Science and Scientification in South Asia and Europe 9780367371715, 9780429353215

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Title
Copyright
Contents
List of contributors
Foreword
Part I Scientification and scientism in India
Introduction to part I
1 The art of grammar in context: ‘Science’, human interest, and the construction of cultural and political worlds
2 Sanskrit and computer science
3 Mathematics and Vedic mathematics
4 The birth of the (exorcism) clinic: media, modernity, and the jinn
5 The science question in alternative agricultures: zero budget natural farming and the emergence of agronomical pluralism in India
6 Counting food?: the pitfalls of caloric conception of nutrition and alternative theories of food
7 Thinking about agriculture in an industrialising economy: an essay
Part II Philosophical and anthropological foundations in the European history of science
Introduction to part II: philosophy, anthropology and history of the humanities
8 The dominance of scientific knowledge and the devaluation of other forms of knowledge
9 Modernity, colonialism and the ‘Science of Language’
10 Scientism of early modern age and the prevailing scholastic discourse on principium individuationis
11 Prolegomenon to the study of science and religion: a philosophical and historical reflection
12 Technoscientification and the oblivion of the social dimension of knowledge
13 Science cannot do it alone: habits, environment, and the enchantment of beauty
14 Knowledge and science in the art of living
15 Transforming knowledge into cognitive basis of policies: a cosmopolitan from below approach
16 The limits of science from the standpoint of philosophy
Index

Citation preview

Science and Scientification in South Asia and Europe

This volume critically examines the role of science in the humanities and social sciences. It studies how cultures and societies in South Asia and Europe underwent a transformation with the adoption or adaptation of scientific methods, turning ancient cultural processes and phenomena into an enhanced scientific structure. The chapters in this book •

Discuss the development of science as a method in modern and historical contexts and the differences between modern science, scientification and pseudoscience. • Study the interactions between bodies of knowledge such as Sanskrit and computer science; mathematics and Vedic mathematics; science and philosophy. Drawing on textual material, extensive fieldwork and in-depth interviews, this book will be of great interest to scholars and researchers of philosophy, Indology, history, linguistics, history and philosophy of science and social science. Axel Michaels is Senior Professor of Classical Indology at the South Asia Institute, University of Heidelberg, Germany. Since 2006, he is Vice President of the Heidelberg Academy of Science and head of the project ‘Religious and Legal Documents of Pre-modern Nepal’. His research interests include social history and history of Hinduism, theory of rituals, life cycle rites of passage in Nepal as well as the cultural and legal history of Nepal. He is the author of Homo ritualis. Hindu Rituals and its Significance for Ritual Theory (2016); Hinduism. Past and Present (2004); Śiva in Trouble. Rituals and Festivals at the Paśupatinātha temple of Deopatan, Nepal (2008); and Kultur und Geschichte Nepals (2018). Christoph Wulf is Professor of Anthropology and Education at the Freie Universität Berlin, Germany. He is also a member of the Interdisciplinary Centre for Historical Anthropology, the Collaborative Research Centre (SFB,

1999–2012), and the Graduate School ‘InterArts’ at the Freie Universität Berlin. His books have been translated into 20 languages. He is Vice-President of the German Commission for UNESCO. His research interests include historical and cultural anthropology, educational anthropology, rituals, gestures, imagination, intercultural communication and aesthetics. He has authored and edited various books including (with G. Gebauer) Mimesis: Culture, Art, Society (1995); Anthropology: A Continental Perspective (2013); Human Beings and their Images. Imagination, Mimesis, Imaginary (German edition 2014; English edition in preparation); Exploring Alterity in a Globalized World (2016); (with J. R. Resina) Repetition, Recurrence, Returns: How Cultural Renewal works (2019); and Bildung als Wissen vom Menschen im Anthropozän (2020; English edition in preparation).

Science and Scientification in South Asia and Europe Edited by Axel Michaels and Christoph Wulf

First published 2020 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2020 selection and editorial matter, Axel Michaels and Christoph Wulf; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Axel Michaels and Christoph Wulf to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN: 978-0-367-37171-5 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-429-35321-5 (ebk) Typeset in Sabon by Apex CoVantage, LLC

Contents

List of contributorsviii Forewordxii PART I

Scientification and scientism in India1

Introduction to part I

3

AXEL MICHAELS

  1 The art of grammar in context: ‘Science’, human interest, and the construction of cultural and political worlds

13

JAN E. M. HOUBEN

  2 Sanskrit and computer science

42

ANAND MISHRA

  3 Mathematics and Vedic mathematics

57

AXEL MICHAELS

  4 The birth of the (exorcism) clinic: media, modernity, and the jinn

69

WILLIAM S. SAX

  5 The science question in alternative agricultures: zero budget natural farming and the emergence of agronomical pluralism in India DANIEL MÜNSTER

78

vi  Contents   6 Counting food?: the pitfalls of caloric conception of nutrition and alternative theories of food

96

V. SUJATHA

  7 Thinking about agriculture in an industrialising economy: an essay

114

SUSAN VISVANATHAN

PART II

Philosophical and anthropological foundations in the European history of science127

Introduction to part II: philosophy, anthropology and history of the humanities

129

CHRISTOPH WULF

  8 The dominance of scientific knowledge and the devaluation of other forms of knowledge

138

CHRISTOPH WULF

  9 Modernity, colonialism and the ‘Science of Language’

154

FRANSON MANJALI

10 Scientism of early modern age and the prevailing scholastic discourse on principium individuationis

173

BABU THALIATH

11 Prolegomenon to the study of science and religion: a philosophical and historical reflection

193

DHRUV RAINA

12 Technoscientification and the oblivion of the social dimension of knowledge

206

GABRIELE SORGO

13 Science cannot do it alone: habits, environment, and the enchantment of beauty

216

MARIAGRAZIA PORTERA

14 Knowledge and science in the art of living JÖRG ZIRFAS

230

Contents  vii 15 Transforming knowledge into cognitive basis of policies: a cosmopolitan from below approach

242

VANDO BORGHI

16 The limits of science from the standpoint of philosophy

255

JACQUES POULAIN

Index270

Contributors

Vando Borghi is a sociologist at the Department of Sociology and Business Law, School of Political Sciences, University of Bologna, Italy. His main research interests include the ‘social bases of democracy’, pursued in different empirical fields, such as labour and work, unemployment and vulnerability, active policies, urban cultural policies, metamorphoses of public realm and public action, critique and social emancipation. Among his recent publications are Workers and the Global Informal Economy. Interdisciplinary perspectives (2016, co-edited with Supriya Routh) and Il lavoro e le catene globali del valore (2017, with Lisa Dorigatti and Lidia Greco). Jan E. M. Houben is Professor of Sanskrit and Director of Studies “Sources and History of the Sanskrit Tradition” at the Ecole Pratique des Hautes Etudes, Section des Sciences Historiques et Philologiques, PSL Research University Paris. His research and teaching mainly covers traditional Sanskrit grammar, history of Indian scientific thought and narrative and ritual in Vedic literature. Franson Manjali teaches contemporary humanities at the School of Language, Literature and Culture Studies, JNU, India. He was awarded his PhD in 1986, after which he did post-doctoral research for two years at University of Paris-Sorbonne, France. His current research interests include language and cultural studies from a postcolonial perspective and post-structuralist approaches to language, philosophy and technology. Anand Mishra teaches Sanskrit as well as the cultural and religious history of South Asia at the South Asia Institute of Heidelberg University, Germany. He has studied mathematics at the Indian Institute of Technology, Kanpur, India and Computational Linguistics and Classical Indology in Heidelberg. Among his recent publications is Modeling the Pāṇinian System of Sanskrit Grammar (2019).

Contributors  ix Daniel Münster is a social and cultural anthropologist working in South Asia with interests in agrarian environments, health and ecology, global food regimes, science and technology and social theory. He holds a PhD in anthropology from LMU Munich, Germany and a habilitation from Heidelberg University, Germany. He was leader of the Junior Research Group ‘Agrarian Alternatives’ at Heidelberg University’s Cluster of Excellence ‘Asia and Europe in a Global Perspective’ (2013–2018). He is currently a visiting researcher at the University of Oslo, Norway and a visiting professor at the University of Cologne, Germany. His ethnographic work on South India has been published in journals such as Contributions to Indian Socio­logy, Development and Change, Focaal, Modern Asian Studies and Journal of Political Ecology. Mariagrazia Portera is currently Research Fellow in aesthetics at the University of Florence, Italy. She was previously a post-doctoral fellow at the University of Rijeka, Croatia and IASH Edinburgh, among others. She holds a PhD in philosophy from the University of Florence. She has worked on themes concerning the history of Aesthetics between the 18th century and 19th century in Germany (with a focus on the relationship between the life sciences and aesthetics); her current areas of interest are contemporary Aesthetics, Charles Darwin’s aesthetic theory, the environmental humanities and the relationship between aesthetics, evolutionary biology and neurosciences. Jacques Poulain is Professor Emeritus at the University of Paris 8, France. He holds a UNESCO Chair of Philosophy of Culture and Institution. He was previously Vice-President of the College International de philosophie (1985–92) after having taught at the University of Montreal, Canada (1968–85). His published works include: L’âge pragmatique ou l’expérimentation totale (1991), La loi de vérité (1993), Les possédés du vrai ou l’enchaînement pragmatique de l’esprit (1998), De l’homme. Eléments d’anthropobiologie philosophique du langage (2001), Die neue Moderne (2012) and Peut-on guérir de la mondialisation? (2017). Dhruv Raina is Professor at the Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, India. He studied physics at the Indian Institute of Technology, Mumbai and received his PhD in the philosophy of science from Göteborg University, ­Sweden. His research focuses on the politics and cultures of scientific knowledge in South Asia, as well as the history and historiography of mathematics. He has co-edited Situating the History of Science (1999) and Social History of Sciences in Colonial India (2007), Science between Europe and Asia (2010). He is the author of Images and Contexts (2003) and co-authored Domesticating Modern Science (2004) and Needham’s Indian Network (2015).

x  Contributors William S. Sax is also Chair of Cultural Anthropology at the South Asia Institute, Heidelberg University, Germany. He has taught at various universities including Harvard University, Massachusetts, USA. He earned a PhD in anthropology in 1987 from the University of Chicago, USA. He has published three monographs on the culture and religion of the Western Himalayas; edited four collections of essays on ritual, theatre and medical anthropology and published dozens of essays on related topics. Gabriele Sorgo is Associate Professor for Cultural History at the University of Vienna, Austria, and scientific researcher at the University of Education Salzburg, Austria. She is also the project manager of the ‘Tacit knowledge & genealogical research’ project at the Institute for Cultural Anthropology at the University of Graz, Austria. Her research interests are the history and anthropology of consumption, knowledge and technology. V. Sujatha is Professor of Sociology at Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, India. She specialises in sociology of knowledge and sociology of medicine. Her research and publications have focused on the politics of knowledge and changes in systems of knowledge under new institutions and structures, with special reference to health and medicine. Her publications include two monographs, Health by the people (2003) and Sociology of health and medicine. New perspectives (2014) and an edited volume, Medical pluralism in contemporary India (2013, co-editor Leena Abraham), apart from research articles and book chapters. Babu Thaliath is Professor of Philosophy and German Studies at Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, India. His research focuses on the early modern philosophy of science and the late medieval philosophia naturalis, theory of perception (particularly the visual space perception) and aesthetics. He has been a postdoctoral researcher at the Institut für Philosophie, Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin, Germany and a visiting scholar (Postdoc) at the Department of History and Philosophy of Science and at St. Edmund’s College, University of Cambridge, UK. His recent publications include Wissenschaft und Kontext in der frühen Neuzeit (2016) and Die Verkörperung der Sinnlichkeit (2017). Susan Visvanathan is the author of The Christians of Kerala: History, Belief and Legend Among the Yakoba (1993). Her fieldwork in Kerala through the decades has led her to examine popular movements among local communities in Tamil Nadu and Kerala. Her most recent work looks at small towns in the Western Ghats, India. She taught at Hindu College from 1984 to 1997, where she was Teacher in Charge from 1992 to 1997. She joined her alma mater Jawaharlal Nehru University in 1997 and was

Contributors  xi Chairperson of the Centre for the Study of Social Systems, JNU from 2009 to 2011. She received the Professional Excellence Award from Central European University, Budapest in 2018. Jörg Zirfas is Professor of Anthropology and Philosophy of Education at the University of Cologne, Germany. He was previously Elected Chair of the commission ‘Educational Anthropology’ (DGfE) and of the ‘Society of Historical Anthropology’ at the University of Berlin, Germany. His research interests include historical and educational anthropology, philosophy and psychoanalysis of education, educational ethnography, aesthetics, culture and education. His recent publications include Einführung in die Erziehungswissenschaft (2018); Pädagogischer Takt (2019); Schlüsselwerke der Vulnerabilitätsforschung (2019); Handbuch Bildungs- und Erziehungsphilosophie (2019).

