Tag Archives: Kautilya

The Hindu Art of War

02 Sat Jan 2016

Posted by in Book Review

≈ Comments Off on The Hindu Art of War

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Hinduism and the Ethics of Warfare in South AsiaRoy, Kaushik. Hinduism and the Ethics of Warfare in South Asia: From Antiquity to the Present. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012. 305 pp.

Hinduism, and South Asia more broadly, has been a glaring lacuna in the study of military history and ethics. Kaushik Roy’s Hinduism and the Ethics of Warfare in South Asia: From Antiquity to the Present (henceforth HEWSA) is unfortunately a poor attempt to rectify that oversight. Although HEWSA passes as an introduction to the uninitiated, it leaves most of the important questions that vex military historians of South Asia unanswered. Although the author’s attempt to place warfare and ethics within their cultural moorings rather than posit them as universal axioms is appreciated, the wider ambitions of his work in presenting South Asia to a Western audience takes away from a focussed analysis of military matters. To be fair to Roy, however, the topic and timeframe presents a Herculean project that would require expertise not just in military affairs but also archaeology and several languages to accomplish thoroughly. This explains why a choice was made – wisely – to restrict the study only to ‘elite’ Sanskrit circles that had the greatest influence on policy. It should also be mentioned at the outset that for the purposes of this review – and most of HEWSA, South Asia is synonymous with India and the dharmic systems that abide within.

The question before any study of military ethics is what constitutes just war and how it should be waged. When it comes to South Asia, scholars would first have to dispel the notion that the region has never known the practice of strategic thinking; second, they would also have to break away from the overpowering Europeanising grand narrative of universal history that places the experiences of the western end of the Eurasian landmass as the normative centrestage. HEWSA begins by asking basic questions on the nature of war and politics instead of accepting readily available theories from the Western canon. Roy, however, sets up the strategists of India in a conversation with their Western (and Eastern) counterparts rather than in opposition; clearly, he does not wish to settle for the simplistic binary of East vs. West that still colours comparative studies across specialties. This is certainly a strength of the book though also a weakness as I will explain later.

Roy establishes his project as trying to answer four questions: 1. What is war?; 2. What constitutes proper justification for going to war?; 3. How should war be waged?; and 4. What are the consequences of waging war? Strategists long before Prussian military theorist h have wrestled with these questions, and the answers each civilisation has proposed to these questions are today obfuscated by a 20th century technological determinism and a Euro-American pragmatism. As historian Jeremy Black has pointed out, not all societies were driven by the motivation to come up with the most combat-effective machines because their worldviews were different; culture is the key to understanding military strategy. The import of this observation should not be diluted to posit a facile dichotomy of Western rationality versus Eastern spiritualism or wars of honour. In fact, as military scholar Michael Handel noted, the basic rationality of strategy as political behaviour is universal. Kamandaka, believed to be a 4th century strategist in the Gupta court, for example, speaks of the importance of the people’s support for a righteous war to ensure stability – a value dear to the heart of several Western strategists as well.

Yet it would be equally unhelpful to overemphasise the similarities between different approaches to war: Indian thinkers like Chanakya and Manu were, for example, as concerned with the potential for insurgency as they were with facing foreign enemies. Indian authors rarely put their names to their treatises either; furthermore, they usually contained the amalgam of strategic thought before their period though again not always with proper citation. As a result, it is a challenge to date Indian theories of state and warfare as it is difficult to put author to treatise. Concerned as they were with dharmayuddha and kutayuddha, Indian strategists were also a product of their times: Chanakya’s Arthashastra proposes a boldly expansionist state as he wrote during the waxing of Maurya power while Kamandaka’s Nitisara is more cautious as the Gupta Empire was on the defensive from nomadic invaders from Central Asia. Perhaps the greatest difference between Indian and Western thinking on the state and warfare, as Roy astutely observes, is that Eastern societies did not view the state as an abstract principle: there was a relation between tao and the people in China just as there was between rashtra and society in India. European thinkers, on the other hand, seem to view the state more contractually and legalistically, although this is more true with modern theorists than ancient Europeans.

The greatest difference between Indian ethical texts and their Western equivalents, however, is that the former are more theoretical and describe the world as it should be, not as it is, while the converse is true for the latter. Although Roy observes this, he fails to realise how important a point he has stumbled on – Indian morality, even on the field of battle, are not as clearly defined as in the West. This is a strong reflection of dharmic thinking on matters of state and it is possible that Western thinking was similarly and equally influenced by Abrahamic certitude of the world. Yet to be fair, expounding on this would lead him away from the main topic of his study. Finally, an interesting observation by Torkel Brekke, historian of religion, about differences between Indian and European military thought is that the latter comprises of equal attention to jus ad bellum (just cause for war) and jus in bello (just conduct in war) while the former only concerns itself with the latter. The author mentions this in the introduction but disappointingly never returns to the matter explicitly later in the book. From the structure of other arguments, the reader is only left to assume that it has something to do with how Indian strategists viewed the nature of politics and conflict but some clarity would have helped.

The greatest weakness of HEWSA is the author’s willingness to indulge in simplifications about Hinduism that muddy the reader’s understanding of Indian society. Given the author’s belief that society and culture are inextricably linked to military strategy, this is an unacceptable lapse. For example, Roy repeatedly harps on the role of kshatriyas as the warrior class in South Asian society. While this may broadly be true, it does not explain how most of India’s major empires were not of kshatriya lineage. Nor does it explain how Indian emperors could sustain large standing armies based on conscription if only kshatriyas could wage war. After the fall of Rome, it was not until the 19th century in Europe that a professional class of soldiers emerged. In the interim, armies were usually composed of farmers who had to return to their fields during harvest season. As a result, war was limited to specific periods of the calendar or the economy would suffer if farmers could not return to their fields on time. If Indian polities did not follow this rule, it is an important social and economic difference that was worth highlighting. Admittedly, Roy merely repeats the formulation of Indian philosophers on the matter but as he has been quick to point out in other aspects, Indian thinkers addressed an idealised world and not the real one. Instead, a brief explanation of varna and jati would have left readers with a clearer understanding of what actually was and what was supposed to be.

The author’s implicit acceptance of the Indo-Aryan Migration Theory (IAMT) is another factor that mars this study. Basically, IAMT was proposed by British and German Orientalists of the late 18th and early 19th centuries after the discovery of the Indo-European language family and postulates that the Indian subcontinent was subject to large population migrations from the Caucasus and Central Asia in three waves, the first around 2,200 BCE, the second around 1,700 BCE, and the final one around 1,000 BCE. In the mid-1940s, British archaeologist Mortimer Wheeler suggested that these waves had perhaps been invasions rather than migrations but this variation of the IAMT, referred to as the Aryan Invasion Theory (AIT), did not hold for long though it has been the strawman subject of innumerable critiques of the IAMT. Regardless, given the controversies around the subject, any scholar touching upon the topic peripherally ought to warn the reader of the assumptions made.

