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| Sages gathered in discussion, evoking Somānanda’s method of understanding both one’s own doctrine and opposing views before guiding others across doubt. |
Previous part explained how rāga and the other limiting powers function causatively toward Īśvara. They do not create a second reality outside the Lord; rather, they causatively shape his own holding of the bhāvas into the differentiated field of finite experience. That is why they are called dhāraṇās: they hold, sustain, and make possible the structured condition of the puṃs, the limited experiencer.
Now Abhinava clarifies what exactly is meant by dhāraṇa in this context. The word is not being used vaguely. Here it refers to the very tattvas known elsewhere as kañcukas — the “coverings” or constrictive powers that limit the bound being. This is why he cites the Tantrasāra: these powers hold the bonds of the paśu, the limited soul, and must therefore be carefully purified.
But he immediately complicates the matter. Somānanda had used the same word dhāraṇa differently, in relation to aṅgas, through another interpretive standpoint. Abhinava does not treat this as a contradiction to be anxiously hidden. Instead, he says this belongs to Somānanda’s style: to display even the opposing or alternate position fully within one’s own Self. A real teacher must know both svapakṣa and parapakṣa; otherwise, drowning in the ocean of doubt himself, how could he rescue others?
So the chunk has two connected movements. First, it settles dhāraṇa as referring here to the kañcuka-like limiting tattvas. Second, it opens a meta-level about method: Abhinava and Somānanda are not afraid of alternate readings because their vision is large enough to contain them.
Dhāraṇa here means the tattvas known elsewhere as kañcukas
tadevaṃ dhāraṇaśabdenāparaśāstreṣu kañcukanāmadheyaprasiddhānyeva tattvāni iha nirūpitāni
“Thus, by the word dhāraṇa, the very tattvas that are well known in other śāstras under the name kañcuka are described here.”
Abhinava now clarifies the technical meaning of dhāraṇa in this passage. The word refers here to the tattvas known in other śāstras as kañcukas — coverings, constrictions, limiting sheaths. These are the powers that make the unlimited appear as limited: partial knowing, partial agency, desire, differentiation, situatedness, and the whole structure by which the bound subject experiences itself as finite.
This follows directly from previous part. There, rāga and the others became causative toward Īśvara as he holds the bhāvas in differentiated form. Now Abhinava says plainly: these are the same tattvas that other scriptures call kañcukas. So dhāraṇa and kañcuka are being brought together from two angles. As kañcukas, they cover and contract. As dhāraṇās, they hold and sustain the finite structure.
That double sense is important. A limitation is not only a veil. It is also an organizer. It holds a world in place. Without these constrictive powers, there would be no stable finite experience: no limited knower, no knowable object, no partial action, no desire, no field of differentiated cognition. The same power that binds also structures the possibility of experience.
So Abhinava is not merely translating one term into another. He is showing the function of limitation from inside the Śaiva system. The kañcukas are not alien chains thrown over consciousness from outside. They are dhāraṇās: Śakti’s constrictive powers by which the bound condition is held, stabilized, and made experienceable.
Tantrasāra support: the limiting powers hold the bonds of the paśu
yaduktaṃ śrītantrasāre
dhārayanti paśoḥ pāśānbhāvānsvātmamayāṃstathā |
vidyāmāyāniyatyādyāḥ śodhyāstena prayatnataḥ ||
iti |
“As it is said in the revered Tantrasāra:
‘Vidyā, māyā, niyati, and the others hold the bonds of the paśu, and likewise the bhāvas as made of the Self. Therefore they must be carefully purified.’”
Abhinava now supports this interpretation through the Tantrasāra. The verse says that vidyā, māyā, niyati, and the related powers dhārayanti — they hold. What they hold are the pāśas of the paśu, the bonds of the limited being, and also the bhāvas as svātma-mayāḥ, made of the Self.
Vidyā here does not mean liberating knowledge. It means limited knowledge — the contraction of omniscience into knowing only this much, from one angle, under one condition. Māyā is not simply “illusion” in a loose sense; it is the principle of differentiation, the power by which unity appears as separated multiplicity: this and that, self and other, here and there. Niyati is limitation as order, necessity, situatedness, and constraint: things appear in this sequence, under these conditions, in this place, not otherwise. And “the others” includes powers such as rāga, the experience of lack and desire, and kalā, limited agency — the sense that one can do only this much.
