Category Archives: methodology

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Reconstructing Viśiṣṭādvaitavedānta: Veṅkaṭanātha’s contribution

The book on Veṅkaṭanātha I am working on is an attempt of doing history of philosophy in the Sanskrit context, given that no agreed canon, chronology, list of main figures or main questions has been established for the history of Sanskrit philosophy. Therefore, in the Sanskrit context, doing history of philosophy does not amount to reconstruct some aspects within an established picture, but rather to understand what is the picture altogether. This also means that it is impossible or counter-productive to do history of philosophy in just an antiquarian way in the Sanskrit context.
The book also takes on the challenge of talking about Sanskrit philosophy without reducing it to ahistorical “schools” which are depicted as unchanging through time, so that while talking of Nyāya one can mix 5 c. CE sources with 11 c. ones. In contrast to this approach, the book focuses on the role of individual philosophers within such schools.

Accordingly, the book reconstructs the intellectual figure of Veṅkaṭanātha and his philosophical and theological contribution to what we now call “Viśiṣṭādvaita Vedānta”. Its main thesis is that Viśiṣṭādvaita Vedānta as we know it now is mostly a product of Veṅkaṭanātha’s brilliant mind. He connected various texts and theories into a harmonious whole, so that readers and practitioners looking at the time before Veṅkaṭanātha now recognise them as pieces of a puzzle. Once Veṅkaṭanātha’s contribution is in place it is in fact easy to look back at authors before him and recognise them as pieces of the same jigsaw puzzle. However, it is only due to Veṅkaṭanātha that the entire jigsaw puzzle exists and the various texts and ideas could have remained disconnected, or could have led to different developments without him. The book analyses Veṅkaṭanātha’s contribution in shaping the school, a con- tribution that goes so deep that it is hard to imagine Viśiṣṭādvaita Vedānta through a different lens. Veṅkaṭanātha’s synthesis was not, or not just, the result of a juxtaposition, but itself a philosophical enterprise. Veṅkaṭanātha re-interpreted a large amount of texts and ideas connecting them in a higher-order theory. In this sense, he is a philosopher doing history of philosophy as his primary methodological tool.

The book investigates this synthesis, its range and its theoretical foundations. In this way, it also attempts to reframe the usual understanding of Veṅkaṭanātha’s impact on Viśiṣṭādvaita Vedānta, shifting him from the position of a learned successor of Rāmānuja to that of a builder of a new system, with a different scope (ranging well beyond Viśiṣṭādvaita Vedānta and incorporating much more into it) and possibly with a different basis. Consequently, this book deals with philosophical themes in connection with their intellectual development.

Among the tools used by Veṅkaṭanātha in crafting his synthesis, of particular interest is his emphasis on the unity of the system holding between Vedānta and another school, called Mīmāṃsā. This is a school focusing on the exegesis of the Vedas and therefore on epistemology, deontics, philosophy of language and hermeneutics. Veṅkaṭanātha borrowed from it the tools to reconcile sacred texts seemingly mutually contradictory, as well as a well- developed dynamic ontology and account of subjectivity. However, the Mīmāṃsā school was also atheistic and considered the Vedas to be only enjoying a deontic authority, not an epistemic one. Both claims (especially the first one) contradict basic tenets of Viśiṣṭādvaita Vedānta. Therefore, in crafting a single system out of Mīmāṃsā and Vedānta Veṅkaṭanātha needed to find a way not to deny these claims while at the same time transcending them. Last, some readers not too familiar with Sanskrit philosophy might find a lot of topics Veṅkaṭanātha deals with “non-philosophical” or at least “non-philosophical enough”. For instance, why does he spend so much time on the injunction to learn the Vedas by heart? As an interpreter, I might have just used the debate in order to extract from it what is relevant for what is recognised today as “philosophy of action”, e.g.: Can someone be motivated to undertake an action whose results will only take place after years ? Does this even count as an action? What at all counts as motivation with regard to a course of action involving multiple years? Can a cost-benefit analysis still work in such cases? Which concept of subjectivity is needed for complex actions extending over multiple years? Alternatively, I might have just depicted the relevance of the debate in the historical setting in which it took place. In general, I gave hints going in both directions, but I primarily tried to reconstruct the debate in its own terms, because a global approach to philosophy means being open not just to new answers to old questions and to new questions within known fields, but also to altogether new fields of investigation. The unitary Mīmāṃsā system is in this sense a treasure house of ideas leading to a philosophy of exegesis and a philosophy of ritual.