Roy suggests that the rules governing the war towards the end of the Ramayana were more lax than in the great fratricidal war of the Mahabharata…or at least, there seemed to be more anguish and hand-wringing at the violation of rules in the latter epic than the former. This he supposes is due to the different rules governing warfare within and without groups. The assumption here, stemming from his thoughts on the IAMT, is that Rama was an Aryan king fighting a non-Aryan king, Ravana, while the Pandavas and Kauravas were both Aryan families. In the former situation, there were few rules of just war whereas the latter had strict codes. Of course, this fails to explain how Ravana, a non-Aryan chieftain, was a great devotee of Shiva and a brahmin – outsiders would never be accorded a varna (improperly translated into English as caste). More importantly, there is no textual evidence for this supposition in the primary sources – the author cites secondary sources to back his claim, a source whose racial categories are strongly influenced by the orientalism of British Indology.

With the rise of Buddhism and Jainism, Roy correctly points out that these systems are not as pacifist or as ascetic as are commonly believed: the founders of both were themselves kshatriyas and both had several royal friends throughout their lives; Buddha was not even a vegetarian! Buddhist and Jain ahimsa was closer to the Hindu concept as expounded in the Chandogya Upanishad, related to austerity, generosity, sacrifice, truthfulness, and integrity, and not the passive non-violence of Mohandas Gandhi. Roy’s exposition is a much-needed correction to the common narrative on Buddhism and Jainism. However, he insists on seeing both these belief systems as schisms from Hinduism – a view that is not shared by many scholars of the latter.

A whole chapter is dedicated to the most famous treatise on war and politics to come out of India, the Arthashastra. The treatise is briefly summarised before its author is compared to European political philosophers and military theorists from Plato to the authors of Fourth Generation Warfare. Roy relies heavily on secondary sources, preferring the words of his contemporary scholars than of the masters themselves. In the evaluation, the Arthashastra emerges as an amoral text that was quite comfortable with kutayuddha as well as dharmayuddha and considered internal as well as external threats to the kingdom. Chanakya advocates diplomacy, assassinations, poisoning, temporary alliances, espionage, biological warfare, and any other means that can deliver victory. The focus is on strategic knowledge of the enemy than on tactical advice and Chankaya does not stop with victory: the Indian strategist considers the best ways of controlling a defeated foe as part of his analytical package. Contrary to Western armies, Indian victors allowed the conquered to maintain their language, dress, customs, and gods; only the unrighteous rulers were removed. Unlike Western theorists, Roy observes, Chanakya’s theories make human agency instead of inter-state structure the primary variable in politics. Furthermore, there is no mention of seapower, nor is there any consideration of technology as a force multiplier in battle.

Instead of the long comparative section, the topic would have been better served if a closer analysis of the Arthashastra, its author, and their milieu were attempted. How did the political, social, and economic realities of the early Maurya Empire influence Chanakya’s thoughts? How much is he a product of his time? What were the challenges to Mauryan rule at the time? Why did the Mauryans dedicate their efforts to conquering India and not send their armies westwards? The answers to these questions would have situated the Arthashastra in its own context and revealed more about warfare and ethics in South Asia than do the quick comparisons to Western and Eastern strategists. After all, it is not the Western theorists who are understudied but the South Asian context.

Roy’s discussion of early medieval India leaves much to be desired. Again, led astray by his sources, Roy argues that brahmin intellectuals of the period saw the Bactrians and Parthians as mlechchas because of their patronage of Buddhism. This would not have solved the problem of local Indian chieftains who patronised Buddhism or those who followed it and it seems bizarre that the brahmins would follow this half-measure that achieved nothing. Roy also claims that the Sunga and Kanva dynasties were established by brahmins to fight off the sudra ascendancy seen in the rise of the Nandas and Mauryas! It is in this context, the author claims, that the Manavadharmashastra was written and as a result, the primary aim of its author was to preserve the status of brahmins. While Chanakya had concentrated on artha and kama, Manu focused on dharma.

Manu is the first Indian strategist that we know of to mention seapower. Kalidasa is another but in both cases, the authors limit themselves to riverine navies and not bluewater vessels. Manu is also the first Indian strategist to show a liking for cavalry, even suggesting that the king not wage war in the absence of good cavalry. Chanakya had advocated a balanced composition of forces between infantry, cavalry, chariots, and elephants while Kamandaka had emphasised the shock value of elephants. However, Manu is more cautious than the author of the Arthashastra and voices a preference for coalitions of likeminded rulers against a common threat than a quest for power by one emperor. Oddly, though, unlike most commanders, he preferred fortress warfare to open battle despite the hardships of disease, logistics, and discipline. The army would live off the enemy’s land, laying siege to the enemy’s fort while pillaging the countryside.

In general, Indian strategists preferred to solve things through diplomacy and wealth over arms; this is the same advice one gets from Chanakya, Manu, Kalidasa, Kamandaka, Somadeva, and others though they also strongly advised against shunning violence. Later thinkers, however, accepted the use of kutayuddha more readily, especially if it could prevent war altogether. According to Roy, Kalidasa advised that dharmayuddha be followed only against Indian monarchs and not against the Yavanas; similarly, it was permissible for a victorious king to annex the kingdoms of his defeated foes outside India but not within. The development of a geographic sense of India in this period is an interesting facet that Roy does not dwell on.

The author suggests that Somadeva warned against sending armies to the northwest – this would correspond to the region whence most invasions of India occurred and usually by a foe with superior technology. Unfortunately, Roy has little more to say about this either. Something else Roy mentions is Thiruvalluvar’s advice that an army look grand and imposing. Clearly, the Tamil thinker understood the psychological dimension of warfare well and tried to bring it into play in service of his patron. The lessons of these books on strategy did not remain restricted to the elite but trickled into the Hitopadesha, Panchatantra, Kathasaritsagara, and other stories in simplified form. What the reception was is a difficult question to answer. One wonders if the wisdom of Indian military thinking was noticed by foreigners when these works were translated, first into Persian and then later into Arabic and Latin.

The descriptions of Indian treatises on strategy raise many questions that Roy does not answer. For example, Indian monarchs seemed to always lack cavalry of sufficient quality and quantity. Yet no king ever tried to address this shortcoming by importing and breeding horses in India.  Kalhana, the author of Rajatarangini, mentions that the Palas and Senas of Bengal attempted to import cavalry from Afghanistan and South China, and the Hoysalas tried to crossbreed Arab mares with local breeds to no avail. When the Romans, Greeks, Persians, and Carthaginians could take elephants from India, why could Indian traders not acquire war horses? Although the problem of a weak cavalry was temporarily solved under some kings such as Vikramaditya of the Gupta dynasty or Harshavardhana of Thaneshwar and Kanauj, it remained an issue until the very end. In relation to the equine lacuna, India did not develop metal stirrups or horseshoes until much later either and this gave the Hunnic mounted archers a tremendous advantage in battle; the invaders’ composite bows also gave them greater range than their Indian opponents. Why did Indian rulers fail so spectacularly in developing or acquiring military technology despite their use of spies or their fame in trade? This would have been an important question in a military history of South Asia.

