Introduction
Every now and then, I come across articles or videos arguing passionately about Sanskrit and its connection to science. Some claim that ancient Indian science was written entirely in Sanskrit and that all major scientific discoveries were already made in our past. Others write equally strongly to reject such claims, often using heavy academic language. A recent article titled “Sanskrit didn’t always drive innovation in ancient India—there are two reasons” [https://theprint.in/opinion/sanskrit-didnt-always-drive-innovation-in-ancient-india-there-are-two-reasons/2640720/]is one such example. As an ordinary Indian, interested in both my heritage and in truth, I want to share my reflections—not as a scholar, but as a person trying to understand things deeply and honestly, based on both personal experience and what I’ve read.
More Than a Language
The article mentioned above struck me as both predictable and refreshing. Predictable, because it once again lays out the usual academic responses to exaggerated claims about Sanskrit and science. Refreshing, because toward the end of my reflection I admit an important truth: that all languages have their limits, and Sanskrit is no exception.
Inventions and discoveries across history have always come from basic human needs—like survival, curiosity, or comfort. Whether we call them “scientific innovations” or not, they are part of that same process. Language only comes in later to record and communicate those ideas. Just as today’s research is mostly recorded in English, in some periods of India’s history, Sanskrit played that role. It was the medium, not the cause of knowledge.
The decline of Sanskrit in science happened not because it was replaced by a “better” language, but because of two simple reasons: (1) regional languages became more accessible and widely used, and (2) people write in whatever language they are comfortable with. Even in ancient India, many Buddhist and Jain scholars didn’t use Sanskrit at all, but languages like Pāli, Prākrit, and Ardhamāgadhī. It was only later, through what sociologist M.N. Srinivas called “Sanskritization,” that many of these texts were translated into Sanskrit[1].
What Happens When Patronage Disappears
My reflection points out that sustained thinking and writing—especially by the elite—requires time, interest, and financial or political support. After several invasions and political changes, many Brahmins, who once had this kind of support, lost it. Without sponsorship or resources, it’s understandable that their focus shifted from exploring new ideas to preserving what they already had.
Even this idea, however, must be questioned. Blaming “foreign invasions” for everything can become a convenient excuse that stops us from looking at our own cultural habits critically.
Science in the West grew under very different pressures—such as the need for navigation, the clash between religion and politics, the industrial revolution, and colonial ambition. In contrast, India was more fragmented, spiritually inclined, and not interested in colonizing others. Naturally, the same kind of technological pressure didn’t exist here. But that doesn’t mean India lacked innovation. As Frits Staal puts it:
“Science is universal… The great traditions of Eurasia are basically similar but differ in character and emphasis. West Eurasian science focused on nature and had ups and downs in theory and experiment. Indian science focused more on formal analysis and human theory”[2].
Once the British introduced modern education in India, our scientists—like Ramanujan, J.C. Bose, and others—proved they were no less capable. They just chose to write in the scientific languages of their time, not in Sanskrit, because that’s where the vocabulary, tools, and audience had shifted.
Language Changes with Power
We often forget that Sanskrit’s role in science or philosophy was mostly because it was used by people who had power, status, and time. It wasn’t because Sanskrit had some built-in magical capacity for truth. As social, political, and cultural conditions changed, those who controlled knowledge also changed—and so did the language.
Eventually, other languages became dominant. Knowledge moved into Persian, Tamil, Marathi, and later English. One beautiful example is Rajah Serfoji Bhonsle II of Tanjore (1777–1832). Instead of just collecting ancient artifacts, he focused on modern Western science, blending it with Indian forms of learning. He even adapted a traditional Tamil kuravanji dance-drama to teach Western scientific knowledge[3]. That’s how languages grow—by adapting, not by holding on rigidly to one form.
So when people ask, “Why is Sanskrit no longer used for science?” the answer is simple: It’s no longer necessary. Languages come and go, not because they are superior or inferior, but because the world changes.
The Power and Limits of Oral Tradition
One more reason Sanskrit didn’t dominate modern science has to do with how it was taught. For centuries, oral learning was the main method—people memorized entire texts without even needing a written copy. I’ve seen my own father and others recite long slokas, mantras, and verses from memory, with barely a printed book in sight.
This had its strengths—it encouraged deep internalization and connection with the material. But it also meant that newer ideas, especially those that needed visual explanation or detailed diagrams, were harder to spread or record.
Of course, Brahmins did make scientific progress in the areas they needed—especially astronomy, astrology (Jyotisha), and mathematics. These were essential for conducting Vedic rituals with precision. But beyond that, there wasn’t much push for discovery. Unlike the Chinese, who developed paper for administration or gunpowder for warfare, Indian science was often aimed at spiritual or ritual goals—not statecraft or empire.
That doesn’t mean India was stagnant. It simply had different priorities. Even today, modern Indian languages like Tamil are creatively coining new terms for science.
So What Can We Do Now?
Scholars who keep responding to exaggerated claims about Sanskrit and science face a frustrating truth: those who believe such claims are often not listening. They are not looking for facts—they’re seeking pride, identity, and belonging. That’s why arguments, however well reasoned, rarely change minds.
Whether it’s Trump or Modi, or even some liberal ideologies, belief systems rarely collapse under logic. They survive because they offer meaning. And academic responses—often full of jargon—usually reach only other scholars, not the general public.
So what can we do instead? First, know who we are speaking to. Then, move from just reacting to proactively educating people—with stories, ideas, and truths that make sense to them in their own language. We need not “defeat” anyone. We simply need to offer better, truer, more meaningful alternatives.
And finally, a word on the article I began with. Since it appears in a left-leaning platform, it’s likely aimed at right-wing narratives. That’s understandable. But we must be careful. If it’s wrong for the Right to politicize Sanskrit, it’s also unhelpful for the Left to dismiss its richness entirely through ideology.
