃskārau samarthau prādeśikena guṇenān-
vitau syātām tathā tāni nirbrūyāt | (trans. Kahrs 1998, p. 36; modified). There
is a variant reading for guṇenānvitau: vikāreṇānvitau. For a discussion of
the two variants, see Sarup 1920 –1927, pp. 222–223, and Kahrs 1998, p. 36
n. 51.
51 – Nirukta 1.14: tad yatra svarasaṃskārau samarthau prādeśikena guṇenānvitau
syātām. . . . |.
52 – However, it is yet to be settled whether Yāska knew the seminal work of gram-
mar, Pāṇini’s Aṣṭādhyāyī (fourth century b.c.e.?).
53 – Nirukta 2.1: athānanvite ’rthe ’prādeśike vikāre ’rthanityaḥ parīkṣeta | kenacid
vṛttisāmānyena |.
54 – For nitya as last member of a compound, see Hara 1959 (Hara, however, does
not consider Nirukta 2.1). In his commentary, Durga (1921, p. 122, line 9)
takes arthanitya to be a synonym of arthapradhāna; i.e., meaning should be
considered as the ‘main thing’ (in contrast with the subsidiary role played by
phonetics).
55 – On vṛtti as a technical term in Sanskrit linguistics, see Renou 1942, pp. 290 –291,
501, and Abhyankar 1986, pp. 366 –377.
56 – Kahrs 1998, pp. 36 –37. Kahrs’ interpretation is in turn based on Mehendale
1978a.
57 – It is noteworthy that Vedic forms of etymologizing of the name Indra, to which
Yāska’s analysis is indebted, give indha, and not *indhra, as its transparent
counterpart. However, *indhra can perhaps be considered as an implicit inter-
mediate form (indha > *indhra > indra). For a Vedic example, see section 4.4
below.
58 – On these rules, see Deeg 1995, pp. 78 ff.
59 – Nirukta 7.14: agniḥ kasmāt | agraṇīr bhavati | agraṃ yajñeṣu praṇīyate |.
60 – It is worth remembering that root nouns can have both active and passive
meaning in Vedic.
61 – On this ritual, see Krick 1982, pp. 377–393.
62 – For a detailed map of the sacrificial area, see Mylius 1995, pp. 146 –147.
63 – Some Vedic evidence is collected in Deeg 1995, pp. 106 –107 (Rigveda);
pp. 184 –185 (Brāhmaṇas); and p. 317 (Āraṇyakas).

64 – Śatapathabrāhmaṇa 6.1.1.11: átha yó gárbho ’ntar ā́sī́t | só ’grír asṛjyata sá yád
asyá sárvasyā́gram ásṛjyata tásmād agnír agrír ha vaí tám agnír íty ā́cakṣate
parókṣaṃ parókṣakāmā hí devā́ḥ ||.
65 – Although this is not mentioned among the rules of phonetic change in Nirukta
2.1–2, Yāska’s actual practice seems to presuppose it; cf. the evidence
collected in Deeg 1995, pp. 99–100; Deeg, however, does not report agraṇī.
66 – Cf. Deeg’s (1995, p. 85) observation about Yāska’s lax way of dealing with
vowel change.
67 – Nirukta 7.14: aṅgaṃ nayati saṃnamamānaḥ |.
68 – Deeg (1995, p. 106), too, posits an underlying ‘Zwischenstufe’, but he identi-
fies it as *aṅgnī.
69 – Cf. Durga 1921, p. 672, line 17: tṛṇe kāṣṭhe vā yatra saṃnamaty āśrayati tad
ātmano ’ṅgatāṃ nayati “On grass or wood, wherever he [scil. fire] bends to-
ward, i.e., adheres to — he makes that become part of himself.” Incidentally,
this semantic derivation resembles Thieme’s (1994, p. 326) etymology of
aṅgāra: “[glowing] charcoal” as “aṅga + ara ‘whose food is [its] own body’.”
70 – Nirukta 7.14: aknopano bhavatīti sthaulāṣṭīviḥ | na knopayati na snehayati |.
71 – This reminds one of the etymological elucidations per contrarium of Greek
and Latin tradition; cf., e.g., Kany 1987, p. 26.
72 – See Mayrhofer 1986 –2001, p. 406. The root knū is also mentioned in Aṣṭā
dhyāyī 7.3.36, and it occurs in Dhātupāṭha 1.514, in the sense of knūyī śabda
unde ca ‘be wet, make a creaky noise’ (trans. Katre 1987, p. 921).
73 – Kahrs 2002, p. 175.
74 – Deeg 1995, p. 95.
75 – This suggestion is in turn based on the assumption that a-knopana is a caus-
ative formation, intending -p- as a causative infix by analogy with causative
forms of roots ending in –ā, e.g., dā ‘to give’: dāpayati ‘s/he causes someone
to give’ or dāpana ‘forcing to give or pay’ (Monier-Williams). This assumption
seems to be supported by Aṣṭādhyāyī 3.4.33: cele knopeḥ. In explaining this
sūtra, Katre (1987, p. 331) says that the form knop-i is derived from knūy plus
the denominative/causative suffix ṆiC, and translates it as ‘make wet’.
76 – Nirukta 7.14: tribhya ākhyātebhyo jāyate iti śākapūṇiḥ | itāt |aktād dagdhād vā
| nītāt | sa khalv eter akāram ādatte gakāram anakter vā dahater vā nīḥ paraḥ |.
77 – Śatapathabrāhmaṇa 2.2.4.2: tád vā́ enam etád ágre devā́nām ajanayata;
tásmād agnír agrír ha vái nā́maitad yád agnír íti sá jātaḥ pū́rvaḥ préyāya yó vái
pū́rva ety ágra etī́ti vái tám āhúṣ só évāsyāgnítā | (trans. Eggeling 1882, p. 323;
the square brackets are my own addition).
78 – Cf. the references in Deeg 1995, pp. 106 –107.

