1. sense-perception (indriyapratyakṣa)
2. yogic perception
3. self-awareness of cognitions (svasaṃvedana)
4. mānasapratyakṣa (used to access immediately preceding cognitive events)

For Nyāya epistemologists, it includes:

1. sense-perception (indriyapratyakṣa)
2. yogic perception
3. mānasapratyakṣa (used to access immediately preceding cognitive events) (including anuvyavasāya)

svasaṃvedana is refused, because cognitions are not transparent. Instead, they are perceptible through anuvyavasāya, which is a form of mānasapratyakṣa.

For Mīmāṃsā epistemologists, it includes:

1. sense-perception (indriyapratyakṣa)

Please notice that sense-perception includes, for all Sanskrit philosophers I am aware of, six senses, one of which is manas, which is meant to grasp internal events, typically sukha or duḥkha.

Now, where does Kumārila’s ahampratyaya ‘cognition of the I’ fall into? It cannot be a case of mānasapratyakṣa, because this one is not accepted as a separate way to accept cognitive events (for thorough refutations of it from a Mīmāṃsā point of view, one can check Śālikanātha’s Pramāṇapārāyaṇa, pratyakṣapariccheda or Vācaspati’s Nyāyakaṇikā, on VV chapter 8). It could be a case of indriyapratyakṣa, with the manas working as the sense faculty, but this is odd, given that manas as a sense faculty should grasp a sensory object, like sukha or duḥkha and it is unclear how the aham could qualify as one.

1. Kumārila stating in the ātmavāda chapter within his ŚV that we can directly grasp the self through our awareness of ourselves as an I (via ahampratyaya)
2. Kumārila stating, against Dignāga, that cognitions are not transparent to themselves (see ŚV pratyakṣa 79, 134 and then ŚV śūnyavāda) and that they are rather known a posteriori through arthāpatti based on the fact that something, e.g., a pot, has now the characteristic of being manifest (jñātatā or prākaṭya, see ŚV pratyakṣa 56) and that this characteristic wold be unexplainable otherwise
3. Kumārila stating in the pratyakṣa chapter within the ŚV that perception is sense-perception

Which sort of cognition is ahampratyaya? The “I” cannot be known through cognitions’ awareness of themselves (as in Prabhākara), because of No. 2. Nor can the “I” be known through perception, because of No. 3. Again, given that there must be a solution (the point is too striking to have been missed by Kumārila himself) and that No. 2 looks quite sure, let me try to explore No. 3. Could it be that Kumārila accepts perception as sense-perception AND ahampratyaya? (In this connection, please note that also Jhā writes that “the notion of “I” […] is directly perceptible by the Senses”, fn on ŚV ātmavāda v. 107).

The relevant verses in the chapter on perception are mainly addressed against upholders of yogic perception. Kumārila insists there that perception is about present contents, and the “I” would qualify. He also says that perception arises from a contact between the object and the sense-faculty (sati indriyasaṅgame […] tasya (=pratyakṣasya) evaṃdharmakatvataḥ, vv 17–18), thus excluding svasaṃvedana or other forms of non-sensory direct perception from pratyakṣa. Still, ahampratyaya could qualify as belonging to perception. The sense-faculty at stake in the case of the “I” could be manas, the inner sense faculty. It is in this sense somehow disappointing that Kumārila does not mention the case of ahampratyaya while discussing ātman-manas contact in ŚV pratyakṣa, v. 66. Moreover, ŚV pratyakṣa v. 83 discusses the apprehension of pleasure and pain via manas, but does not mention the case of the manas also cognising the “I”. Even more relevant, v.83 follows a discussion of how a cognition cannot grasp itself and how pleasure etc. can be an exception because there is no svasaṃvedana there, but rather the apprehension of something inhering in the self, via the manas (see Pārthasārathi thereon: manaḥsañjñakenendriyeṇa saṃyuktaḥ ātmā svasamavetān sukhādīn […] pratipadyate). If we were to apply the same scheme to ahampratyaya, we would need to say that the self, connected to the manas, grasps the self itself, which seems to contradict the point made in v. 82, against reflectivity. Also disappointing in this regard are ŚV pratyakṣa, vv. 134–139, that discuss the role of manas in svasaṃvitti (refuted by Kumārila) and pleasure etc. (accepted) and never mention the case of “I-cognitions”. Then, again, ŚV pratyakṣa v. 160 states that manas can work on its own, without an external object, but only cites pleasure and pain as an example (yathā hi manasaḥ sārdhaṃ rūpādau cakṣurādinā | pravṛttiḥ sukhaduḥkhādau kevalasyaiva dṛśyate ||). Same with ŚV śabdanityatādhikaraṇa 337 on manas grasping pleasure etc. when not connected with the external senses.
This is all not conclusive, but it is disheartening that Kumārila never mentions the case of ahampratyaya in the chapter on perception, if ahampratyaya is in fact a case of perception.

