Further notes on Mīmāṃsā permissions UPDATED 11.3.2024

The following are a few random notes on permissions which have not (yet) found a place in an article.

1. A colleague wondered whether the command my co-authors and I have been discussing in several articles on Mīmāṃsā and called the “better-not permission” can be meaningfully described as permission at all. In fact, the term `permission’ in Euro-American philosophy or in Deontic Logic is strongly polysemic, covering, among others, acts that are not normed as well as acts that were previously prohibited and are permitted, and even rights.

Philosophers of the Mīmāṃsā school, by contrast, adopt the standard Sanskrit terms for permission, anujñā and anumati), but focus on only one aspect among better-not, encouraged or normatively indifferent, and use different terms for the others, thus offering a way out of the polysemy of `permissions’ (for instance, adhikāra comes close to rights, as I will discuss in a separate text).
Using the term `permission’ thus highlights a single shared aspect and suggests a way out of the polysemy of `permissions’.

2. Within the Mītākṣara commentary on Yājñavalkya, Vijñāneśvara discusses better-not permissions for Brāhmaṇas in distress. For instance, the general prohibition to steal is overrun by the permission to steal if one has not eaten for three days, provided one is stealing only from a non-brāhmaṇa (thus presupposing that the prohibition to stealing from a brāhmaṇa holds unconditionally).

The Mitākṣarā commentary further explains that stealing from a non-brāhmaṇa is permitted, provided one has not eaten for three days and one only takes enough for one meal and not additional supplies

Now, if one goes on like that for a long time, one might eventually die of starvation (because one is stealing only enough for one meal and only once every three days). Verse 44 suggests the solution (the king should take care of one), but this is not a solution one can count on in every case. Hence, Mitākṣarā verse 43 does not rule out a situation in which, in order to avoid violating the prohibition at stake (that of stealing in general), though weakened by the permission to steal from a non-brāhmaṇa if one has not eaten for 3 days,) and F(stealing from a brāhmaṇa/in general)) one ends up actually dying.

This further strengthens the point that there is no obligation to avoid starvation as the result of the general prohibition to perform any violence.

3. I use the term `command’ to cover all sorts of deontic statements. Thus, a command can convey an obligation, a prohibition or a permission. This terminology is different than the one adopted in Guhe, pp. 422–423, where `permission’ covers elective obligations. This distinction is due to the fact that E. Guhe relies on the definitions found in a late Nyāya primer, the Nyāyakośa, whereas I focus on Mīmāṃsā. It is historically interesting that later Nyāya authors considered elective rituals as permissions (they aren’t Mīmāṃsā better-not permissions, but they share with Euro-American permissions the fact that there is no risk connected with their lack of performance).

4. Permissions are not easily recognised by their linguistic form, because linguistic forms can be misleading in Sanskrit, as it can be in English (for instance, within a series of instructions, one can encounter statements in the indicative that are, however, to be analysed as commands, e.g. “One takes two cups of flour”, or “One threshes grains”). Therefore, Mīmāṃsā authors identify commands through a semantic and contextual analysis.

5. The Mīmāṃsā position is neatly distinguished from the one of, e.g., Hansson (2013), who thinks that introducing permissions even in the absence of general prohibitions is useful to define rights.
In fact, Mīmāṃsā authors deal with the category of rights differently, and I am currently working on its possible functional equivalent, namely adhikāra.

6. In general, the Mīmāṃsā analysis of commands focuses on commands occurring within a closed corpus of norms, such as the Veda, since only a closed corpus of norms provides the ideal setting for applying nyāyas.

(cross-posted on the Indian Philosophy Blog)

Thinking about rights in Sanskrit philosophy

I started thinking about rights while working on permissions, because some deontic logicians think that permissions need to be also independent of prohibitions, in order to ground rights. Now, as I argued elsewhere, Mīmāṃsā permissions are always exceptions to previous negative obligations or prohibitions, so what happens to rights?


There is not a directly correspondent concept (how could there be one, given how historically loaded ‘right’ is?), but an interesting parallel is adhikāra. How does this work?


Let me look, to begin with, at the discussion in the apaśūdrādhikaraṇa by Rāmānuja. There, he explains that śūdras (humans belonging to the lowest class) do not have the adhikāra to perform worship (upāsana), because they are unable (asamartha), even though they desire the result of the action. Why are they unable? Because the do not have the adhikāra to perform a part of it, namely vedādhyayana.


So, as a preliminary understanding:

adhikāra to do x (e.g., upāsana) presupposes:

  1. desire to obtain the result of action x
  2. ability to perform action x, which, in turn, presupposes the ability to perform each of its parts
  3. [not yet determined, but see below]

The interesting part is that according to “as much as possible” principle, one does not need to perform each part of x in order to perform x, if x is a compulsory action (e.g., if you have the duty to each single day, you might leave out polishing each slide every single time). However, you still need to be “able” (samartha) to perform each part, even the ones you might have left out.

asāmarthya ‘inability’ can be due to physical or economical inability, but could also be the result of the lack of a predecing adhikāra. Thus, adhikāra has a double relation to sāmarthya: a) Lack of sāmarthya precludes the possibility adhikāra (adhikāra presupposes can); b) Lack of adhikāra to do x means that one will not get to do x and will therefore be asamartha with regard to y, if x is a part of y.

This leads to the adhikāra for vedādhyayana. This presupposes:

  1. desire to obtain the result of the action
  2. ability to perform the action (see PMS, book 6.1 on animals not being able to perform sacrifices)
  3. sanction by an authoritative text

Which kind of sanction? In the case of vedādhyayana, it seems to be a positive obligation (or vidhi). What would be the distinction between adhikāra and any other enjoined action, then? That the vidhi which lies at the basis of adhikāra establishes one’s general entitlement to do x, and not just one’s duty to perform x in a given case.