Comments and criticisms, as usual, more than welcome!

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Very basic elements of a bibliography—UPDATED for premodern sources

Some students may wonder whether they should follow the Chicago Manual of Style or any other convention. My answer to such a question would be to focus on what is a bibliography meant for, i.e., enabling your readers to check your sources.

As a consequence of that, any convention will do, if only:

  1. Sources are easily identifiable (“Potter 1994” will not be enough, unless there is a bibliography at the end of the paper stating title and journal (or publishing house and place in case of a book). Doing that means that you have understood the role of sources for the epistemology of testimony, which is not just a formal thing, but a philosophically relevant aspect of your research.
  2. Sources are consistently listed. Listing once the title, then the author, then the date of publication and last the journal, and next the other way round, suggests that you are not familiar with the principle of an ordered classification. And classifying is primarily a logical exercise, not just a meaningless formality. Follow the Chicago Manual of Style or any other convention, but be consistent.

This being said, there are further points which need a separate treatment:

A. Because of 1., the bibliography at the end of one’s paper needs to be in alphabetic order according to the author’s last name. Put everything a person wrote or edited according to the year of publication. Don’t put all books first and then all edited volumes etc. But: First put all publications by, e.g. Ram Smith, and then start listing collaborations like “Smith, Ram and Devadatta Bhaṭṭa”. As for the alphabetic order of surnames, this is trivially easy when one only deals with contemporary Euro-American authors, but might be difficult outside of this narrow precinct. Where to put “Kumārila Bhaṭṭa” or “Dvarikadāsa Śāstrī Svāmī” or “Saint Augustine”? Let 1. guide you: Your source need to be easily identified. “Saint” or “Professor”, like “Bhaṭṭa” and “Svāmi” are not at all identifying elements. There are thousands of professors, saints and svāmins and dozens of Bhaṭṭas. Thus, chose instead the less common (and most identifiable) part of the name. If in doubt, check worldcat.org, where many of these problems have already been succesfully dealt with.

B. However, there is a point in which the worldcat.org might be irritating, namely when it comes to distinguish between the contribution of author, editor and translator. Thus, let me add my humble opinion: Saying “Kumārila Bhaṭṭa and Dvarikadāsa Śāstrī (1978), Ślokavārttika…” conveys the erroneous thought that Kumārila and Dvarikadāsa sat together and wrote the ŚV as a joint effort. This is not the case. Same with “Martin Buber, Walter Arnold Kaufmann (1970), I and Thou…”. Buber and Kaufmann did not collaborate on that book, whose sole author is Buber. Kaufmann is its translator, like Dvarikadāsa is the editor of Kumārila’s Ślokavārttika. Be sure to convey it. E.g., by saying “Martin Buber, I and Thou, translated by W.A. Kaufmann”. Similarly, state clearly whether someone is the author or the editor of a certain article or book. For instance, suppose that Rāma Miśra contributed an article called “The role of lakṣaṇā in Kumārila Bhaṭṭa” in a book edited by Kalpanā Dvivedi and called “Mīmāṃsā Philosophy of Language”. It would be incorrect to write “Miśra, Rāma and Kalpanā Dvivedi, “The role of lakṣaṇā in Kumārila Bhaṭṭa”. Rather, write as follows (adjust according to the system you follow): Miśra, Rāma, 2001. “The role of lakṣaṇā in Kumārila Bhaṭṭa”. In Kalpanā Dvivedi (ed.), Mīmāṃsā Philosophy of Language, Amsterdam: Bloomsbury, pp. 1–23.