At this point I might have been too negative about the possibility of ahampratyaya being a case of perception. Let me therefore look at the evidence in favour of it. The main one is that ahampratyaya is mentioned as an evidence for the existence of the self and as being different than inference in ŚV ātmavāda v. 107. Next, ahampratyaya is discussed in conjunction with recognition (pratyabhijñā) in the same chapter (v. 109, v. 137), and we know that recognition is a combination of memory and perception.

Could it be that ahampratyaya is just a case of recognition? In favour of this view run a few passages in Pārthasārathi’s commentary, where he says pratyabhijñārūpeṇa ahampratyayena (ad ŚV ātmavāda v. 109) and ekasantānasambandhino ‘hampratyayā ekajñātṛviṣayā iti pratyabhijñeti (ad ŚV ātmavāda v. 139), as well as the fact that the self is proven to exist because of phenomena like desire, which need some extension through time (perception of X, memory that X in the past produced pleasure, desire of X, see vv. 104–105). However, recognition requires a preceding (perceptual) awareness (and Kumārila has already established that inference does not establish the ātman). How could one re-cognise something if one had not cognised it in the first place? Recognition is essential in the argumentative structure of ŚV ātmavāda, because this has as its main opponent the Buddhist epistemologists’ point of view on the self being momentary. Yet, it would be strange to claim that ahampratyaya is only a recognition, since this would deny the phenomenological appeal that we recognise ourselves qua-I immediately (not inferentially, as Nyāya-Vaiśeṣikas would like it to be, see vv. 92–101).

At this point I wonder whether for Kumārila ahampratyaya is an ad hoc pramāṇa, a cognition that never ceases every time one cognises something (see ŚV ātmavāda 133), but different than the arthāpatti through which one knows a posteriori that a cognition has taken place. Now, against that runs Kumārila’s mention of six pramāṇas (e.g., ŚV codanā 111cd), which seem to either point to ahampratyaya as a subspecies within one of the main sources of knowledge or to ahampratyaya as not necessarily knowledge-conducive. Could be just a cognition (jñāna), one that is not necessarily true, but that remains valid as long as it is not falsified? However, a pramāṇa is in Kumārila exactly defined as something that remains valid as long as it is not falsified. That is, in Nyāya it is easy to distinguish pramāṇas from thinking processes that are not *necessarily* knowledge-conducive although they might lead to true cognitions, such as tarka. But this distinction does not seem to be available to Kumārila’s falsificationism. He does use the term pramāṇa also for sources other than the six (pratyakṣa, anumāna, śabda, upamāna, arthāpatti, abhāva), for instance in the case of pratyabhijñā and of the hermeneutic pramāṇas, but both can be reduced to a subspecies of one of the six pramāṇas. This all would lead one back to ahampratyaya being a form of manas-pratyakṣa, with the ātman featuring both as the subject and object thereof.