Foreword

In the globalised world of the present, science has become one of the most important factors determining the structure and dynamics of societal development. Its meaning encompasses all regions of the world and drives the further development of the globalised world. But what do we understand by science in the face of this situation? Can binding criteria be specified that can be used to determine what is considered scientific? Or does the historical and cultural nature of scientific research make us question the validity of scientific criteria? In view of the two tendencies, the dynamics of globalisation, on the one hand, to homogenise the world and, on the other, to emphasise its diversity, the question of what can be considered scientific is of central importance, even if it cannot always be answered clearly. Even where the sciences hold to their claim of producing coherent, justifiable and criticisable knowledge, the general criteria for scientific knowledge often require culturally different concretisations. It, therefore, seems necessary for us to examine the situation of the social sciences and humanities in selected examples in India and Europe with the intention of working out commonalities and differences. The aim is to gain a better understanding of the role of the humanities and social sciences in the respective regions and in the globalised world in general, thus contributing to knowledge in the globalised world. The 19th century has led to the establishment of several new disciplines, such as history, religious studies, classical studies, anthropology, sociology, educational science (pedagogics), psychology etc. These academic developments led not only to a professionalisation of knowledge but also to a special humanities approach to cultural phenomena. Many of these disciplines have adopted methods that are taken from or modelled after the assumingly ‘better’ verifiable and empirically testable sciences. In India and Europe, the importance of the humanities for the development of civil society is often seen as secondary to sciences and social sciences, which are regarded as more expedient and bring more relevant and practical results. In this competition between humanities, natural sciences and life sciences, the humanities (and social sciences) often strived for adopting scientific methods and to turn cultural processes and phenomena

Foreword  xiii into an enhanced scientific structure. ‘Scientifically proven’ has become the most reliable label for most forms of knowledge. This process not only led to a scientification in the production of cultural knowledge but also to a certain scientism in the view that only certain scientific claims are meaningful. Several strategies and methods can here be noted: the quest for empirical data, statistical methods and scales, application of tests, the need for tangible and visible results, the use of prognostics, the widespread and heterogeneous notion of (mechanical, electric, spiritual) power, behaviourism etc. Given this, what are the differences between modern science, scientification/scientism and pseudoscience? • Modern science, which is by no means as homogeneous as often assumed, is based on critical approach and fallibilism, which implies controlled experimentation, systematic gathering of data, formal modelling and constant empirically testing and revising ideas, theories and results through peer-review. • Scientification or scientisation is the use of scientific methods and terminology but without a critical approach that might lead to discarding its ideas, theories and results. • Scientism, often used in the sense of scientification, is the positivist ideology that all questions can be answered through scientific methods. • Pseudoscience is conscious imitation fakery, i.e., clouding non-scientific, often religious ideas into a scientific language without applying rigorous scientific methods and criteria of evidence. All these forms of knowledge production entail an understanding of scholarship that more or less excludes other legitimate ways of generating knowledge. Humanities have therefore often regarded the positivistic scientification or scientism as a form reductionism. Therefore, one can note in politics and in parts of the public a lack of awareness of the methodological independence of the humanities and the central role they play in society. The chapters edited in this volume, which are the outcome of the International Conference ‘Scientification and Scientism in the Humanities’ held 25–26 November 2015, at the Jawaharlal Nehru University, question such developments and tensions between methods of verification in humanities. They critically investigate forms of scientification and scientism in a historical approach and related to present day concerns. The frequently occurring devaluation of humanities and social science research with their own scientific methods needs to be corrected, since it is these sciences that make a major contribution to integrating scientific knowledge into people’s life contexts. In addition, it shows how important the knowledge generated by the humanities and social sciences is, so that people can live together despite their differences and the resulting difficulties

xiv  Foreword in understanding. It requires knowledge of the humanities and social sciences to deal productively with violence, alterity and sustainability. To meet the demands of the globalised world, not only extensive knowledge is required but also the development of competent action and behaviour. Human and social science knowledge contributes significantly to helping the younger generation to acquire this knowledge and skills. In view of the weakening of traditional sense and orientation aids in many regions of the world, new tasks are coming to the humanities and social sciences.

Note of thanks A part of the contributions to this book go back to an international conference titled Scientification and Scientism in the Humanities of South Asia and Europe at the Center for the Study of Social Systems (CSSS), Jawaharlal Nehru University in New Delhi, on 25 and 26 November 2015. The organisers of the conference were Christoph Wulf (Berlin), Harish Naraindas (New Delhi), Axel Michaels (Heidelberg) and Sundar Sarukkai (Manipal/ Bangalore). We would like to thank the German House for Research and Innovation in New Delhi for financing most of the conference expenses. Axel Michaels and Christoph Wulf

Part I

Scientification and scientism in India

Introduction to part I Axel Michaels

In India, it has become a widespread consensus that almost every scientific discovery originates from India or the Veda. Standard examples are the Pythagorean theorem, algebra and zero in mathematics but it nowadays encompasses many other disciplines such as history or education studies. Sometimes the difference between historical evidence and myth are given up upholding the most bizarre theories, for instance, when the elephant-headed Gaṇeśa is invoked as evidence for plastic surgery. This trend to scientify all kinds of Indian knowledge is enduring and overstretched. A good example is the brochure Ancient Indian Science and its Relevance to the Modern World edited by the Rashtriya Sanskrit Vidyapeetha, an institution ‘Deemed to be University’. This publication starts with a ‘tribute to the Vedic seers’ and then presents many examples from a number of ‘Indian Scientific Works’ and disciplines such as Ayurveda, astronomy, alchemy, geology, physics, botany, gemmology, phonetics, meteorology, management and Vedic cosmology together with their scientific achievements. Thus, Ayurveda is said to have discovered essential insights into the respiratory physiology and the anatomy of the human body as well surgery including plastic surgery. To Indian astronomy the following is ascribed: The rotation of the Earth, the twelve signs of the Zodiac, the seven colours of the sun light, the shape of the Earth, the distance of the planets from the Earth and from each planet to the other, the number of days in a year i.e. 366. (p. 25) The elliptical path of the celestial bodies and the heliocentric theory are also included. In this way many more examples are listed. In the Internet one finds many ‘Indian’ knowledges labelled ‘scientifically proven’. Here are some random examples (all accessed in November 2015): 20 Amazing Scientific Reasons Behind Hindu Traditions,1 ‘Scientifically Proven Secrets to Have a Happy Marriage’,2 ‘scientifically proven benefits

4  Axel Michaels of Laughter Yoga’3 or ‘scientific methods to prove reincarnation’.4 For the ‘Scientific Aspects of Yagna’ the following reasons are given: The fumigation, vaporization and subtilisation of specific substances in the yagya-fire constitute a verifiable scientific method of sublimation of matter and expansion of its colloidal state, generates ions and energy with positive effects in the surrounding atmosphere through the specific sonic waves of the mantras.5 Likewise, turmeric, the Tulsi pant or cow-dung are time and again praised for their scientifically proven health effects.6 This also holds true for the special case of the environmentalist zero-budget farming which Daniel Muenster (see Muenster, this volume) describes. The farmers are taught, in his case by Shubash Palekar, one of the proponents of zero-budget farming – not only to keep away from fertilizers, ‘foreign cows’, hybrid seeds and tractors but also to refrain from milking. Few farmers who follow Palekar’s instructions use cows for manure and not for procuring ghee. Apparently, the earthworms in the native cow dung are superior to those found in the dung of the foreign cow. This also signals the return of the native cow as pets and even family members. Although zero-budget farmers hail from the Christian community, they inadvertently become Hindutva defenders of cows, and they even travel to Karnataka to buy their cows back. In general, one often is confronted with a claim on the “scientific” superiority of indigenous, especially Vedic knowledge: A vast number of statements and materials presented in the ancient Vedic literatures can be shown to agree with modern scientific findings and they also reveal a highly developed scientific content in these literatures. The great cultural wealth of this knowledge is highly relevant in the modern world. Techniques used to show this agreement include: – Marine ­Archaeology of underwater sites (such as Dvaraka) – Satellite imagery of the Indus-Sarasvati River system – Carbon and Thermoluminiscence – Dating of archaeological artefacts – Scientific Verification of Scriptural statements – Linguistic analysis of scripts found on archaeological artefacts – A Study of cultural continuity in all these categories.7 All this is founded in the presentism fallacy that relates all historical events and discoveries to the presence instead of studying them in their time. It is also highly isolationistic and Indocentric because India’s past is always presented as the country that had given new ideas to the world but had rarely taken something from other countries. Such ‘scientific’ claims are, of course, not limited to India. Before the industrial revolution and the emergence of modern science in 16th to 18th century Europe, all kind of religious, superstitious and magic knowledge was viewed as scientific, e.g., alchemy, astrology or phrenology. Even in

Introduction to part I  5 modern times writers of speculative theories such as Erich von Däniken have been and still are seen as semi-scientific scholars. There are many publications that propagate variations of “Christian Science” (see also, part 2, this volume) or argue that science is a product of Christianity. Thus, Meena Nanda is right when she writes ‘Hindu nationalists are obsessed with science, in the same way and for the same reasons as the “creation scientists” are obsessed with science’ (Nanda 203: xiv). The strategy to gain “scientific” prestige is in India not limited to Hindu nationalists as is shown by William S. Sax (see Sax, this volume) and the institutionalised form of Islamic exorcism called hijama or wet cupping. These exorcism clinics, which combine this form of exorcism or wet cupping with the chanting of Quranic verses or ruqya, are steadily growing. This presents us with a case of the traditional being re-clothed in a modern garb. Sax proffers that this technique is so successful because it saves modern subjects from the embarrassment of being possessed; the jin catcher gets possessed on behalf of the patient. Sax also shows us how this form of exorcism tries to legitimise itself through the publication of ‘scientific’ studies etc. in different journals and offers this case as an example of scientism. However, the resistance of folk knowledge of communities and their sensory knowledge does not necessarily imply an enmity against scientific academic knowledge. On the contrary, in alternative and indigenous systems of medicine as well as in agriculture traditional practices more and more incorporate allopathic or scientific knowledge and standards, thus complementing each other. As V. Sujathan (in this volume) writes regarding food production, ‘social economic change [and, I would add, Western scientific methods of food production – A.M.] does not erase older practices as the linear idea of modernisation or westernisation suggest, rather makes things of use value for the farmers at the lower end’.

The politicisation of the scientification debate The debate on scientification and scientism has been severely affected by politicisation and often polemic undertones, which, unfortunately, veil the much more challenging question of whether India has brought to light other things than scientific but equally valid forms of knowledge that have so far been neglected, overseen or misunderstood. For about 20 years, Indian variations of scientification have had strong and growing supporters among the BJP or Hindutva politicians and their media.8 Thus, in January 2018, Satyapal Singh, India’s minister for higher education who holds a postgraduate degree in chemistry from Delhi University, demanded that the theory of evolution be removed from school curricula because no one “ever saw an ape turning into a human being”.9 He instead proposed to use the Vaishnava avatāra theory to explain how humans developed out of animals. Likewise, has Union Science Minister Harsh Vardhan, in the presence of Prime Minister Narendra Modi, claimed in March 2018 at the

6  Axel Michaels 105th Indian Science Congress that Stephen Hawking once said the Vedas had a theory superior to Einstein’s theory of relativity.10 Vardhan, a medical doctor by training, never presented any evidence for this claim. BJP leaders like Prime Minister Modi or Minister of External affairs Sushma Swaraj also maintain that Sanskrit will purify the world from the wounds caused by modernity or even tackle climate change. According to United News of India, a multilingual news agency, Modi pointed out that ‘the Vedas had detailed reference on Mantras, on ways and means to counter the challenges of global warming’.11 Sanskrit is also often seen as the most suitable language for Natural Language Processing (see, for example, Jha et al. 2016). This idea is often inspired by an article by Rick Briggs published already in 1985 who, however, only suggested that learning case-inflected languages like Sanskrit could help develop new languages for computing (see Mishra, this volume). Many Hindus, not only Hindu nationalists, now believe that Hinduism itself is scientific or that modern science only affirms what the Vedic seers previously knew – an idea that was already proposed by Swami Vivekananda (1863–1902) who had invented the scientised yoga and argued that Hinduism does not accept dogmas but accepts only what can be verified by experience. Meera Nanda comments this as follows: I believe that the constant appropriation of modern scientific concepts and theories for the glory of the ‘Vedas’ is one, if not the, central plank on which the myth of Hindu supremacy rests. It is thanks to this myth of ‘scientific Hinduism’ that our preeminent national figures, past and present, habitually sneer at the ‘superstitions’ of Abrahamic religions. It is thanks to this myth that we think of ourselves as a ‘race’ endowed with a special faculty for science. It is thanks to this myth that we go around the world thumping our chests as ‘scientific Indian’ without whom the world science and economy would grind to a halt. (Nanda 2016: 11)12 Much of this foible for the Veda as a source of scientific knowledge is a reaction to denigrative judgements on the subordinate character of traditional “Indian” sciences by Christian missionaries and colonialists, who could not imagine that rationality developed independent of Christianity believing that God is a rational being, and since humans are children of God science is ultimately also the product of God. In India as everywhere else, modern science is therefore not only regarded and imitated as a universal paradigm for valid knowledge but also as an expression of “Western” modernity and supremacy. ‘As a construct of power, modern science serves as a legitimator of Western and patriarchal power around the world’, says Meera Nanda (2003: xi) in her brilliant study Prophets Facing Backward. Postmodern Critiques of Science and Hindu Nationalism in India (2003). This asymmetry in the organisation and institutionalisation of science makes critics

Introduction to part I  7 thinking that non-‘Western’ forms of knowledge can only hold ground by way of a conceptual de-modernising and decolonisation ‘that would come about by developing sciences that encoded Indian values which still could be found among the non-modern women and men in the farms and forests’ (ibid: xiv). Some of the following contributions on Indian medicine (see Sax, this volume), agriculture (Münster, Sujatha, Visvanathan), mathematics (Michaels) or language studies (Houben, Mishra) demonstrate this argumentative line, which is triggered by postmodernists arguing that there is a cultural diversity of rationality, reason, logic, evidence, truth or science and that no culture or knowledge could claim to be superior. However, Jan E. M. Houben also makes clear that Indian grammatical tradition was relevant in three major ways to the problem of “scientification” and “scientism” in the humanities. First, as a modern example of “scientification” in the “Western” reception of Indian knowledge systems and especially in the modern, predominantly “occidental” study of ancient India from the 19th century onwards; second, as an instructive historical alternative for “scientification” and third as partner in philosophical dialogues, where ‘philosophy’ is neither with regard to its ‘origins’ nor with regard to its intended validity either ‘Indian’ or ‘European’. Similarly, Anand Mishra states that scholars have made various claims regarding the relationship between the Aṣṭadhyāyī and computer sciences. These claims include that it is programmable, and this is the claim that Mishra is most comfortable supporting. Stronger claims are rejected, especially the claim made that the methods of computer science and those used by Pāṇini are similar – or the strongest claim, which Mishra presents as a case of “scientism”, that the Aṣṭadhyāyī is in itself a computer programme and that Panini is the source of computer sciences. In the eyes of modern scientists such “traditional” concepts rather transform science to alternative sciences equal to non-scientific knowledge or no science. Once the term “science” is opened for all kinds of culturedependent forms of knowledge, it is argued, almost any knowledge, even the most obscurantist and mystical ones, can be declared science. Nanda rightly emphasises that by eroding the distinctions between modern science and alternative or Vedic sciences reactionary (Hindu) ideologues propagating mystical and religious ideas rapidly grow. This is exactly what happens nowadays in India.

