I wrote only yesterday of Marcel Mauss’ book, The Gift, which has an intriguing section on the gift in ancient India. It was insightful, but left a sense of incompleteness that could not be fully gauged, until the realisation dawned upon me that the issue was hiding in plain sight, and oftentimes the most obvious — and appropriate, in this case — solution is always lying in plain sight.

In his study of ancient India, he refers to the Mahabharata, a Sanskrit epic of some antiquity and of more considerable length. But Mauss did not address the question of the gift and of sacrifice in that small yet integral part of the Mahabharata — the Bhagavad Gita — that is the religious and philosophic centrepiece of the entire epic. His analysis of the Indic system, particularly that of the Vedic tradition and the epics that follow them, are deep-reaching and show erudition, but the lacunae are serious, and it is my contention to only expose one part of the umbra to light. “The epic and the Brahmin law still survive in the old atmosphere,” Mauss argues. “presents are still obligatory, things have special powers and form part of human persons.”¹

Mauss contends that the “bond established between donor and recipient is too strong for both of them.”² But in the Gita, the bond between sacrifice, gift, intent, and the donor-recipient relationship are of central concern. It is a text primarily concerned with the vita coactiva, and provides a much better view of the role of these essential relations in Indic society.

Take, for instance, this verse of the Gita:

“Better indeed is knowledge than mechanical practice. Better than knowledge is meditation. But better still is the surrender of attachment to results, because there follows immediate peace.” (12:12)³

The Gita is explicit in its message: only the “surrender of attachment to results” can lead to eternal peace. But this does not mean that one does not stop incurring obligations by refusing to partake in society. The Gita is explicit in condemning renunciation:

“To renounce one’s responsibilities is not fitting. The wise call such deluded renunciation tamasic” (18:7).⁴

The sort of renunciation that makes an appearance here is one compatible with an active life of engagement in social and cultural mores, but without an attachment to results. The wise — priest, merchant, king, or peasant, it does not matter — are bound to the same moral maxim, namely that one must act rightly, and even then, do it for its own sake, and not for the ends it may produce. Right action with right intent without consideration of the means is the supposition here.⁵

Mauss sees one side of the coin: that “the thing that is given itself forges a bilateral, irrevocable bond.”⁶ But he does not see the other side: that these attachments are exposed as part of the inconsequential maya, the magical trap of spurious appearances — or at least, that is what the text claims. But for the text to comment on the gift, on relationships, and on duty with its only end the performance of said duty and not the fruits of action, it shows a complex understanding of the very issues that Mauss does not examine, for whatever reason.

The Gita shows that there is potential for those who seek to find bliss in this world itself whilst maintaining steady, strong, and meaningful relationships. Actions cause karma — the effects of said action — to stick to the soul of the doer. The Gita‘s response to this is that there ought to be a way to still do what one is obliged to do, but in a righteous, moral, and conscientious way. The path forward is put as one of sacrifice. One sacrifices the fruits of the action to disinterested conduct. This sacrifice-as-contract can function in more mechanical terms elsewhere, but here the sacrifice is put in more human terms.

Disinterested action is the key to performing one’s obligations. The line of reasoning that is provided is not far apart from that provided by the school of Mım̄āṃsā: that knowledge, custom, and tradition exist outside of time, and to follow it in all its stead is one’s obligation.⁷ Thus, we return to the modified, Burkean notion of the partnership. That which is outside time, at least from the perspective of the doer, must be continued, if only for its own sake.

A more remarkable and noteworthy critique of Mauss’s views on Indian gifting in relation to the Laws of Manu — the other text he discusses at length in the section —  can be found here.⁸ For a more modern perspective on Indian gifting practices analysed in the context of Mauss’ book, Prof. Doug Haynes’ paper on Indian giving in the commercial city of Surat in Western India is salutary and worth the effort.⁹