Quick summary of Maṇḍana’s Vidhiviveka, uttarabhāga (siddhānta view), on nitya vs kāmya sacrifices

We concluded today a great workshop on Maṇḍana’s Vidhiviveka and these are my first comments on what we could establish. My deepest gratitude goes to all participants (Akane Saito, Andrew Ollett, Elliot Stern, Kei Kataoka, Lawrence McCrea, Nilanjan Das, Parimal Patil, Patrick Cummins, Wintor Scott and others). (For more on the workshop, read here: https://philosophy.utoronto.ca/event/workshop-maṇḍana-on-ritual-duties/)

Structure:
vv. 2.1–2.6: Maṇḍana’s siddhānta on iṣṭābhyupāyatā (chapter 11 in Elliot Stern’s forthcoming edition)

v. 2.7: summary of chapter 11, opening the new topic (chapter 12)

v. 2.8: yathāśakti provision applies to nitya sacrifices, sarvāṅgopasaṃhāra in kāmya ones (chapter 13)

v. 2.9: time needs to be the distinguishing factor between nitya/namimittika and kāmya rituals. For the former, kāla is included in nimitta, that ensures avaśyakartavyatā (chapter 14)

Summary of Chapters 13–14:
Chapter 13 tries to find a suitable candidate as phala for nitya sacrifices. The Prābhākara opponent insists on akaraṇe pratyavāya, whereas the siddhāntin (or quasi-siddhāntin) prefers pāpakṣaya. A first proposal in this sense, however, is refuted, because it would lead to just vāstava nityatva, and this would not guarantee the application of the yathāśakti provision. This can only be guaranteed by the ought-implies-can metarule and thus by a śābda nityatva, prescribed as such by the Veda. Hence, Maṇḍana wants both levels.

The akaraṇe-pratyavāya alternative is discussed at length. A preliminary possibility saying that akaraṇe there is pratyavāya, and that the sacrifice, being duḥkha, leads in an ānuṣaṅgika way to the production of pāpakṣaya.
This is finally refuted because there is no Vedic text justifying this view (it would be just inflicting whimsical pain to oneself).

At this point, the discussion becomes more technical. The acceptance of the yathāśakti provision implies that one contracts (saṅkoca) the meaning of either the mention of the adhikāra (so that only a samartha adhikārin is meant) or of the various aṅgavidhis. Which one is better? The constant risk to be avoided is that the same view could be applied to nitya and kāmya rituals, thus ending up in their being non-different.

The opponent suggests the application of Kāmsyabhojinyāya and of bādha based on bhūyastva in order to get to the result that the single adhikāraśruti should be contracted and not the many aṅgavidhis. By contrast, Maṇḍana (atha matam, p, 671 in ES’ edition, 17.5.2023) thinks that the aṅgavidhis are restricted, bc otherwise two unwanted consequences would follow (vaicitrya-risk in the prayoga) and because a single śruti is not evidence, since words are used in context (naitat sāram, p. 672).

Thus, this solution is putting much wait on yāvajjīvam-śruti, whereas chapter 14 will put in the context of naimittika sacrifices.

In this chapter, the new risk is adhikārātikrānti and the additional hurdle are naimittika sacrifices, which are not performed every day, but are otherwise identical to the nitya ones. To the atha matam and naitat sāram positions mentioned above something else is added, namely the definition of nimitta as not being a viśeṣaṇa of the adhikārin (this is what the Prābhākara opponent argues for), but just a nimitta. Time (kāla) also belongs to the nimitta in the case of nitya and naimittika sacrifices, although it is an aṅga for kāmya ones and can hence be a distinguishing factor (v. 2.9).

One point we did not have the time to discuss: Vācaspati (on 13.5) discusses a tantra vs prasaṅga approach and concludes that the first one should be preferred. What two things are centrally performed via tantra? Vācaspati clearly says that one is a kāmya and the other one is a nitya ritual (e.g. “ubhayor api kāmyanityayoḥ karmaṇoḥ […] tantram anuṣṭhānam” or “tasmān na kāmye ‘nuṣṭhīyamāne prāsaṅgikatvaṃ nityasya”, p. 660), but what are these referring to? A suggestion: There is a nitya sacrifice corresponding to the śābda nityatva, and a kāmya sacrifice corresponding to the vāstava nityatva and the two are performed at the same time.

Maṇḍana on sacrificial duties

Maṇḍana’s theory of commands centers around his attempt to reduce them to statements of instrumentality. Commanding to X to do Y would amount to say that Y is the instrument to realise a goal of X. Maṇḍana establishes (in his eyes) this point in the first part of the siddhānta within one of his masterpieces, the Vidhiviveka ‘Discrimination about Commands’. This consists in some verses and a very extended autocommentary thereon. The first part of the Vidhiviveka covers objectors, the second one (the siddhānta) opens with six verses and commentary explaining this view.

However, Maṇḍana then has to harmonize this point with the pre-existing Mīmāṃsā account of duties distinguishing between three sets of sacrifices, namely:

  1. —nitya karman ‘fixed sacrifice’, to be performed regularly (typically each day), no matter what, but where a performance yathāśakti ‘as much as one can’ is acceptable.
  2. —naimittika karman ‘occasional sacrifice’, to be performed whenever the occasion arises (e.g., an eclypse or the birth of a son). As in the above case, yathāśakti performance is acceptable.
  3. -kāmya karman ‘elective sacrifice’, to be performed only if one wants their results and which needs to be performed exactly as prescribed (yathāvidhi or yathānyāya), no relaxing of the norms allowed.

Once a sacrifice has been undertaken, even if it is kāmya, its completion becomes compulsory and the way of such completion remains yathāvidhi in the case of kāmya sacrifices.
How can this difference be kept if all commands are nothing but statements about instrumentality? Would not a statement about instrumentality correspond only to the kāmya category?