79 – Cf. ṚV 2.3.10 c, d: trídhā sámaktaṃ nayatu prajānán devébhyo daívyaḥ
ṣamitópa havyám | “May the divine ritual preparer [scil. Agni], knower [of the
way], lead (√nī ) the thrice-anointed (√a(ñ)j ) offering to the gods.”
80 – Sāyaṇa 1933, p. 33.
81 – See Mehendale 1978a and Kahrs 1998, pp. 36 –37.
82 – Consider, for example, the two following instances where Yāska seems to
apply this rule to account for the loss of an initial s-: Nirukta 4.3, where he
links pṛṣṭha ‘the back’ with √spṛś ‘to touch’, and Nirukta 2.24, where he links
the obscure word pijavana, a proper name, with √spṛdh ‘to compete’. See also
the evidence collected in Deeg 1995, pp. 89–90.
83 – See Deeg 1995, p. 86, where he states that the phonetic changes implicit in
Vedic proto-forms of semantic derivation ‘normally’ (‘in der Regel’) corre-
spond to those used by Yāska. A similar conclusion is implicit in Mehendale
1978b, pp. 67 ff.
84 – Cf. Yāska’s disapproval of Śākaṭāyana’s semantic derivation of satya ‘truth’ in
Nirukta 1.14.
85 – I take sāmānya as being equivalent to vṛttisāmānya in the second principle.
86 – I take arthanityaḥ, which occurs in the second principle, to be implied here.
See also Mehendale 1978a, p. 62 n. 9; Mehendale 1978b, p. 75; and Bhate
1981, p. 238 n. 9.
87 – Nirukta 2.1: avidyamāne sāmānye ’py akṣaravarṇasāmānyān nirbrūyāt |.
88 – Cf. also Bhate 1981, p. 238.
89 – Nirukta 4.10: lakṣṃīr lābhād vā | lakṣaṇād vā | lāñchanād vā | laṣater vā syāt
prepsākarmaṇaḥ | lagyater vā syād āśleṣakarmaṇaḥ | lajjater vā syād ślāghākar-
maṇaḥ |.
90 – Durga 1921, p. 315, lines 5–12: [1. lābha-] lakṣmīvanta eva labhante netare |
[2. ālakṣaṇa-] ālakṣita eva hi lakṣmīvān. [3. lāñchana-] tayā hi lañchita iva
bhavati | [4. laṣati-] sarva eva hi tām abhilaṣanti | [5. lagyati-] āśliṣyeva vartate
puruṣam | [6. lajjati-] ye hi lakṣmīvanto bhavanti te svayam ātmānaṃ na
ślāghante | (the square brackets are my own addition).
91 – Nirukta 2.1: na saṃskāram ādriyeta | viṣayavatyo hi vṛttayo bhavanti | (trans.
Kahrs 1998, p. 37). In place of viṣayavatyo, there is the variant reading
viśayavatyo ‘doubtful’, found in Durga, and adopted in Roth’s (1852) and
Sarup’s (1920 –1927) editions. Cf., further, Durga 1921, p. 122, line 14: artho
hi pradhānaṃ tadguṇabhutaḥ śabdaḥ | tasmād arthasāmānyaṃ balīyaḥ śab-
dasāmānyāt | “for meaning is the main thing; sound is secondary to it. Hence,
similarity in meaning is stronger than similarity in sound.” Cf., further, Bhate’s
(1981, p. 238 n. 9) observation: “There is not a single etymology in the Nirukta