Indian reflections on warfare declined with the Islamic invasions of the subcontinent. Warriors for a jealous desert god, Muslims rulers removed Hindu advisors of the conquered Indian kings from imperial service and closed the avenue for contribution to political life. Most Hindus who continued in royal service were forced to convert if they wished to retain their positions. The Hindu kingdoms that resisted the invaders, however, did not fare better than their ancestors did in terms of learning newer and more effective military strategies and technologies. The Rajputs, for example, held to their code of personal glory on the battlefield and failed to see the evolution of mass tactics; similarly, the Nayakas in the south were disdainful of gunpowder and thought it to be weapons for the cowardly – a regressive attitude that only shattered their armies when they went up against more modern opponents. The Rajput and Nayaka views were prevalent among European knights too when they first came across the Ottoman janissaries. The social and economic structure of feudal Europe had created the European knight, a fearsome force in one-on-one combat but no match for hurtling pellets of lead. Where the Europeans adapted quickly, Indian polities failed to do so. Nowhere is this more clear than in the Shukranitisara, a work by an unknown author written around the late 17th century.

The Shukranitisara, like any work on military matters, emphasises the training of soldiers to fight with or without arms. However, it shuns the use of warfare with mechanical devices – gunpowder, siege engines, etc. – as asurayuddha, a particularly barbaric form of kutayuddha. The concept existed even in earlier treatises such as the Arthashastra but where Chanakya used the term ‘asurayuddha‘ to define heinous practices to be avoided by a victor, such as the massacre of the males of the royal household, the violation of their women, and the appropriation of their wealth, the author of Shukranitisara reserved the term for battlefield practices that had become routine. One might pontificate over the degeneration of chivalry but such matters concerned only romantic bards while the strategists were not beyond recommending kutayuddha in the pursuit of a quicker and cheaper victory. Not only were foreign invaders less delicate about such concerns, but Muslim armies frequently desecrated Hindu places of worship, forced conversions, massacred the citizenry, raped and sold the royal women into slavery, and killed their menfolk. It was in response to this barbarism that Rajput women took to jauhar.

Although Roy accepts the atrocities of the Muslim conquests, he nonetheless enters into the record Romila Thapar’s claim that there was no sense of Hinduism in this period. He also cites Richard Eaton on how limited the damage from the Islamic invasions were. This is deeply unconvincing given the tales of conversion and massacre contained in his own study.

Roy takes the reader through the Indian freedom struggle and ends his study with a few short comments on India’s nuclear posture. However, these periods hardly reflect any thought on the ethics of warfare understood in the conventional sense. Even accepting Chanakya’s paradigm of inter- and intra-state warfare, passive non-violence seems a tool that may have, at best, suited a particular situation rather than be an entire ethical theory of warfare in itself.

Perhaps the biggest question Roy does not attempt to answer is why Indian polities remained thoroughly inept at war. Barring a brief period in the Chola Empire, no Indian kingdom ever extended beyond the boundaries of Akhand Bharat; furthermore, there was a total failure to develop or even adopt superior technologies in a timely manner. Why were Indian monarchs not able to do what rulers in most other parts of the world did routinely? A second ‘big question’ Roy could have shed light on is to what extent these theories were discussed and debated. Was there even a limited and elite public sphere in which ideas of warfare were discussed and improved upon? How well did these ideas survive transmission as one dynasty replaced another? Roy indicates that Indian treatises dealt with the ideal world more than they dealt with reality. However, what effect did the results of real battles have on them?

It is possible that these questions can never be answered for lack of sources. Nonetheless, they deserve a vigorous discussion that HEWSA did not provide. The author’s excessive reliance on secondary sources and translations also deserves comment. Although South Asia is a difficult region that demands its scholars to have a command over several languages and kills, any analysis as important as Roy’s project ought not be done without expertise in at least some of the skills and languages; perhaps a collaborative work would have achieved the desired result better. It is said that reviewers often discuss the book they would have written rather than the book at hand – this may be the case here too but any study that claims to discuss the ethics of warfare in South Asia cannot afford these lapses, particularly in a field where much of the groundwork is yet to be laid.

Chanakya and Machiavelli – Two Realists in Comparison

17 Fri Feb 2012

Posted by in India, Italy, Theory & Philosophy

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , ,

Così nasce dal ferro un secol d’oro (Thus from iron was born a golden age) – Jacopo Nardi

Politics is not a place to save one’s soul, but it is the only place one may save one’s nation – Max Weber

“Politics,” Ronald Reagan once said, “is supposed to be the second oldest profession. I have come to realize that it bears a very close resemblance to the first.” Today, the former US president’s words may seem trite, but a few centuries ago, such sentiments would have had serious repercussions. The publication of The Prince, for example, resulted in violent reactions in Europe—its author, Niccolò Machiavelli, was burnt in effigy by the Jesuits, his books were blacklisted and penned into the Index Librorum Prohibitorum by the Inquisition in Rome, and several books were written to denounce Machiavelli’s “dangerous” and “immoral” teachings.

This prophet of statecraft and diplomacy, however, for many scholars of political theory remains one of the brightest names coming out of Italy during the fecund period of the renaissance. It would be an interesting and profitable exercise to juxtapose Machiavelli’s works on statecraft and diplomacy, The Art of War, Discourses on Livy, and the (in)famous The Prince, in which he opined on how a state should be run, with the Indian realist Chanakya’s Arthashastra . In the Western tradition, these of Machiavelli’s works are considered the principal texts of realism in diplomatic manoeuvring. Chanakya, who is also known to history as Kautilya or Vishnugupta, was the advisor to Chandragupta Maurya, founder of the Mauryan Empire in 321 BCE after defeating the Nanda dynasty and Alexander the Great’s ambassadors in northern India. The Arthashastra, written circa 320 BCE[1], was rediscovered in 1904 by R. Shamasastry and translated into English by 1915. Oddly, this text has remained neglected despite the exuberant efforts of British and German “Indomaniacs” of the imperialist era. By juxtaposing it with Machiavelli’s thoughts, I hope to reintroduce the Arthashastra to mainstream political chitchat and in the process of doing so, diminish the farcical and asinine notion of an intellectual divide between “East” and “West.”

It is important to understand why these particular texts were chosen. After all, there exist umpteen books just in the West on statecraft and political power. Thomas Hobbes’ Leviathan, James Harrington’s The Commonwealth of Oceana, John Locke’s Two Treatises of Government, and Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s The Social Contract, to name a few, all deal explicitly with the same subject. In a circuitous manner, so do Karl Marx’s Das Kapital and Joseph Schumpeter’s Capitalism, Socialism and Democracy. And of course, Machiavelli himself studied Aristotle’s Politics and Plato’s The Republic and Laws. The Islamic World offers Al-Farabi’s Aphorisms of the State, Ibn Khaldun’s Muqaddimah, Averroes’ The Decisive Treatise Determining the Nature of the Connection between Religion and Philosophy, and Avicenna’s The Healing. However, Machiavelli’s works make a good comparison to the Arthashastra because like Chanakya, Machiavelli makes a distinction between ethics and political science. Unlike the aforementioned theorists, neither Machiavelli nor Chanakya are interested in the ideal state or the fullest moral development of political men. They are more concerned with the security of the state against external threats and internal harmony. Furthermore, despite other works on politics and statecraft, Machiavelli represents, in the West, the first clear break with idealism and morality, and is the first to suggest that the root of state power is force.[2] For Machiavelli, as Harvey Mansfield notes, as for Chanakya, the fundamental fact is how the prince rules instead of who rules.[3]

The texts, due to the environment in which they were written, permit only some lateral comparisons. Christian Europe was socially quite different from early Hinduism, and the ordering of society as prescribed by the Manusmriti allowed Chanakya to come to different conclusions than Machiavelli regarding domestic policies. Therefore, I am more concerned with the commentaries on foreign policy in the texts, where there are more similarities.