Criticism of the politicisation strategy To be sure, not all Indian scholars who criticise ‘Western’ modern science are blinded by Hindutva propaganda. And many scientists fight back. The historian Romila Thapar (2015), for instance, criticised that the emerging pseudoscientific theories infiltrating even renown universities lack proofs, the collection of evidence, testing the reliability of the data and drawing

8  Axel Michaels causal relationships, which all is essential to verify scientific knowledge. And scientists from all over India organised a ‘March for Science’ in Delhi on March 14, 2018. In a call to action they wrote: STAND UP FOR SCIENCE. STAND UP FOR RATIONAL THOUGHT. STAND UP FOR YOUR RIGHT TO THINK. India has been witnessing attacks on scientific and rational thought in recent times, as well as massive cuts in government spending on education and research. Apart from slashing down resources for research, the current regime has actively been promoting unscientific ideas with ministers publicly denying the theory of evolution, promoting mythology instead of facts, and ministries officially funding pseudoscientific ideas. The government has also been aggressively attacking dissenting voices and rationalists. A similar pattern is being seen across the world. In the wake of these attacks, an International March for Science is being organised in numerous countries, with India being an enthusiastic participant. To voice our discontent with this government’s hard-line stance against science, the Delhi organising committee of the March for Science calls all individuals and students, teachers, activists, political groups and bodies to join the protest. However, the distinction between science and pseudoscience or sciencefalsely-so-called (cf. Michaels 1998; Boudry et al. 2015) remains quite clear. Despite internal stringency and rationality in traditional works of science, despite modern experiments, calculations and tests applied to them, in scientification of a pseudoscience everything is seen as a homogeneous entity, simplified, often built on (religious) belief and amateurish interest and methodology. Most of scientification theories are based on intuition or analogy if not simply on the charisma of a founder. Especially popular is the declared analogy between the physical and vitalist concept of power (e.g., karma, prāṇa) or belief in superhuman agents or forces or vital energies that denies, for instance, in yoga, the dualism ‘between nature and culture, organic and inorganic, animal and machine and [last but not the least] truth and fiction, science and pseudo science’ (Alter 2004: 41). Analogies are popular because they are intuitive, and pseudoscience is based on what Boudry et al. call ‘intuitive essentialism’: From an early age, children assume that invisible essences underlie the observable properties of organisms, social groups, and natural objects. The intuitive appeal of social stereotyping, on the basis of group membership and observable traits, has led to the rise of obnoxious ideologies such as racial pseudoscience. Magic practices and homeopathy (see below) are rooted in essentialist intuitions: belief in the efficacy of traditional medicine is often based on observable similarities or symbolic associations with the afflicted body part, which are presumed to reflect

Introduction to part I  9 a shared essence. Likewise, the intuitive plausibility of voodoo practices rests on the idea that the invisible essence or soul of a person is transferred to his bodily secretions or possessions, which can be used in turn to affect the person by magical action-at-a-distance. (Boudry et al. 2015: 1184) Another preferred way of thinking in scientification processes is called by the same authors “promiscuous teleology”: The pervasive influence of this intuitive mode of thinking in religion is well-known: almost every natural occurrence has been interpreted as brought about by supernatural beings, from earthquakes, lightning, rainbows, birth, and death to the origin and design of living beings, the structure of the solar system, and the turn of the seasons. When such religious views are dressed up as science, one gets the various strands of creationism and intelligent design theory, all of which foster our penchant for spotting purposes in natural phenomena. (ibid.) It is this kind of intuitive design, which is found cross-culturally in folk theories on reality, that makes pseudoscience so popular. Modern science, on the contrary, is often strongly counter-intuitive, and this is the reason that fundamental theories – that the earth moves, quantum mechanics or the killing effects of invisible microorganisms – have not readily been accepted. Nanda referring to Paul Thalgard (1988, cf. Thalgard 1980) finds again the right words to mark the difference between science and pseudoscience (or religion) even though both use analogies in their theory-making: While both religion and science use analogies, scientific theories, unlike religions, must eventually evaluate the theories inspired by analogies in relation to observable evidence: that is the essential difference between science and religion. Analogical thinking has a shadowy twin that leads not to science but to pseudo-science. Thalgard calls it ‘resemblance thinking’ and defines it as ‘a style of thinking that infers two things are causally related from the fact that they are similar to each other.’ [Thalgard 1988: 162] This, he says, is the chief culprit behind pseudo-science. What does this statement mean? Why is it that inferring causality from similarity turns analogical thinking from a source of creativity in science to a source of fake-science? The problem of inferring causality from similarity is that it adds many unwarranted layers of meaning and significance to a relationship based on nothing more than a surface similarity. Inferring causality from similarity means that objects or processes which look and feel similar

10  Axel Michaels to each other are deemed to act upon each other, and upon the rest of the world, in a like manner. Therefore, by understanding one, you automatically think you understand the other, and by controlling one, you automatically get to control the other. No more laborious testing and falsification is needed. Thus, the evidential basis of genuine science, acquired through hard work, gets transferred to untested claims based upon nothing more than an analogy. (Nanda 2016: 149, emphasis in the original) Scientification and pseudoscience develop immunising strategies against criticism and position themselves as a reaction to the scientific establishment. Science, on the other hand, is culture-independent knowledge that asserts itself by being criticised and even creating a selective pressure through which only that knowledge “survives” or becomes accepted as valid that is not contradicted by better evidence. This is an evolutionary approach that questions and limits any scientific result – independent of the person(s) or cultures who produced it. Objectivity is thus not an absolute value but a confirmative process. Science in this sense is not progress but an open-ended way of seeking and testing knowledge that can and must be given up once better or more accurate theories help explain the world. This holds true for natural sciences as well as for humanities. However, there remains a crucial difference as Indologist Frits Staal pointed out already in 2005: The sciences, it is said, are exact and rigorous; the humanities seem to lack those qualities and what they offer instead is not very clear. Since Euclid was a mathematician and therefore a scientist, he belonged to a species that is highly regarded and for good reasons. Pāṇini, on the other hand, was a grammarian or linguist – according to some a more marginal occupation. So must we accept the myth and draw the conclusion, that Europe addressed basic and substantial issues but India dabbled in trivialities? (Staal 2005: 1) In this lecture held at the National Institute of Advanced Studies in Bengaluru, Frits Staal expanded the concept of “science” beyond the limits of “natural sciences” towards the concept of “human sciences” to which “India” had early contributed. As examples he aptly mentioned ritual science and linguistic or grammar science. He could have also mentioned resemblance thinking, which infers that things are causally related merely because they are similar and ultimately lead to an all-encompassing identificatory habitus (Michaels 2004). All this analogy-based thinking has been brought into elaborate and coherent scientific systems (cf. Michaels 2016) widely neglected in ‘Western’ and Indian histories of Indian science but also by

Introduction to part I  11 Hindu nationalists even though in terms of rationality, coherence and verifiability these theories could be seen as best indigenous examples of modern science. Thus, science is not the only form of knowledge, and it is not always successful or satisfying in explaining the world or solving problems. Its success is based on technological success and institutional anchorage without which it would not have gained its prestige. “Without the elaborate institutional support and prestige from which it benefits in our culture, science would probably soon collapse” (Boudry et al. 2015: 1182). Science is also linked to power and financial investments and thus not completely free of political or cultural influences. However, instead of criticising the reductive dominance of science, scientification supports its preponderance in the knowledge “market” and mimics its outlook. There is no reason why knowledge should be better due to its origin (Veda), authoritative texts (Saṃhitās, Upaniṣads etc.), founders (the rishis), country (India) or people. But there are ample reasons to search, with all pandits of this world, for better or additional answers to problems that science (alone) cannot solve.

Notes 1 http://desinema.com/hindu-traditions-scientific-reasons/. (accessed 4 October 2019). 2 http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/life-style/relationships/man-woman/ The-science-behind-a-happy-marriage/articleshow/38361267.cms (accessed 4 October 2019). 3 www.laughteryoga.org/english/laughteryoga (accessed 15 October 2019). 4 www.beliefnet.com/Wellness/2003/02/Can-Reincarnation-Be-Proven.aspx. (accessed 4 October 2019). 5 www.quora.com/What-are-some-of-the-Indian-traditions-cultural-beliefswhich-are-scientifically-proven-to-be-good-for-the-humanity (accessed 4 October 2019). 6 http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/home/environment/flora-fauna/Tulsihas-environmental-benefits-too/articleshow/12574905.cms, www.quora.com/ What-are-some-of-the-Indian-traditions-cultural-beliefs-which-are-scientificallyproven-to-be-good-for-the-humanity (accessed 4 October 2019). 7 http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/scientific-verification-of-vedic-knowledge/ or www.akhandjyoti.org/?Akhand-Jyoti/2003/Mar-Apr/ScientificAspectsofYajna/ (accessed 2 January 2019). 8 See, for instance, https://www.telegraphindia.com/india/the-bjp-science-laureateswho-they-are-and-the-mumbo-jumbo-they-spout/cid/1736944?fbclid=IwAR0 4tSe1PXO8WfKNgAfRsy8apRpl6f6PU0XuVbEQz2LEgp3bu7hjGQQIQ0U (accessed 19 January 2020). 9 www.theguardian.com/world/2018/jan/23/indian-education-minister-dismissestheory-of-evolution-satyapal-singh (accessed 2 January 2019). 10 www.theguardian.com/world/2018/jan/23/indian-education-minister-dismissestheory-of-evolution-satyapal-singh (accessed 2 January 2019). 11 www.uniindia.com/sanskrit-can-even-tackle-climate-change-pm-modi/india/ news/1331435.html (accessed 4 October 2019). 12 On Vivekananda cp. Nanda 2016: chapter 4.

12  Axel Michaels

References Alter, Joseph. 2004. The Body Between Science and Philosophy. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Ancient Indian Science and Its Relevance to the Modern World. 2018. Ed. by V. Muralidhara Sharma, third ed. Tirupati: Rashtriya Sanskrit Vidyapeetha. Boudry, Maarten, Stefan Blancke, and Massimo Pigliucci. 2015. ‘What Makes Weird Beliefs Thrive? The Epidemiology of Pseudoscience’, Philosophical Psychology 28(8): 1177–1198. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/09515089.2014.971946 (accessed 3 January 2019). Briggs, Rick. 1985. ‘Knowledge Representation in Sanskrit and Artificial Intelligence’, AIMagazine 6(1): 32–39. https://doi.org/10.1609/aimag.v6i1.466 (accessed 15 January 2019). Jha, Rashmi, Aman Jha, Deeptanshu Jha, and Sonika Jha. 2016. ‘Is Sanskrit the Most Suitable Language for Natural Language Processing?’ 3rd International Conference on Computing for Sustainable Global Development (INDIACom), 211–216. https://ieeexplore.ieee.org/document/7724257 (accessed 3 January 2019). Michaels, Axel. 1998. ‘Wissenschaftsgläubigkeit’, in P. Rusterholz and R. Moser (eds.), Bewältigung und Verdrängung spiritueller Krisen. Esoterik als Kompensation von Defiziten der Wissenschaft und der Kirchen, 29–55. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang. ———. 2004. Hinduism: Past and Present, transl. by Barbara Harshaw. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. ———. 2016. Homo ritualis. Hindu Rituals and Its Significance for Ritual Theory. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Nanda, Meena. 2003. Prophets Facing Backward: Postmodern Critiques of Science and Hindu Nationalism in India. New Brunswick, NJ and London: Rutgers University Press. ———. 2016. Science in Saffron: Sceptical Essays on History of Science. Gurgaon: Three Essays Collective. Staal, Frits. 2005. What Euclid Is to Europe, Panini Is to India: Or Are They? Bangalore: National Institute of Advanced Studies (NIAS Lecture No. L1–2005). Thalgard, Paul. 1980. ‘Resemblance, Correlation and Pseudoscience’, in Marsha P. Hanen, Margaret Osler, and Robert Weynet (eds.), Science, Pseudoscience and Society, 17–25. Calgary: Wilfred Laurier University Press. ———. 1988. Computational Philosophy of Science. Cambridge, MA: Bradford Book, MIT Press. Thapar, Romila, and Ranabir Chakravarti. 2015. ‘Linking the Past and the Present’, Interview in Frontline 4–27, 18 September.

