Category Archives: Mīmāṃsā

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A prescription with two goals is meaningless?

According to the Mīmāṃsā school, especially in its Bhāṭṭa sub-school, each prescription needs to have a goal, which is independently desirable. Without a goal, a prescription is purposeless and meaningless (anarthaka). Does it also mean that it must have only one goal?

Within the discussion on the need to study Mīmaṃsā, Veṅkaṭanātha discusses the prescription which would promote such duty. He discusses at length whether the injunction to learn by heart the Vedas (svādhyāyo ‘dhyetavyaḥ) could be considered responsible also for the duty to study Mīmāṃsā or whether it stops its functioning at the learning by heart of the Vedic phonemes, without the need to undertake a systematic study of its meaning, as it happens within Mīmāṃsā. This leads to further discussions about the purpose of the injunction to learn. Can it really aim only at learning by heart the phonic form of the Veda? How could this be considered to be an independently desirable goal? By contrast, grasping the meaning of the Veda could be a goal in itself, because it enables one to perform useful Vedic sacrifices. In this connection, Veṅkaṭanātha notes that learning by heart the phonemes cannot be a goal and adds a cryptic remark:

svādhyāyārthabodhayos tu bhāvyatve vidhyānarthakyaprasaṅgāt (Seśvaramīmāṃsā ad PMS 1.1.1, 1971 p. 21)

Because, if both the [learning by heart] of one’s portion of the Veda and the understanding of its meaning were the goal to be realised, the prescription would end up being purposeless

What does this mean? Is a prescription meaningless when it has two purposes?

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From the problem of theodicy to the problem of evil

The problem of theodicy is at its basis the problem of evil. How can there be a God who is both benevolent and able to alleviate or avoid our sufferings, given that such sufferings are still there?

How can He exist, given that also infants and animals suffer, i.e., also creatures suffer, who cannot have deserved it? The role of karman cannot really solve the issue. In fact, if God cannot remove karman, than He is not omnipotent and Mīmāṃsā authors might be right in insisting that we should use only karman to explain present sufferings and avoid God altogether. If God could change one’s karman, but usually decides not to do so, then how can He avoid the accusation of being cruel?

Whereas the topic of theodicy is one of the major Leitmotivs running throughout the whole history of modern European and Euro-American theology and philosophy of religion, it is not formulated as a distinct topic in Sanskrit philosophy (for the similar case of free will, see
Freschi, ”Free Will in Viśiṣṭādvaita Vedānta: Rāmānuja, Sudarśana Sūri and Veṅkaṭanātha”, Religion Compass). Why so?

Part of the reason is linked to an accidental fact, namely the genius of Gottfried Leibniz, who wrote a Causa Dei `Trial of God’ and coined the term théodicée. Apart from that, the main reason for the relative absence of the problem of the contradiction between the presence of evil and the existence of God lies most probably in the fact that theism is a late-comer in the history of South Asian philosophy. In fact, in order to put God on trial for the presence of evil in the world, one needs the philosophical concept of an omnipotent and benevolent God, as it is found in Europe within rational theology. This is the kind of concept of God defended by some Nyāya authors, most typically by Udayana, and attacked by Mīmāṃsā authors, typically by Kumārila.

In fact, Kumārila’s attacks are the ones even later theists will have to be able to defeat. Kumārila shows that the idea of a God who is at the same time all-mighty and benevolent is self-contradictory, since if the Lord where really all-might, he would avoid evil, and if he tolerates it, then he is cruel. If one says that evil is due to karman or other causes, Kumārila continues, then this shows that there is no need to add the Lord at all as a further cause and that everything can be explained just on the basis of karman or any other cause.

The discussion on evil in the Ślokavārttika is prompted by a discussion on God’s creation. Kumārila asks why God would create the world:

prāṇināṃ prāyaduḥkhā ca sisṛkṣāsya na yujyate || 49 ||

The desire to create a world which is mostly painful for the living beings does not suit God || 49 ||

To the possible argument that God creates the world out of compassion, Kumārila replies as follows:

abhāvāc cānukampyānāṃ nānukampāsya jāyate |\\
sṛjec ca śubham evaikam anukampāprayojitaḥ || 52 ||

Given the absence of people to have compassion of [prior to creation], He could not have compassion |\\
And, if He were prompted by compassion, He would create only a splendid [world] || 52 ||

The next move of Kumārila’s opponent is found also in some Christian theologians, namely the claim that evil is not completely avoidable:

athāśubhād vinā sṛṣṭiḥ sthitir vā nopapadyate |\\
ātmādhīnābhyupāye hi bhavet kiṃ nāma duṣkaram || 53 ||\\
tathā cāpekṣamāṇasya svātantryaṃ pratihanyate |

[Obj:] Without evil, the world could not be created nor continue to exist |

[R:] Why would this be impossible, given that the instrument [to make it possible] depends on God Himself? || 53 ||
And if you were to say that He also underlies some limitations, than His autonomy would be destroyed |