Regarding the Governance of States

Central to the state is strong leadership. Chanakya and Machiavelli both conclude that legitimacy is very important to the ruler as well as the subjects because legitimacy purports an authority that does not exist in practice. The Arthashastra does not spend much time discussing the legitimacy of the ruler, but simply implies that the first ruler had divine origins:

People, overwhelmed by the law of the fishes,[4] made Manu, son of Vivasvat, their king. And they assigned one-sixth of the grains, one-tenth of the commodity and money as his share. Maintained by that, kings bring about the well-being and security of the subjects.[5]

Vivasvat, according to RP Kangle, is a reference to the sun god. This is not the same as the divine right of kings as understood in Europe. Chanakya uses Hindu cosmology to sanction the monarchy as the preferred system of government. Implied is the sanctity of the king even though he is not divine, and although the king is the final arbiter of the land, he is to be aided by an able system—the Arthashastra divides the state into seven components: svamin (the ruler), amatya (the minister), janapada (the territory with the people settled on it)[6], durga (the fortified capital), kosa (the treasury), danda (the army), and mitra (the ally).[7] The Arthashastra declares, “One wheel alone does not turn and keep the cart in motion.”[8] Machiavelli also comments on the notion of divine authority, but more as a gimmick to lend authority to the ruler beyond his physical means. Machiavelli notes in the Discourses,

…although we have seen that Romulus could organize the Senate and establish other civil and military institutions without the aid of divine authority, yet it was very necessary for Numa, who feigned that he held converse with a nymph, who dictated to him all that he wished to persuade the people to; and the reason for all this was that Numa mistrusted his own authority, lest it should prove insufficient to enable him to introduce new and unaccustomed ordinances in Rome. In truth, there never was any remarkable lawgiver amongst any people who did not resort to divine authority, as otherwise his laws would not have been accepted by the people; for there are many good laws, the importance of which is known to the sagacious lawgiver, but the reasons for which are not sufficiently evident to enable him to persuade others to submit to them; and therefore do wise men, for the purpose of removing this difficulty, resort to divine authority.[9]

Although Chanakya does not explicitly state a similar opinion, his use of the sun god to imply divine authority indicates that he would have agreed with Numa and Machiavelli. As Machiavelli states, “the great majority of mankind are satisfied with appearances, as though they were realities, and are often even more influenced by the things that seem than by those that are.”[10] For Machiavelli, however, options other than a monarchy exist, though he thinks it difficult to advocate rule by more than one man except in strained circumstances. In the Discourses, Machiavelli states that a “dictatorship, whenever created according to public law and not usurped by individual authority, always proved beneficial…it is the magistracies and powers that are created by illegitimate means which harm a republic, and not those that are appointed in the regular way.”[11] He further describes three forms of government in their healthy and corrupt states: monarchical, aristocratic, and democratic, “liable to be corrupted that they become absolutely bad…monarchy becomes tyranny; aristocracy degenerates into oligarchy; and the popular government lapses readily into licentiousness.”[12] In The Prince, Machiavelli very lucidly outlines the strengths and weaknesses of rule by one man and rule by an oligarchy:

The entire monarchy of the Turk is governed by one lord…But the King of France is placed in the midst of an ancient body of lords…he who considers both of these states will recognize great difficulties in seizing the state of the Turk, but, once it is conquered, great ease in holding it. The causes of the difficulties in seizing the kingdom of the Turk are that the usurper cannot be called in by the princes of the kingdom, nor can he hope to be assisted in his designs by the revolt of those whom the lord has around him…but, if once the Turk has been conquered, and routed in the field in such a way that he cannot replace his armies, there is nothing to fear but the family of this prince…The contrary happens in kingdoms governed like that of France, because one can easily enter there by gaining over some baron of the kingdom, for one always finds malcontents and such as desire a change. Such men…can open the way into the state and render the victory easy; but if you wish to hold it afterwards, you meet with infinite difficulties, both from those who have assisted you and from those you have crushed. Nor is it enough for you to have exterminated the family of the prince, because the lords that remain make themselves the heads of fresh movements against you.

Noteworthy is the emphasis Machiavelli places on conquest. For a ruler to create opportunities for other benefits to his people, he must first guard the realm, and if possible, expand his territory and sphere of influence. Like Chankaya, the primary responsibility of a ruler for Machiavelli is the security and well-being of his people. While Machiavelli states unequivocally that “[a] prince ought to have no other aim or thought, nor select anything else for his study, than war and its rules and discipline,”[13] Chanakya concurs, adding, “Carrying out his own duty by the king, who protects the subjects according to law, leads to heaven; of one who does not protect…the condition is the reverse of this.”[14] The Arthashastra comments on the duties of a king other than the security of the realm because it was intended to be a full-fledged manual for statecraft, not just a guide to foreign policy. The duty of an Arthashastran king is expressed not in terms of rakshana (to defend) or palana (take care of), but yogakshema. This includes not only security and material well-being, but also assistance in adherence to the purusharthas. The Purusharthas are the four principles of Hindu life, namely, dharma, artha, kama, and moksha. It was the king’s duty to ensure that his subjects could lead a life of honesty and justice (dharma), have opportunities to make gains in terms of education, employment, etc., (artha), be able to enjoy their lives through the arts and other sensual pleasures (kama), and hopefully, develop spiritually to eventually attain freedom from the cycle of rebirth (moksha).[15] It is in the pursuit of this aim that Chanakya talks of foreign policy.

Although Machiavelli does not set his prince such high standards, much of Chanakya’s thinking holds true for him too. While Chanakya, a brahmin, is firmly set in Hindu philosophy and sees the world through the spectacles of Hindu cosmology, Machiavelli describes the world through human nature, the ends both advocate being quite similar. The foundation of Machiavelli’s political thought is revealed in one line in The Prince: “The wish to acquire is in truth very natural and common, and men always do so when they can, and for this they will be praised not blamed.”[16] Although political equilibrium is the ideal a prince should strive for, it remains illusory and “all human things are kept in a perpetual movement, and can never remain stable, states naturally either rise or decline.”[17] Machiavelli’s argument follows that since interstate relations are always dynamic and every state seeks expansion of its powers, it is best that one’s own state maintains a position of strength. Furthermore, Machiavelli, like Chanakya, sees beyond the reign of one king to the stability of the realm. For Machiavelli, a prince should endeavour to not only secure his domain during his time but even after him. As Louis Althusser explained, “Machiavelli is interested in only one form of government: the one that allows a state to last.”[18] In Machiavelli’s own words, “[t]he welfare, then, of a republic or a kingdom does not consist in having a prince who governs it wisely during his lifetime, but in having one who will give it such laws that it will maintain itself even after his death.”[19] Similarly, the Arthashastra has “avowedly for its end the security and prosperity of the state.”[20] Chanakya advises that a king should not install on the throne one who is unfit to rule even if he is an only son.[21] The ultimate goal of the king and his government is the health of the state, not the lineage of the ruling family. This is not to say that Chanakya does not favour the law of primogeniture: he does. He even countenances a family oligarchy if a calamity were to befall the Kingship. However, he is insistent that an unfit person should not rule. According to one scholar, Chanakya’s work “deals with a monarchical constitution.”[22] Thus, Chanakya’s loyalty is to the state and not to any ruling family. This offers a counter to those who see Chanakya’s treatise as promoting monarchy holding dictatorial powers.