Maṇḍana dedicates to this problem the next verses and commentary of his Vidhiviveka, where he examines several possibilities. The main constraints, are, again, keeping the distinction between nitya/naimittika sacrifices on the one hand and kāmya sacrifices on the other hand, as well as the distinction between yathāśakti and yathāvidhi modes of performance. He therefore explores multiple possible understanding of śakti ‘ability’, phala ‘result’ and adhikāra ‘eligibility, especially in conversation with Prābhākara Mīmāṃsā interlocutors insisting on how all sacrifices are compulsory and how the mentions of result found in conjunction with kāmya rituals is only a way to identify the adhikārin ‘eligible person’ for their performance. For instance, which kind of result could make it possible for a command about a nitya karman to lead one to perform the sacrifice every single day? Are there really results that are always desired? And even if such a result could be found, why would one need to keep a distinction in the yathāśakti and yathānyāya performance? If all sacrifices are instruments to realise a certain result, why would some of them need an accurate performance and other not so? The situation is further complicated by the presence of elective sacrifices prescribed to people ‘who desire heaven’ (svargakāma). In which sense are they different from nitya sacrifices, that also lead to heaven?

Unfortunately, the Vidhiviveka is characterised by a terse style, to say the least. Maṇḍana was probably so much into the topic that at times he seems to take important intermediate passages for granted and just leaves the reader wonder. Fortunately, a more generous commentator, Vācaspati, solves most of the doubt and adds further interesting discussions in his Nyāyakaṇikā.
Last, Sanskritists and philosophers of duty have a duty of gratitude to Elliot Stern, who created the first critical edition of the text, including also its previously unpublished commentaries.

Curious to know more? We will discuss chapters 12–14 of the Vidhiviveka in this workshop: https://philosophy.utoronto.ca/event/workshop-maṇḍana-on-ritual-duties/

Permissions in Dharmaśāstra

Vijñāneśvara’s Mitākṣarā commentary on Yājñvalkya 3 (on expiations), v. 35, explains that even in case of distress a non-Brāhmaṇa cannot take up the profession of a Brāhmaṇa and a Brāhmaṇa cannot take up that of a Śūdra. The commentary on v. 35 also explains that one will need to undergo an expiation ritual (prāyaścitta) because of having undertaken the occupation of another varṇa, once the difficult times are over (see Kumārila’s similar point in text a about expiable permissions). This suggests that

P(taking up the occupation of a kṣatriya or vaiśya varṇa)/being a Brāhmaṇa in distress (and so on for the further varṇas)

is to be understood as an exception to a previous prohibition:

F(perform the occupation of a kṣatriya, vaiśya and śūdra/Brāhmaṇa)

and not of a negative obligation.
It also seems to mean, as Timothy Lubin suggested (Nov 25), that there is no *F(self-harm)/T, since it may happen that taking up the occupation of a Brāhmaṇa would be the only way to avoid dying by starvation, but this still does not lead to a duty to undertake such an occupation.

Moreover, the picture gets more complicated.
In fact, vv. 37–39 explain that

P(taking up the profession of a vaiśya)/(being a Brāhmaṇa in distress)

has some counter-exceptions, namely prohibitions applying to it, e.g.

F(selling weapons)/being a Brāhmaṇa in distress who has taken up the occupation of a vaiśya

Thus, it is possible to have prohibitions within permissions (that are in turn exceptions of other prohibitions)

♦P(x/y) /\ F(z/x)

Then, there is a counter-counter exception, namely:

F(selling/Brāhmaṇa) /\ P(selling/Brāhmaṇa in distress) /\ F(selling sesame/Brāhmaṇa in distress) /\ P (selling sesame in exchange for grain/Brāhmaṇa who can’t perform rites for want of grain).

The commentary quotes Manu 10.91 explaining that if one were to sell sesame in exchange for something else, one would be harshly sanctioned (one will be born again as dog).
v. 41 and commentary explain that the previous permissions are clearly “better not” and that they come with some cost, whereas accepting gifts in case of distress is alright.
So (like in Kumārila, text a above), there are two levels of permissions:

F(selling/Brāhmaṇa)

P1(selling/Brāhmaṇa in distress) —>O(expiation/end of distress) \/ bad karman

P2(accepting gifts/Brāhmaṇa in distress)—>no bad karman

v. 43 (on stealing) follows at that point.
It reads as follows:

bubhukṣitas tryayaṃ sthitvā dhānyam abrāhmaṇād dharet |

pratigṛhya tad ākhyeyam abhiyuktena dharmataḥ ||

“If one has been hungry for three days, he might take some grains from someone who is not a Brāhmaṇa |

If he takes it and is accused, he must say it, according to duty (dharma) ||”

NB: F(stealing)/T is overrun by P(stealing)/not having eaten for three days, provided one is stealing only from a non-Brāhmaṇa (thus presupposing F(stealing from a Brāhmaṇa)/T). The Mitākṣarā commentary
further explains that one can only take enough for one meal and cannot take additional supplies, thus presupposing P(stealing a minimal amount to avoid starvation)/not having eaten for three days.
Now, if one goes on like that for a long time, one might eventually die of starvation (because one is stealing only enough for one meal and only once every three days). v. 44 suggests the solution (the king should take care of one), but this is not a solution one can count on in every case. Hence, v. 43 does not a rule out a situation in which, in order to avoid violating the prohibitions at stake (F(stealing)/T, weakened by P(stealing from a non-Brāhmaṇa/not having eaten for 3 days) and F(stealing from a Brāhmaṇa)/T)) one ends up actually dying.
This further strengthens the point that there is no O(avoid starvation) as the result of F(harm)/T.

The commentary introducing v. 43 states that P(stealing from a non-Brāhmaṇa/distress) only applies to people who have tried all of the above. I am not sure about how to formalise the temporality factor, perhaps something like:

F(selling/Brāhmaṇa)

P1(selling/Brāhmaṇa in distress) /\ distress—>
P1(stealing/Brāhmaṇa in distress)

NB: Kumārila had distinguished between P1 and P2, but by saying that P1 are “general permissions” and P2 specific ones, that is ones explicitly mentioned in text, whereas here P1 can be specifically mentioned and still involve some bad karman.