which is based on mere phonic similarity. Yāska always explains the meaning
first and then only traces the root.”
92 – Cf., however, the seminal remarks in Mehendale 1978a, p. 62, and Bhate
1981.
93 – In an interesting passage, Durga (1921, p. 122, lines 19–23) elucidates the
line of reasoning followed by a semantic analyst applying the third princi-
ple of semantic derivation as follows: amuṣmin dhātāv ayaṃ svaro varṇo vā
mayā dṛṣṭaḥ sa evāyam asminn abhidāne lakṣyate ity evam utprekṣya sa
dhātvarthaḥ sūtrabaddha iva tasminn abhidhāna āhṛtya sphārīkṛtya kṛtsnaḥ
prakāśayitavyaḥ | “Having noted that in this word a sound or syllable is indi-
cated, which I have seen in such and such a verbal base — after it has been
brought closer, as though it was lassoed, the meaning of that verbal base
should spread wide and shine in its entirety.”
94 – In his commentary on the beginning of the Nirukta, Durga describes in detail
how Yāska’s derivational model works. I deal with Durga’s description in sec-
tion 5.1 below.
95 – Śatapathabrāhmaṇa 14.6.11.2 [ = Bṛhadāraṇyakopaniṣad 4.2.2]: índho vaí
nā́maiṣá yo ’yaṃ dákṣiṇe ’kṣan púruṣas táṃ vā́’ etám índhaṃ sántam índra
íty ā́cakṣate parókṣeṇeva parókṣapriyā iva hí devā́ḥ pratyákṣadviṣaḥ | (trans.
Olivelle 1998, p. 109; modified).
96 – Aitareyārāṇyaka 2.4.3: tasmād idaṃdro nāmedaṃdro ha vai nāma tam
idaṃdraṃ santam indra ity ācakṣate parokṣeṇa | parokṣapriyā iva hi devāḥ |.
97 – Aitareyabrāhmaṇa 3.33.6: tad vā idam prajāpate retaḥ siktam adhāvat, tat saro
’bhavat | te devā abruvan medam prajāpate reto duṣad iti | yad abruvan
medam prajāpate reto duṣad iti, tan māduṣam abhavat | tan māduṣasya
māduṣatvam. māduṣaṃ ha vai nāmaitad yan mānuṣaṃ | tan māduṣaṃ san
mānuṣam ity ācakṣate parokṣeṇa, parokṣapriyā iva hi devāḥ |.
98 – Durkin 2009, p. 68; see also pp. 228 ff.
99 – Cf. Michiel De Vaan’s (2008, p. 2) considerations in the introduction to his
Etymological Dictionary of Latin: “the etymologies in this book must be
regarded as points on a scale: some might approach relative certainty and
have no competing etymologies beside them, whereas others represent just
one among a number of etymologies that 3000 years [between Proto-Indo-
European and the main body of Latin literature] of formal and semantic change
render theoretically possible.”
100 – This is a debated topic; see Kahrs 1998, pp. 269–270; 2002, pp. 183–185. The
following exploration aims to bring some clarity to it.
101 – Nirukta 2.7: tāni cet samānakarmāṇi samānanirvacanāni | nānākarmāṇi
cen nānānirvacanāni | yathārthaṃ nirvaktavyāni | (trans. Kahrs 1998, p. 38;
modified).