On Defence and the Military

Machiavelli’s thoughts on the actual conduct of warfare are as detailed as Chanakya’s but are in another work of his, The Art of War. It is similar in nature to Sun Tzu’s most famous work by the same name. The Arthashastra devotes eight of its fifteen chapters to various aspects of war, diplomacy, foreign policy, espionage, and covert operations. Needless to say, the conduct of war is seen as central to the well-being of a state. This does not mean that these political theorists were warmongers—on the contrary, Machiavelli declares in The Art of War that “he who practices [war] will never be judged to be good, as to gain some usefulness from it at any time he must be rapacious, deceitful, violent, and have many qualities, which of necessity, do not make him good.”[23] And yet he also states that a prince must “not depart from the good, when possible, but know how to enter into evil, when forced by necessity.”[24] Although Chanakya does not explicitly speak against war, he is very much aware that peace is essential for the stability of any political system. Like Machiavelli, he stresses that war be used as the last resort as it causes loss of money and life. Machiavelli warns,

The object of those who make war, either from choice or ambition, is to conquer and to maintain their conquests, and to do this in such a manner as to enrich themselves and not to impoverish the conquered country. To do this, then, the conqueror should take care not to spend too much, and in all things mainly to look to the public benefit.[25]

Similarly, “[i]f there is equal advancement in peace or war,” Chanakya declares, “[one] should resort to peace.”[26] The whole purpose of Chanakya’s foreign policy is to increase one’s power at the cost of one’s enemies. Power, Chanakya takes care to define, is of three kinds: the power of knowledge is the power of counsel, the power of the treasury and the army is the power of might, the power of valour is the power of energy.[27] Thus, warfare need not be the only means to increase power. However, if it came to war, Chanakya saw three kinds of warfare that could be waged: open war (traditional war), concealed war (guerrilla war), and silent war (openly praising the enemy while sending spies to assassinate him, sabotage his kingdom, and sowing dissention among his officials).[28] Chanakya sees four strategies through which power can be exercised: saama (peace), daana (gift), bheda (dissention), and danda (force). As a result, Chanakya discusses issues of military strategy as part of his chapter on foreign policy and diplomacy. Chanakya would agree with Karl von Clausewitz that war was the continuation of politics by other means. In fact, he delineates six measures of conducting foreign policy: entering into a treaty (peace), doing injury (war), remaining indifferent (neutrality), submitting to another (seeking shelter), and resorting to peace with one foe and war with another (dual policy).[29] Obviously, peaceful negotiation was best, followed by the giving of gifts, sowing dissention among the enemy, and finally war. When war came, Chanakya advised that it be fought as chivalrously as possible. If one was stronger than one’s opponent, one should follow the rules of warfare. If one was equal or weaker than one’s aggressor, one should recourse to any means necessary to attain victory. Chanakya even countenanced crops and stores to be burnt down, trees to be cut, and civilians to be captured as part of his total war.[30]

Machiavelli echoed such thoughts himself. Machiavelli’s advice to his prince is that “there are two ways of contesting, the one by the law, the other by force; the first method is proper to men, the second to beasts; but because the first is frequently not sufficient, it is necessary to have recourse to the second.”[31] Even more clearly, in the Discourses, he writes,

And doubtless, if the Florentines had attached their neighbours to themselves by treaties of amity, or by rendering them assistance, instead of frightening them off, they would now be the undisputed masters of Tuscany. I do not mean to say by this, however, that arms and force are never to be employed, but that they should be reserved as the last resort when other means fail.[32]

“Although deceit is detestable in all other things,” Machiavelli writes, “yet in the conduct of war it is laudable and honourable; and a commander who vanquishes an enemy by stratagem is equally praised with one who gains victory by force.”[33] He emphasises again that “one’s country must be defended, whether with glory or with shame; it must be defended anyhow.”[34] Machiavelli, many scholars seem to agree, represents a departure from the humanist values of non-violent diplomacy. Felix Gilbert’s seminal book on the politics of the chaotic period between the first expulsion of the Medici from Florence to their second expulsion, Machiavelli and Guicciardini, argues that Machiavelli had learned about the “crucial importance of force in politics”[35] in the twenty years since the appearance of French and Spanish troops in Italy. He further argues that although the Discourses dealt more with the establishment of republics, the “dominating idea” in the Discourses and the Prince is the foundational nature of force for any state.[36] Although we do not know much about Chanakya’s background, it is a fair assumption to say that Alexander’s invasion of India and the subsequent defeat of the Indian kings by Alexander due to the constant fighting between the Indian kingdoms themselves underscored in Chanakya’s mind the necessity of a strong and unified state and the centrality of force in politics. Thus, both Chanakya and Machiavelli came to the same conclusion and were formed by similar experiences. What is striking is the universal applicability ascribed to their laws. Gilbert writes on Machiavelli, “[the] Prince and the Discourses were intended to reveal the laws which govern the world of politics,”[37] while LN Rangarajan regards Chanakya “as a great preceptor of statecraft, whose teachings have a universal validity.”[38]

Since both of our subjects believe in the primacy of force, it is not surprising that they devote much effort to explaining what force is and how it should be used. Machiavelli, for example, having learned from the incessant wars between the Italian states themselves and also between France and Spain, is particularly concerned that the state should have its own arms. Chanakya cynically declares, “When one has an army, one’s ally remains friendly, or even the enemy becomes friendly.”[39] Since laws are upheld by force, it is apparent that the prince should be armed. Machiavelli clearly indicates that “there cannot be good laws where there are not good arms, and where there are good arms there must be good laws.”[40] As Mansfield points out, Machiavelli abjectly repudiates the Christian notion that the meek shall inherit the earth.[41] A key point Machiavelli wishes to make is that the prince not rely on mercenaries or auxiliaries. He says,

Mercenaries and auxiliaries are useless and dangerous; and if one holds his state based on these arms, he will stand neither firm nor safe; for they are disunited, ambitious, and without discipline, unfaithful, valiant before friends, cowardly before enemies; they have neither the fear of God nor fidelity to men, and destruction is deferred only so long as the attack is; for in peace one is robbed by them, and in war by the enemy. The fact is, they have no other attraction or reason for keeping the field than a trifle of stipend, which is not sufficient to make them willing to die for you…no principality is secure without having its own forces.[42]

Again, in the Discourses, he stresses, “[s]uch princes and republics of modern times as have no national troops for defence or attack ought well to be ashamed of it,”[43] and in The Art of War, he repeats again, “I say to you that no army is of more use than your own.”[44] Machiavelli’s adamance on this issue stems from his conviction that auxiliary troops are not under the prince’s control but under the control of he who sends the troops, and mercenaries, as stated above, cannot be trusted. In his time, Italian city states rarely had standing armies—even larger European states struggled to afford one—and most cities relied almost exclusively on mercenaries. The French invasion of Italy revealed the weakness of this policy, and Machiavelli’s repeated warning is similar to that of a child having burnt his fingers.