C. In the case of websites, before citing them ask yourself whether their authors fulfil the Nyāya criteria (is the author competent? honest? desirous to communicate?). If you don’t know (e.g., in the case of Wikipedia or any other website without a precise author), DON’T USE IT (unless it’s for an anthropological research). If it has a reliable author, cite it as if it were a scholarly publication (e.g. “Kraut, Richard, “Plato”, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Fall 2017 Edition), Edward N. Zalta (ed.), URL = <https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/fall2017/entries/plato/>.”).
What about websites that are easy summaries by reliable authors, e.g., Plantinga’s videos summarizing his philosophy? Use them as an entrance gate into his philosophy, but then go the extra mile and quote his books or articles.

Since we are discussing the final bibliography, let me add a few lines about how to refer to your sources within your essay:

(i) Don’t cheat, quote. You are not looking smarter by not saying whence you know where a certain philosopher was born. Testimony is a valid source of knowledge, whereas vague hearsay is not. Thus, state your sources.

(ii) Add quotation marks when you are quoting. It is not enough to add the name of the author at the end of a passage.

(iii) Add page numbers! You can’t expect your readers to have to read a whole article or book in order to check what you said.

 

Now, for pros: What about pre-modern sources? If there is a standard critical edition, you have to refer to it. However, I would also suggest adding ways for your reader to locate the passage even if they have a different edition at hand. For instance, if you are citing a passage from the Nyāyabhāṣya, mention the aphorism it is commenting on. Thus:

—worst option: NBh, p. 121 (of a random edition)

—intermediate option: NBh, p. 131 (of Anantalal Thakur’s edition)

—best option: NBh on 1.1.2, p. 131 of Anantalal Thakur’s edition

What if your text is not a commentary on a set of aphorisms? Surely it has another internal partition. For instance, if you are quoting the Vidhiviveka, you might clearly identify the verses (they are numbered) and identify the portion of text commenting on a given verse as “VV on v. 2.6” and the like. Since the Vidhiviveka has been critically edited and the critical edition by Stern is a monumental achievement, it makes sense to also refer to Stern’s partitions of the text (e.g., chapter 11.6.1).

Colleagues and students: What can I add to make this list more helpful?

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Studying Sanskrit philosophy as an undergraduate —UPDATED

First, some perspective: “Wikipedia’s list of ancient Greek philosophers (seemingly based on Anthony Preus’ books) lists 316 authors –of many of them not a single work survived. How many works and authors do you think are covered by the label ‘Sanskrit philosophy’?” When I asked this question in class, I got answers ranging from 5 (!) to 312 authors. Karl Potter’s Bibliography of Indian Philosophy (by no means complete) lists 9,631 authors.

A further important point in this connection: Sanskrit philosophy does not only deal with “religious topics” (although religion is discussed in it!). There is a big emphasis on philosophy of language and epistemology, plenty of ontology and logic and then many other philosophical discussions (the only topics being relatively neglected are political philosophy, as well as philosophy of race, of gender etc.).

Thus, we are dealing with a world, geographically, chronologically and culturally comparable with “European philosophy” (400 BCE–1900 CE). Thus, just like no one would expect you to master the latter after a term, so don’t expect that a class will be enough to master “Sanskrit Philosophy”.

In a nutshell: Invest some time with the topic and make fun of whoever among your colleagues thinks that Sanskrit philosophy is a smaller field than “Philosophy of the young Wittgenstein”.

Second, why should you at all want to undertake such a journey? For a few reasons: 1. Sanskrit philosophy (like other philosophical traditions) will enrich you with a treasure-house of new questions and answers. 2. No matter what you will specialise in, having a perspective from far away will shatter your prejudices and make you aware of your unconscious biases.