So these are not generic moral faults. They are structural contractions of infinite consciousness. They bind the paśu because they make the unlimited Self experience itself as a finite knower, finite doer, finite desirer, located in a fixed world of differentiated objects and constraints.
But the verse immediately adds something very Śaiva: the bhāvas are svātma-maya, made of the Self. The bonds operate, but they do not create a second reality outside consciousness. Even the limited structures are woven from the Self’s own power. This is why purification is needed, not crude rejection. These powers are śodhyāḥ, to be purified carefully, because their contracted operation binds, while their essence is still Śakti.
So the verse confirms the double meaning of dhāraṇa. As kañcukas, these powers cover and contract. As dhāraṇās, they hold the finite structure in place. They sustain the bonds of the paśu, but they also hold the bhāvas as Self-made. Bondage is real as experience, but not independent as a separate principle. It is Śakti functioning in contracted form.
Somānanda uses “dhāraṇa” differently, through another interpretive standpoint
yattu śrīsomānandapādaiḥ dhāraṇaśabdena aṅgāni nirūpitāni pakṣāntarāśrayaṇena [anyārthakathanenetyarthaḥ |]
“But when Śrī Somānandapāda explained aṅgas by the word dhāraṇa, this was by taking up another standpoint — that is, by speaking of another meaning.”
Abhinava now addresses a possible tension. He has just said that in this passage dhāraṇa refers to the tattvas known elsewhere as kañcukas. But Somānanda, the great predecessor of this tradition, used the same word dhāraṇa differently, referring to aṅgas. So Abhinava clarifies: this is not a contradiction. Somānanda was speaking from pakṣāntara, another interpretive standpoint.
The gloss makes this even plainer: anyārtha-kathanena — by speaking of another meaning. The same word can function differently depending on the doctrinal context being opened. Here, in Abhinava’s reading of the Tantra verse, dhāraṇa means the kañcuka-like limiting tattvas. In Somānanda’s treatment, it may indicate aṅgas, limbs or constituent parts, under another interpretive aim.
This is important because Abhinava does not defend his reading by flattening the tradition into one rigid usage. He does not say: “Somānanda was wrong,” nor does he anxiously force both meanings into sameness. He gives a more spacious answer: different standpoint, different meaning. The question is not whether one Sanskrit word has only one possible doctrinal value. The question is which meaning is alive in this context.
So this point shows Abhinava’s maturity as an interpreter. Precision does not mean stiffness. Fidelity to the text does not mean pretending that every teacher always used every term identically. A living śāstric tradition can hold layered usages, but only if the interpreter knows exactly which standpoint is being used where.
His intention was to display the opposing position within the Self
tatra parapakṣasarvadṛśyatvaprathanamātmani abhiprāyaḥ
“His intention there was to make manifest, within the Self, the full visibility of the opposing position.”
Abhinava now explains Somānanda’s purpose. When Somānanda used dhāraṇa in another sense, he was not being careless and not contradicting the present interpretation. His abhiprāya, intention, was to make parapakṣa-sarva-dṛśyatva manifest — the full visibility of the opposing or alternate position — ātmani, within the Self.
This is a remarkable line. Somānanda does not merely defend his own view by excluding the other. He brings the other position into visibility within his own field of understanding. The opposing standpoint is not left outside as something alien, frightening, or merely false. It is seen, displayed, and understood from within the Self.
This is almost never the normal practice in sects and traditions. Usually followers receive a pre-digested caricature of the other side: “they are nihilists,” “they are ritualists,” “they are sentimental dualists,” “they are dry intellectuals,” “they do not understand the real truth.” Then one’s own ācāryas are treated as if they stand absolutely above every other tradition, while the opponent is known only through slogans. That is not mastery. That is tribal security.
What Abhinava describes here is much more mature — and much more frightening. To really see the other position means risking the comfort of inherited certainty. It means allowing the opponent to become visible in their strongest form, not in the convenient weakened form used for sectarian self-protection. Somānanda’s style, as Abhinava presents it, is not defensive. It is sovereign. He can let the other view appear fully within his own Self because his own realization is not fragile.
That is not relativism. He is not saying all views are equally final. He is saying that a complete vision must be able to see even the alternate position fully. Otherwise one does not really possess one’s own doctrine; one merely clings to it defensively.