1 The art of grammar in context ‘Science’, human interest, and the construction of cultural and political worlds Jan E. M. Houben 1 The Indian grammatical tradition is in three major ways relevant to the problem of ‘scientification’ and ‘scientism’ in the humanities, including especially, in the context of this conference, in the humanities from the 19th century onwards: (1) as a modern example of ‘scientification’ or, more precisely: of ‘occidental’ and modern scientification in our understanding of ancient Indian knowledge systems; (2) as an instructive historical alternative for ‘scientification’; (3) as partner in philosophical dialogue. In the present chapter I will briefly discuss the first three points (the third point very briefly) and add some reflections on the role of the Art of Grammar in a future perspective on the social sciences and humanities and on ‘social science fiction’. 2 First of all, the Indian grammatical tradition provides an example of ‘scientification’ in the ‘occidental’ modern study of ancient India from the 19th century onwards. The history of linguistic thought in India can be estimated to be at least around 3,000 years old, as we find hints to the analysis of verbal roots from various linguistic forms, finite verbs and nominal forms in the Atharva-veda and especially in the Brāhmaṇas (Liebich 1919; Palsule 1961). These three millennia of Indian linguistic thought were largely dominated by Pāṇini’s grammar for more than two thirds of the time, since the date of its composition, ca. 350 BCE.1 At the time of its discovery and exploration in modern studies of ancient India (from the beginning of the 19th century onward), this peculiarly formulated grammar was immediately subjected to interpretations in terms of then-current scientific (mathematical and linguistic) thought. In 1832 August Wilhelm von Schlegel wrote the following about Pāṇini’s grammar in his Réflexions sur l’étude des langues asiatiques:2 In addition to the ordinary terminology drawn from the language itself, and suitable only for a special purpose, Pāṇini and his successors have devised another system of technical terms. They are fictitious

14  Jan E. M. Houben words, abbreviated signs, which can be compared to those of algebra. We must have the key, otherwise Pāṇini’s Aphorisms look like enigmas more obscure than the oracles of Bacis; just as a schoolboy who knows only the elements of arithmetic, will understand nothing of algebraic formulas. The modern discovery of Pāṇini’s grammar, ‘the earliest grammatical treatise extant on any Indo-European language, and the earliest scientific work in any Indo-European language’ (Robins 1979: 144), gave an important impulse to the development of linguistics in the 19th and 20th centuries. As ancient as it is, it is remarkably extensive in covering its object, surprisingly efficient and brief in formulation and presentation, and of impressive quality in the conceptual analysis of the language. Pāṇini’s grammar deals with (a) the language of the Vedic texts and (b) the current language of Pāṇini’s time, which is very close to the ‘classical’ Sanskrit that got established in subsequent centuries. The sophisticated and highly complex system of Pāṇini’s grammar as it is normally transmitted consists of the following components: (i)

an inventory of phonemes in the form of 14 formulas, the pratyāhārasūtras; (ii) almost 4,000 (3,983 according to the earliest complete commentary, the Kāśikā-vṛtti) grammatical rules or sūtras, in eight books, collectively the Aṣṭādhyāyī (AA); (iii) lists of almost 2,000 roots or dhātus divided in 10 major groups, collectively called the Dhātu-pāṭha (DhP); (iv) a number of lists of forms that are not derivable from roots, collectively called the Gaṇapāṭha (GP). Further supplementary components are: (v) the uṇādi-sūtras referring to suffixes that form nominal stems apart from the kṛt- and taddhita-formations that are extensively discussed in the Aṣṭādhyāyī; (vi) the phiṭ-sūtras on the accents of derived forms; and (vii) the liṅgānuśāsana giving lists and rules to determine the gender of various words. Components 1 and 2 and the organisation, presentation and main contents of 3 and 4 are generally directly attributed to Pāṇini, although a considerable part is derived from an earlier tradition. A certain Varṣa has been mentioned as his teacher,3 and several other earlier grammarians are referred to in his grammar. A direct view on Pāṇini’s grammar as composed and intended by the author and as accepted by the first generation of users in the author’s own

The art of grammar in context  15 time is impossible. The cultural and technical conditions of the transmission of knowledge in the Indian world – which, until several centuries after Pāṇini, was initially dominated by orality and later on by a specific kind of literacy, namely manuscript-literacy (Houben and Rath 2012) – allow us to achieve only a view that is to an important extent mediated. Three major steps in this mediation over many centuries can be distinguished, out of which the crucial importance of the last two, b and c, has been generally neglected; ‘scientification’ has played and still plays a clearly identifiable role in step c. The first step in the mediation between the ancient grammarian Pāṇini and our modern reception of his work is (a) the interpretations and constructions of early grammarians whose work is sufficiently transmitted and whose thought concerns more or less the entire grammar of Pāṇini: Kātyāyana, third century BCE, author of the Vārttikas (Pāṇini-sūtra-vārttika) and Patañjali, second century BCE, author of the Vyākaraṇa-Mahābhāṣya; Bhartṛhari, 5th century CE, author of the Mahābhāṣya-dīpikā, sub-commentary on the preceding and of the Vākyapadīya, an investigation of theoretical and philosophical issues regarding basic concepts in Pāṇini’s grammar; Vāmana and Jayāditya, seventh century CE, (regarded as) joint authors of the Kāśikā-vṛtti. The second step (b) consists of the interpretations and constructions of ‘later’ Indian grammarians who perceive the nature and role of Pāṇini’s grammar in specific ways in function of their own study of the transmitted texts and in function of then current cultural, linguistic, and sociolinguistic conditions – which were, unavoidably, partly similar, partly different from the conditions in Pāṇini’s time (Houben 2008, 2015a); the view and constructions of later grammarians are all the more important in the mediation between Pāṇini’s grammar as composed and intended by the author and our understanding of it, because we know that the oral tradition knew important discontinuities even at an early stage – referred to by the 5th-century grammarian-philosopher Bhartṛhari (or his student), in VP 2,481 ff – and that the written transmission depends on manuscripts whose physical lifespan is limited to around 200 to 400 years, hence on regular copying; a study on grammatical information demonstrably and masterfully encoded by Pāṇini but already lost to Patañjali is Paul Kiparsky’s Pāṇini as a Variationist (1979). The third step consists of (c) the interpretations and constructions of ‘modern’ scholars (including Indian scholars following the methods of modern linguistics) of Pāṇini’s grammar who perceive the nature and role of Pāṇini’s grammar in specific ways in function of their study of the available transmitted texts and in function of the nature and roles of grammars in ‘modern’ contexts and of their own theoretical views on science, grammar, and language – on the nature of words, nouns, verbs, and the sentence – whether implicitly accepted or explicitly formulated (Houben 2009a, 2009b). With regard to the highly sophisticated Indian sciences and disciplines pertaining to language, it has been rightly pointed out that it has been difficult for modern scholars to detect and appreciate something in

16  Jan E. M. Houben these linguistic works if they have not already discovered it by themselves (Staal 1988: 47). In an earlier article on ‘ “Meaning Statements” in Pāṇini’s Grammar’ (Houben 1999; see also Houben 2003), I discussed the views formulated in Kiparsky and Staal (1969), Bronkhorst (1979), Joshi and Roodbergen (1975) and Kiparsky (1982) according to which ‘semantics’ or ‘meanings’ form the starting point of the derivation of words in Pāṇini’s grammar. Also in his lectures on the architecture of Pāṇini’s grammar (Kiparsky 2002: 2–6), Kiparsky stuck to the postulation of a first level of ‘semantic information’ in Pāṇini’s grammar: ‘The grammar is a device that starts from meaning information such as [5] and incrementally builds up a complete interpreted sentence’, where [5] refers to a case where, basically, kārakas (syntacticsemantic roles) are assigned on the basis of ‘semantic information’. This is not that much different from the presentation in the brilliant and important article by Kiparsky and Staal (1969), ‘Syntactic and semantic relations in Pāṇini’, except that there the formulation leans more explicitly towards the terminology of Chomskyan generative grammar. As I have argued extensively, the view that Pāṇini’s grammar is a device ‘to encode a given meaning and to produce an expression’ is untenable as a general theory of how the grammar was used: ‘how the semantic level can be placed at the basis and, as far as derivations are concerned, at the beginning of the sophisticated grammar of Pāṇini, while it is admitted at the same time that this semantic level is very sketchy’? (Houben 1999: 26–27). Criticising the partly parallel view of Bronkhorst (1979) according to which ‘meaning elements’ are the input of Pāṇini’s grammar, I observed similarly: Just as a semantic level with sketchy representations of semantic relations can hardly be accepted as forming the basis and starting point of Pāṇini’s grammar, in the same way the terms which Bronkhorst considers to be Pāṇini’s ‘semantic elements’ are too vague and insufficient to initiate the procedures of Pāṇini’s grammar and to direct them with precision to the desired utterances. (Houben 1999: 29) Another metaphor in the presentation of Pāṇini’s grammar is the comparison with ‘a machine’. This may be useful in demonstrating some of the features and procedures it incorporates, but the comparison has now and then been carried too far, e.g., in the introductions to some of the earlier volumes of Joshi’s and Roodbergen’s translation of the Mahābhāṣya: We may feel inclined to think that words are produced by acts of speech. However, to Pāṇini, they are produced by grammar. The machinery [of Pāṇini’s grammar] consists of rules and technical elements, its input

The art of grammar in context  17 are word-elements, stems and suffixes, its output are any correct Skt words. (Joshi and Roodbergen 1975: i) Similarly, Roodbergen (1974: ii): ‘In its derivational aspect Pāṇini’s grammar works much like the machine mentioned by N. Chomsky in Syntactic Structures’ (with a reference to Chomsky 1971: 30). A different argument was followed by Paul Thieme, but he arrived similarly at the conclusion that Pāṇini’s grammar is a description of the regular word formation of Sanskrit. As such it is ‘perfect’. Not only in the sense that it is (almost) complete, but also as to its quality. It is thoroughly mechanistic, in so far as it does not make, beside its basic assumption, any arbitrary assumption and presents only observable and verifiable facts with strict objectivity. Pāṇini’s teaching method approaches the accuracy of a mathematical deduction. (Thieme 1983: 15 [1182]) The presentation of Pāṇini’s grammar as a perfect mechanistic system – which obscures the fundamentally unformalisable domains of linguistic and semantic choices to be made by the user of the grammar – has been at the basis of high expectations regarding the ‘fruitful collaboration between traditional grammarians and engineers’ in order to contribute to the solution of ‘some of the problems of modern technology’ (Le Mée 1989: 114). This view harmonises well with the view on grammar, and its purposes are dominant in generative linguistics in the last two or three decades of the 20th century: the rules of a grammar should be able ‘to generate the infinite number of sentences of the language’ in such a way that ‘any speaker, or even a machine, that followed the rules would produce sentences of the language, and if the rules are complete, could produce the potentially infinite number of its sentences’ (Searle 2002: 33; cf. Chomsky 1965). If ‘pure’ meanings or ‘pure semantics’ are not the starting point of the derivations in Pāṇini’s grammar, then what is the starting point? At some point the grammar does indeed work with the ‘word-elements, stems and suffixes’ mentioned by Joshi and Roodbergen in the passage quoted, but on which basis are these selected or arrived at by the user? As argued in 1999 and next in 2003, we have to understand the nature and purpose of Pāṇini’s grammar in its specific context, which is quite different from that of modern grammars. Strictly speaking it is not incorrect to say, with Kiparsky (2002), that ‘Pāṇini studied a single language’; however, this statement is incomplete on a vital point: Pāṇini was definitely aware of various ‘substandard’ forms of the language, forms that from a modern perspective we would assign either to some ‘hybrid’ or ‘approximative’ form of Sanskrit or to an altogether different language such as Prakrit (Houben 2018). The system of

18  Jan E. M. Houben Pāṇini’s grammar ‘clearly requires a user who wants to check and possibly improve a preliminary statement’ (Houben 2003: 161). Pāṇini’s grammar is indeed not a manual for beginners, but it presupposes a profound familiarity with (pre-classical) ‘Sanskrit’ or rather the conversational language of Pāṇini’s time which he called bhāṣā and which we may describe as high-register conversational Indo-Aryan. For whom was Pāṇini’s grammar then composed, who were the expected users of the grammar, and what was their aim in learning and using the grammar? Any user of Pāṇini’s grammar was already familiar with (pre-classical) Sanskrit, but he also must have been thoroughly familiar with the phoneme inventory and with the almost 4,000 rules, and he must have had access to the lists of almost 2,000 roots. If this erudite user of Pāṇini’s grammar must have known very well (pre-classical) Sanskrit and must have been sufficiently familiar with the rules and lists of the grammar, why would he at all want to consult the grammar? His problem must have often been not a lack of knowledge but a surplus: too much familiarity with substandard forms, some of which we would categorise as Prakrit but which were as much or even more part of the grammar user’s daily life as the high-register ‘Sanskrit’ forms. In what was contextually no doubt a major domain of application, the grammar thus presupposed the presence of a knowledgeable user and a preliminary statement of which the status, ‘correct’ or ‘substandard’, was unknown or disputed. To this preliminary statement the user applied next analytical procedures (procedures of parsing, mainly on the basis of books I–V of the grammar) and synthetic procedures (mainly found in books VI–VIII) to the words in it, keeping in mind the preliminary statement and its purport – and aiming at the best possible – saṁ-skṛta form of his preliminary statement. The grammar which Thieme in 1983 liked to present as ‘pure science’ (with, at the end, a ‘magical’ application on the basis of its ‘truth value’) now suddenly becomes a purposeful knowledge system very much pertinent to human interests, just as the ancient, systematic, not to say ‘grammatical’, descriptions of ritual that were composed contemporaneously within the same ancient Indian context (Renou 1942). To create the grammar – or even to create a single rule within the grammar – was not a matter of logic or calculation, but it was an art. On the rules, skilfully formulated by several ­generations of grammarians up to Pāṇini, a formalism was superimposed and finally brought to perfection by Pāṇini. Behind it, the skilful and even artful choices of description all but disappeared except to the discerning eye of a few critical thinkers, including the earliest great grammarian-philosopher in the Pāṇinian tradition, Bhartṛhari (5th century CE), who at a few occasions emphasised the ‘arbitrariness’ of the descriptive choices. The formalism is, moreover, not everywhere equally strict and becomes even occasionally sketchy where the archaic language of the Vedic texts is concerned (Thieme 1935). In contrast, in the Greek and Hellenic worlds the grammar of Dionysius Thrax (2nd century BC), which was indeed much less profound in its linguistic analysis – no concept of the verbal root, for instance, had ever