Third, what does it take? Will you need to learn the relevant languages? Will it be hard? Answer: It will be hard, because philosophy is hard. If it looks easy, you are not trying hard enough. But it should not be harder than any other philosophical tradition, apart from extra-philosophical elements, such as getting accustomed to the idea that male names end with -a. You do not need to learn the relevant languages, although I will encourage you to learn Sanskrit if you will decide to specialise in the field in three years.

Forth, should you decide to specialise in a historically underrepresented philosophical tradition, let me warn you about something else. You will be “hireable” by departments of areal studies (and/or religious studies) as well as of philosophy. This is due to the fact that in the last decades scholars of Sanskrit philosophy have not been mainly hired by philosophy departments, but often by “Asian studies” or “Religious studies” ones. (I will not discuss the reasons for such historical circumstances.) This also means that you will end up having to convince two different sets of people that you are a serious scholar. You will need to show that you are accurate and sensitive to the context when talking to the first group of colleagues, while at the same time needing to show to your philosophical colleagues, every year again, how philosophically cool is what you are doing.

The UofT is not like that, so I routinely forget and am chilled again when colleagues point out that it is not at all obvious that there is “philosophy” outside of the Euro-American world, see below for a nice example (I don’t want to engage with mean or plainly racist cases):

To summarise: If you’ll specialise in Sanskrit philosophy, you will be cheered up by a vibrant community (it’s a small world, apart from India, so we are all very welcoming), and you’ll have the wonderful experience of being a pioneer in many respects (there are literally MILLIONS of texts which expect to be properly studied!). But, you’ll have to learn to deal with objections like the ones I mentioned above.

Colleagues and students: What did I forget?

How to use parentheses and brackets in your translation? My tips

Specific attention needs to be dedicated to the use of parentheses and brackets in translations meant for a public who knows the language you are translating from (in this case, Sanskrit). I use parentheses: (more…)

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How to deal with Sanskrit words in an English article

I already discussed in this post how to transcribe Sanskrit, and how to separate Sanskrit words in transcription. Here I would like to address a further problem many of my students appear to encounter, namely how to deal with Sanskrit words in an article.

First of all, how many Sanskrit words should you keep in your article? The answer depends on your audience. If you address an audience of non-Sanskritists, use as few Sanskrit words as possible. If you address a Sanskritist audience, use Sanskrit words in parentheses the first time you introduce a given translation, so that readers can understand what you mean by your translation, e.g.:

Authors of Dharmakīrti’s school think that linguistic communication (śabda) is not an independent instrument of knowledge (pramāṇa), but should rather be subsumed under inference (anumāna).

Then, the next time you’ll speak of inference, etc., you will not need to explain which term you are translating. You do not need to use the Sanskrit words in case it is obvious or irrelevant. If, for instance, you want to discuss Dharmakīrti’s soteriology, it is probably not needed to say that when you speak of `word’ he used pada and so on. In other words, focus on just a few termini technici for which you want to give the Sanskrit equivalent. Sanskrit words are italicised and therefore attract the attention of the reader. Use them sparingly or your reader will be just confused.

A further connected issue is: In which form should you mention Sanskrit words? As usual, consistency is key. You can decide among of the following three options, but then stick to it:

  1. You mention the word’s stem (e.g., puruṣa, ātman, pratyakṣa).
  2. You mention the word in the nominative singular (e.g. puruṣaḥ, ātmā, pratyakṣam).
  3. You mention the word in the case in which it is mentioned in the sentence you are translating (e.g. “A person’s (puruṣasya) self (ātmā) cannot be grasped through sense-perception (pratyakṣena).
What you should avoid is mixing the three methods, and especially the first two.