ŚV ātmavāda 142 seems to offer a slightly different point of view, with the ātman being described as self-luminous (through the simile of a light, jyotiḥ). Thus, even though Kumārila refutes (see point No. 2 above) self-luminosity in the case of cognitions, he seems to accept it for the self. The next verses explains that this does not apply to other people’s selves, that need to be known through inference (v. 145) and perhaps also through analogy and linguistic communication combined (v. 144). Unfortunately, Uṃveka’s commentary is not available for this chapter and Pārthsārathi does not add much to this short section.

By the way, one might wonder whether ahampratyaya could ever count as knowledge, given that it is unfalsifiable. However,
a. Kumārila has defeated the alternatives already (mainly bhūtacaitanyavāda, or physicalism and the non-physicalist illusionism of Buddhist epistemologists)
b. Kumārila showed at least in one case that he is comfortable with an unfalsifiable knowledge, namely the Veda.

Preliminary program

Monday May 18th (Kumārila’s Ślokavārttika 1) room: MN 3230
Chair: John Nemec
8.30 onwards: Breakfast
9–10 Alessandro Ganassi, The final argument from Śūnyavāda’s pūrvapakṣa: how the nature of things can be contradictory (ŚV, sūnyavāda)
10–10:15 Tea break
10:15-11:15am Zihao Wu, Toward a more comprehensive understanding of svataḥprāmāṇya: suspension of awareness beyond temporal sequence
11:15–11:30 Tea break
11:30–12:30 Devansh Bharadvaj, Kumārila on the perception of the self (ŚV, ātmavāda)
12:30–1:30 Lunch break
Chair: Daniele Cuneo
1:30–4: Taisei Shida, Ślokavārttika Śabdādhikaraṇa vv. 1–19b & 163c–201b
4-4:15: Tea break
4:15-5:15: Alessandro Graheli, abhihitānvayavāda in Kumārila, Mukula, Jayanta

Tuesday May 19th (Kumārila’s Ślokavārttika 2; Kumārila’s Tantravārttika 1) room: MN 3230
Chair: Manasicha Akepiyapornchai
8:30 onwards: Breakfast
9–10: Sarju Patel, svataḥprāmāṇya in Kumārila and Bhāsarvajña
10–10:15 Tea break
10:15–12:45: Andrew Ollett, āgnēyyadhikaraṇa (TV ad 3.2.8)
12:45–1:45 Lunch break
Chair: Ajay Rao
1:45-4:15pm: Nilanjan Das, Kumarila on the meaning of common nouns (TV ad 1.3.30–35)
4:15–4:30: Tea break
4:30–5:30: Aaron Minnick, Kumarila on caste (TV ad 1.2.2)

Wednesday May 20th (Kumārila’s Tantravārttika 2) room: MN 3230
Chair: Elisa Freschi
8.30 onwards: Breakfast
9–10: Nirali Patel, Kumārila has his yogic cake and eats it: Kumārila on ātmatuṣṭi (TV 1.3.adh.7)
10–10:15 Tea break
10:15–12:45: Alessandro Graheli, Kumārila on Grammar in the vyākaraṇādhikaraṇa (TV 1.3.adh. 9)
12:45–1:45 Lunch break
1:45–4:15: Walk in the park

Thu May 21st (Kumārila’s Tantravārttika 3) room: MN 5128
Chair: Elisa Freschi
8.30 onwards: Breakfast
9–10 Kiyotaka Yoshimizu, Nitya or Kāmya from the Mīmāṃsā Viewpoint (TV ad 2.4, adh. 1)
10-10.15: Tea break
10.15–12:45: Monika Nowakowska, upāṃśuyājādhikaraṇa (TV ad MS 2.2.9-12)
12:45-1:45pm Lunch break
Chair: Jesse Pruitt
1:45-4:15pm: Larry McCrea, vacanavyakti from Grahaikatvādhikaraṇa (TV ad 3.1.7, pp. 705-709 in the Anandashrama 1st ed.)
4:15-4:30: Tea break
4:30—5:30: Akane Saito, Theories of Error in Medieval Indian Philosophy, with special focus on Kumārila