The art of grammar in context  19 been applied to the ancient Greek language until this was done by Franz Bopp and other linguists of the 19th century inspired by the dhātu of Sanskrit grammarians – and which lacked the formal sophistication of Pāṇini, did not hide its nature as an art and was known under the title of Art of Grammar, the τέχνη γραμματική (Kemp 1986; Law and Sluiter 1995). A brief but significant passage in which the validity of alternative linguistic analyses has been accepted is MBhD 7:7.11f, where Bhartṛhari discusses the Mahābhāṣya under AA 1.1.46 ādyantau ṭakitau. Pāṇini teaches first the suffix tavya and next iṬ: does this mean that this sequence is there in the linguistic unit, itavya? The answer is that the sequence is only found in the grammatical description, not in the linguistic unit described. Bhartṛhari further explains this point: ihāstiṁ ke cit sakāramātram upadiśya pitsu aḍāgamaṁ vidadhati, ke cit akārasya lopam apitsu vacaneṣu. Here (in grammar) some grammarians teach the verb ‘to be’ as merely consisting of the root √s (rather than taking the root as √as), and prescribe the augment aṬ when suffixes with tag-phoneme P (tiP, siP, miP) follow; but others prescribe the elision of a (from the root √as) when endings without tag-phoneme P follow. (MBhD 7:7.11f) Reference to a group of grammarians who posit the root of ‘to be’ not as √as but, minimalistically, as √s, is also found in Patañjali’s discussion of AA 1.3.22. At that place, the commentator Haradatta explains that those who accept the root as √s are the followers of the grammarian Āpiśali. It is remarkable that neither Bhartṛhari here on the Mahābhāṣya under AA 1.1.46 nor Patañjali in his discussion of AA 1.3.22 express any value judgement on the two alternative ways of positing the root. It is neither claimed nor suggested that the analysis of their own Pāṇinian tradition would be more correct or more close to linguistic reality than the alternative analysis of Āpiśali. The choice to take either as or s as the root of the verb that means ‘to be, exist’ is a skilful choice, each with its advantages and disadvantages and made by, respectively, Pāṇini – who became most successful over the years and centuries – and Āpiśali, whose grammar was, for whatever reasons, eventually less successful so that its inevitably very laborious transmission got interrupted and disappeared. The concrete starting point for a derivation in the synthetic phase of the consultation cycle of a user of grammar in Pāṇini’s time could then never have been ‘pure’ meaning or an autonomous level of semantic representations but, with reference to some preliminary statement, the selection of a root – for instance, bhū ‘to be, become’ – or a form from lists of underived stems, pronominal forms, etc., in which form and meaning are inseparably integrated. In the context of Pāṇini’s time we can suppose that the preliminary statement of the user of the grammar contained

20  Jan E. M. Houben not necessarily only ‘perfectly formed’ words but also substandard ones, for instance honti or bhonti instead of bhavanti – it is to be noted that all these three forms occur in the ‘Aśokan Prakrit’ inscriptions of king Aśoka (Bloch 1950), which are the tangible traces of language use closest in time to Pāṇini. Apparently, honti, bhonti and bhavanti were in use contemporaneously at or around the time of Aśoka; the forms represented synchronically available linguistic options. In addition, we note that some late Vedic verses require a reading of bhavati as bhoti in order to become metrically correct: for instance, Kaṭha-Upaniṣad 3.38ab is transmitted as yas tu vijñānavān bhavati samanaskaḥ sadā śuciḥ ‘but he who obtains understanding, is aware and always pure’ apparently after the intervention of later redactors, as bhoti instead of bhavati would give a metrically correct and hence probably more original form of verse quarter 3.38a (Alsdorf 1950: 626). In what has been called Buddhist Hybrid Sanskrit, bhoti is quite frequent, occasionally also hoti occurs, in the sense of bhavati ‘he (/she/it) is’ (Edgerton 1953 Grammar: paragr. 1.29 and chapter 43; Dictionary: 412, 622). Suppose, accordingly, a user of the language who wanted to ‘polish’ a sentence the ‘correctness’ of which may have varied from fully ‘high-­ register’ to that of the usage found, for instance, in an inscription of Aśoka, dhramacaraṇaṁ pi ca na bhoti aśilasa (Bloch 1950: 100). This user must have had sufficient active and passive knowledge both of what we consider Sanskrit and of Aśokan dialects, and he must have been sufficiently familiar with Pāṇini’s grammar in order to take this sentence as a starting point, understand √bhū as the root semantically and formally closest to bhoti and, answering the semantic and syntactic questions asked by the grammar with reference to the word and the preliminary sentence, to derive the ‘polished’ form bhavati; the same procedure is to be followed for other problematic words to arrive at the saṁskṛta version of the quoted line, dharmacaraṇam api ca na bhavati aśīlasya ‘The very practice of the Law is not possible for someone of bad character’. Note that for a user of the grammar in Pāṇini’s time, whether the preliminary form was bhoti or bhavati, it must have been equally easy to arrive at the shallow or preliminary parsing of ‘verbal form derived from bhū in the semantic domain of “being” ’, which will next be the basis of a derivation of the formally correct high-register form with the desired semantic properties (present tense third person singular). Even starting from hoti the step to perceive bhū as the underlying verbal root must not have been very difficult, as the semantic and syntactic equivalence of all three forms, bhavati, bhoti, and hoti, would be trivial and at least receptively understood by all speakers in a diglossic situation. If placing ‘semantics’ as the starting point of the derivation of utterances through Pāṇini’s grammar is conceptually problematic and even in conflict with the presence of a considerable number of rules, namely the specifically Vedic ones (and moreover with the majority of the explicit aims mentioned

The art of grammar in context  21 in the Patañjali’s Mahābhāṣya: rakṣā ‘preservation of the Veda’, ūha ‘ritual modification’, etc.),4 how can it be that this view has become so widespread among Pāṇini specialists (cf. Houben 1999: 23–26)? Part of the explanation is no doubt the already mentioned brilliant article by Paul Kiparsky and Frits Staal on ‘Syntactic and semantic relations in Pāṇini’ (Kiparsky and Staal 1969), which by analysing Pāṇini’s grammar against the background of then current developments in transformational generative (Chomskyan) grammar proved a great stimulus for fresh research. At present, looking back at the history of transformational generative and especially Chomskyan grammar5 it may seem unlikely that Chomsky’s theories could have encouraged placing semantics first in Pāṇini’s grammar, as Chomsky never focused on semantics. The latter half of the 1960s and early 1970s was, however, precisely the time when Chomsky had introduced the suggestive concept of ‘deep structure’, which some of his students (e.g., Chomsky’s former student George Lakoff in 1971) understood and developed in a semantic sense. In Kiparsky’s and Staal’s model of Pāṇinian grammar (1969), a level of ‘semantic representations’ underlies and precedes the one of ‘deep structures’, which is followed by ‘surface structures’ and, finally, ‘phonological representations’. After having initially remained unpronounced on the exact nature of this ‘deep structure’, Chomsky later on started to evade a ‘semantic’ interpretation6 of his ‘deep structure’ in language. Next, the entire concept disappeared from his models. Together with Chomsky, one of the two authors of the influential 1969 article, Frits Staal, also became gradually averse to semantics, not only in his approach to Indian linguistics but also with regard to ritual.7 In the study of Pāṇinian grammar, however, a reorientation proved to be more difficult, and the fascination with and overemphasis on semantics, meaning elements, and meaning conditions as starting point of linguistic derivations has remained the default mode of reading Pāṇini (in spite of, as mentioned, its contradiction with Vedic rules and the explicit aims attributed to grammar by the ancient commentators). We may conclude this point with the observation that the study of Pāṇini’s grammar has been very much subjected to a ‘reading’ of the grammar in terms of current ‘science’, hence to ‘scientification’, including, from the early 1970s onwards, scientification in terms of then current theories of linguistics propounded by Noam Chomsky. The grammar is often and preferably presented as a ‘generative’ one, which resonates nicely with this major trend in linguistic theory, which was a dominant one at least in the last decades of the 20th century. Pāṇini’s grammar is, however, objectively better characterised with a more appropriate but less fashionable term as ‘reconstitutive’: in a Pāṇinian derivation of an utterance, a preliminary sentence in more or less correct Sanskrit or even Prakrit is required, of which the words are derived and reconstituted by applying the appropriate rules for first parsing this preliminary sentence in terms of elements recognised in Pāṇini’s grammar and next for synthesising these elements to an utterance in the best possible

22  Jan E. M. Houben high-register form (or, in the case of Vedic sentences, to recognise various acceptable forms and to determine the correct accent). 3 The same Indian grammatical tradition is an instructive historical alternative for ‘scientification’ in the sense of the modern influence of natural sciences on social and human sciences to adopt methodologies and presentations that are similar to those of the natural sciences. It has been observed that, to the extent that the ‘controlled and replicated laboratory experiment in which the experimenter directly manipulates variables is often considered the hallmark of the scientific method’, laboratory scientists tend to look down on fields of science that cannot employ manipulative experiments; this includes not only the humanities and a large part of the social sciences, but any science concerned with the past, ‘such as evolutionary biology, paleontology, epidemiology, historical geology, and astronomy’ (Diamond and Robinson 2011: 1–2). ‘A technique that frequently proves fruitful in these historical disciplines is the so-called natural experiment or the comparative method’ (Diamond and Robinson 2011: 1–2). In this regard, pre-19th-century Sanskrit grammarians provide an extensive ‘natural experiment’ of a knowledge system not subject to ‘scientism’ as defined by Jürgen Habermas as ‘the belief of science (esp. natural science, JEMH) in itself, the conviction that we . . . have to identify knowledge with science (esp. natural science, JEMH)’ ‘knowledge’ having ‘exclusive validity’ (Habermas, Erkenntnis und Interesse, Frankfurt 1968a: 13; cited from 2000 edition). The Sanskrit grammatical tradition, with Pāṇini having formulated the main system of rules and lists and with Bhartṛhari as main philosopher, represents a skilful description of the language presented in a remarkably efficient formalism and accompanied by a comprehensive theory of language and of knowledge (Sprach-, Erkenntnistheorie), which, for centuries and centuries, was not submitted to efforts to present it as fulfilling the methods and forms of presentation of the natural sciences. On the contrary, it was mathematics that made full use of grammatical, linguistic and poetic knowledge to present itself as an acceptable and valuable knowledge system in ancient and classical India. It has in fact been observed by several successive authors that the role of grammar and Pāṇini in classical India were comparable to the role of mathematics and Euclid in the ‘West’. The already quoted passage of August Wilhelm von Schlegel (1832) on the rules of Pāṇini’s grammar resembling algebraic formulas could be taken in this sense. Especially Frits Staal has put forward in considerable detail the argument that, whereas rationality was basically the same in India (South Asia) and in the West (implying the rejection of popular views about an Orient disposed to mystical thinking vis à vis a rational West), the development of (natural) science in the West would have followed the paradigm of the mathematician Euclid, whereas India followed

The art of grammar in context  23 that of the grammarian Pāṇini (Staal 1965, 1988). Before him – but some four decades after von Schlegel – R.G. Bhandarkar had remarked in 1873: ‘Sanskrit Grammar has thus become a science at [Pāṇini’s and other grammarians’] hands, and its study possesses an educational value of the same kind as that of Euclid and not much inferior to it in degree’ (Bhandarkar, preface to the third edition [1873] of his Second Book of Sanskrit, cited from the 15th edition, 1919: xi). In the 1950s, Daniel H.H. Ingalls (1953) compared the paradigmatic role of mathematics in the Greek world with the paradigmatic role of grammar in India, before Staal wrote his studies on ‘Euclid and Pāṇini’ (1965; see also Staal 1993). The priority of mathematics was in fact not always evident in Europe as the trivium, which had a central place in classical education consisted of grammar, logic, and rhetoric. In late pre-modern Europe, however, the importance of mathematics increased considerably. A characteristic statement is the one by Galileo Galilei in Il Saggiatore (1623; cap. VI):8 Philosophy is written in this great book that is constantly open in front of our eyes – I mean the universe – but we fail to understand it if we do not first learn to understand its language, and grasp the characters in which it is written. It is written in the language of mathematics, and the characters are triangles, circles, and other geometric figures, without which it is impossible to anyone to understand it: one wanders in vain through a dark labyrinth. A summary and further contribution to the discussion by especially Ingalls and Staal was written in Sanskrit in order to make it accessible to those who are usually aware of only one side of the coin: the traditional Sanskrit scholars in India (Houben 2012). Although mathematics was on a high level in ancient India, it did not have a concept of mathematical proof, which was so important in the approach of European mathematicians, starting with Euclid, as rightly emphasised by Johannes Bronkhorst (2001). From the discussion by Bronkhorst it is also clear that the presentation that Staal gave of the methods of Pāṇini and Euclid has been too positive or, rather: more ‘scientistic’ than justified on the side of Pāṇini.9 In the light of our discussion in the previous section we can say: the ‘Art’ part of grammar, the dimensions where grammar was an ‘art’, were downplayed in the presentation by Staal. Even then, it is obvious that in classical India, grammar, with Pāṇini’s grammar as the most favourable example, had a very high status. Even if grammar was, to Bhartṛhari and other sharp observers, in its core an ‘art’, and even if grammar was under no pressure to submit to ‘scientification’ in the sense of an influence of natural sciences, it represented, nevertheless, for centuries and centuries, solid and reliable knowledge. If the success of grammar was not based on any closeness to natural science

24  Jan E. M. Houben or to ‘scientification’, on what was it based? One answer could be, in the light of the preceding section, the fact that it was a knowledge system that ‘worked’ for human interests in the domain to which it was devoted: language. Pāṇini’s grammars and the grammars inspired by it apparently did help their users to realise the aim of acquiring the status of a good speaker of high-register Indo-Aryan. How could Pāṇini’s grammar have been so successful in this respect? The grammarians’ success can no doubt be partly understood in the light of a widespread search for ‘stable underlying elements’ of which we find testimonies in ancient Indian philosophical texts, whether of Brahminical, Buddhist, or Jaina orientation. In a larger perspective the situation may be summarised as follows: ‘Ancient India’ searched and very successfully identified these ‘stable underlying elements’ in language in the form of phonemes (varṇa) and verbal roots (dhātu); it searched and was only partly successful (got, as it were, stuck halfway) in identifying them in alchemy or proto-chemistry, and it searched them also with various degrees of success in other domains, ontology (the dhātus in Buddhism) and physiology (dhātus in Āyurveda). A remarkable success had been obtained at a very early date, before Pāṇini, in the discovery of the phonemes underlying all (‘Sanskritic’) language use and of the periodic similarities and differences of these phonemes.10 These phonemes were enumerated in a list, which became the ‘alphabet’ of ancient India still used in teaching Indian scripts to children and in arranging letters, phonemes, and lemmata in dictionaries. This list is presupposed in Pāṇini’s grammar when he speaks of phonemes of the ka-group (ku or ka-varga), those of the ca-group (cu or ca-varga), etc. The list can be given in linear form which corresponds to its sequence in recitation: a-ā-i-ī-u-ū- ṛ-ṝ-ḷ-ḹ-eai-o-au-ka-kha-ga-gha-ṅa-ca-cha-ja-jha-ña-ṭa-ṭha-ḍa-ḍha-ṇa-ta-tha-da-dhana-pa-pha-ba-bha-ma-ya-ra-la-va-śa-ṣa-sa-ha. Or the same list can be given in the form of a table, which makes the periodic similarities and differences visually clear: a-ā-i-ī-u-ū ṛ-ṝ-ḷ-ḹ e-ai o-au ka-kha-ga-gha-ṅa ca-cha-ja-jha-ña ṭa-ṭha-ḍa-ḍha-ṇa ta-tha-da-dha-na pa-pha-ba-bha-ma ya-ra-la-va śa-ṣa-sa ha

3

2

4

5

Source: © design and drawing by J. E. M. Houben.