Appendix: Kumārila, TV ad 1.3.4, text a

[In one case, that of hardship] one does something even without permission, because there is no other way |

[in the other case, that of supererogatory permissions,] one does something else on the strength of a permission: the difference is major ||

And there is a difference between the specific [permission] and the permission (abhyanujñāna) in general (to adopt looser rules in times of hardship) |

[In fact,] the specific [permitted action] is completely free of flaws, the other action has a little (stoka) flaw ||

ekaṃ vināpy anujñānāt kriyate gatyasambhavāt | kriyate ‘nujñayā tv anyad viśeṣaś ca tayor mahāh ||

sāmānyenābhyanujñānād viśeṣaś ca viśiṣyate | viśeṣo ‘tyantanirdoṣaḥ stokadoṣetarakriyā ||

Is the Mitākṣarā just not following Kumārila when it says that even a specific permission can imply bad karman and the need of an expiation? Is Kumārila trying to systematize a complicated series of cases? Or am I missing something altogether?

Growing ambitions: Philosophy of ritual/deontics and philosophy of religion

What I today call philosophy of ritual comprises a complex set of philosophical approaches seeking to solve questions and problems arising in connection with ritual. Different philosophers of ritual aim at reconstructing rituals in a highly structured, rigorous manner, curbing religious metaphors to the strict discipline of their linguistic analysis. As a result, they examine religious texts according to exegetical rules to extract all meaning and intelligibility from them. Another set of philosophical questions connected with rituals concerns duty. How are duties conveyed? How can one avoid contradictions within texts prescribing duties? I started using deontic logic, as initially developed by G.H. von Wright, to formalise contrary-to-duty situations and think about commands, especially thanks to the collaboration with the amazing Agata Ciabattoni and her brave team at the Theory and Logic Group of the TU in Vienna. Ciabattoni had not heard of logic apart from the Euro-American mathematical logic. Before meeting her, I had not heard, let alone worked on intuitionistic logic nor on fuzzy logic. By joining forces, we could explore new formalisations to make sense of seemingly puzzling texts (see mimamsa.logic.at).

Working with people outside one’s comfort zone is demanding, since one cannot assume any shared research background and needs to explain each element of one’s research. However, exactly this deconstructive operation means that one needs to rethink each step analytically, often being able to identify for the first time problems and resources one had overlooked.

For instance, our ongoing work on permissions in ritual is going to highlight the advantages of the Mīmāṃsā approach in denying the interdefinability of the operators of permission, prescription and prohibition and thus avoiding the ambiguity of the former (which in common linguistic use as well as in much Euro-American deontic logic can mean “permitted, but discouraged”, “permitted and encouraged” as well as “permitted and neutral” and in Euro-American deontic logic even “permitted and prescribed”). By contrast, permissions in Mīmāṃsā are always “rather-not” permissions, whereas what is encouraged though not prescribed is rather covered by different operators.

Within the next weeks, I plan to put the finishing touches and submit to a publisher a first book dedicated to deontics and philosophy of ritual not in the Euro-American or Chinese worlds. The book, entitled Maṇḍana on Commands, aims at providing both scholars of philosophy and of deontics in general a comprehensive access to the thought and work of a key (but unacknowledged) deontic thinker and his attempt to reduce commands to statements about the instrumental value of actions against the background of its philosophical alternatives. I plan to continue working on deontics and philosophy of ritual with an intercultural perspective and with cross-disciplinary collaborations.

Within Philosophy of Religion, I aim primarily at using an intercultural perspective to rethink the categories of “god” and the connected category ofatheism”. Scholars who have not thought critically about the topic, might think that there is only one concept of “god” that is discussed within philosophy, and that this is the omnipotent and omniscient Lord of rational theology, whose existence is necessary and independent of anything They created. But this is not the case in European philosophy (especially in the parts of it which have been more influenced by Jewish philosophy) and it is certainly not so outside of European philosophy. For instance, Tamil and Bengali philosophers of religion will think about and worship a personal and relational God, one for whom existence is not intrinsically necessary, but dependent on His (Her) relation to His (Her) devotees. Similarly, looking at Buddhist authors allows one to see how atheism can be constructed in a religious context, namely as the negation of one (or multiple) concept(s) ofgod”, typically focusing on the negation of mythological deities and the contradictions they entail. I plan to submit a project on new ways to conceptualise atheism from an intercultural perspective and to continue working on the concept of a relational God, deriving my inspiration especially from Medieval Viśiṣṭādvaita Vedānta theologians like Veṅkaṭanātha.

Ought entails Can (and Prohibited entails Can) for Kumārila (and Śabara)

Within TV ad 1.3.4, (Mimamsadarsana 1929-34, pp. 192–193), Kumārila discusses a seeming deontic conflict and solves it by appealing to the different responsibilities (adhikāra) of the various addressees. He explains that the prescription to learn the Vedas for 48 years does not conflict (virodhābhāva) with the duty to get married and have children, because it addresses people who suffer of disabilities and who therefore cannot become householders. This is a further evidence of how O(x/a) implies that a is actually able to perform x. If a is unable to perform x, the obligation is not incumbent upon them (the background, ableist, assumption is that a blind or lame person cannot support a family.

Kumārila also discusses the prescription to learn the Veda by heart in order to get svarga (heaven/happiness) and explains it would clash against the ones prescribing complicated sacrifices for the same result, since no one would engage in them, if learning the Veda by heart were enough. Here, we see several principles at work:

1. No prescription can remain idle.
2. Translative (?) property of duties: If x implies z and O(x), then O(z). In fact, performing sacrifices \emph{presupposes} learning the Veda by heart, so that O(sacrifices)—>O(learning Veda by heart).