102 – Bronkhorst 1981, p. 4.
103 – Nirukta 2.5: gauḥ iti pṛthivyā nāmadheyam | yad dūraṃ gatā bhavati | yac
cāsyāṃ bhūtāni gacchanti | gāter vaukāro nāmakaraṇaḥ |.
104 – Nirukta 2.5: athāpi paśunāmeha bhavaty etasmād eva |.
105 – See Kahrs 1998, pp. 115–116, 132–133.
106 – Nirukta 2.5: athāpy asyāṃ tāddhitena kṛtsnavannigamā bhavanti |. This pas-
sage is terse. In light of Yāska’s overarching discussion, I suggest translating it
thus: “Now, further, with respect to this [scil. the word go as a ‘noun of domes-
ticated animal’, i.e. ‘cow’ (and not in the sense of ‘earth’)] there are mantras
(nigamas) containing (-vat) the whole (kṛtsna-) [word] [with the sense of a
semantic] derivative [i.e., metonymy] (tāddhita-).”
107 – The rationale linking these semantic derivatives is as follows. “Mix the intoxi-
cating one (i.e., soma) with cow[-milk]” (ṚV 9.46.4c: góbhir śrīṇīta matsarám)
illustrates go used in the sense of ‘milk’, while it also refers to soma. The fol-
lowing quotation illustrating go in the sense of ‘cow-skin’ picks up on milk
and soma: “milking the soma (aṃśú) they sit on cow[-skin]” (ṚV 10.94.9b:
aṃśúṃ duhánto ádhi āsate gávi). The following quotation illustrating the use
of go in the sense of ‘gluing material’ picks up on cow-skin: “you are held
together with cow[-skin] and gluing material; be firm” (ṚV 6.47.26c: góbhir
sáṃnaddho asi vīḷáyasva). Finally, the following quotation illustrating the use
of go in the sense of ‘sinews’ picks up on gluing material: “held together with
sinews and gluing material, it [i.e., an arrow] flies, once it has been flung
forth” (ṚV 6.75.11b: góbhiḥ sáṃnaddhā patati prásūtā).
108 – The connection between this and the previous meaning (go as ‘cow’s sinews
and gluing material’) is that ṚV 6.75.11b refers to an arrow. Yāska then illus-
trates the meaning ‘bow-string’ with another citation: “fixed at each tree [i.e.,
bow], the bow-string (go) bellows; thence flow forth the man-eating birds [i.e.,
the arrows]” (ṚV 10.27.22a, b: vṛkṣé-vṛkṣe níyatā mīmayad gaús táto váyaḥ
prá patān pūruṣā́daḥ).
109 – See Rajavade 1940, p. 321.
110 – Nirukta 2.5: jyāpi gaur ucyate | gavyā cet tāddhitam | atha cen na | gavyā
gamayatīṣūn iti || “A bow-string also is called go. If it is made of what derives
from cow [i.e., cow’s tendons], it is a [semantic] derivative. If it is not made
of what derives from cow, [‘bow-string’ is called go on account of ] making
arrows go.” In Sarup’s edition, the daṇḍa after atha cen na is misplaced.
111 – In identifying these additional meanings, Yāska follows the Nighaṇṭu, which
gives go as one of the names of sky and sun (Nighaṇṭu 1.4; cf. Nirukta 2.13),
and gāvaḥ as one of the names of ‘ray’ (Nighaṇṭu 1.5).

