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“How public was Shaivism?” is a 2019 essay by
British scholar Alexis Sanderson, apparently taken from a volume called “Tantric
Communities in Context”. It´s an interesting summary of what we know about
Shaivism as a state religion during the early medieval period. At first glance,
the Shaiva religious traditions seem unlikely candidates to play such a role,
being either “lay” and non-Brahminical, or esoteric in character. Indeed, some
of the esoteric groups were extremely ascetic or downright bizarre. But as
usual, nothing it what it seems in good ol´ Hindustan!
Sanderson distinguishes four distinct
tradition within Shaivism, which he terms lay Shaivism, Atimarga, Mantramarga
and Kulamarga. Of these, the two latter are usually considered Tantric, but the
author makes the interesting point that the Mantramarga emerged from the Atimarga,
and that even the Shakta element within Tantrism was originally taken over from
an Atimarga group. Traditions sharply different and divergent on paper were
frequently syncretized, making the boundaries less clear cut in practice. The
relations between initiatory (esoteric) groups and lay groups were frequently
complex, for instance when initiatory Shaivas took control of lay Shaiva institutions
with the blessings of the local king. Within lay Shaivism, the Shivadharma literature
is directed at a kind of “lay elite” the members of which wish to become more
devout and pious. When performed by a king, Shivadharma rituals benefit not
only the king personally, but the entire royal family and government, who are
all said to be saved and transposed to Shiva´s heaven after death due to the
monarch´s observance. Indeed, if the king organizes public spectacles while
sacrificing to Shiva in a temple and showing respects to the Shaiva guru and
ditto ascetics, the entire kingdom will prosper: no famine or plague will
befall it, it will expand territorially, and so on. Here, there can be no doubt
that Shaivism was a very public religion indeed. (I assume that the guru and
the ascetics mentioned here were initiatory Shaivas who had attached themselves
to public places of worship.)
Sanderson then makes an interesting excursus
on the Atimarga, often considered one of the most extreme religious traditions,
since its practitioners actively try to become outcasts from society, for instance
by feigning madness or by seemingly doing penance for murdering a Brahmin.
However, it turns out that there were actually two kinds of Atimargins: the
ascetic sadhakas and the more moderate acharyas. The latter are said to acquire
“infinite merit” by initiating the sadhakas, conversing with laymen, and giving
them darshan (a blessing transmitted through gazing). Inscriptions from the
Middle Ages prove that acharyas could own property, got married and transferred
their positions to their sons, and donated resources on a non-sectarian basis
to religious shrines (the sadhakas by contrast were only allowed to worship
Rudra). Somnath Patan, a town holy to the Pashupata branch of the Atimarga, was
ruled by king-like acharyas in charge of building fortifications and engaging in
other building projects. This obviously raises all kinds of awkward questions,
such as: are *all* religious traditions essentially fake?! The acharyas could
also interact with the king, something forbidden to sadhakas. Sanderson
mentions epigraphic evidence showing that a certain Maharaja donated land to a
temple for the Mother-Goddesses established by a Pashupata acharya.
While the barking mad Atimargins thus turn out
to have a moderate faction, the moderate Right Hand Path Tantrikas of the Shaiva
Siddhanta school turn out to have ascetics and monasteries. Indeed, the
Saiddhantikas spread throughout the Indian subcontinent precisely by initiating
kings and using their lavish initiation fees to found new monasteries as sub-branches
of a rapidly expanding organization. Some Saiddhantika gurus had initiated more
than one monarch. This alliance with the royal power necessitated a pragmatic change
in the teachings of Shaiva Siddhanta. Liberation was originally only possible
for those able to regularly carry out the complex rituals associated with this form
of the Mantramarga. Since kings evidently couldn´t practice in this exacting
way, the doctrine was changed so that initiation itself bestowed liberation. The
Tantric rituals were to be observed only by those who had the ability to do so.
As if the promise of liberation after death wasn´t enough, the kings were also
promised prestige and military might as additional benefits of initiation.
Really, we are hard to please! It´s also interesting that while the royal initiation
ritual sensu stricto was private, the celebrations surrounding it were very
public indeed, making an “esoteric” form of Shaivism highly visible.
But what about the even more esoteric
non-Saiddhantika forms of the Mantramarga and the Kulamarga? It turns out that
even these traditions have been used by the royal power to carry out magical rituals
of protection on behalf of the royal family, the state or the community.
Sanderson gives a number of examples, including a medieval cult of Shaiva deities
in the Khmer Empire and secretive cults of the transgressive goddess Kubjika in
Nepal down to the early 21st century. Indeed, the royal massacre in
Nepal in 2001 was attributed by some traditionalists to a failure to carry out
certain Tantric rituals. Indeed, even non-Shaivas such as the Atharvavedins (Vedic
“priests” specializing in the Atharva Veda) coopted some Kulamarga practices,
specifically mantras associated with Kali to offer kings protection in battle.
It seems esotericism isn´t always esoteric. No
surprise there, tbh. Still, it could be seen as somewhat weird and perhaps even
chilling that “problematic” Tantric deities are worshipped at the highest echelons
of a warrior-prone royal hierarchy. With that, I close this perhaps somewhat
narrow blog post.
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