Fri May 22nd (Kumārila’s Tantravārttika 4, Kumārila’s Ṭupṭīkā) room: MN 3230
Chair: Shashank Rao
8:30 onwards: Breakfast
9–11:30: Kei Kataoka, The Definition of a Single Sentence in Kumārila’s Tantravārttika: A Translation of the Ekavākyatālakṣaṇādhikaraṇa (TV 2.1.46)
11:30–11:45: Tea Break
11.45–12.45: Elisa Freschi What is the thing to be done in “the one desirous of heaven should sacrifice”? (ṬṬ ad 6.1.1–3)
12:45-1:45: Lunch break
Chair: Nilanjan Das
1:45-4:15pm: Akane Saito, Direction of Subordination and its Relation to the Kāraka Theory. Tantravārttika 3.1.3–6: śeṣatvasya lakṣyanirdeśādhikaraṇam (TV ad MS 3.1.3-6, 7-10)
4:15–4:30: Tea break
4:30—5:30: round table about next steps, publications, terminology etc.

6:30pm: Dinner together

Venue: University of Toronto, Mississauga campus, MN building, (ask me for the zoom link)

I have a non-polemical question: What did you read within what you call “non-Western thought”? If the list is extremely short compared to what you know of Euro-American philosophy (say, less than 100 titles), or if it focuses on a special field (say, Confucian ethics) then it’s easy to have a less diverse impression. The problem is that scholars or students who speak of “non-Western thought” as being “less diverse” have at most taken a single class on anything other than Euro-American philosophy.
Do you think you would have an idea of Euro-American philosophy as very diverse and interesting if you had studied, say, Sanskrit philosophy for decades, and had taken a single class on French existentialism and German phenomenology?

More in general, many Philosophy departments think that diversifying means adding a single class on anything that is not Euro-American mainstream philosophy (it can be Maori political thought, ubuntu ethics, Confucianism, Sanskrit epistemology…).
The result is often implicitly suggesting that there is a single world of “non-Western” thought and that everyone can teach it, because it does not go very deep.
For instance, I am routinely asked to answer questions about, e.g., the Zhaungzi, as if my expertise should extent to the whole of “non-Western thought”, because it is implicitly assumed to be very limited.

I ask students on the first class on Sanskrit philosophy how many texts do they think were composed in Sanskrit philosophy if compared to Greek philosophy and they are ridiculously wrong, guessing anything between 30 and 300 texts.

The whole passage starts because Śabara is discussing the role of the deity in sacrifice. He explains that the deity does not promote the sacrifice (na devatā prayojikā and na devatāprayuktāḥ pravartiṣyāmahe). An opponent mentions the fact that the deity is mentioned as the target (sampradāna) of the action (given that it is in the dative case). Śabara quickly dismisses the point as related to the fact that the sacrifice is the real instrument to realise the result and moves on. Kumārila elaborates on it and comes to the conclusion that the deity has a primary role because of its grammatical function, which makes it needed for the performance of the sacrifice.

“[Obj:] But the deity is mentioned as the target (sampradāna) [and hence needs to be the one that prompts one to sacrifice, like the teacher to whom one gives a gift prompts one to give it].

[R:] The sacrifice, which is enjoined with regard to a result. requires a performance. And this performance is not possible without a deity and a sacrificial substance (to be offered). And the substance and the deity which are required (by the performance) are required only on the side of the complement, not as the thing to be realised [by the sacrifice] (which is the real motivator). Among the two, the substance becomes a complement through the third-case ending. The deity through a suffix or through the fourth-case ending.”

Here Pārthasārathi’s Tantraratna adds an intermediate objection explaining that this makes the deity seemingly into the principal element. The response is that this is not a problem.

“And if this deity-complement did not reach the condition of being primary with regard to the sacrifice (as required by the dative ending expressing the target), the sacrifice would not be performed at all. And without the performance of the sacrifice, there would not be the complement either. And if the sacrifice did not reach the condition of being its (complement’s) secondary element (guṇa), it would not come into being.