Figure 1.1 Knowledge about the places of articulation and different efforts of pronouncing the phonemes underlying in the ‘periodic table’ of phonemes of the Sanskrit language.

1

26  Jan E. M. Houben Knowledge about the places of articulation and different efforts of pronouncing the phonemes in this ‘periodic table’ of phonemes can be represented as follows: Two traditional verses quoted by Patañjali towards the end of the second chapter (āhnika) of the first part of the first book of the Mahābhāṣya (MBh I:36.6–15) refer contextually to the enumeration of phonemes that is functional strictly with reference to Pāṇini’s grammatical rules (the pratyāhāra-sūtras, a-i-u-Ṇ, etc.) and that had been discussed and analysed in the preceding passage of the Mahābhāṣya as being specifically designed to anticipate Pāṇini’s grammatical rules. Hence, Pāṇini’s pratyāhāra-sūtras, 14 in number, were apparently, at least to some extent, an innovation; they were in any case treated as such in the earliest commentarial discussions. According to later traditions Pāṇini’s innovation was so brilliant that he must have received it from some divine power, the Hindu or Brahmanical Śiva according to some, the Bodhisattva Avalokiteśvara according to the Buddhists (Deshpande 1997). As verses that are quoted and that were hence pre-existing they are, however, likely to have originally referred to the underlying general enumeration a-ā i-ī etc., presupposed in Pāṇini’s grammar, which is primarily not a functional enumeration presupposing the rules to be formulated in the grammar but a substantial enumeration of phonemes. In his comments on the Mahābhāṣya, and quoting parts of the verses of Patañjali, Bhartṛhari says the following (MBhD II:92ff):11 ‘This Inventory of Phonemes (is) the Inventory of Speech . . .’ Speech is laid down to be this much, this much is linguistic usage. ‘Blossoming and fruitful’: (viz.,) with seen and unseen results, (i.e.,) with worldly prosperity and the highest good (respectively). ‘Well arranged like the moon and the stars.’ This is (what is) said: just as this, viz. the totality of moon and stars etc., is uninterrupted, similarly there is no creator of this linguistic usage; this way it has been handed down. Whereas the acceptance of either √as or √s as the verbal root underlying was understood to be dependent on a theoretical choice in the description, the identification and arrangement of the phonemes underlying all language use is here regarded as being of an entirely different order: it is the discovery of a real, given arrangement, as real and given as, in the words already of Patañjali, the arrangement of the moon and stars (candratārakavat pratimaṇḍitaḥ). In this light and in the light of the topic of scientification an early episode in the history of modern science needs to be briefly discussed, an episode that took place when successful science was not yet equivalent to physical science and mathematics. On the contrary, discoveries which were being made and were hesitatingly presented partly with reference to achievements

The art of grammar in context  27 in the human sciences, which at that time, in the third quarter of the 19th century, included the then still-recent discovery and exploration of Sanskrit. A large number of chemical elements had at that time already been discovered, and the Russian scientist Dmitri Mendeleev (1834–1907) succeeded in arranging them according to atomic weight and with their periodic similarities and differences. There were still a number of open places in the table, and Mendeleev predicted not only the atomic weight but also the chemical properties of the element of an open place if it would be discovered. The elements of these open places were given a preliminary name based on the name of the nearest element of the immediate or next preceding cycle plus the prefix eka-, dvi-, tri-. For instance, in an article that appeared in English in 1880 but that seems to have been written a few years earlier,12 Mendeleev wrote: The two missing elements in the fifth series (third and fourth groups) should have very distinct properties. They will be found in this series between Zn = 65 and As = 75, and being atomanalogous with aluminium and silicium, they will be called, the one eka-aluminium, and the other eka-silicium. As they belong to an odd series they will give volatile metallo-organic compounds, as well as volatile anhydrous chlorides. . . . The metals should be very easily obtained by reduction with carbon or sodium. Their sulfides will be insoluble in water, and Ea2S3 will be precipitated by sulphide of ammonium, whilst EsS2 will be apparently soluble in it. The atomic weight of eka-aluminium will be about 68, and that of eka-silicium about 72. (Mendeleev 1880: 83) Earlier, in 1869, Mendeleev had already published a brief explanation of his view on the periodic law and atomic elements and predictions regarding ‘eka-aluminium’ and ‘eka-silicium’ (indicated by a dash in his table). Only six years later, in 1875, an element with the predicted atomic weight and the predicted chemical properties was discovered by Paul Emile Lecoq de Boisbaudran, who named the element Gallium after the Latin name of his native country, France. Another important confirmation of Mendeleev’s theory came 11 years later, in 1886, when another new element was discovered by Clemens Winkler. It turned out that it matched exactly the properties of Mendeleev’s Eka-silicium. The most pertinent publications of Mendeleev have been republished in David M. Knight’s Classical Scientific Papers – Chemistry, Second Series (1970). Although it has been suggested that the 14 pratyāhāra-sūtras of Pāṇini were a source of inspiration for Mendeleev (Kak 2004, referring to a ‘private communication’ by P. Kiparsky) this is not borne out by any clearly discernible parallelism between these sūtras and the periodic table of elements. It is more likely, as also suggested by Kak, that it was the varṇasamāmnāya that served as example, since periodicity is here more directly

28  Jan E. M. Houben visible. However, even if this ‘two-dimensional arrangement of the Sanskrit alphabet . . . is apparent even to the beginning student of the language’, it may be possible to search more concrete presentations that must have been readily available to Mendeleev in his time. The second page of Charles Wilkins’ Grammar of the Sanskrita Language (1808) could indeed have given a clear view of the ‘Deva-nāgarī alphabet’ and its ‘very admirable arrangement’ and provide an understanding, although this is not directly explained by Wilkins, that the arrangement is according to two parameters, place of articulation (hence the consonant classes of gutturals, etc.) and articulatory effort (aspiration, voicedness, nasality). There was, however, one person in Mendeleev’s circle who had an unparalleled expert understanding of Sanskrit and the traditional analyses and arrangements of its phonemes, namely Otto Böhtlingk (1815–1904). Böhtlingk may therefore have been the direct source for Mendeleev’s possible knowledge of the ‘periodic’ arrangement of the Sanskrit alphabet, which may have confirmed him in the periodic arrangement of the chemical elements in nature, according to the two dimensions of atomic weight and characteristics such as chemical valency.13 When Mendeleev developed his ideas on the periodic table of elements, Böhtlingk had already published his Pāṇini’s acht Bücher grammatischer Regeln in two volumes (1839–1840), which contained, under sūtra AA 1.1.9, not exactly the varṇa-samāmnāya but nevertheless tables explaining the phonemes of Sanskrit according to their place of articulation and articulatory effort. To conclude this point: ancient Indian grammar provides an extensive historical alternative to the present-day seemingly ubiquitous influence of ‘scientification’ in the human and social sciences. This has led to a brief consideration of the modern Western situation and that prevailing in ancient India as quite different but parallel. In spite of all differences and contrasts, the identification and, where possible, periodic arrangement of ‘stable, underlying’ elements have been foundational both for the development of physical science and mathematics in Europe and for that of grammar in India. 4 One of the domains where a dialogue between Jürgen Habermas and the ancient Indian grammarians, especially Bhartṛhari, would make sense, in spite of the enormous distance between their philosophies, is language. Both Habermas and Bhartṛhari express the inseparable relation between language and thought. Habermas elaborated on the crucial importance of language for communication, for the normative basis of society, and for the social sciences in general, from the early 1980s onwards, especially in his two-volume Theory of Communicative Action (Theorie des kommunikativen Handelns) (Habermas 1981) and in numerous subsequent publications. But Habermas had realised the importance of language for our perception and dealing with ‘the world’ already much earlier: ‘That which distinguishes us from nature, is precisely that which we are able to

The art of grammar in context  29 know according its own nature, namely, language’ (Habermas 1973 [tr. from 1968b]: 156: ‘Ce qui nous distingue de la nature, c’est justement la seule chose que nous soyons en mesure de connaître selon sa nature, à savoir le langage.’). It has further been observed that according to Habermas:14 All that we have access to of reality is always mediated by language, so that we do not have access to ‘naked’ reality . . . what we have access to is a ‘world’ structured linguistically. Habermas joins Humboldt and Wittgenstein (and Bhartṛhari, JEMH), who all defended the idea that language opens up a world to us. That being so, this global world is in the image of the language that structures it: there is that part of language to which we have spontaneous and obvious access, and the other where language is ‘at work’. With respect to the foundational importance of language even for awareness and consciousness which one would normally not regard as languagedependent, Bhartṛhari said in his Vākyapadīya (1.129ab, 131ff):15 All knowledge of what to do in daily life depends on words. . . . There is no cognition in the world that does not follow language; all knowledge appears as if permeated by words. If the understanding would give up its perpetual character of language, the light (of consciousness) would no longer shine. For it is that (language-character of understanding) which produces comprehension. That (language-character of understanding) is the basis of all sciences, crafts and arts. On the basis of it, any object that has come into existence is analysed. That (language-character of understanding) functions as the external and inner awareness of living beings. The consciousness in all forms of existence does not go beyond the dimension of that (language-character of understanding). In the way a dimension of one’s self or of something external is resorted to through a word, in that way it becomes generally accepted. For it is by that (employed word) that the object is settled. In Bhartṛhari’s work we will find no sociology and no social theory: these were invented and started to attract the attention of scholars in a systematic way only in the 19th century with as an important early landmark, as is generally known, the work of August Comte (1798–1857), who was in this very much inspired by a currently less well-known thinker (and nonviolent activist), Henri Saint-Simon (1760–1825).16 Even then, Bhartṛhari emphasised the linguistic basis of the awareness of ‘oneself’ and ‘the other’, which in Sanskrit are expressed in verbal suffixes: ‘Being turned inward

30  Jan E. M. Houben (towards oneself)’ and ‘being the other (opposite oneself)’ are attributes of the (syntactic-semantic) agent or of the object; through various suffixes the second and first person express these two. From these two one understands (that ‘oneself’ and ‘the other’ have) consciousness, whether real or imagined17 (VP 3.10.1–2ab). Among several conceptual distinctions of interest in a dialogue between Habermas and Bhartṛhari could be the one between objects that appear in language as siddha ‘well-established’ and objects that are still ‘to be established or accomplished’, ‘to be brought about’, sādhya, because both siddha and sādhya find expression in any sentence that is analysable in main verb and noun phrases: these sentences refer thus partly to an already established lived-in world, partly to a world where the awareness of the speaker and language are ‘at work’. 5 Epilogue: can these observations on the Art of Grammar in Context contribute to a future perspective on the social sciences and humanities? Jürgen Habermas reflects on the problem of ‘scientism’ in the (human and social) sciences in a monolinguistic style while integrating in masterly fashion philosophers thinking and writing in German, in French, and in English (and with Latin, Greek, and Hebrew as classical literatures in the background), as if his thought can be translated without any problem in any other language, starting with English and French. However, the domain of the sciences and humanities and the domain of his own reflection about them is in fact linguistically thoroughly heterogeneous, as is clear even from just his choice of the term ‘Szientismus’ – which is probably meant to be based on Latin scientia but which conceptually evidently represents the specific Anglo-Saxon ‘science’. It is also clear from the problematic translations into English and French of the chapters and paragraphs in Erkenntnis und Interesse (Connaissance et Intérêt, Knowledge and Interest) that deal with Habermas’ division of the sciences into Naturwissenschaften, i.e., sciences, and Geisteswissenschaften, i.e., humanities (a division that is terminologically problematic in English and French, but not in German – nor in Dutch – where the domain of the ‘Geist’, that is, arts, literatures, and humanities, is traditionally a suitable object of science or Wissenschaft). In Habermas’ theory of communicative action an important and unescapable role is attributed to language in the ‘creation’ of the world as lived in, the Lebenswelt, in French ‘le monde vécu’. The normal translation into English is ‘lifeworld’, which suits the earlier use of the concept by E. Husserl but in the discussion of Habermas ‘lived world’ would often be more appropriate. More than Husserl, Habermas emphasises and analyses the role of language in the collective construction of this Lebenswelt in a shared ‘wesubjectivity’. This has been very well explained in an article by Ch. Bouchindhomme on Habermas’ ‘monde vécu (Lebenswelt)’ (which, incidentally,