112 – However, no explanation of go in the sense of ray/-s is given. Yāska might have
regarded this sense as a ‘semantic derivative’ (tāddhita) of the meaning ‘sun’,
which, as such, would not require an additional semantic derivation.
113 – Nirukta 2.14: gaur ādityo bhavati | gamayati rasān | gacchanti antarikṣe | atha
dyauḥ | yat pṛthivyā adhi dūraṃ gatā bhavati | yac cāsyāṃ jyotīṃṣi gacchanti |.
114 – After writing this section, I found that this passage, along with Durga’s com-
mentary, was investigated by Kahrs (2002). However, my own interpretation at
times slightly differs from Kahrs’.
115 – It is not immediately clear what nighaṇṭavaḥ and its corresponding action
noun nigamana mean here. Yāska seems to understand them as meaning
‘Vedic citations’ and ‘quoting’, respectively. On the other hand, in taking
nigamana as a causative formation in the metaphorical sense ‘to make [the
meanings of the Veda] known/understood’, Durga considers nighaṇṭavaḥ as its
corresponding agent noun. See also Kahrs 2002, pp. 175–176.
116 – My translation differs from Sarup’s (1920 –1927, p. 5): “Aupamanyava holds
that, as these are the quoted words of the Vedas, they are called nighaṇṭus on
account of their being quoted (ni-gamanāt).” I think that Aupamanyava’s state-
ment needs to be understood in light of the Vedic proto-forms of semantic
derivation, which I briefly discussed above. Specifically, I take the participle
sat- to be used in a semi-technical sense, to indicate the ‘real’ and morpholog-
ically transparent yet cryptic (parokṣa) name of something, as opposed to its
evident (pratyakṣa) yet morphologically opaque counterpart. Incidentally, sat-
seems to be used in an analogous concessive sense already in ṚV 1.164.16:
stríyaḥ satā́s tā́ṃ u me puṃsá āhuḥ “though truly (sat-) being female, they [scil.
the Pleiades] are spoken of to me as men.” According to Thieme’s (1995c,
p. 963) interpretation, this is a riddle: the seven Pleiades, though they truly
are ‘females’ (f. strī-), are commonly referred to by the masculine name ‘star’
(m. stṛ-).
117 – With Kahrs (2002, p. 175), I here supply the ablative action noun samāharaṇāt
by analogy with the two previous semantic derivations.
118 – Nirukta 1.1: nighaṇṭavaḥ kasmāt | nigamā ime bhavanti | chandobhyaḥ
samāhṛtya samāhṛtya samāmnātāḥ | te nigantava eva santo nigamanān
nighaṇṭava ucyante ity aupamanyavaḥ | api vā-āhananād eva syuḥ | samāhatā
bhavanti | yad vā samāhṛtā bhavanti |. I follow Durga’s commentary and read
vā āhananād, whereas the Sarup edition has vā hananād.
119 – It is worth noting that there may be a terminological continuity, which in
turn may intimate a continuity of ideas, between Durga’s word-classification
(pratyakṣavṛtti ‘with an evident formation’, parokṣavṛtti ‘with a formation that
is out of sight [i.e., unintelligible]’, and atiparokṣavṛtti ‘with a formation that is

completely out of sight [i.e., completely unintelligible]’) and the Vedic terms
parokṣa and pratyakṣa. See section 4.4 above.
120 – Durga does not account for the change -n- > -ṇ-; perhaps he considered that
the change -t- > -ṭ- would automatically lead to the retroflexion of the preced-
ing nasal sound; see Kahrs 2002, p. 180.
121 – Cf. Durga 1921 (p. 7, line 12): . . . mantrārthanigamayitṛtvād. . . |.
122 – Durga 1921 (p. 7, lines 11–12): etasmin pañcādhyāyīsaṃgrahe maryādayā
paṭhitā hy ete bhavanti. . . |.
123 – Cf. Mehendale 1978b, pp. 74 –75; Bhate 1981, pp. 237–238; and Kahrs 1998,
pp. 35 ff.
124 – Davies 1998, pp. 1–20.
125 – Ibid., p. 20, borrowing from Hans Aarsleff’s terminology.
126 – For a lucid summary of the factors responsible for this dearth, see Pollock
2008, p. 537.
127 – Nirukta 2.3: nāvaiyākaraṇāya “one [should] not [make a semantic derivation
(nirbruyāt)] for someone who is not a grammarian.” The verb nirbruyāt is
carried over from the previous sentence.
128 – See, e.g., Antilla 1972, p. 331.
129 – Cf. Tappolet 1977, p. 102; Malkiel 1977, pp. 352–353; Malkiel 1993, p. 73;
and Durkin 2009, p. 31. Although they differ as to what role to attribute to it,
they all recognize the presence of a certain degree of casualness and subjec-
tivity in etymological inquiry.
130 – “Suche keine Etymologien; finde sie!” (cited in Malkiel 1977, p. 352).
131 – These and similar expressions abound in linguists’ and etymologists’ accounts
of their own métier. A paradigmatic example is Thorkild Jacobsen’s (1976)
description of the modus operandi of the renowned Assyriologist Benno
Landsberger: “Guided by what he called ‘Fingerspitze Gefühl’ he would grad-
ually move closer to what the word could mean, constantly dissatisfied with
approximations, critically aware of distance from the vaguely sensed truth,
until at last — sometimes, but by no means always — there would come the
moment of ‘Zugreifen.’ The clear, uncompromising, pregnantly concrete ren-
dering was found.”
132 – Malkiel 1977, p. 352. Cf. also De Vaan 2008, pp. 2–3.
133 – ṚV 10.71.4: utá tvaḥ páśyan ná dadarśa vā́cam utá tvaḥ śṛṇván ná śṛṇoti enām
| utó tuvasmai tanúvaṃ ví sasre jāyéva pátya uśatā́ suvā́sāḥ ||. I intend the
two participles (páśyan, śṛṇván) as having a concessive sense. This is also the
interpretation of Patañjali, who comments on the same stanza in the introduc-
tion to the Mahābhāṣya (Kielhorn/Abhyankar 1880 –1885 / 1962–1972, vol. 1,