Because of 1., it is clear that the former prescription necessarily only applies to people who cannot perform the latter. Thus: If there are two seemingly contradictory obligations (both aiming at the same result), that is:

(i) O(x/in order to reach s) and
(ii) O (x3/in order to reach s),
then one needs to postulate for the former an additional condition that states something like “Unless you can perform (ii).

As for the converse, namely that prohibitions imply possibility, Śabara (ŚBh ad 1.2.18) explains that the seeming prohibition “The Fire is not to be kindled on the earth, nor in the sky, nor in heaven” cannot be taken as a prohibition, because fire cannot be kindled in the sky nor in heaven.

Medhātithi on corporeal punishment

Medhātithi discusses corporeal punishments whenever Manu does, but in two different ways: At times (e.g., in his commentary on MDhŚā 9.248) he just repeats what Manu says, without adding further elaborations and without attempting a general argument about the overall consistency of the punishments suggested. At other times, he allows the jurist and philosopher of law within himself to talk and gives more details about the purpose of the punishments. These are the passages I will focus on in this post.

1. Terminology: One of the things not completely clear in MDhŚā (and consequently in Medhātithi’s commentary thereon) is what kind of corporeal punishment are meant by māraṇa ‘imposing death’, hiṃsā ‘violence’ and vadha ‘killing’. All could just mean ‘death penalty’ (and hiṃsā and māraṇa are used in the commentary on MDh 8.318 as if they were synonyms). However, in other cases other forms of corporeal punishment (śārīra daṇḍa) are mentioned, e.g., aṅkana ‘branding’ (so Medhātithi on 9.236). Could these be included within maraṇa, vadha and hiṃsā as well? It will be evident in the following that Medhātithi takes advantage of each vagueness in MDhŚā in his efforts to make the text consistent.

Medhātithi on 9.249 comments on a passage speaking of vadha, but ex- plicitly broadens the concept, so as to encompass other types of punishment apart from death penalty. It is noteworthy that he mentions two topics that will be highlighted also in section 3.3, namely holding back crimes as a purpose of punishment, and the distinction between visible and invisible purposes:

“This mention [in the MDhŚā] of vadha is for the sake of summarising (upasaṃhṛ-) suppressive [punishments] (nigraha). Therefore, according to the law code (yathāśruti) this vadha can occur through various manners. In this context, given that the mention of vadha [in the MDhŚā] is meant for the sake of perceptible purposes, it does not need to be necessarily a killing. Such being the case, there is no flaw if [the punishment] is realised also through other means, e.g. detention (bandhana).”

(nigrahopasaṃhārārthas tv ayaṃ vadhopadeśaḥ. ato yathāśruti citravadhopāyaiḥ kartavyaḥ. […] tatra dṛṣṭaprayojanatvād upadeśasya na niyato vadhaḥ. evaṃ ca saty upāyāntareṇāpi bandhanādinā ’viniyacchato’ na doṣaḥ.)

2. Multiple purposes for corporeal punishments: In the commentary ad MDh 8.324 Medhātithi discusses the different pun- ishments (ranging from a fine to beating and to death) for stealing, as pro- portioned to the moment in which the stealing has been committed and to the purpose which could have been fulfilled by the stolen item. For instance, stealing war animals during a war encounters a more severe penalty than stealing them at a normal time. Similarly, stealing a rare medicine when it would have been needed by a certain patient encounters a severe punishment, whereas stealing the same medicine when no one needs it receives a smaller punishment. The mention of paying a fine vs death as punishment in the various circumstances in which one could steal a sword strongly suggests that fines are considered the smaller punishment.

3. Corporeal punishment vs. fines: Notwithstanding what has been seen in section 2, the choice between fines and corporeal punishment is not just driven by the severity of the crime.

The passage I will analyse here is the commentary ad MDh 8.318. Looking back at the Mīmāṃsā 6-fold dialectical scheme above, the topic here is corporeal punishment, even though it remains implicit. The doubt is also implicit, but it can be reconstructed as: Does corporeal punishment have an invisible purpose? A further implicit background assumption only became clear to me at the end of my analysis: There are either monetary punishments or corporeal ones.

Thus:

• topic: corporeal punishment [implicit]
• doubt: Does corporeal punishment have an invisible purpose? [implicit]

1st speaker (Medhātithi): punishment in the form of fines is useful to the king (implicit: because he earns money), [hence] corporeal punishment must be useful to the person who undergoes it.

2nd speaker (Obj): No, it is needed for the sake of protecting other people from crimes.

(Medhātithi): Why should protection not be possible without hurting?

(Obj): Without the hurt, the person would repeat the act

(Medhātithi): This could be achieved also by reprimanding them etc.

(Obj): By seeing them punished, others would desist.

(Medhātithi): The suffering could be brought about even by fines.

(Medhātithi): Moreover, even though criminals are punished, thousands of people are found to do the same act again and again!

Conclusion: Corporeal punishment purifies the person who undergoes it by creating an invisible force, so that they can be admitted to heaven like innocent people, as said by Manu. What follows at this point seems a redundant addition, since it seems to come after the conclusion:

  • 1. There are restrictions concerning the cutting off of limbs…
  • 2. Also prescriptions such as the one about the elephant, etc.
  • 3. Therefore, it is established that one is liberated from one’s bad karman only once there is corporeal punishment,
  • 4. And analogously, branding (aṅkana) will be prescribed in the case of major offenders, to whom everything has been confiscated, and who are punished by entering into water, so that people avoid getting in touch with them. The figure below summarises the whole discussion.

4. Unspoken strategies: Medhātithi does not feel the need to spell out strategies and premisses he is mostly reusing from Mīmāṃsā.

The first unspoken premiss of Medhātithi is: Never question the juridical corpus one is commenting upon, just try to make sense of it (as Mīmāṃsā authors do with the Veda). This means that Medhātithi cannot conclude that corporeal punishments should be avoided. He can discuss the why, not the whether. Correspondingly, the juridical corpus can be interpreted, not refuted.