Now, you might think that these are all details and are not as important as the thesis you want to convey in your article. This is true, but your peer-reviewers will be disturbed by your sloppiness and annoyed. They might even be inclined to think that your translations are probably also sloppy, given that you are not even able to transcribe Sanskrit accurately. Don’t risk a rejection because of inaccuracy. What do experienced readers think? What annoys you as reader? What do you recommend to students?

 

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South Asian philosophy on twitter — and how to persuade your colleagues that there is philosophy in South Asia

You might have noticed it already (since I am well-known for being a late adapter), but there are now several scholars of South Asian philosophy on twitter, such as Jonathan Duquette, Marco Ferrante, Marzenna Jakubczak, Malcolm Keating, Birgit Kellner, Amod Lele, Ethan Mills, Cat Prueitt, Evan Thompson… Please feel free to mention the many I am missing in the comments.

I am, as already said, a late adapter, but twitter made me get in touch with interesting people coming from outside my direct field and I enjoyed several insightful conversations. One such conversation is directly relevant for many readers and I would be glad to read your opinion about it.

Short premiss: Someone (teaching in another institute) writes me explaining that their university would like to open a position on “Indian philosophy”, but that some colleagues are against it, claiming that “it is all religion”. Now, it might at times be disheartening to hear such opinions coming from colleague philosophers, but how would you react after a few deep breaths?

Here below comes my first reaction:

There will always be people who think they know what there is even in places they never visited, and I guess it must be hard for you to be patient and try to explain your reasons without getting angry. Usually, books like Matilal’s and Ganeri’s ones are really helpful here. Perhaps, you might also point them to the podcast by Ganeri and Peter Adamson on the history of Indian Philosophy? […] Many philosophers (especially historians of philosophy) know and trust P. Adamson and might be convinced by his opinion.

Also, perhaps you might try to understand where these people come from. Are they historians of philosophy? Analytic philosophers? Phenomenologists? Using Matilal and Mohanty for the latter two groups respectively might really help… Ch. Ram-Prasad’s books are also great to reach people working in the so-called “continental philosophy”.

Last resort: Give them a book which looks “religious”, like Parimal Patil’s Against a Hindu God and ask them what they think of the Buddhist syllogisms and their refutations of the Brahmanical ones.

P.S. I know that your colleagues meant “religion” in a derogatory way, but South Asian philosophy that engages with religion is intellectually extremely stimulating, too (and would they really want to cancel Thomas Aquinas or Augustinus from their philosophical syllabi?)

How do you react in such cases? I have strong hopes in young colleagues (like many of the ones I mentioned above) and in the positive effect their contribution will have, especially once added to the tasks which have already been accomplished by their forerunners. Till that moment comes, however, we will have to think of convincing and polite answers. What will your answer be?

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Wrestling with the angel: Fight all night

Further thoughts on intercultural philosophy

I hope that readers will bear with me while I keep on exploiting the metaphor of wrestling with the angel. There are a few more indications, in fact, we can take out of it. First, Jacob fights. He does not just encounter the angel, he fights with him. Similarly, in order for the encounter with another philosopher to be really transformative, one should not just engage with a restatement of one’s ideas, and rather look for points of difference and not just of harmony. One is not transformed with the encounter of the n-th philosopher who agrees with oneself.

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How to make a reader? UPDATED

What is a reader? An anthology of texts put together because of a specific purpose, i.e., learning about a given topic (say “A reader on Sanskrit philosophy of language”) or gaining proficiency in a specific language (e.g., “A Vedic reader”). A reader is rarely a high scientific achievement, but it might be extremely useful for students and laypersons, hence I think it makes sense to give the genre some thoughts.