Therefore the sacrifice needs to reach the condition of being secondary as something/through an activity which is unavoidably concomitant (to the grammatical form used). And also the deity-complement [needs to reach] the condition of being primary as something unavoidably concomitant (to the grammatical form used).”

The addition of “unavoidably concomitant” (nāntarīiyaka) may seem puzzling, since neither Kumārila nor Pārthasārathi explain it. Clooney 1997 makes the bold move to interpret it as na antarīyaka (not… intermediary). I can see his motivation, but antarīyaka is not a Sanskrit word I am aware of. (NB: The L manuscript and the Tantraratna read tasmād yāgena nāntarīyakeṇa vyāpāreṇa guṇabhāvaḥ pratipattavyaḥ (instead of tasmād yāgena nāntarīyako guṇabhāvaḥ pratipattavyaḥ)).

At this point, Pārthasārathi’s Tantraratna adds that this does not mean that the sacrifice has become because of that for the sake of the deity. The following explains why.

“Nor is it the case that the unavoidable functioning is the cause for being primary or secondary, since it is not what is enjoined (and only the injunction determines real primary status). For, [one thinks:] “Since I have been enjoined towards the result, I realise the result through the sacrifice, not otherwise” (and this shows how the injunction puts the result as the primary thing and the sacrifice as its instrument).”

The Tantraratna has an interesting variant here, namely yāgo hi phale coditaḥ. This fits the beginning of the passage, which also read yāgaḥ phale codito…. The translation, in this case, would be as follows: “The sacrifice, being enjoined with regard to the result, does not realise the result otherwise [but through the deity as target]”.

“In this way, the unavoidable functioning needs to be the secondary element with respect to the deity.”

PSM adds: “in order to realise the sacrifice’s being an instrument towards the result”. It also specifies: “the secondary status is not enjoined”.

“Hence, in all cases there are two parts (a principal one, and a secondary one). Among them, we need to understand which one is what is wished to be expressed and which one is not. Among these two possibilities, in worldly experience what is wished to be expressed is determined by the force of things. In the Veda, by contrast, by language. And through language the sacrifice is the primary element, because it realises the result, given that it is proximate [to the result], The deity, by contrast, is understood to be the secondary element. Nor is it the case that the subordination (śeṣatva) is characterised as being an auxiliary (upakāra). Rather, it is established that it is characterised by the Vedic injunction.”

PSM explains that the “Nor…” sentence is the cause of the previous one.

“[UP:] What is the purpose of this investigation?

[R:] If the sacrifice had the purpose of gladdening the deity, then the deity were the one to be worshipped and the sacrifice would be a worship. And the worship is a thing known in worldly experience. Within a worship, what would be the confidence [one could have] in the claim that Sūrya is worshipped in the same way as Agni? The very opposite might be the case (namely that Sūrya dislikes what Agni likes). (Hence, the ectype for Sūrya should not be performed as the archetype sacrifice for Agni!)”

Thus, Kumārila concludes, the fact that the material trumps the deity when it comes to determining the procedure to be followed shows that the sacrifice is not a worship aimed at the deity and that the deity’s seeming predominant role is due to grammar only. I don’t see any important difference between Kumārila’s and Śabara’s conclusions here.

Raniero Gnoli had published his translation of Abhinavagupta’s commentary in 1985, but had decided to get back to it and while reading it with us (he did most of the reading) he partly revised his previous understanding. I was impressed by how learned he was, by how he seemed to understand Sanskrit without any difficulty (for instance, if he ever hesitated about a word, he would mentally check its usages in other Sanskrit texts he seemed to know almost by heart and thus understand it better), but also by his willingness to revise his previous understanding and to let us look at how he engaged with his past self and with Abhinavagupta himself.

The following year he read with us a Sanskrit text together with its Tibetan translation (he knew Tibetan, but refused to use the contemporary Tibetan pronunciation and would just pronounce “rgyu” and the like as if they were Sanskrit words, namely as र्ग्यु). During my first 1–2 years he was also the director of the Department of Oriental Studies (the name might have been different at that point, I am no longer sure) and I asked him his advice about what to specialise on. I told him that I was also thinking about Indian art and archaeology. His answer was clear-cut, namely that Chineses excelled in art, Indians not so much. There was thus no point in specialising in it. (I don’t know whether he said it as a test or a form of upāyakauśalya, but it did the trick.)