The second unspoken assumption is: Every action needs a purpose (cf. prayojanam anuddiśya na mando’pi pravartate, Kumārila). This leads to the conclusion that punishment needs a purpose.

A third unspoken assumption is that there is a distinction between visible and invisible purposes (dṛṣṭa and adṛṣṭa in Mīmāṃsā terminology).

This is accompanied by the forth unspoken assumption, namely, the preference for visible purposes whenever possible, and by the fifth one, namely that only one purpose is possible (ekārthatā), both of which borrowed from Mīmāṃsā. Therefore, Medhātithi only concludes that corporeal punishment has an invisible purpose once he has ruled out possible visible ones.

A sixth unspoken assumption is that ceteris paribus, we should not harm any living being, because of the Vedic prohibition “One should not harm any living being” (na hiṃsyāt sarvā bhūtāni), largely discussed in Mīmāṃsā.

5. Corporeal punishment and adultery: As seen above, corporeal punishments are not a deterrent to crime (although they can have other purposes). However, Medhātithi ad 8.359 seems to admit of corporeal punishments as deterrent, while discussing punishments for adultery. The passage reads as follows:

“If by [minor things] like talking together there were only a minor penalty, then people would keep acting. Then, inflamed by the deity of love, overpowered by another conversation with another man’s wife, and attracted by the arrows of love, they would consider the king’s correction as negligible and disregard [even] their bodies’ sustenance.

By contrast, if by the first undertaking they were caught, it would be possible to drive them away, given that their desire has been interrupted (aprabandhavṛtti). Hence, it is correct to have major penalties even for people just whispering to other people’s wives.”

Is this passage in sheer contradiction with the previous one? Should not fines be enough? This question brings us back to the kind of Mīmāṃsā Medhātithi is following, which is possibly a Maṇḍana-flavoured Bhāṭṭa Mīmāṃsā in which the addressee of a command can evaluate costs and benefits (for instance, of fines and theft). However, in the case of love and lust, people are unable to calculate costs and benefits. Hence, the only way to protect women is by eliminating their potential seducers. Thus, corporeal punishment in those cases might just aim at making adultery impossible by removing the potential seducer.

6. Conclusions: Punishments are prescribed by Manu on different bases. Medhātithi partly tries to systematise Manu’s lore and in several cases discusses a multifaceted structure of punishments. For instance, in the commentary on MDhŚā 8.334 Medhātithi specifies that Manu’s reference to the cutting of a limb as a punishment for theft only regards “one who is repeatedly addicted to stealing” (transl. by G. Jhā) after they have been repeatedly fined. This is relevant as a harmonising comment, because the previous verses of Manu had mentioned fines.

According to Medhātithi, punishments can be nuanced based on multiple factors. The first and main factor is the purpose to be achieved by the punishment: discouraging crimes (e.g., stealing weapons during war is severely punished in the commentary on MDhŚā 8.324), making crimes literally impossible (as in the case of adultery in the commentary on 8.359) allowing the king to increase their financial resources (commentary on 8.318), warning other people that they are dealing with a convicted criminal (commentary on 9.236), purifying the criminal (commentary on 8.318). This means that although fines are in principle a smaller punishment than corporeal punishments, they can be the preferred option depending on the purpose to be achieved with the punishment.

For some random crimes, such as stealing in normal circumstances, Medhātithi does not aim at eradicating them completely, hence fines are the best strategy (they discourage crimes while increasing the king’s finances). Other crimes (such as adultery, stealing medicines from sick people or stealing a weapon from a person who is directly confronted by an armed enemy) are seen as more threatening and therefore need to be actively discouraged or literally made impossible with extreme measures.

The broadest systematising effort by Medhātithi with regard to punishments seems to occur in his commentary on 8.318, where he lists all punish- ments as being either for the benefit of the punisher (fines, benefitting the king) or for the benefit of the punished (corporeal punishments, purifying the criminal).

Does the reconstruction above convince you? Do you notice other strategies?

Prescriptions in Kumārila, Uṃveka, Maṇḍana

Maṇḍana’s thesis of iṣṭasādhanatā is an answer to the problem of how to identify the core of a prescription. What makes people undertake actions? Kumārila’s śabdabhāvanā (‘linguistic urge’) theory and Prabhākara’s kāryavāda (‘theory about duty [being the motivator]’) had already offered their answers.

Kumārila’s theory had two pillars:

  • 1. a theory of rational behaviour being always goal-oriented,
  • 2. a strong hermeneutic basis linked to the analysis of prescriptive language.

In the 2. analysis, exhortative verbal endings are analysed as entailing a verbal part (tiṅ) and an exhortative part (liṅ). The former express the action (bhāvanā), the latter express the injunction (vidhi/śabdabhāvanā). And any action needs three components, namely something to be brought about by the action (bhāvya), an instrument to bring it about (karaṇa) and a procedure (itikartavyatā), which is equated to the instrument’s instrument. bhāvanā, vidhi, bhāvya, karaṇa and itikartavyatā are all conveyed by the Vedic prescriptive sentence, but are they conveyed *qua* bhāvanā etc.? The answer is clearly affirmative for bhāvanā and vidhi, which are directly conveyed by tiṅ and liṅ respectively. By contrast, bhāvya, karaṇa and itikartavyatā might need the application of some further investigation on the part of the knower, who will need to apply hermeneutical rules (nyāya) to correctly interpret the sentence and link the bhāvya to the word mentioning the eligible person and the karaṇa to the meaning of the verbal root.

The first pillar (1) is taken up by Maṇḍana.
In fact, Maṇḍana expands on Kumārila’s intuition about human behaviour being always goal-oriented by offering a radical reductionist hypothesis. According to this hypothesis, being a motivator is nothing but communicating that the action to be undertaken is an instrument to some desired result. In this sense, prescribing X to people desiring Y is *nothing but* explaining that X is the means to achieve Y. The “nothing but” part of the definition is key to distinguish Maṇḍana’s position from Kumārila’s. Also for Kumārila a prescription presupposes that one understands that the prescribed action will lead to something independently desired.

