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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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How much should you explain in an article?

Suppose you spent a long time (weeks, months, perhaps even years) understanding a complicated topic. You then write an article or a book about it. Where should you start from? Should you explain all or just assume to have readers who more or less share your expertise?

The question is certainly relevant for all philosophers, but perhaps even more for people working on niches, such as the history of Mīmāṃsā deontic thought or the early developments of the Maṇipravāḷa soteriology in South India and so on. Sure, it would be nice to speak with people who shared out interest and to whom we did not need to explain all, but these people are very few.

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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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What are the most important books in and on South Asian philosophy?

Just imagine you are asked about the three most important texts in South Asian philosophy and take a minute to imagine your answer. You are also allowed to include texts on South Asian philosophy, if you think they are relevant.

Next, you can compare your answers with those of scholars like Jonardon Ganeri, Maria Heim, Chakravarti Ram-Prasad and Evan Thompson. The guest, Phil Treagus, is a bibliophile and already hosted posts on the most important books on several topics in philosophy, including Chinese philosophy. As a praiseworthy addition, he also invited a young PhD student, Jack Beaulieu.

You are also welcome to add your lists in the comments.

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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 death of Tullio Gregory

On March the 2nd 2019 Tullio Gregory died. I did not study with him, but he was my paramaguru (the teacher of my teacher) and the author of the books I and many are students used for years. His seemingly unlimited knowledge of the intricate connections stretching through Medieval and Renaissance Europe made him able to recognise influences and exchanges of ideas. His acute intellect read in these lines the basic features of the making of a philosophical journey, and not just exchanges of letters and students. He was able to look at seemingly uninteresting topics and periods and come back with theoretical treasures in his hands.

His attention at the lines connecting various geographic areas also means that he was never trapped in the myth of a West developing alone towards the conquest of the world from Ancient Greece to the industrialisation (see here for a lecture on trans-lation as a key term to understand the history of philosophy).

If you can read Italian and have already read his works, you can read a short appraisal of him here. A more generalist take on him can be found in English here.

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Engaging classes on South Asian philosophy

If you have a small group, it is relatively easy to activate your students, who will anyway not be able to hide in the last row of a bigger class. Symmetrical reasons may make it easier to engage a class of undergraduates on a topic they have already discussed, say, vegetarianism, abortion, foreign policy… But what about bigger classes focusing on a non-mainstream topic? In order for students to make interesting contributions, they need to prepare. But, in order to decide to prepare, they need to be motivated. How do you solve this Catch-22?

I, for one, often try a combination of the following methods:

  1. I start each class (including the first one) with 2–3 questions to be answered in written form. The first two questions give them the chance to get back to what we did in the previous unit and to see what remains unclear. The last one is a thought-provoking question which is meant to show a connection between the topic of the present unit and some broader issue they might already be familiar with. The last question does not need, therefore, to be answered “correctly”. The point is just to stimulate critical thinking.
  2. By the way, on the first class I present a longer list of basic questions on topics which look easy (say, what was the Buddha’s full name? In which language did he write?). This gives me the chance to clear the ground from basic misunderstandings and offers to the students some insight in how much they do not know. They are usually quite happy when at the last unit they realise they can now answer all questions.
  3. When I cannot presuppose any knowledge of South Asian thought, I often mix small lecturing units (say 5–10′) to “whispering groups”. In the whispering groups students are invited to just spontaneously form small groups of 3–4 people, discuss what I said and find possible objections and weak points. They are also allowed to formulate questions in case they did not understand. These moments of critical reflection are, as a matter of fact, way more productive when students do their readings in advance and they usually realise it soon enough and start preparing.
  4. For each class, I select some readings of pre-modern sources and during class I ask students to read parts of the texts and explain them. Again, they soon realise they need to prepare and start preparing.
  5. Something I did only twice was to have open a wiki on the topic of the class (say “Linguistic Communication as an instrument of knowledge”). Students were divided into bigger groups (5–6 people). After a short introduction to each unit they would be asked to sit together in such groups and contribute to a certain part of the wiki (say, “Thomas Reid’s approach to testimony”). Again, it works smoothly if they are well-prepared. But even if they are not, they can do their homework during class after having assigned different duties to each member of the group. The results were qualitatively mixed, but the students liked it.
  6. Then, there are the usual suspects, Socratic dialogue, thought-provoking questions, short presentations in class, reading together.

  7. What about you? What works with your students?

    (So far, I taught in various universities in Italy, Hungary and Austria.)

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Why bother to look at material from South Asia, when there is so much interesting stuff in “our” tradition?

From time to time and never by scholars, I am confronted with some variant of this question: “Why bother to look at material from South Asia, when there is so much interesting stuff in “our” tradition?”. As examples for the richness of “our” tradition the Bible, the Ancient Greek and Latin classics, European philosophy etc. are mentioned.

Once again, let me repeat that I never received this question from scholars,

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Introduction to South Asian Philosophy

Did you ever teach an Introduction to South Asian Philosophy? Did you focus on what your (Euro-American) students expected to be part of philosophy (metaphysics, ethics…) or did you manage to convince them that Vyākaraṇa, etc. should be part of Philosophy?
The timeline below is my tentative proposal, please feel free to compare it with yours.