This also connects to what we saw earlier with the Buddhist material. Abhinava’s lineage is not afraid to let another view speak strongly. The opposing view becomes part of the field of discernment. It is seen within consciousness, measured, honored where it has force, and then placed properly. That is real mastery, not sectarian reflex.
Somānanda’s disciplined style of proceeding
teṣāṃ hi īdṛśī śailī
[śīle bhavā śailī samādhānapūrvikā pravṛttiriti kayyaṭaḥ racanenye śailī svamatamityanye |]
“For such was their śailī, their manner of proceeding. According to Kaiyaṭa, śailī means a conduct or mode of proceeding grounded in resolution; others take it as a style of composition or one’s own doctrinal manner.”
Abhinava now clarifies that Somānanda’s handling of another meaning was not accidental. It belonged to his śailī — his style, method, mode of proceeding. The gloss gives two shades of meaning. One connects śailī with conduct or activity grounded in samādhāna, settled resolution. The other takes it as a style of composition, or even one’s own doctrinal manner.
Both senses fit. Somānanda’s style is not merely literary. It is a way of moving through doctrine from a place of settled command. He can enter another standpoint, state another meaning, and display another position because he is not inwardly destabilized by it. The alternate view does not scatter him.
This continues the previous point exactly. To make the opposing position visible within the Self requires more than information. It requires a kind of steadiness. One must be able to look directly at another view without either collapsing into it or caricaturing it. That is śailī in the strong sense: not just “writing style,” but the disciplined movement of a mind rooted enough to let other perspectives appear clearly.
So Abhinava is not only telling us how to interpret dhāraṇa. He is quietly showing what real śāstric maturity looks like. It is not anxious uniformity. It is not hiding alternative meanings to protect the reader. It is the ability to hold multiple standpoints, identify the operative context, and then place each meaning exactly where it belongs.
One who does not know both sides cannot rescue others from doubt
svapakṣānparapakṣāṃśca niḥśeṣeṇa na veda yaḥ |
svayaṃ sa saṃśayāmbhodhau nimajjaṃstārayetkatham ||
iti |
“One who does not know both his own positions and opposing positions completely — how could he rescue others, while he himself is sinking in the ocean of doubt?”
Abhinava now seals the point with a verse that cuts very deeply. A teacher who does not know both svapakṣa, his own position, and parapakṣa, the opposing position, niḥśeṣeṇa, completely, cannot guide others. If he himself is sinking in saṃśaya-ambhodhi, the ocean of doubt, how could he carry anyone else across?
This is severe because it exposes a false kind of certainty. A person may loudly defend his tradition, repeat the words of his ācāryas, speak with confidence, and appear stable to disciples. But if he has never understood the opposing view in its strongest form, his certainty is not knowledge. It is insulation.
In Jungian terms, this is what happens when a person identifies with a collective persona. He becomes “the orthodox one,” “the defender of the lineage,” “the correct practitioner,” “the one who knows.” But the unexamined doubt does not disappear. It goes into the shadow. Then the rival tradition becomes the carrier of everything he has not integrated: danger, error, corruption, nihilism, sentimentality, pride, delusion. He no longer sees the opponent; he sees his own projected shadow wearing the opponent’s clothes.
That is why inherited slogans feel so safe. They protect the ego from the anxiety of real encounter. “They are wrong, we are right.” “They are nihilists.” “They are dualists.” “They are māyāvādīs.” “They are mere ritualists.” These phrases may sometimes contain a partial doctrinal critique, but when repeated without direct understanding, they become psychic armor. The person is not standing on truth; he is standing on borrowed certainty.
Abhinava’s standard is more frightening. To know parapakṣa completely means allowing the other view to become visible without immediately reducing it to caricature. One must understand why intelligent, serious, spiritually mature people could hold it. One must feel its force. Only then can one place it properly. Otherwise, one is still drowning in the ocean of doubt, even if one’s mouth is full of correct doctrine.
So this verse is not merely about debate technique. It is about spiritual adulthood. A teacher who cannot face another view without projection cannot rescue others from confusion. He will only transmit his own unexamined fear in the form of certainty. Real guidance requires a deeper sovereignty: to know one’s own position, to know the opposing position, and to stand in truth without needing to falsify the other.
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