The Arthashastra does not prohibit the use of mercenaries, probably because they augment an already vast force the king possesses. Chanakya categorises the army in several groups, each group or combination of groups best suited for certain kinds of missions. Chanakya’s army consists of maula (the standing army), bhrita (the territorial army), sreni (the militia), mitra (the ally’s army), amitra (alien forces), and atavi (tribal forces). Of these six types—sreni obviously refers to mercenaries—the first three were drawn from the citizens of the country.[45] Chanakya also prefers that any force be composed of elements earlier in the list than later. The last two, amitra and atavi, were deemed untrustworthy and unreliable, plunder being their only goal, and hence to be used only as a last resort or as disposable troops.[46]

Like Chanakya, Machiavelli also comments on how troops should be drawn. His schema, thankfully, is far simpler. Machiavelli believes that men should generally be drawn from the populace through a draft. “Since it is necessary…first to find men, you must come to the Deletto of them.”[47] For this, he advises that the draft be drawn from “the peasants, who are accustomed to working the land, are more useful than anyone else.”[48] Chanakya’s advice is identical. “A kshatriya army, trained in the art of weapons, is better, or a vaisya or a shudra army, when possessed of great [numbers],”[49] Chanakya opines.[50] Upon the creation of armies and matters of military strategy, Chanakya and Machiavelli expound in much detail. Machiavelli’s Art of War deals exclusively with military matters, the prince’s first duty. Chanakya also focuses in great detail upon strategy, formations, discipline, potential problems, payment, equipment, training, battalions and divisions, and other organisational factors in Books Two, Eight, and Nine of the Arthashastra.

Diplomacy

It is important to understand Chanakya’s and Machiavelli’s worldview, their weltanschauung, before looking at their aphorisms on diplomacy. Machiavelli is clear even in his Discourses, where he seems more interested in the ideal form of government than the realpolitik of the Prince, that “it is impossible for a republic to remain long in the quiet enjoyment of her freedom within her limited confines; for even if she does not molest others, others will molest her, and from being thus molested will spring the desire and necessity of conquests.”[51] Chanakya’s view of the world extends not only to the kingdom’s immediate neighbours but beyond that to encompass the whole world.[52] Of course, Mauryan dynasty maps were not as sophisticated as to show the entire planet, but in his system of twelve concentric mandalas or circles, Chanakya divides the world into enemies, allies, allies of enemies, allies of allies, and so on.[53] In its entirety, Chanakya’s matrix consists of seventy-two elements (!) that could be reduced only upon conquest.[54]

Ambassadors were not permanent in Chanakya’s or Machiavelli’s time. In both cases, envoys served a secondary function of intelligence gathering. As Sir Henry Wotton punned succinctly, “an ambassador [was] an honest man who [was] sent to lie abroad.”[55] Especially with the strengthening of international law, when protection was granted to messengers, ambassadors were useful assets in an enemy’s court. Chanakya, true to his style, explains in detail the qualifications of an envoy—there are multiple kinds with varying degrees of power—and their duties, even how they should conduct themselves when in the enemy’s court. These thoughts are grouped along with his teachings on the training of spies, counsellors, and assassins, revealing the purpose of embassy in the Arthashastran mind. Usually, the envoy was not paid and allowed only a travelling allowance, just as in medieval Europe. However, envoys were mostly drawn from the king’s courtiers and were therefore paid in other ways.[56]

Oddly missing is a thorough discussion on the ars arengandi in Machiavelli’s writings, particularly since he himself played ambassador on several occasions. His writings indicate through historical examples, particularly in the Prince, the influence of emissaries on politics in communicating with other states. Despite lacking the exhaustive training his Venetian counterparts received, Machiavelli’s experience is unquestionably proven in a 1522 memo to Raffaello Girolami, an inexperienced colleague. In what by now should not be surprising, Machiavelli’s advice to Girolami closely resembles Chanakya’s thoughts. Both our theorists emphasise the “analysis of the political situation and the personality of the audience.”[57] Machiavelli states, “successful diplomacy begins with a thorough analysis of the nature of the sovereign to whom the envoy is sent.”[58] The envoys should strive to learn the “state and essence” of the enemy’s government.[59] Chanakya writes,

[An envoy] should observe terrains suitable for stationing an army, for fighting, for reserves and for retreat, for his own state and for the enemy…he should find out the size of forts and the country as well as strong points…defences and weak points…he should notice graciousness in speech, expression and eyes of the enemy, esteem of the envoy’s words, inquiries about his wishes, keen interest in talk about the qualities of the envoy’s master.[60]

The question, of course, is why was something so essential to the functioning of a state not included in the three principal texts he wrote on statecraft? William Wiethoff argues that this is because Machiavelli’s ideas on diplomatic functionaries were conventional for the time. Much of what Machiavelli explained to Girolami had been standard practice in medieval Italy. Just as Chanakya assumes that no king would hurt a brahmin emissary because it was understood in Indian society that brahmins were not to be harmed, Machiavelli sees no point in reiterating the accepted wisdom of his time.

Despite the emphasis on negotiation, neither Chanakya nor Machiavelli believed that treaties were binding.[61] In fact, both thinkers considered some treaties as made to be broken, to lull the enemy into a false sense of security. Politics is for both men as much about breaking promises as it is making them. The king who wants to outmanoeuvre a short-sighted enemy should enter into an alliance with him to create a false sense of confidence, and then discovering the weak points of the enemy, strike him.[62] Machiavelli also agreed that it seldom happened that anyone could “rise from low condition to high rank without employing either force or fraud,” and it was less censurable if the fraud were concealed.[63] Chanakya and Machiavelli both spend considerable time delineating the nature of such conspiracies and frauds and how the prince or king should avoid them. The Arthashastra also mentions various methods—wine, women, wealth, gambling, assassination—a king could use to destabilise his enemy.[64] According to C. Formichi, both Machiavelli and Chanakya agreed that 1) Nations are always hostile and need to be eliminated with whatever methods available, 2) Reasons of State must prevail over all other sentiments, and 3) There are no limits to absolute sovereignty.[65]

Fiscal Policy

There is one aspect of the state that Chanakya and Machiavelli disagree on: economics. For Chanakya, economics was central to the well-being of the state. The basis of state power was financial power.[66] Wars were fought and policies were formulated on the basis of gain, and usually, money was a good measure of success. The Mauryan state had an extensive tax code to support its ventures. The Arthashastran state regulated all aspects of economics but was not a collectivised state. Although the state controlled key industries, legalised and taxed alcohol, prostitution[67] and gambling, and prescribed severe punishments for financial duplicity, the king could not seize land from a farmer as long as the farmer paid his taxes. Chanakya even prohibited the state from making deals that hurt individual merchants and many areas of business were off-limits to the state.