p. 4, line 4). On the commonly disregarded semantic nuances of Vedic parti-
ciples, see Knobl 2005.
134 – Nirukta 1.19: apy ekaḥ paśyan na paśyati vācam | api ca śṛṇvan na śṛṇoty
enām ity avidvāṃsam āhārdham | apy ekasmai tanvaṃ visasra iti svam āt-
mānaṃ vivṛṇute jñānam prakāśanam arthasyāha anayā vācā | upamottamayā
vācā | jāyeva patye kāmayamānā suvāsāḥ ṛtukāleṣu [suvāsāḥ kalyāṇavāsāḥ
kāmayamānāḥ ṛtukāleṣu] | yathā sa enām paśyati sa śṛṇoti ity arthajñapraśaṃsā
|. The way I separate and understand this passage differs from Sarup (cf. also
Rajavade 1940, pp. 282–283). His edition reads: jāyeva patye kāmayamānā
suvāsāḥ [ṛtukāleṣu suvāsāḥ kalyāṇavāsāḥ kāmayamānāḥ] | ṛtukāleṣu yathā sa
enām paśyati sa śṛṇoti |. Sarup (1920 –1927, p. 19) translates it thus: “Like a
well-dressed and loving wife to her husband [well dressed at proper seasons,
dressed in an auspicious manner, and loving], i.e. just as he (the husband) sees
her and hears her at proper seasons.” As Sarup remarks in a note, the phrase
between brackets is a later interpolation that is not commented upon by
Durga. However, I think that Sarup identifies the interpolated passage w
rongly.
By separating suvāsāḥ from ṛtukāleṣu and considering this latter as opening a
new clause, Sarup does not recognize that Durga intends ṛtukāleṣu as qualify-
ing suvāsāḥ. I quote Durga’s commentary below in the main text.
Further, this emendation is also confirmed by Nirukta 3.5. There, com-
menting on the same formula (jāyéva pátya uśatī́ ā́suvā́sāḥ) occurring in ṚV
1.124.7, Yāska glosses it with jāyeva patye kāmayamānā suvāsā ṛtukāleṣu. It is
clear, then, that Yāska considers suvā́sāḥ to indicate a particular time (cf.
Durga’s commentary below: kasmin kāle ‘at what time?’), i.e., the time when
the woman puts on clean clothes when her period is over (ṛtukāleṣu). On
ṛtukāla, see the entry in Petersburger Wörterbuch: “the menstruation period,
especially the first days after the disappearance of blood which are favorable
for the conception.”
135 – On pratibhā ‘intuition’, see most recently Ho 2014.
136 – Durga 1921 (p. 110, lines 16 –23): yathā hi jāyā vivṛtasarvāṅgāvayavā bhūtvā
uśatī — kāmayamāneṣṭāya bhartre premṇā darśayed ātmānam | kasmin kāle |
yadā suvāsā bhavati — nirṇiktavāsā bhavati | nirṇiktavāsā — nīrajaskā ṛtukāleṣu
tadā hy atitarāṃ strī puruṣaṃ prārthayate | ata etayāvasthayopamīyate | yathā
sa puruṣas tāṃ yathāvat paśyati striyaṃ netarāṃ yā ghanapaṭaprāvṛtasar-
vagātrā | evaṃ sa evaitāṃ vācaṃ yathāvat paśyati yaḥ padaśo vicchidyaitāṃ
vigṛhya cārtham. (The Rajavade edition reads vārtham, but the variant reading
cārtham is given in apparatus and accepted in the Bhadkamkar-Bhadkamkar
edition [1985] [p. 142, line 9] asyāḥ paśyati samastavyastam |.)
137 – Cf. Davies 1998, p. 34, with references.
138 – Leopardi 1997, p. 295 (p. 1273 of the autograph); cf. also pp. 263–264
(p. 1134 of the autograph).