For many years to follow, Raniero Gnoli had stopped teaching at the University, but would still welcome us in his castle to read Sanskrit together. “We” means the students of Sanskrit at that point, a group of undergraduates who were still struggling with even simple Sanskrit. It took us years to get better, but he welcomed us at all stages. He read with us whatever we asked him to read, from the Nyāyabhāṣya (which was understandable for us, hence it made us overconfident) to Prajñākaragupta’s commentary on Dharmakīrti (too difficult for us!).

Although he was among the most productive scholars imaginable, always studying new things (often unheard for, such as how to execute the “punto Milano” embroidery), he appeared to always have time for reading Sanskrit with us. For the first months, he just read himself, then at a certain point he must have understood (how? Out of our pupils’ movements?) that we had become good enough and just asked us to translate (I was shocked, but it worked) and then corrected us. We could come for weeks in a row with the same text or just show up with a new text, he was open to everything.

He had strong opinions about Sanskrit philosophy and seemed to be guided by a crystal clear intellect. This must have been the reason he could recognise the philosophical genius of Abhinavagupta at a time virtually no one had even noticed him. For instance, he is the origin of the translation “aesthetic experience” for rasa, thus understanding what was at stake with Abhinavagupta’s insistence on it, at a time when other translators still spoke of “juice” or the like. Similarly, Gnoli would have definite opinions about how to put together a critical edition (which needs to be “critical” and not a mere collation) and about priorities for the discipline. Once, for instance, we asked him what prompted him to prepare the critical edition of the Pramāṇavārttika+svavṛtti. He said that it was needed.

After reading, he would chat with us for a while. We got to know about his journeys through India, often looking for stones (like a certain lumachella) or manuscripts, or about his Greek literature exams during his university studies, or about Tucci’s eating restrictions. He was the kind of superior being who does not need to show their superiority, since it is apparent, and he was therefore humble, often wearing old and worn trousers and even making fun of himself. For instance, when he turned 70 Raffaele Torella put together two volumes in his honour (“Le parole e i marmi”) and organised a small ceremony for him once the volumes were published. Gnoli started his speech saying that it was nice to feel younger (since the volumes ended up being published two years after his 70th birthday) and later commented with us that the whole ceremony had been a “preview” of his funeral —little did he know that he would have lived and worked for further 23 years.

Personally, my debt towards him is inextinguishable. I learnt most of what I know about Sanskrit philosophy from illustrious teachers, and Raffaele Torella and Raniero Gnoli were not only the first ones, but two absolute models of scholarship. I can’t fathom how much good karman I must have accumulated in the past to have been worthy of reading with them, learning from their pāṇḍitya, which was so deep it looked spontaneous, and even listening to their fearless way of expressing ideas —very different from what many describe as “typical Academia”.

When one works on the intellectual history of the Sanskrit cosmopolis*, by contrast, one still needs to map the entire territory, whose extension still escapes us. Very few elements of the landscape have been fixated, and might still need to be re-assessed.