The last reader I used is Tamiḻ Matu, by Kausalya Hart, which is meant to be at the same time a historical anthology of Tamil literature and guide students in their learning of Tamil. It comprises a short text by K. Hart herself introducing a given period of Tamil literature and is followed by an excerpt of real Tamil literature of that time. After each text comes a glossary and a global glossary is repeated at the end of the book, together with some questions in Tamil about the content of each chapter. Apart from the short English equivalents given in the glossary, the book is entirely in Tamil. This has surely advantages, but if I were to write a reader, I would try to focus clearly on my readers. If my target readers are not proficient in the topic or in the language the reader is about, I will provide a TOC and all other auxiliary materials (e.g., index locorum) in English or in a language accessible to them (typically non-technical English). I would also:

  • Provide a general glossary at the end of the book (not everyone would read the book in a short time and they might forget the words learnt in Unit 1 by the time they reach Unit 14). UPDATE: I would prepare both the general glossary and the glossaries of each chapter in alphabetic order and not in order of occurrence (I am grateful to Francesco for having pointed out this issue).

Next comes the nature of the reader. What does one exactly want to achieve through it? There might be multiple purposes, but one needs to be the main one. As much as you want to achieve them all, focus on one, or you will fail to achieve any.

  1. If, for instance, one wants to primarily teach a language, one should be sure to start with the easiest texts and move towards the most complex ones. One might also decide to oversimplify concepts (say, just saying that Govinda, Kṛṣṇa and Nārāyaṇa are names of the same God).
  2. If, by contrast, one wants to accompany intermediate students while they explore a given literature, one might prefer to go chronologically. (I really enjoy this type of readers, since they are an entertaining way to learn about the history of a given genre but can easily see why the first type is way more appealing to publishing houses).
  3. Again, if one wants to primarily introduce students or laypersons to a fascinating field, one might want to proceed thematically (e.g. “devotional literature”, “commentaries”, “epic”) and explain as much as possible of the culture involved.

What about translations? They are extremely useful for self-study (including both working on one’s own or in a group where no one is ufficially the teacher) and can make a reader a useuful tool for the purposes 2 and 3 above. But where to put them? Again, if one’s purpose is 1, then translations should be found in a separate section of the book, otherwise one would be constantly tempted to check them too soon. If one wants to achieve primarily 2 or 3, then translations can be printed as parallel texts.

In sum: Choose one goal (e.g., teaching a language) and focus on it. You can have a subsidiary one (e.g., introducing readers to interesting topics within that language), but no more than one. Be straightforward about what you are doing in your introduction and tell your readers what they will find in your book and how you conceived it.

What do readers think? Which readers did you use and appreciate?

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Should you upload your articles on Academia.edu, Research Gate, etc.?

Should you upload your articles, presentations and further material online?
Reasons for not doing it:

  • People might criticise you because they read your unfinished stuff (this of course only applies if you are considering to upload unfinished articles).
  • It takes time, and you should rather use your time to write or read.
  • Academia.edu, etc., are for-profit and one should rather not help them (however, they also retain a free version and moreover see No. 3 below).
  • Are there other arguments I forgot?

Reasons for doing it:

  1. You can reach more people.
  2. You can interact with more people, especially scholars you would not meet at your usual conferences.
  3. You can reach people who would not be able to read your articles because they are not affiliated to a university and/or their university does not possess a library and/or their university’s library does not have access to the journals where you published.

I think that especially No. 3 is relevant and cannot but lead one to conclude that the ethically correct choice involves uploading one’s work. What do you think?

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“Wrestling with the angel”

Intercultural philosophy is based on a dialogue, i.e., not just on a sheer juxtaposition of monologues, since such a juxtaposition would not lead to any new result and both partners would not be able to gain anything out of it. In order to achieve this result, one needs to be able to engage in a real dialogue. This is a less trivial issue than it may look like at first sight and in fact thousands of pages, from Plato to H.-G. Gadamer, have been dedicated only to the topic of how can dialogues and especially philosophical dialogues take place. The situation becomes even more difficult when in addition to the normal boundaries between people one needs to cross the additional bridge of cultures and of time. How can such a dialogue look like?

A.L. Leloir from render.fineartamerica.com