Now, I am grateful to Sudipta Munsi, who recently made me read Uṃveka’s commentary on ŚV codanā 214, where Uṃveka rejects a view that seems a proto-version of Kumārila’s one, since it speaks of bhāvanā, of a desired bhāvya and of the meaning of the verbal root, but without mentioning the fact that this conveys the karaṇa. In this proto-Kumārila view, the prescriptive sentence impels (pravṛt-), but since one might doubt this impulsion, it implies (ākṣip-) a bhāvya in the form of something desirable and therefore orients the listener’s understanding to move past the meaning of the verbal root towards the identification of something really desirable. Uṃveka does not use the verb abhidhā- ‘directly denote’, but says that the prescriptive sentences conveys (avagam-) this meaning. The doubt (āśaṅkā) about the impulsion seems to be the reason for the implication (ākṣepa). Uṃveka does not frame this as a case of śrutārthāpatti (postulation of a linguistic element based on cogent evidence), because ākṣepa performs almost the same role (but without the postulation of an explicit linguistic unit, which remains implied).
Uṃveka contrasts to this view his own (vayaṃ tu brūmaḥ), according to which a prescriptive sentence first conveys an impulsion (preraṇā) and then (uttarakālam) conveys (pratī-) a desired goal. Here, there are important points that appear to be influenced by Maṇḍana (please remember that Uṃveka commented on Maṇḍana’s Bhāvanāviveka):

  • The mention of the destruction of accumulated bad karman as the desired result for fixed sacrifices
  • The connection between impulsion and the fact that the action impelled leads to a desirable goal

However, unlike in Maṇḍana, Uṃveka distinguishes impulsion (preraṇā) from the fact of being the instrument to a desired goal, whereas Maṇḍana’s main claim is that the two are completely identical. Uṃveka is possibly the first person mentioning the temporal sequence linking impulsion and the understanding (pratī-) of something as a desirable goal. Like in the discussion of the proto-Kumārila view, Uṃveka does not use the word abhidhā, but he says that the prescriptive content is conveyed (avagam-).

Pārthasārathi (another commentator of Kumārila) de facto embedded Maṇḍana’s view of iṣṭasādhanatā, i.e., the prescribed action is an instrument to a desired result, as part of Kumārila’s śabdabhāvanā theory, more precisely as its procedure (itikartavyatā).

This was just a quick summary. Specifications or corrections are welcome.

Medhātithi on intention and action

In general, Medhātithi’s commentary systematizes the MDh. In the case of action and intention, he does his best to iron away seeming incongruities by explaining that intentional actions are liable to more blame than unintentional ones, which he accomplishes by adding the needed adverbs or adjective to the wording of MDh (e.g., in his commentary on 9.242 (on intentional vs unintentional crimes), 11.56, 11.77 (on the intentional vs unintentional killing of Brāhmaṇas), 11.125, 11.209 (on deciding expiations when no one is explicitly prescribed)). Accordingly, Medhātithi explains away the “unintentionally” in MDh 11.127, because the strength of the penalty implies that the action was performed intentionally.

As often the case in his commentary, Medhātithi derives his philosophical framework of reference from the deontic teachings of the philosophical school of Mīmāṃsā. For instance, he does not add his own definition of “action” and “intention”, but presupposes the Mīmāṃsā understanding of these concepts.
The speculation on action starts for Mīmāṃsā philosophers by considering the paradigmatic case of complex ritual actions. This means that they consider first and foremost actions spanning over a long period of time (hours or even days) and that cannot be easily explained as the result of ephemeral desires, but rather require what Alfred Mele calls “distal intentions” (intentions about the non-immediate future, see Mele 2006). Nonetheless, they all agree about the pivotal role of desire in action and, in this sense, ground each complex action ultimately in a “primitive” desire (i.e., a desire for something independently desirable, and not desirable for the sake of something else). Typical examples for primitive desires are desires for sons, rain, cattle, happiness, whereas desiring to know the meaning of a certain passage is considered subservient to some other desire, which has led one to read the corresponding text.
Accordingly, Mīmāṃsā authors distinguish between main actions and the activities they are composed of; one’s intention relates to the main action, whereas the intermediate activities are needed sub-steps, but are not independently intended. Therefore, different rules apply to the two sets. This bipartition is taken for granted also in the MDh and by Medhātithi. For instance, MDh 11.11–12 discuss the case of a main action (a sacrifice) being interrupted for want of an ingredient needed for an intermediate activity. Since the main action needs to be completed, one is allowed to complete it even by appropriating a single ingredient in a way which would not be normally allowed (taking it away from someone who does not need it). In other words, the need to complete the main action creates a situation of necessity that permits one to act in a sub-ideal way.
Intention is not dealt separately from blame in the Dharmasūtras nor in the MDh. However, Medhātithi is himself an insightful thinker and often takes up small clues in the MDh to open up a deeper discussion, and this happens in the case of his discussion of intention. Specifically, Medhātithi adds a second axis to the one examined above concerning intentions, prohibitions, and expiations, namely that of intention (saṅkalpa) and motivation. Near the beginning of the MDh, the elements underlying one’s observance of law is briefly outlined, including intention and desire:

To be motivated by desire is not commended, but it is impossible here to be free from desire; for it is desire that prompts vedic study and the performance of vedic rites.
Intention is the root of desire; intention is the wellspring of sacrifices; and intention triggers every religious observance and every rule of restraint—so the tradition declares. Nowhere in this world do we see any activity done by a man free from desire; for whatever at all that a man may do, it is the work of someone who desired it.
By engaging in them properly, a man attains the world of the immortals and, in this world, obtains all his desires just as he intended.