139 – Exemplary of this attitude are Romance etymologists’ gibes at Gilles Ménage’s
phantasmagoric etymologies (e.g., French haricot ‘bean’ from Latin faba, and
laquais ‘servant’ from verna). Cf. Tappolet 1977, p. 80; Wartburg 1977, p. 136;
Baldinger 1990, pp. 40 – 41; and Baldinger 1991, p. 8. Menage’s etymological
‘absurdités’ are already criticized by Turgot in his article on ‘etymology’ in the
Encyclopédie (1751).
140 – On the genre of śāstra, see Pollock 1985; on the characteristics of the begin-
ning of a śāstra, see Gerow 2008.
141 – Yāska’s discussion seems to have directly influenced Patañjali’s similar dis
cussion in the beginning of his “Great Commentary” (Mahābhasya) (ca. 150
b.c.e.), a text that Indian tradition came to consider as the foundational śāstra.
142 – Nirukta 1.15: athāpīdam antareṇa mantreṣv arthapratyayo na vidyate |. Durga

(1921, p. 85, lines 3– 4) says that this is “the second purpose for undertaking
the study of the śāstra [i.e., nirvacana]” (dvitīyaṃ śāstrārambhaprayojanaṃ).
This is a bit puzzling. See, however, Rajavade’s (1940, p. 267) considerations:
“Yāska has proved in the preceding three sections [Nirukta 1.12–14] that the
Nirukta discharges one important function, namely that of deriving every word
however difficult and obscure.”
143 – Nirukta 1.15: artham apratiyato nātyantaṃ svarasaṃskāroddeśaḥ |.
144 – Nirukta 1.15: tad idaṃ vidyāsthānaṃ vyākaraṇasya kārtsnyam | svārthasādhakaṃ
ca | (trans. Kahrs 1998, p. 32).
145 – See, e.g., the entries parjanya ‘god of rain’ and niṇya ‘that which is hidden/
secret’ in Mayrhofer 1986 –2001; different etymologies are possible, depend-
ing on what meaning is first posited.
146 – Nirukta 1.15: yadi mantrārthapratyayāyānarthakaṃ bhavatīti kautsaḥ | anar-
thakā hi mantrāḥ ||.
147 – Sarup 1920 –1927, pp. 71–72.
148 – Strauss 1927, p. 120.
149 – For a fuller treatment, see Thieme 1984, pp. 518–519, and Taber 1989.
150 – Kahrs 1998, p. 28.
151 – There is no consensus among interpreters on this point. Especially problematic
is the interpretation of the key term ekapadāni, which occurs in two passages
(Nirukta 2.2, 2.3), apparently in different senses. For a thorough, yet somewhat
inconclusive, review of modern interpretations of ekapadāni, see Kahrs 1998,
p. 38 n. 57.
152 – Aṣṭādhyāyī 1.4.66; cf. the example given in the Kāśikāvṛtti: kaṇe-hatya payaḥ
pibati ‘he drinks milk until he is satisfied’ (Monier-Williams), cited in Böht-
lingk (1887, p. 38), and Monier-Williams under the entry kaṇe.

153 – ṚV 8.77.4: ékayā pratidhā́pibat sākáṃ sárāṃsi triṃśátam | índraḥ sómasya
kāṇukā́ ||. Nirukta 5.11: . . . indraḥ somasya kāṇukā | kāntakānīti vā | krān-
takānīti vā | kṛtakānīti vā | indraḥ somasya kānta iti vā | kaṇeghāta iti vā |
kaṇehataḥ | kāntihataḥ |.
Modern etymologists and scholars of the Rigveda have not been able to
do better than Yāska. Like Yāska, they take kāṇukā as a neuter plural referring
to ‘lakes’, and tentatively translate it as ‘filled [?]’ [with soma] (Geldner) or
‘hogsheads [?]’ [of soma] ( Jamison and Brereton 2014).
154 – See Bronkhorst 1981, pp. 3– 6.
155 – Kahrs 1998, p. 273; see also Pollock 1989.
156 – However, as Mikel Burley pointed out to me, the connection of ‘naked’ with
‘fire’ might not sound totally surprising to English-speakers, because of the
English term ‘naked flame’ (and other European languages might have similar
expressions).
157 – See Durkin 2009, p. 3. See also Malkiel 1993, pp. 25–26 (on Hugo Schuchardt).
158 – Thieme 1995a, p. 1021.
159 – Cf., however, note 7 above.
160 – Jamison 2000, p. 5, commenting on Thieme’s etymologies. For some obser
vations about the difficulties of semantic reconstruction in Indo-European
etymologies, see Sweetser 1990, p. 23 f. Incidentally, it is worth mentioning
that some academic circles coined the pun Ethiemology to refer to Thieme’s
most subjective etymological moves.
161 – Thieme’s etymology illustrates some of the problems inherent in the recon-
struction of Indo-European. For a clear presentation of some of these ‘obsta-
cles’ (lack of a secure method for reconstructing semantics; limitation due
to the available data; researcher’s prejudgments surreptitiously affecting the
analyses), see Béguelin 1994.
162 – See Thieme 1995a, p. 1020. Schulze was Thieme’s teacher; Thieme calls him
“one of the very greatest grammarians of his time” (Thieme 1995b, p. 1192
n. 9.
163 – Schulze 1933, p. 117; I give Schulze’s passage in a fuller form than it occurs
in Thieme’s citation.
164 – Pott 1833, p. xi.
165 – See Kany 1987, p. 67 f.
166 – Cited in Kany 1987, p. 84.
167 – See, e.g., Kany 1987, p. 84; Sluiter 1997, pp. 200 f.; and Schmitter 2000.
168 – Attridge 1987, p. 201.