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Against arthāpatti as only technically distinguished from inference (in Śālikanātha)

Against arthāpatti as only technically distinguished from inference (Śālikanātha)

In contrast to his willingness to play down the differences with his Prābhākara opponents, Śālikanātha is quite straightforward in denying the understanding of arthāpatti, which he attributes to an anonymous opponent, and is clearly influenced by the Ślokavārttika’s treatment of the issue.
According to this opponent, the absence from home is the trigger insofar as it is itself thrown into doubt. Śālikanātha starts by asking how could this impossibility be conceived and comes with two possible options:

  1. It is impossible insofar as the absence of the one is invariably connected with the absence of the other.

  2. It is impossible insofar as the absence from home is impossible as long as one does not postulate the presence of Caitra outside.

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On the nature of emotions in Viśiṣṭādvaita Vedānta: cognitions or volitions?

Are emotions (proto)-cognitive acts? We need to have already cognised a given thing in order to have an emotional response about it, but isn’t emotion itself also some sort of underdeveloped judgement about the thing? Isn’t a positive emotional response, for instance, a form of knowledge about the goodness of the thing it is about?

By contrast, one might argue that emotions are (proto)-volitional acts. After all, emotions often motivate one to act and in this sense, they seem to be strongly linked to volitions.

Or are they something completely different than cognitions and volitions? And which part, function or organ of the self is responsible for emotions?

What would be the “standard” South Asian view about emotions? And how does the Viśiṣṭādvaita Vedanta view differ from it?

Well, the first thing to say is that there is no “standard” view, but at least two. The Sāṅkhya model is very authoritative and has emotions as cittavṛtti `affections/perturbances of the mind’, completely distinct from the self, which is a pure observer, unaffected by emotions. The Nyāya and the Advaita Vedānta model inherit the basic idea of the self as a pure observer and therefore imagine that in the state of liberation, no emotion is experienced. This stage might be nonetheless described by Advaita Vedānta authors as blissful since bliss would be the inner nature of the self.

By contrast, the Mīmāṃsā model sees the self as inherently an agent and a knower. It acknowledges the sequence, originally discussed by Nyāya authors, moving from cognitions to volitions and then to efforts and actions, however it considers that one and the same actor is responsible throughout the process. Volitions are described as having the form of desire to obtain or desire to avoid, thus including an emotional colouring. In this sense, one would imagine that emotions are implicitly considered to be (proto)-volitional acts. This point is particularly explicit whenever Mīmāṃsā authors make fun of the claim of “desireless actions” and claim that in order to undertake any action one needs desire (rāga) or aversion (dveṣa). The term desire (rāga) has a strong emotional connotation and includes one’s strong attachment to something or inclination towards it, and the same applies to aversion (dveṣa).
Viśiṣṭādvaita Vedānta authors inherit the Mīmāṃsā model and can therefore state that the liberated subject will continue to experience emotions.

The picture is however further complicated by the fact that Viśiṣṭādvaita authors need more emotions than the couple desire-aversion. Since they do not find in Mīmāṃsā the conceptual resources to deal with complex emotions such as desperation, which is essential for their soteriology, they turn to aesthetics. This discipline had evolved complex theories of emotions based on its original link to theater and to the psychology of actors and audience. Already in its foundational text, the Nāṭyaśāstra, there was a clear distinction of fundamental emotions, linked with their physical epiphenomena (such as goose bumps or blushing) and with the kinds of auxiliary emotions for each of them. Since the Nāṭyaśāstra is meant for theater professionists, it also discusses how to solicit such emotions —something of key importance for thinkers aiming at using emotions for soteriological purposes. The interaction of aesthetics and soteriology is paramount in another school of Vedānta, namely the Gauḍīya Vedānta founded by Caitanya and developed by Jīva and Rūpa Gosvāmin.

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Atheism in Europe? Blame it on theism!

Hyman's analysis and some interesting Indian parallels

Gavin Hyman explains in his 2007 contribution to Martin’s Cambdride Companion to Atheism as well as in his 2010 A Short History of Atheism that atheism is always the refusal of a given form of theism. In particular, in European history, atheism is the refusal of theism as conceived in modern times, with God as one “thing” among others. This claim might raise the eyebrows of readers of Julian Baggini, who in his 2003 Atheism. A very short introduction maintained that atheism is independent of theism, since it is tantamount to naturalism. The two claims are, however, less far than it might look like.