The art of grammar in context  31 further illustrates the possibilities of a ‘dialogue’ between Habermas and Bhartṛhari mentioned earlier under 4):18 The ground constituted by the daily practice of communication is itself based on idealising presuppositions – idealisations due to a linguistic competence which the speakers have in a pre-reflexive way, in the form of an implicit knowledge. This implicit knowledge is of three types: [a] a relative first level knowledge that allows to interpret the situation of speech and environment; [b] implicit knowledge related to lived experiences; [c] and lastly, a background knowledge of which we have no intentional consciousness. The first two types of knowledge easily lead to problematization; the third, on the contrary, resists it. This background knowledge is pre-reflexive but stable knowledge, immune to the pressure of experiences, which is never really problematized but fragmented. It is constitutive of the lived world [monde vécu, Lebenswelt]. And this knowledge is characterized by immediate certainty, a totalizing force and a holism, and while it is intense, it is undoubtedly deficient (precisely because it is so difficult to problematize it). . . . It is a knowledge constantly struggling with experience, from which it protects the lived world while being in the necessity of integrating it. . . . If we now want to understand well all these characteristics, it is in the transmission of this knowledge that we must be interested: it is indeed by learning the concrete natural language, the one we speak in our environment (country, region, family, etc.) that this knowledge reaches us, it is through this that we internalize and exteriorize a ‘world’; so that through it we learn not only a language but language and its faculties of idealization, and the problematizations to which we submit first level knowledge have, in a sense, their formal origin in this primordial acquisition. We therefore observe that this knowledge is reproduced in all communicative activities: it is typically knowledge structured by communication, so that the lived world is also essentially structured by communication. Although Habermas further makes only a distinction between traditional societies where a ‘closed’ totalising function of language is dominant and modern societies where an ‘open’ linguistic function of differentiating efficiency is dominant, the language that a child learns in order to deal with its world and in order to communicate within its family, region, society, must be a particular language. These particular languages learnt by the children of respective environments collectively fit into and create a plurality of cultural and political, Lebenswelten, lived worlds. From a global perspective, the relative strength of a cultural and political, lived world will depend on factors such as the number of native speakers, easiness of access and learnability of

32  Jan E. M. Houben the language for secondary speakers, its use or non-use in the administration of a state, and the stability of its grammar. Moreover, from the perspective of an individual, a solid appropriation of the third kind of knowledge, the background knowledge, will be preferable to a poor appropriation, as the former may contribute to being perceived as a ‘civilised’ person or person of culture, whereas the latter may contribute to the individual’s marginalisation in the society to which he belongs or wants to belong. Although this point is not recognised by Habermas, let alone developed, it follows that being ‘civilised’ in English (or in German, etc.) is parallel to and yet different from being ‘civilised’ in Latin, Greek, Sanskrit, Arabic . . . and in any case it is profoundly language-dependent. A reflection on linguistic provinciality is lacking in Habermas’ theory. To take such linguistic provinciality and diversity into account or, rather, to make it a point of departure – ‘a philosopher should first of all be translator and rethink his universals each time anew in each language’ (Souleymane Bachir Diagne in Nassif 2016) – it is also necessary to take into account different degrees of realisation of a given target language, which will mostly be a target language of high status. This may further involve a diglossic relationship between different ‘levels’ of mastery of the target language. In a landmark study by Kees Versteegh published in the Journal Historiographia Linguistica 13.2–3 (1986): 425–448, the author shows that three variables are related in several historical linguistic-cultural contexts characterised by diglossic dynamism: (a) the cultural ‘world’, which may seem to members of the community to be universal but which is in fact subject to limiting conditions such as the ‘limits of the language’; (b) tools for learning and teaching this language, such as grammar; and (c) the ‘civilisation’ projected, coloured, characterised by this language and its literature. The following parallelism between the different domains emerges from Versteegh’s study: Latin ‘world’ – Latin grammar – latinitas; Hellenic ‘world’ – Greek grammar – hellenismos; Arabic ‘world’ – Arabic grammar – arabiyya. The ‘civilisation’ targeted by those who learn and improve their language is not an insignificant side issue: it is the ‘fuel’ for the entire process of composing study tools and language teaching. Would it be possible to find these variables in the old worlds of India and Iran (which were, in the beginning, hardly separable)? If so (cf. Houben 1996), in which specific terms? Could the quality of a grammatical tradition tell us anything about the quality or stability of the ‘world’ which, according to Habermas’ analysis of language and lived world or monde vécu, it helps to create? The following table gives the parallelisms. (classical and classical-modern languages) (grammar) – ‘civilisation’ – (‘lived world’ created) Latin grammar – LATINITAS – Latin ‘world’ Greek grammar – HELLENISMOS – Hellenic ‘world’ Arab grammar – ARABIYYA – Arab ‘world’ Sanskrit grammar – SANSKRTI – Sanskrit ‘world’

The art of grammar in context  33 Would this also apply to non-classical modern languages? In that case the table can be extended with English and German language learning through grammar and at present also other types of learning, and the parallel phenomena in the domains of ‘civilisation’ and ‘lived world’ created: English language learning – GENTLEMANLINESS – English ‘world’ German language learning – HÖFLICHKEIT – German ‘world’ Whether we like it or regret it, linguistic-cultural plurality cannot easily be got rid of, least of all in . . . philosophy and the humanities. Some aspects of the work of Habermas needs then to be re-thought in this light. That the humanities and social sciences are profoundly language-dependent has been observed by philosophers such as Wittgenstein and especially the ‘later’ Habermas, and, for those ready to look beyond Europe, is implied in the work of the grammarian-philosopher Bhartṛhari. However, the implications of linguistic plurality for the humanities and social sciences have not yet been taken into account. This would hence be one of the dimensions where new progress can be made and where new perspectives are expected to open up. We have also seen that some parallelism is found between different successful knowledge systems, irrespective of whether they deal with nature or human language, culture and society and irrespective of whether or not the natural sciences are dominant. Successful knowledge systems throughout history seem to be especially those who started out identifying ‘stable underlying elements’ in their respective domains. As we have seen, ancient India searched and discovered, over a period of several centuries, basic elements in language, phonemes and their periodic regularity and verbal roots and solidly confirmed their validity. A long-lived Sanskrit ‘world’ or Sanskrit cosmopolis emerged in South Asia, Central Asia, Southeast Asia and East Asia. To this we may add that, in the 8th century, Arab grammarians in or near Iran discovered, within decades, the same basic elements but particularised for the Arabic language, phonemes and their periodic regularity and verbal roots: a long-lived Arab ‘world’ emerged. Basic elements in Sanskrit, phonemes and their periodic regularity and verbal roots, were re-discovered by Franz Bopp and others ca. 2,000 years after their discovery in ancient India. The new concepts were applied to various languages: this became one of the pillars of modern comparative linguistics. In the 19th century, physics and chemistry discovered basic elements in matter and their periodic regularity and solidly confirmed their validity: a profound re-creation of the physical world, for better or for worse, came forth. The social sciences, for over more than a century, did not discover or confirm any stable, underlying elements in their wide domain, or so it seems. The ‘meme’-concept proposed in 1976 by Richard Dawkins could nevertheless still be a candidate (cf. Aunger 2000). As I have briefly indicated

34  Jan E. M. Houben elsewhere (Houben 2014), the domain of Vedic ritual should be able to fulfil to a large extent the three challenges posed by B. Edmonds (2002, 2005): it can constitute a suitable case study (first challenge); it can be theorised why Vedic ritual and not other cultural phenomena provides a suitable case (second challenge); on this basis, a simulation model can be designed (third challenge). ‘Memetics’ as a branch of scientific exploration parallel to genetics did not get off the ground, but it is perhaps hesitatingly making a popular comeback in the narrower sense of knowledge of how to deal with social media ‘memes’. Social sciences and humanities may indeed be in need of the identification and exploration of ‘stable underlying elements’ and the networks of their relations in order to become mature. In addition, something else is evidently missing: social science projects that capture the imagination of specialists and an unavoidably multilingual, larger public. The literary genre of science fiction is mainly technical and physical science fiction, rarely social science fiction, and if there is an element of Social Science Fiction, it is usually of a Utopian or Dystopian character: Thomas More’s Utopia, Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World and Island, etc. Social relations in, for instance, Aldous Huxley’s two novels are exotically different from those known in present societies, but they are primarily brought about by new reproductive technologies, state-sponsored drugs, etc., not by the application or misapplication of achievements in social science. The creation of ‘memes’ for peace and progress, well-founded in research in the human sciences (Houben 2016a, 2016b), is a recent initiative for a social science project potentially of considerable interest to a larger public and in which linguistic and (language-based and further) conceptual diversity is one of the points of departure.

Abbreviations AA = Aṣṭādhyāyī of Pāṇini. (a) ed. and tr.: Otto Böhtlingk, Pāṇini’s Grammatik, herausgegeben, übersetzt, erläutert und mit verschiedenen Indices versehen, Leipzig: Haessel, 1887. (Réim. Hildesheim, Olms, 1964, etc.) (b) ed. and tr.: Sumitra M. Katre, Aṣṭādhyāyī of Pāṇini, Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1989; (c) ed. and tr. (into French by Louis Renou, complete; partial tr. into English), crossref. and research tools: Ganakakastadhyayi: A Software on Sanskrit Grammar Based on Pāṇini’s Sūtras by Shivamurthy Swamiji, downloadable at www.taralabalu.org. Kaṭha-Upaniṣad = Ed. and tr. in: The Early Upaniṣads: Annotated Text and Translation by Patrick Olivelle. Oxford: Oxford University Press. MBh = Patañjali’s Vyākaraṇa-Mahābhāṣya, ed. F. Kielhorn, third ed. rev. by K.V. Abhyankar, Pune 1962–1972: ref. to volume, page, line. MBhD = Bhartṛhari’s Mahābhāṣya-Dīpikā, fasc. 1: ed. and tr. J. Bronkhorst, Pune 1985: ref. to Āhnika, page and line. VP = Bhartṛhari’s Vākyapadīya: ed. of the mūla-kārikās by W. Rau, Wiesbaden, 1977; ed. (Kāṇḍa I with Vrtti and Paddhati) by K.A. Subramania

The art of grammar in context  35 Iyer, Pune, 1966; ed. (Kāṇḍas I and II with commentaries) by Gangadhara Sastri Manavalli, Benares 1887.

Notes 1 Pāṇini’s rūpya (AA 5.2.120) refers to a special kind of coin (Lüders 1919), according to von Hinüber 1989: 34; Falk 1993: 304 to one which appeared in the Indian subcontinent only from around the middle of the fourth century BCE onwards, which is anyway the time of the earliest traces of Indian coinage. Both von Hinüber and Falk referred to Cribb’s 1985 for the numismatic evidence; see now also Cribb’s 2005. The scholarly active period of Pāṇini, said to have been a native from Śalātura in Gandhāra, was then not only contemporaneous with a politically transitional Gandhāra but also with the last decades of the neighbouring empire of the Nandas ruling in Pāṭaliputra until Chandragupta Maurya took over in 322 BCE. In Pāṇini’s time Gandhāra must then initially still have been a distant province of the Persian empire, culturally probably more oriented ‘eastward’ than ‘westward’, before it was captured by Alexander in 325 and became part of Seleucus Nicator’s realm until the very end of the 4th century BCE, when it was absorbed in the expanding kingdom of the Maurya dynasty. 2 A.W. von Schlegel, Bonn-Paris 1832: 34–35: ‘Outre la terminologie ordinaire puisée dans la langue même, et appropriée seulement à un emploi spécial, Pāṇini et ses successeurs ont imaginé un autre système de termes techniques. Ce sont des mots fictifs, des signes abrégés, qu’on peut comparer à ceux de l’algèbre. Il faut en avoir la clé, sans quoi les Aphorismes de Pāṇini ressemblent à des énigmes plus obscures que les oracles de Bacis; de même qu’un écolier qui ne sait que les éléments de l’arithmétique, ne comprendra rien aux formules algébriques’. 3 Rājaśekhara’s Kāvya-mīmāṁsā 10.23, śrūyate ca pāṭaliputre śāstrakāraparīkṣā – atropavarṣa-varṣau iha pāṇini-piṅgalau . . . parīkṣitāḥ khyātim upajagmuḥ / ‘It is said there has been (at regular intervals) an examination of authors of didactic works in Pāṭaliputra: “It is here that Upavarṣa and Varṣa, here that Pāṇini and Piṅgala . . . were examined and acquired fame” ’. This examination is thought to have been a five-yearly event so that all authors mentioned in the verse need not to have been in Pāṭaliputra at the same time (Houben 2015b). If Pāṇini had indeed participated in one of the examinations at the court of Pāṭaliputra, was he staying there after having left his politically unstable native area in Gandhāra, or had he come in a temporary visit especially for this examination and the royal award that no doubt accompanied it? 4 The MBh (I:1.14–2.2) mentions and explains five aims of the study of grammar: (1) rakṣā ‘the preservation (of the Vedic texts of one’s tradition)’; (2) ūha ‘modification (of a Vedic mantra according to a modified ritual context)’; (3) āgama ‘(the fulfilment of) the Vedic injunction (to study the Veda and its ancillaries, including grammar)’; (4) laghu ‘simplicity in knowing correct word forms in a specific context’; (5) asaṁdeha ‘removal of doubts (regarding words in Vedic sentences)’. All these aims suggest that grammar is invoked to reconstitute a (problematic) word given in Vedic passages; in the case of ūha ‘modification’ there is reconstitution with modification according to the variation of a semantic, grammatically relevant variable, for instance, gender, number. Neither here nor in any of the secondary aims next mentioned in the Mahābhāṣya (I:2.3–5.12), are a semantic level or semantic conditions the starting point in the derivation of correct linguistic forms. 5 Cf. Joshi 2009; Kaldewaij 1986; Searle 2002; Seuren 1998. 6 This move was in line with the linguist who was in several respects Chomsky’s predecessor, Leonard Bloomfield and who evinced a ‘rather pessimistic attitude