Machiavelli’s thoughts are radically different. He emphatically states, “there cannot, therefore, be a more erroneous opinion than that money is the sinews of war.”[68] Machiavelli’s argument is that one cannot wage war with gold but needs iron. Without the strong spirit of good soldiers, an excess of gold merely encourages neighbouring states to plunder the prince’s realm.[69] Money is a necessity, Machiavelli argues, but a secondary one that good soldiers could overcome. In the Prince, Machiavelli warns that principalities that are acquired by fortune, by wealth or gift, are the hardest to hold because the prince has not demonstrated his virtu to the people yet. What are we to make of this stark reversal on realpolitik by the arch-realist of the modern era? It seems unlikely that Machiavelli suddenly chose to venerate the human spirit—in fact, Machiavelli’s take on human nature appears quite bleak. From the examples Machiavelli cites in the Discourses to support this view, one gathers that Machiavelli does not abnegate the power of money but merely implores the prince not to rely solely on it. It is obvious that Machiavelli sees the importance of fiscal health for he considers the problems of paying a large standing army. However, Machiavelli still rejects the centrality of pecuniary matters in the functioning of an army let alone a state. The only possible reason I can suggest is that Machiavelli’s prince did not seek global hegemony but merely the security of his realm. Ideally, Machiavelli’s prince used his enemy’s resources to replenish his own needs. The Arthashastran king, however, sought world domination. Perhaps the king did not posses a long-term strategy to do this but constant conflict and realignment of politics plot the king on a course to defeat or world conquest. This required far larger resources of money and strategic materials than Machiavelli’s prince could dream of.[70] It may also be because when Machiavelli wrote his treatises, he had firmly in mind the political situation in Italy at the time, while Chanakya’s labour was unconstrained by any historical context.

Conclusion

The tragic truth behind Chanakya’s and Machiavelli’s thoughts was expressed most concisely by Machiavelli himself: how we live is so far removed from how we ought to live, that he who abandons what is done for what ought to be done, will rather learn to bring about his own ruin.[71] It is overly simplistic to mark these two theorists as cold-hearted realists and demonise them, for both placed many caveats upon the use of extreme force. Chanakya forbade the king from attacking another just king, for the aggressor could not hope to hold the gains he made against just king.[72] Machiavelli agrees with Chanakya, saying, “one cannot call it virtue to kill one’s fellow citizens, betray one’s friends, to be without faith, without mercy, without religion.”[73] As regards cruelty and mercy, Machiavelli states, “he is to be reprehended who commits violence for the purpose of destroying, and not he who employs it for beneficent purposes. The lawgiver should, however, be sufficiently wise and virtuous not to leave this authority which he has assumed either to his heirs or to any one else; for mankind, being more prone to evil than to good…”[74] Thus, Mansfield’s statement about Machiavelli can be extended to describe Chanakya as well: for both these men, “there is just one beginning—necessity.”[75] Even in victory, both recommend generous behaviour towards the vanquished, letting them keep their traditions and treating captives well—both sought stability and order internally as well as externally.[76] Both project a sense of paternalism towards the subjects of their realms, yet both are cognisant of the fact that the security of the realm is sometimes paid for by a high body count, hopefully the enemy’s.

The Arthashastra is separated from the Prince, Discourses, and the Art of War by eighteen centuries and a vastly different culture, and yet their resonance with each other is remarkable. One cannot but help reconsidering structuralist notions of power, leaving for them the Foucauldian knowledge-is-power panopticon. The signs and signifying practices in Chanakya’s and Machiavelli’s world seem to conform into a unitary constructed reality, a reality that differs in all aspects but the nature of power. What does this say of Hannah Arendt’s view that violence indicates the loss of power?[77] Furthermore, what does this leave of Ranajit Guha’s carefully crafted relationship between dominance, hegemony, and power? The strongest argument for a closer analysis of a structuralist notion of power seems to me to be in the cultural differences and the time separating Machiavelli and Chanakya. In a world as dynamic as ours, anything that lasts for so long with so few changes deserves another look. There is no doubt, however, that both men have acquired a sinister reputation over the years. Indians prefer to project the image of their messenger of peace, Mohandas Gandhi, and ignore the full implications of the Arthashastra. Machiavelli, needless to say, caused much debate among Europeans over his legacy—the authoritarian Machiavelli of the Prince, or the republican Machiavelli of the Discourses? The pagan Machiavelli, or the Christian Machiavelli?[78] This is obviously an absurd reduction. As Lord Acton said of Machiavelli, “a sublime purpose justifies him, and he has been wronged by dupes and fanatics, by irresponsible dreamers and interested hypocrites.”[79] To conclude, it is best to let Machiavelli defend and define both, himself and Chanakya: my profession is to govern my subjects, and defend them, and in order to defend them, I must love peace but know how to make war.[80]

[1] There are debates regarding the exact date the Arthashastra was written. See RP Kangle, The Kautilya Arthashastra (Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1988), Volume 3, 59 – 116. Indologists date the text from as early as the fourth century before the Common Era to the third after. However, the dating of this text shall have no serious repercussions on our study of its dictums.

[2] Felix Gilbert, Machiavelli and Guiccardini: Politics and History in Sixteenth-Century Florence (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1965), 154.

[3] Harvey Mansfield, Machiavelli’s Virtue (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996), 238.

[4] Law of the fishes (matsyanyaya) — big fish eat little fish. The origin of authority and eventually the state is seen as rising from a Hobbesian anarchy. And similar to Hobbes’ thesis, the alternative to the state is anarchy. However, there does not seem to be any social contract as Hobbes or Jean-Jacques Rousseau would suggest in their works.

[5] Arthashastra 1.13.5-7. See RP Kangle, Volume 2, 28.

[6] “Land in itself had little value in Arthashastran India as there was plenty of virgin land to be had for free. The Arthashastra does not even mention land in its list of inheritable property. Land became valuable only when made productive by human labour.” See Abraham Eraly, The Gem in the Lotus: The Seeding of Indian Civilisation (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 2000), 380.

[7] Arthashastra 6.1.1. See Kangle Volume 2, 314.

[8] Arthashastra 1.7.9.

[9] Niccolò Machiavelli, Discourses on the First Ten Books of Titus Livius, Chapter XI. Online. Available from http://oll.libertyfund.org/index.php?option=com_staticxt&staticfile=show.php&title=775, accessed February 12, 2012.

[10] Machiavelli, Discourses, Book I, Chapter XXV.

[11] Machiavelli, Discourses, Book I, Chapter XXXIV.

[12] Machiavelli, Discourses, Book I, Chapter II.

[13] Niccolò Machiavelli, The Prince, Chapter XIV. Online. Available from http://oll.libertyfund.org/index.php?option=com_staticxt&staticfile=show.php&title=1234, accessed February 12, 2012.

[14] Arthashastra 3.1.41. See Kangle, Volume 2, 195.

[15] Kangle, Volume 3, 117 – 118.

[16] Machiavelli, The Prince, Chapter III.

[17] Machiavelli, Discourses, Book I, Chapter VI.

[18] Miguel Vatter, Between Event and Form: Machiavelli’s Theory of Political Freedom (Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 2000), 22.

[19] Ibid.

[20] Kangle, Volume 3, 131.

[21] Arthashastra 1.17.51. See Kangle, Volume 2, 48.

[22] Radhagovindha Basak, Some Aspects of Kautilya’s Political Thinking (Burdwan: Burdwan University Press, 1967), 3.

[23] Niccolo Machiavelli, The Art of War, Book 1. Online. Available from http://oll.libertyfund.org/index.php?option=com_staticxt&staticfile=show.php&title=1234, accessed February 12, 2012

[24] Machiavelli, The Prince, Chapter 18.