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Maṇḍana on fixed sacrifices

The eight century philosopher Maṇḍana tried to streamline the distinction among various types of sacrifices he inherited from the Mīmāṃsā school. The Mīmāṃsā distinguishes between:

  • fixed sacrifices one has to perform throughout one’s life
  • occasional sacrifices one performs when the occasion arises (e.g., the birth of a son)
  • elective sacrifices one performs in order to obtain a coveted result

It is also noteworthy that the auxiliary acts of fixed and occasional sacrifices can be performed “as much as one can”, whereas auxiliaries of elective sacrifices need to be performed exactly as prescribed.
The motivator of the former two groups seems to be the fact that the Veda prescribes them, whereas the motivator of the latter group seems to be the fact that one desires their result. But this is weird, given that they are enjoined by prescriptions which have a comparable form. Maṇḍana tried to find a way to have the same motivator for all. This is how he develops his argument:

  1. Prima facie view: The motivator can only be the fact that one desires a given result. In the case of fixed sacrifices, the result needs to be something one desires fixedly, like happiness.
  2. This hypothesis does not stand to reason, because the following three aspects of fixed sacrifices remain irreconcilable, namely their being fixed, their having a result and the fact that their auxiliaries needs only to be performed as much as possible. In fact, if they need to have a result, they cannot be fixed, since one would cease performing them as soon as one’s desire for them were appeased.
  3. Hence, the desire for the result can be the motivator for the actively undertaking of sacrifices, whereas the fear for a sanction needs to be the motivator for the not-ceasing to perform them.
  4. Final view: No, the above contradiction can be avoided because the fixedness is not just something one arrives at pragmatically, due to the fact that one happens to desire happiness all the time. Rather, their fixedness is prescribed in the Veda, hence it is surely not the case that it ceases. Consequently, one just needs to correctly identify a desire which never ceases, and this is the desire to eliminate accumulated bad karman. People who are currently suffering will be keen in eliminating bad karman in order to eliminate the cause of their sufferings. And people who want to achieve new goals will also want to eliminate bad karman, since they know that this could hinder them.
  5. Thus, it is true that all sacrifices are motivated by desire. The desire motivating fixed sacrifices never ceases and needs to be identified as the destruction of bad karman, because its fixed nature is itself prescribed by the Veda.

As often the case, the pars destruens is almost more interesting than the pars construens.

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Adding theism on top of atheism

The “chapter on the refutation of a connection” is the chapter Kumārila uses to discuss his anti-theistic arguments. Bhavanātha does it too, but he then adds, at the very end of his discussion:

evam īśvare paroktam eva anumānaṃ nirastam, na tv īśvaro ‘pi.

In this way I have refuted the inference to the existence of the Lord said by other scholars, but I have not refuted the Lord Himself. (NV, tarkapāda, end of sambandhākṣepaparihāra)

Thus, it is quite clear that:

  • Bhavanātha (and perhaps also other Mīmāṃsā authors?) did not understand Kumārila’s refutation of theism as a refutation of any form of theism.
  • This distinction might have looked obvious enough to Bhavanātha, since he did not feel the need to elaborate about that.
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What is the target of Kumārila’s atheist arguments?

Kumārila’s attacks certainly target the belief in supernatural beings who should be able to grant boons to human beings (the devatās), insofar as they show that this belief is inherently self-contradictory. For instance, these deities should be the actual recipients of ritual offerings. However, how could they receive offerings at the same time from different sacrificers in different places?

Kumārila also targets the belief in a Lord akin to the one defended by rational theology, both in Europe and in South Asia, again because this leads to contradictions. Kumārila explains that there is no need of such a Lord in order to explain the creation of the world, since there is no need to adduce further evidence in order to justify the world as it is now (i.e., existing), whereas one would need to adduce a strong external evidence to justify everything contradicting the world as we know it. Therefore, the continuous presence of the world becomes the default status and the theist has the burden of the proof and needs to be able to establish independently of his religious belief that there has been a time when the world did not exist. Similarly, Kumārila shows that the idea of a Lord who is at the same time all-mighty and benevolent is self-contradictory, since if the Lord where really all-might, he would avoid evil, and if he tolerates it, then he is cruel. If one says that evil is due to karman or other causes, Kumārila continues, then this shows that there is no need to add the Lord at all as a further cause and that everything can be explained just on the basis of karman or any other cause.

Are Kumārila’s criticisms also targeted at the idea of an impersonal and non-dual brahman? Kumārila does not explicitly address the issue of the possible distinction between one and the other target. However, a few scant hints may help readers. In a fragment from his lost Bṛhaṭṭīkā preserved in the work of a Buddhist opponent (the Tattvasaṅgraha), Kumārila speaks of deities as being vedadeha, i.e., ‘embodied in the Veda’ (so Yoshimizu 2008, fn. 78). In a verse of the TV, he says that they are ṛgvedādisamūheṣu […] pratiṣṭhitāḥ, i.e., ‘who reside in the Ṛgveda and all other [Vedic scriptures]’ (Yoshimizu 2007b, p. 221). Does this mean that Kumārila was accepting a conception of deities inhabiting the Vedas? I discussed the idea with a colleague who just said that the verses must be interpolated.

What do readers think? Was there local atheism in ancient India?

See also Yoshimizu’s comment to my post on Bhavanātha.