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WORDS IN AND OUT OF HISTORY: INDIAN SEMANTIC

DERIVATION (NIRVACANA) AND MODERN ETYMOLOGY

“The fact is, man is an etymologizing animal.”

1. Modern Etymology and Indian Semantic Derivation

In a 1980 article on etymology, the renowned Indologist Paul Thieme suggested a

1.1. Modern Historical Etymology

Historical etymology is a modern linguistic discipline. It is part of the wider field

1144 Philosophy East & West

1.2. Indian Semantic Derivation (Nirvacana)

Systematized in Yāska’s Nirukta (ca. third century b.c.e.),18 semantic derivation is a

Paolo Visigalli 1145

2. Scholarly Interpretations of Indian Semantic Derivation

It seems legitimate to identify two basic positions in modern scholars’ interpretations

1146 Philosophy East & West

3. Words Worth Etymologizing

Paolo Visigalli 1147

1148 Philosophy East & West

4.1. Yāska’s First Principle of Semantic Derivation: Transparent Words

Paolo Visigalli 1149

4.2. Yāska’s Second Principle of Semantic Derivation: Semi-opaque Words

In order to derive semantically a semi-opaque word, the semantic analyst first

4.2.1. First Semantic Derivation of Agni ‘Fire’.

In what follows, what I suggest is in part bound to be speculative, because it involves

1150 Philosophy East & West

If my interpretation of this passage is correct, Yāska first focuses on a specific mean-

Paolo Visigalli 1151

Although no transparent counterpart of agni is given in this semantic derivation, it

4.2.3. Third Semantic Derivation of Agni ‘Fire’.

Sthaulāṣṭīvi gives an antiphrastical interpretation of agni: ‘fire’ does not moisten

1152 Philosophy East & West

4.2.4. Fourth Semantic Derivation of Agni ‘Fire’.

Paolo Visigalli 1153

4.3. Yāska’s Third Principle of Semantic Derivation: Opaque Words

[L]akṣmī [is so called] on account of obtaining (labh-); or [it is so called] on account of

1154 Philosophy East & West

4.4. Yāska’s Principles of Semantic Derivation: Concluding Remarks

Paolo Visigalli 1155

5. Multiple Etymological Explanations

1156 Philosophy East & West

As Yāska hastens to add, go is also commonly used as a ‘name for domesticated

Paolo Visigalli 1157

5.1. Multiple Semantic Derivations of the Word Nighaṇṭu

1158 Philosophy East & West

Paolo Visigalli 1159

6. The Practitioners and the Role of Subjectivity in Their Analyses

In addition to providing a more detailed illustration of some of the central tenets

1160 Philosophy East & West

Paolo Visigalli 1161

1162 Philosophy East & West

Durga’s conclusive remarks are especially noteworthy: the sudden manifestation of

Paolo Visigalli 1163

1164 Philosophy East & West

Paolo Visigalli 1165

8. Words in and out of History

1166 Philosophy East & West

Paolo Visigalli 1167

1168 Philosophy East & West

Paolo Visigalli 1169

I am grateful to Henry Albery, Johannes Bronkhorst, Mikel Burley, Giovanni Ciotti,

1170 Philosophy East & West

Paolo Visigalli 1171

1172 Philosophy East & West

Paolo Visigalli 1173

1174 Philosophy East & West