[25] Machiavelli, Discourses, Book II, Chapter VI.

[26] Arthashastra 7.2.1. See Kangle, Volume 2, 325.

[27] Arthashastra 6.2.33. See Kangle, Volume 2, 319.

[28] Roger Boesche, The First Great Political Realist: Kautilya and his Arthashastra (Oxford:Lexington Books, 2002), 109.

[29] Arthashastra 7.1.6. See Kangle, Volume 2, 321.

[30] Bharati Mukherjee, Kautilya’s Concept of Diplomacy: A New Interpretation (Calcutta: Minerva Associates, 1976), 33-34.

[31] Machiavelli, The Prince, Chapter XVIII.

[32] Machiavelli, Discourses, Book II, Chapter XXI.

[33] Machiavelli, Discourses, Book III, Chapter XL.

[34] Machiavelli, Discourses, Book III, Chapter XLI.

[35] Gilbert, Machiavelli and Guicciardini, 154.

[36] Ibid.

[37] Ibid., 170.

[38] LN Rangarajan, The Arthashastra (Delhi: Penguin Books, 1992), 31.

[39] Arthashastra 8.1.56. See Kangle, Volume 2, 389.

[40] Machiavelli, The Prince, Chapter XII.

[41]Mansfield, 187.

[42] Machiavelli, The Prince, Chapter XII.

[43] Machiavelli, Discourses, Chapter XXI. See also, Chapter XLIII, where Machiavelli again mentions the “uselessness of mercenary troops, who have nothing to make them fight but the small stipend they receive, which is not and cannot be sufficient to make them loyal, or so devoted as to be willing to die for you.”

[44] Machiavelli, The Art of War, Book I.

[45] Rangarajan, 684.

[46] The standing army depended upon the king for its existence and was under constant training. This was therefore the best army in terms of equipment, training, and loyalty. Some campaigns the king may wish to lead may need a larger army. The territorial army was next in preference because of its close proximity to the king—it was usually drawn from the capital and the surrounding areas. It was easily mobilised and more obedient. Sreni, the militia, were next because they were drawn from common citizens of the entire realm. These troops were reliable because in the success of the king lay their success. Their expectations for reward and other gains made them useful. Chanakya preferred friendly forces next. They were understood to have similar interests as that of the king, and they were hopefully as well-trained as the king’s own army. Amitra and Atavi were forces Machiavelli would probably describe as auxiliaries—they were not under the direct control of the king. However, they provided bodies if and when needed. Amitra were alien forces whose interests coincided with those of the king’s for a limited period. Atavi were jungle forces—in Chanakya’s time, there were certain jungle tribes that a king allowed to exist in his kingdom that were not part of his jurisdiction. They had no rights as citizens, but were extended the same protection as any citizen. In return, they would provide troops if needed. See Rangarajan, 684-685.

[47] Machiavelli, The Art of War, Book I.

[48] Ibid.

[49] Arthashastra 9.2.21. See Kangle, Volume 2, 412.

[50] In Hindu society, people were divided into four broad groups. The brahmins, the highest group, were priests, scholars, and counselors in the royal court. Kshatriyas were nobility, and were considered the warrior caste. It fell to them to rule and to defend society. The next caste, the vaishyas, were merchants, financiers, and artisans. The lowest caste, the shudras, worked in service industries and were artisans. Outside the caste system were the non-Aryans, mlecchas. Chanakya does not consider them in his work.

[51] Machiavelli, Discourses, Book 2, Chapter XIX.

[52] RP Kangle translates the opening line of the Arthashastra as, “This single treatise on the Science of Politics has been prepared mostly by bringing together the teaching of as many treatises on the Science of Politics as have been composed by ancient teachers for the acquisition and protection of the earth.” (emphasis mine). See Arthashastra 1.1.1. Kangle, Volume 2, 1.

[53] Rangarajan, 557.

[54] Arthashastra 6.2.13-28. See Kangle, Volume 2, 318-319.

[55] Harold Nicholson, Diplomacy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1958)

[56] Kangle, Volume 3, 208.

[57] William Wiethoff, “A Machiavellian Paradigm for Diplomatic Communication,” The Journal of Politics, Vol. 43, No. 4, (November 1981): 1093.

[58] Memoriale a Raffaello Girolami quando al 23 d’Ottobre parti per Spagna all’Imperatore, in Opere, ed. Alessandro Montevecchi (Torino: Unione Tipografico, 1971), 2: 223.

[59] Ibid.

[60] Arthashastra 1.16.8-12. See Kangle, Volume 2, 37. For general rules of diplomatic conduct, see Arthashastra 1.16.8-35 in Kangle, Volume 2, 37-39.

[61] For the Arthashastra on treaties, see Rangarajan, 580-603. Chanakya also states that any contract made with fraudulent intent is invalid. See Rangarajan, 501.

[62] Arthashastra 7.6.13. See Kangle, 339.

[63] Machiavelli, Discourses, Book 2, Chapter III.

[64] Roger Boesche, “Kautilya’s ‘Arthashastra’ on War and Diplomacy in Ancient India,” The Journal of Military History, Vol. 67, No. 1 (Jan. 2003): 24.

[65] Benoy Kumar Sarkar, “Hindu Politics in Italian,” Indian Historical Quarterly, Volume I (1925), 551-552.

[66] Eraly, 387.

[67] Prostitutes were educated in their craft at the state’s expense (!) and were taxed at a uniform 12.5%.

[68] Machiavelli, Discourses, Book II, Chapter X.

[69] “I maintain, then, contrary to the general opinion, that the sinews of war are not gold, but good soldiers; for gold alone will not procure good soldiers, but good soldiers will always procure gold. Had the Romans attempted to make their wars with gold instead of with iron, all the treasure of the world would not have sufficed them, considering the great enterprises they were engaged in, and the difficulties they had to encounter. But by making their wars with iron, they never suffered for the want of gold; for it was brought to them, even into their camp.” See Ibid.

[70] In modern nuclear parlance, this is the difference between Chanakya’s MAD (Mutual Assured Destruction) and Machiavelli’s MUD (Mutually Unacceptable Damage). The theory is that it is not necessary to have the power to obliterate the planet as the US and USSR did during the Cold War. French, Israeli, British, and now Indian nuclear programs are far more modest—they possess enough nuclear weapons to make any potential aggressor think twice before attacking. Similarly, Chanakya’s king had a global vision, while Machiavelli’s prince was content to rule a strong but bounded power.

[71] Machiavelli, Prince, Chapter 15.

[72] Arthashastra 7.5.16-18. See Kangle 335.

[73] Machiavelli, Prince, Chapter 8.

[74] Machiavelli, Discourses, Book I, Chapter IX.

[75]Mansfield, 55.

[76] George Modelski, “Kautilya: Foreign Policy and International System in the Ancient Hindu World,” The American Political Science Review, Vol. 58, No. 3 (Sept. 1964), 558.

[77] Hannah Arendt, On Violence (New York: Harcourt, Brace, & World, 1970), 44-46.

[78] See Sebastian de Grazia’s Machiavelli in Hell (New York: Vintage Books, 1994).

[79] Introduction to LA Burd’s edition of The Prince (Oxford, 1891), xxxiv.

[80] Machiavelli, Art of War, Book I.