36  Jan E. M. Houben towards semantics’ (Robins 1979: 208); ‘Bloomfieldian’ linguists from the 1930s to ca. 1957 preferred to concentrate their attention on the formal analysis of language (Robins 1979: 209). 7 As for language, a sequel to Staal’s ‘Indian Semantics I’ (1966) was never published. In his endeavour to study ‘meaningless ritual’ without semantics but with syntax, Staal (1989) explicitly invoked Chomsky’s theories. 8 La filosofia è scritta in questo grandissimo libro che continuamente ci sta aperto innanzi a gli occhi (io dico l’universo), ma non si può intendere se prima non s’impara a intender la lingua, e conoscer i caratteri, ne’ quali è scritto. Egli è scritto in lingua matematica, e i caratteri son triangoli, cerchi, ed altre figure geometriche, senza i quali mezi è impossibile a intenderne umanamente parola; senza questi è un aggirarsi vanamente per un oscuro laberinto. 9 Staal 2006: 103 replies to Bronkhorst by making a ‘point about proofs and deductions’, viz. that ‘Proofs possess a history during which standards of rigor were considerably improved’. 10 Staal (2006: 110ff) discusses the ancient Indian system of the sounds of Sanskrit (or Vedic) language and its influence on the system of Indian and Asian scripts. 11 so’yam akṣarasamāmnāyo vāk-samāmnāyaḥ / etāvatīyaṁ vāk samāmnātā / etāvān vāgvyavahāraḥ / puṣpitaḥ phalitaś ca / dṛṣṭādṛṣṭaphalābhyām abhyuday aniḥśreyasābhyām / candratārakavat pratimaṇḍitaḥ / etad uktam bhavati – yathaivedam avyucchinnaṁ candratārakādi evam asya vāgvyavahārasya na kaś cit kartāsti / evam evedaṁ pāramparyeṇa smaryamāṇam 12 Since in this article Mendeleev still speaks of ‘Eka-aluminium’ it must have been written before the discovery of Gallium by Lecoq de Boisbaudran in 1875; perhaps it has been translated from an article first written in another language. 13 Apparently, ‘[t]he paths of Böhtlingk and Mendeleev crossed in many ways: Mendeleev lectured at the [St. Petersburg Academy of Sciences] when he was awarded its Demidov prize for his book Organic Chemistry, which appeared in 1861, when Böhtlingk was on the nomination committee for the prize’ (Kak 2004). 14 Bouchindhomme (2015: 54): ‘Tout ce que à quoi nous avons accès de la réalité est toujours déjà médiatisé par le langage, de sorte que nous n’avons pas accès à la réalité “nue” (qui n’est même qu’une vue de l’esprit): ce à quoi nous avons accès c’est à un “monde” structuré linguistiquement. Habermas rejoint Humboldt et Wittgenstein qui défendirent l’un et l’autre l’idée que la langue nous ouvre un monde. Cela étant, ce monde global est à l'image du langage qui le structure: il y a cette part du langage auquel nous avons un accès spontané et évident, et cette autre où le langage est “au travail” ’. 15 itikartavyatā loke sarvā śabdavyapāśrayā / . . . na so’sti pratyayo loke yaḥ śabdānugamād ṛte / anuviddham iva jñānam sarvam śabdena bhāsate // vāgrūpatā ced utkramed avabodhasy śāśvatī / na prakāśaḥ prakāśeta sā hi pratyavamarśinī // sā sarvavidyāśilpānāṁ kalānāṁ copabandhanī / tadvaśād abhiniṣpannaṁ sarvaṁ vastu vibhajyate // saiṣā saṁsāriṇāṁ saṁjñā bahir antaś ca vartate / tanmātrām avatikrāntaṁ caitanyaṁ sarvajātiṣu // svamātrā paramātrā vā śrutyā prakramyate yathā / tathaiva rūḍhatām eti tayā hy artho vidhīyate // 16 If August Comte is considered to be the ‘father’ of modern sociology, Henri Saint-Simon may be regarded as its ‘grandfather’; cf. Saint-Simon, Œuvres Complètes (2013); Musso 1998; Garcia 2016. 17 VP 3.10.1–2ab: pratyaktā parabhāvaś cāpy upādhī kartṛkarmaṇoḥ | tayoḥ śrutiviśeṣeṇa vācakau madhyamottamau || sad asad vāpi caitanyam etābhyām avagamyate | 18 Bouchindhomme (2015: 57–58): ‘[L]e sol constitué par la pratique quotidienne de la communication repose lui-même déjà sur des préppositions idéalisantes – idéalisations dues à une compétence linguistique dont les locueurs disposent de

The art of grammar in context  37 manière préréflexive, sous la forme d’un savoir implicite. Ce savoir implicite est de trois types: un savoir de premier plan relatif qui permet d’interpréter la situation de parole et environnementale; un savoir implicite lié aux expériences vécues; et enfin un savoir d’arrière-plan dont nous n’avons pas de conscience intentionnelle. Les deux premiers types de savoir débouchent très facilement sur la problématisation; le troisième au contraire y résiste. Ce savoir d’arrièreplan est un savoir préréfléchi mais stable, immunisé contre la pression des expériences, qi n’est jamais à vrai dire problématisé que fragmentairement. Il est constitutif du monde vécu. Or ce savoir se caractérise par la certitude immédiate, une force de totalisation et un holisme, et s’il est intense, il est sans nul doute déficient (par sa difficulté même à être problématisé). . . . C’est un savoir constamment en lutte avec l’expérience, de laquelle il protège le monde vécu tout en étant dans la nécessité de l’intégrer. . . . Si l’on veut maintenant bien saisir toutes ces caractéristiques, c’est à la transmission de ce savoir qu’il faut s’intéresser: c’est en effet par l’apprantissage de la langue naturelle concrète, celle qu nous parlons dans notre milieu (pays, région, famille, etc.) si bien que par lui nous apprenons non pas seulement une langue mais le langage et ses facultés d’idéalisation, et les problématisations auxquelles nous soumettons les savoirs de premier plan ont donc en quelque sorte lur origine formelle dans cette acquisition primordiale. On perçoit donc que ce savoir se reproduit dans toute activité communicationnelle: il est typiquement un savoir structuré par la communication, de sorte que le monde vécu est également essentiellement structuré par la communication’.

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The art of grammar in context  39 ———. 2009b. ‘Pāṇini’s Grammar and Its Computerization: A Construction Grammar Approach’, in A. Kulkarni and G. Huet (eds.), Sanskrit Computational Linguistics, Third International Symposium, Hyderabad, India, 2009, Proceedings, LNAI 5406, 6–25. Berlin and Heidelberg: Springer. ———. 2012. ‘sauśravasa-pāṇini-śāstrarīti-dvaya-parīkṣā’ (in Sanskrit, on the scientific method of sauśravasa, i.e., Euclid, and the one of Pāṇini), Āraṇyakam (Ārā (Bihar) – Vārāṇasī), 19: 7–14. ———. 2014. ‘A Tradição Sânscrita entre Memética Védica e Cultura Literária’ (in Portuguese), Linguagem & Ensino 17(2): 441–469. maio./ago. ———. 2015a. ‘Pāṇinian Grammar of Living Sanskrit: Features and Principles of the Prakriyā-Sarvasva of Nārāyaṇa-Bhaṭṭa of Melputtūr’, Bulletin d’Études Indiennes (BEI) 32: 149–170. ———. 2015b. ‘Sources et Histoire de la tradition sanskrite, conférences de l’année 2012–2013, I’, Annuaire de l’École pratique des hautes études (EPHE). Section des sciences historiques et philologiques [en ligne], 146 | 2015, mis en ligne le 05 octobre 2015. http://ashp.revues.org/1748. ———. 2016a. ‘La ideodiversidad como valor planetario’ (‘Ideodiversity as a Planetary Value’), in Eadem utraque Europa: revista de historia cultural e intelectual, Año 12, no. 17, Agosto 2016, ISSN:1885-7221, 11–42. N.B. Summaries in French, English, German, Italian, Spanish, Arabic, Hebrew, Chinese, Russian, Dutch, Hindi, Sanskrit. www.memepeace.org/ideodiversity. ———. 2016b. ‘Des conflits armés à la compétition dans la création de paix et de progrès: un projet de gestion mémétique’ (‘From Armed Conflicts to Competition in Creating Peace and Progress: A Memetic Management Project’), in After Paris 13.11.15 – conflits, exodes, attentats: notes et analyses de chercheurs du monde entier, 110–113, sous la dir. de Pierre Musso. Paris: Editions Manucius. N.B. Summaries in French, English, German, Italian, Spanish, Arabic, Hebrew, Chinese, Russian, Dutch, Hindi, Sanskrit, Wolof. www.memepeace.org/peace-creation. ———. 2018. ‘Linguistic Paradox and Diglossia: The Emergence of Sanskrit and Sanskritic Language in Ancient India’, De Gruyter – Open Linguistics 4(1): 1–18. https://doi.org/10.1515/opli-2018-0001. Houben, Jan E. M., and Saraju Rath. 2012. ‘Manuscript Culture and Its Impact in “India”: Contours and Parameters’, in S. Rath (ed.), Aspects of Manuscript Culture in South India, 1–53. Leiden: E.J. Brill. Huxley, Aldous. 1932. Brave New World. London: Chatto & Windus. ———. 1962. Island: A Novel. London: Chatto & Windus. Ingalls, Daniel H. H. 1953. ‘The Comparison of Indian and Western Philosophy’, Journal of Oriental Research 22: 1–11, Madras. Joshi, S. D. 2009. ‘Background of the Aṣṭādhyāyī’, in A. Kulkarni and G. Huet (eds.), Sanskrit Computational Linguistics, Third International Symposium, Hyderabad, India, 2009, Proceedings, LNCS 5406, 1–5. Berlin and Heidelberg: Springer. Joshi, S. D., and J. A. F. Roodbergen. 1975. Patañjali’s Vyākaraṇa-Mahābhāṣya, Kārakāhnika (P. 1.4.23–1.4.55): Introduction, Translation and Notes. Pune: Centre of Advanced Study in Sanskrit, University of Poona. Kak, Subhash. 2004. ‘Mendeleev and the Periodic Table of Elements’, e-paper. arxiv. org/ftp/physics/papers/0411/0411080.pdf (accessed 15 January 2014). Kaldewaij, Jelle. 1986. ‘Structuralisme en Transformationeel Generatieve Grammatica’, Dissertation, Utrecht University.

40  Jan E. M. Houben Kemp, J. Alan. 1986. ‘The Tekhne Grammatike of Dionysius Thrax Translated into English’, Historiographia Linguistica 13(2–3): 343–363. Kiparsky, Paul. 1979. Pāṇini as a Variationist. Pune: Centre of Advanced Study in Sanskrit, University of Poona. ———. 1982. Some Theoretical Problems in Pāṇini’s Grammar (Post-Graduate and Research Department Series No. 16.). Pune: Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute. ———. 2002. ‘On the Architecture of Pāṇini’s Grammar’, three lectures delivered at the Hyderabad Conference on the Architecture of Grammar and at the University of California, Los Angeles, in 2002. www.stanford.edu~kiparskyPapershyderabad. pdf (accessed 15 December 2006). Kiparsky, Paul, and Frits Staal. 1969. ‘Syntactic and Semantic Relations in Pāṇini’, Foundations of Language 5: 83–117. Knight, David M. 1970. Classical Scientific Papers – Chemistry, Second Series: Papers on the Nature and Arrangement of the Chemical Elements, Arranged and Introduced. London: Mills and Boon. Lakoff, George. 1971. ‘On Generative Semantics’, in D. D. Steinberg and L. A. Jakobovits (eds.), Semantics: An Interdisciplinary Reader in Philosophy, Linguistics and Psychology, 232–296. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Law, Vivien, and Ineke Sluiter (eds.). 1995. Dionysius Thrax and the Techne grammatike. Münster: Nodus Publikationen. Le Mée, Jean. 1989. ‘Pāṇinīyas and Engineers’, in A. Kumar et al. (eds.), Studies in Indology: Prof. Rasik Vihari Joshi Felicitation Volume, 113–121. New Delhi: Shree Publishing House. Liebich, Bruno. 1919. Zur Einführung in die indische einheimische Sprachwissenschaft: II. Historische Einführung und Dhātupāṭha. Heidelberg: Carl Winter. Lüders, Heinrich. 1919. ‘Die śākischen Mūra’, in Sitzungsberichte der Königl. Preussischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 734–766. Berlin: Verlag der Akademie der Wissenschaften. Mendeleev, Dmitri. 1880. ‘The Periodic Law of the Chemical Elements (Continued from p. 72)’, The Chemical News XLI(1056): 83. [Knight 1970: 207]. Musso, Pierre. 1998. Télécommunications et philosophie des réseaux: la postérité paradoxalede Saint-Simon. Paris: PUF. Nassif, Philippe. 2016. ‘Qu’est-ce que la philosophie? 2: Est-ce une invention de l’Occident?’ Interview avec Souleymane Bachir Diagne, Philosophie Magazine 100: 56–57, juin. Palsule, Gajanan Balkrishna. 1961. The Sanskrit Dhātupāṭhas: A Critical Study. Pune: The University of Poona. Renou, Louis. 1942. ‘Les connexions entre le rituel et la Grammaire en Sanskrit’, Journal Asiatique 233(1941–42): 105–165. [Reprint in N. Balbir and G-J. Pinault (eds.). 1997. Choix d’études, vol. 2, 311–371. Paris: Presses de l’École française de l’Extrème-Orient.] Robins, R. H. 1979. A Short History of Linguistics, Second ed. London and New York: Longman. Roodbergen, J. A. F. 1974. Patañjali’s Vyākaraṇa-Mahābhāṣya, Bahuvrīhidvandvāhnika (P. 2.2.23–2.2.38). Text, Translation and Notes. Pune: Centre of Advanced Study in Sanskrit, University of Poona. ———. 2011. The Aