Asoka, the Philosopher Emperor

Extracts from an article by Phiroz Mehta taken from volume 86 of Memoirs and Proceedings of the Manchester Literary and Philosophical Society, 1944

Continued from part 1, part 2, part 3 and part 4

In an empire stretching from Afghanistan to Mysore, news from either extremity would probably take six months to reach the government centred at Patliputra. The imperial authority over this mighty sub-continent, and the system of administration, were efficiently maintained. This is a sober historical fact of a period when the means of transport and communication were incredibly slow by modern standards. What was the secret of success? Mainly this: India of the Mauryan age was not a land of impenetrable jungles, but well developed agriculturally, with numerous arts and crafts, a brisk trade, convenient roads and trade routes, and highly industrious. Combined with these physical conditions was the administrative wisdom of the Mauryas. Their system of government gave effect to an extensive decentralisation, and to the utmost latitude to the operations of local government. Innumerable autonomous centres coped with the requirements of their own districts. This highly successful machinery of government was not an innovation by Chandragupta but a legacy from ancient times. Asoka clearly distinguishes his innovations from his inheritances. (See Rock Edict, III, VI, VIII, K.R.E. II, P.E. IV and V.) When we realise the correct significance of this, we obtain a just estimate of the extent to which the autocracy of the monarch was balanced by the democracy of the people. And the loveliest element of this relationship between monarch and people is that, in general, the social and economic life of the masses, the humanness of the existence of the populace, was untouched by the wars of neighbouring kings, the setting up and pulling down of dynasties, and the rise and fall of empires.

So we can visualise Asoka Maurya, in the beginning of his reign, ruling strictly and well, living a life as befitted a secular monarch. He was a man, a reasonably good man, in his thirties, with a family. He was an emperor, a powerful and great emperor, ruling over a subcontinent. The Hindustan of his day was the Great Power of his day. As an emperor alone, posterity could have accorded him an honoured place among the great. But spiritual grace was to descend on him and lift him to the sublime height of a successful Philosopher Emperor, hardly equalled in the annals of history, if we take into account not only the magnitude but also the quality of his achievement. First, however, he had to pass through the portal of sorrow. And this is how it happened. Five years after his coronation he was converted to Buddhism as a lay disciple. There followed about two and a half years of indifferent devotion to the new faith. It was now about 262 B.C., some twelve years since he first ascended the throne. And then came war; to extend his kingdom, it is said. Bloody was the battle fought by the Kalingas with desperate valour in defence of their freedom. The military might of the emperor triumphed. There could never have been any doubt of that issue. But none dreamed of the moral transformation that would take place in the strict, able, pre-eminently successful imperial monarch, at the age of forty-two, in his full maturity, at the zenith of power, least likely to be swayed by sentimentality or other weakness. And yet this was the man who was so smitten to the depths on seeing the suffering of his fellow men, his human brethren, that he abjured war as an instrument of imperial policy. He espoused the cause of human security, happiness and well-being, not only for the peoples of his own vast domains but for all the peoples he could reach. He devoted himself strenuously to the Law of Righteous Living, to the fulfilment of the teachings of the Lord of Wisdom and Compassion. He neglected none of his kingly duties. Indeed, he applied himself more strenuously than ever for their better fulfilment. He organised his mighty empire with its vast resources for the practical realisation of these ideals. Let us illustrate his story from his autobiography, inscribed on rock and pillar. And let us note at the outset that with the characteristic humility and simplicity of the truly great, he calls himself king only, not emperor; to characterise his devotion he calls himself “favoured by the gods”; and to express his genuine affection for all human beings he speaks of himself as “one who regards all with kindness”. Asoka, therefore, styles himself: “Devanampiye Priyadarsin Raja”.

In the second Kalinga Edict he emphasises the paternal principle of government:

“All men are my children; and, just as I desire for my children that they may enjoy every kind of prosperity and happiness … so also do I desire the same for all men.”

He wants the newly-subdued Kalingas “to grasp the truth that ‘the king is to us as a father; he loves us even as he loves himself; we are to the king even as his children’”. Asoka goes further, and wants his agents to feel a similar personal relationship towards their people. Pillar Edict IV says:

“As a man would make over his child to a skilful nurse and, feeling confident, says to himself, ‘the skilful nurse is eager to care for the child’, even so my Governors have been created for the welfare and happiness of the country”.

Continued in part 6 and part 7

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