In this passage, Manu asserts a few things. First, he asserts that both engaging in activity and refraining from particular activities are “triggered” by intention (“intention triggers every religious observance and every rule of restraint”). The terminology suggests that Medhātithi is thinking of activities that would have otherwise taken place, and which demand effort on one’s side to be avoided (such as lightning a cigarette as the first thing in the morning for a passionate smoker). In other words, intention triggers one to change the present inertia, be it by undertaking something or refraining from acting inertially.
Second, he asserts—perhaps counter to intuitive notions—that it is intention that comes before and necessitates desire (“intention is the root of desire”). Third, he asserts that desire is a requirement for acting in the world (“Nowhere in this world do we see any activity done by a man free from desire; for whatever at all that a man may do, it is the work of someone who desired it”).
In his commentary, Medhātithi’s develops the ideas in this passage. Specifically, Medhātithi outlines the concept of intention and the required elements for action. Medhātithi introduces the topic of his commentary by first quoting a portion of Manu’s above passage:
Intention is the root of desire; intention is the wellspring of sacrifices; and intention triggers every religious observance and every rule of restraint—so the tradition declares.

Medhātithi then goes on to further explicate a view of how intention relates to desire and action, responding to various objections:

And therefore, he (Manu) spells out what has been said, namely that without a desire the nature of a sacrifice is not carried out. An intention is the root of sacrifices and similar actions, and of desire. A person who desires to perform a sacrifice or a similar action necessarily forms an intention. And when an intention is being formed, it is necessarily the case that a desire is also brought close as caused by it, even if this (desire) is itself not wished. Just like when a person aiming at cooking burns [wood-logs] also smoke is produced, even if unwished, insofar as it is caused by that same cause. In this regard, it is impossible that a sacrifice or a similar action is performed, if desire does not occur.

[Obj.:] Then, what is this intention, which you say to be the root of all actions?

[R:] It is the appearance (sandarśana) of consciousness (cetas), after which desiring (prārthanā) and ascertaining, one after the other, occur. In fact, these mental activities (vyāpāra) attain the role of root for the undertaking of all actions. For, it is not the case that material activities are possible without them. To elaborate: First of all, one ascertains the nature of a given thing, e.g. “This thing produces this effect”. This cognition is here called intention. Thereafter, desiring (prārthanā), i.e., will (icchā) occurs. This is desire (kāma). Once one has the will “How will I realise that (thing) through that (action)?”, one ascertains “I will do it”. This is the ascertaining. Thereafter, one undertakes an action with regard to an external activity which is the instrument to realise [one’s goal]. For instance, a person who wants to eat something first observes the action of eating [by someone else], then wishes “May I eat!”, then ascertains “I will abandon all other activities and eat!”. Then, he tells to the action, the cause, the place and the eligible person: ‘Come together, prepare (sajjīkṛ-) a succulent [food]’.

[Obj.:] But if this is the case, sacrifice and similar actions do not occur just because of an intention. Rather, they occur because of intention, desire and ascertaining. Thus, why does Manu say “sacrifices originate out of intentions”?

[R:] There is no flaw, since the intention is the original cause. For this very reason, he (Manu) will later say that one never sees any action by a person who does not desire anything.

These passages favour a plain reading of the claim in Manu whereby intentions are the root cause of engagement in sacrifices and other actions. At its core, the understanding of intention furthered here appears to be a basic consciousness of how certain acts relate to certain ends. While intentions have an initiatory role, desire and ascertainment necessarily follow. This approach is distinct from cognitivism (as defined by Sarah Paul), insofar as intentions are volitions and not identical with the corresponding beliefs.
In which sense can intention be the cause of desire and not the opposite? Is not it the case that we first experience appetites, then move on to form the intention to satisfy them and then perform the relevant sequence of acts? Let us start with Medhātithi’s starting point, namely that of complex actions, such as sacrifices, that extend through time. In their case, the claim that a basic appetite is what causes one to act, appears less plausible, because appetites are ephemeral and cannot sustain a longer cycle of activities. Accordingly, Medhātithi’s account makes perfect sense when it comes to actions that are performed not because of a basic appetite, but because of a conscious decision, but can it apply also to other kinds of actions?

While focus is placed in these passages on sacrificial and “similar actions”, which indicates a series of complex actions aimed at a particular result, Medhātithi makes it clear that the mental activities of intending, desiring, and ascertaining are the “root for the undertaking of all actions”. This sets up a fairly robust picture of action whereby actors hold in their minds a consciousness of how they understand their movements to interact with the world, which will result in a particular and desired end. In this sense, the psychological sequence Medhātithi sketched above could be a depiction of the phenomenological process through which a certain level of consciousness is a preliminary requirement for the process to be started, but cognition and appetite are also needed. The emphasis on phenomenology is due to the fact that it is hard to make sense of the statement that intentions generate desires (could one say “I intend to have dinner, therefore I am starting to feel hungry”?), but it makes sense that one only becomes aware of desire after having conceived the corresponding intention (“I intend to have dinner and realize that I am in fact hungry”). If taken to its extreme consequences, this would imply that there are no genuine conflicts between intentions and desires, because desires become available to one’s consciousness only once one has intended to do something. If desires are not directly responsible for our actions, how can Medhātithi explain episodes that are often ascribed to them, e.g. in case of what Euro-American philosophers call the “weakness of the will”? For instance, how could he explain the case of one failing to dress up to go to an opera even though they had previously formed the intention to go? Medhātithi could deal with is as a conflict among intentions, not among different causal factors (the intention to go and the desire to stay home) determining one’s actions. Alternatively, he could mention how inertial states take stronger intentions to be resisted and discuss such examples as based on a conflict between an intention and a hard-to-break inertial state. He could argue that it would be hard to dress up even independently of an active desire to stay home (thus proving that the problem is not due to a conflict between intentions and desires), because dressing up (like any act) involves effort, and all efforts are only undertaken if one sees that a bigger advantage will come of out them.

What do you think? Given Medhātithi’s premisses, does my extension of his thought to the above case make sense?