What are the mountains, main cities as well as rivers, bridges, routes that we would need to fix on the map? Key authors, key theories, key schools, as well as languages and manners of communication and how they worked (public debates? where? how?).
I mentioned authors before schools because for decades intellectual historians looking at the Sanskrit cosmopolis emphasized, and often overemphasized the role of schools at the expense of the fundamental role of individual thinkers, thus risking to oversee their individual contributions and to flatten historical developments, as if nothing had changed in astronomy or philosophy for centuries. This hermeneutic mistake is due to the fact that while the norm in Europe and North America after Descartes and the Enlightenment has been increasingly to highlight novelty, originality is constantly understated in the Sanskrit cosmopolis. It is not socially acceptable to claim to be novel and original in the Sanskrit world, just like it is not acceptable to be just “continuing a project” in a grant application in Europe or North America.
Still, schools are often the departure point for any investigation, since they give one a first basic understanding of the landscape. How does this exactly work?
For instance, we know that the Vedānta systems were a major player in the intellectual arena, with all other religious and philosophical schools having to face them, in some form of the other. However, it is not at all clear which schools within Vedānta were broadly influential, where within South Asia, and in which languages. Michael Allen, among others, worked extensively on Advaita Vedānta in Hindī sources, but were they read also by Sanskrit authors and did the latter react to them? Were Hindī texts on Vedānta read only in the Gangetic valley or throughout the Indian subcontinent? The same questions should be investigated with regard to the other schools of Vedānta (Viśiṣṭādvaita, Dvaita, Śaivādvaita…), the other vernacular languages they interacted with (respectively: Tamil and Maṇipravāḷam, Kannaḍa…), and the regions of the Indian subcontinent they originated in. And this is just about Vedānta schools.
Similarly, we still have to understand which other schools entered into a debate with philosophy and among each other and which interdisciplinary debates took place. Scholars of European intellectual history know how Kepler was influenced by Platonism and how Galileo influenced the development of philosophy. What happened in the Sanskrit cosmopolis?
Dagmar Wujastyk recently focused on the intersection of medicine (āyurveda) alchemy (rasaśāstra) and yoga. Which other disciplines were in a constant dialogue? Who read mathematical and astronomical texts, for instance? It is clear, because many texts themselves often repeat it, that Mīmāṃsā, Nyāya and Vyākaraṇa (hermeneutics, logic and grammar) were considered a sort of basic trivium, to be known by every learned person. But the very exclusion of Vedānta from the trivium (it cannot be considered to be included in “Mīmāṃsā” unless in the Viśiṣṭādvaita self-interpretation) shows that the trivium is only the starting point of one’s instruction and is not at all exhaustive. And we have not even started to look at many disciplines, from music to rhetorics.

One might wonder whether it is not enough to look at reports by today’s or yesterday’s Sanskrit intellectuals themselves in order to know what is worth reading and why. However, as discussed above, such reports would not boast about innovations and main breakthroughs. Sanskrit philosophy (and the same probably applies to Sanskrit mathematics etc.) is primarily commentarial. That is, authors presuppose a basic shared background knowledge and innovate while engaging with it rather than imagining to be pioneers in a new world of ideas. In a commentarial philosophy, innovations are concealed and breakthroughs are present, but not emphasised. Hence, one needs a lot of background knowledge to recognise them.

I would like to map the territory to realise who was studying what, where and how. How can this be done? The main obstacle is the amount of unpublished material, literally millions of manuscripts that still remain to be read, edited, translated and studied (I am relying on David Pingree’s estimate). Editing and translating them all requires a multi-generational effort of hundreds of people. However, a quick survey of them, ideally through an enhanced ORC technology, would enable scholars to figure out which languages were used, which theories and topics were debated, which authors were mentioned, and who was replying to whom.

This approach will remind some readers of the distant reading proposed by Franco Moretti. I am personally a trained philologist and a spokesperson for close reading. However, moving back and forth between the two methods seems to be the most productive methodology if the purpose is mapping an unknown territory. Close reading alone will keep one busy for decades and will not enable one to start the hermeneutic circle through which one’s knowledge of the situation of communication helps one better understanding even the content of the text one is closely focusing on. As hinted at above, this is particularly crucial in the case of a commentarial philosophy, where one needs to be able to master a lot of the author’s background in order to evaluate his contribution.

*As discussed several times elsewhere, I use “Sanskrit philosophy” or “Sanskrit intellectual history” as a short term for “philosophy in a cosmopolis in which Sanskrit was the dominant language of culture and everyone had to come to terms with it”, as with the use of “philosophy in the Islamic world”, that includes also thinkers part of the Islamic world but who were not themselves Muslims.

(The above are just quick notes. Any feedback is welcome!)