Sanskrit, like any language, can be adapted to science if needed. Its value doesn’t lie in how often it’s used today, but in the intellectual and spiritual tradition it helped carry. India’s heritage has always walked a fine line between change and continuity—between preserving what matters, and adapting to what’s needed.
That is what makes it truly great.
Ashram, May 31, 2025
1 M. N. Srinivas, 1966, Chapter 1, ‘Sanskritisation’, Social Change in Modern India, Berkeley: University of California. Also note that: “Buddhism ‘brahmanized’ itself to a considerable extent, up to the point of adopting Sanskrit as its language…under the rule of the Kuṣāṇas. Jainism, on the other hand, did not undergo these same changes.”
Johannes Bronkhorst, How the Brahmins Won: From Alexander to the Guptas, Appendix VIII, “Why Did Buddhism and Jainism Develop Differently in India?”, pp. 465–489. New Delhi: Manohar Publishers, 2025. P. 471
2Frits Staal, “Concepts of Science in Europe and Asia,” in Johannes Bronkhorst, How the Brahmins Won, p. 388.
3And only a Serfoji could Indianize the white man’s knowledge and smoothly blend it with local culture… for instance, through his adapted kuravanji play format in Tamil. [Pillai 133]. And:
“While his European counterparts were collecting Asian exotica, Serfoji was focusing on Western technology and ideas, spending a fortune over three decades catalyzing a small-scale Indian Enlightenment.” [Viswanathan Peterson, Tanjore Renaissance, Introduction; and Pratap Sinh Bhonsle, Contributions of Thanjavur Maratha Kings, Chennai: Notion Press, 2017, Chapter Four.]
— Manu S. Pillai, Gods, Guns and Grandeur, Westland Books, 2023, pp. 129–136
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This is my initial response to this article: https://theprint.in/opinion/sanskrit-didnt-always-drive-innovation-in-ancient-india-there-are-two-reasons/2640720/
Appendix: A Conversation That Sparked This Article
The reflections shared above were not written in isolation. They emerged through a personal exchange with a friend who shared the article that triggered my response:
“Sanskrit didn’t always drive innovation in ancient India—there are two reasons”
https://theprint.in/opinion/sanskrit-didnt-always-drive-innovation-in-ancient-india-there-are-two-reasons/2640720/
What follows is an edited version of that exchange, included here with permission, to show how such articles can prompt meaningful dialogue—even when views differ. The comments reflect two different standpoints: one from an academic, the other from a lay reader like me, concerned not only with scholarly accuracy but with how these ideas reach the general public.
Chakravarthy (May 31, 2025):
People are free to read the article the way they want. In a short media piece, it’s hard to do justice to such nuanced topics. The title chosen by the publishers isn’t accurate either. You’re responding to a minor political angle in the article.
DB:
Yes, that’s exactly my point too. When the title doesn’t match the content, the scholar misses his intended audience. Then the piece becomes open to all kinds of interpretations. My take is political, yes—but also a challenge to rhetorical articles that keep repeating the same ideas.
As a layperson, I was unsure whether the article was about Sanskrit as a language used to record scientific discoveries, or about scientific activity itself—which, if I understood correctly, the author suggests came to a stop in India. My question was raised from that confusion, not as a challenge to academic authority. But these articles speak only to peer groups. Common people won’t read them, or won’t feel addressed. You may disagree, but I raise this not against scholarship—but in defense of public need.
DB (continued):
As an academician, you shared the article with me and the mandali. One person responded very differently, others had nothing to say—or didn’t know how to. I responded simply as a layperson. The problem is not with lay readers, but with academics who sit in ivory towers, enjoy various privileges, and engage with issues that often end up as intellectual entertainment.
Thank God, I’m neither a scholar nor an academician—and I’m happy to remain who I am.
(And by the way, I’m sending this without using ChatGPT—so you don’t think AI created this for me!)
Chakravarthy:
From what I gathered, the article argues that Sanskrit contributed to science in its early phase but declined due to an unwillingness to interact with other thought systems. But yes, it was meandering and didn’t really focus on the title’s promise. I also found the title misleading.
DB:
Fair enough. I’ve written my response to it. But I must admit, I used ChatGPT to edit it. Now I worry whether you’ll believe I actually wrote it or whether it’s all machine-generated. But since I’ve kept my unedited original, I can defend it if needed. I’ll soon publish it as a blog post—you can read it there.
Chakravarthy:
Historical interpretation is always open to change—but one can still take something useful from it. Kanisetti is a young historian I enjoy following.
DB:
Ah, now I see where the issue lies. Not with Kanisetti—but with you. If we admire scholars without questioning them, we risk being trapped in their framework. I admire many scholars too, but I always reflect critically on what they say, based on my own reading and thought.
(And yes, not everyone has time to text their opinions on WhatsApp!)
DB (continued):
Agreed. That’s why we should raise only those questions that prompt genuine thought. I can’t speak for others—but this is my struggle, and I have to live with it.
Chakravarthy:
Also, the publication itself has an ideological leaning and a certain readership. The Wire and ThePrint are left-leaning, so one expects articles from that lens. Still, this article did say a few positive things about Sanskrit and its scholarly tradition, rather than just following a sociological tangent.
DB:
True—but what exactly is the central point of the article? Is it Sanskrit, science, social critique, or anti-right-wing politics?
If the goal is to expose the Right’s misuse of Sanskrit, then the author is shadow-boxing. If the aim is to engage a certain intellectual group, it remains confined to them. His conclusion alone will tell us who he’s really writing for. I’ll read it again more carefully—I skimmed it the first time.
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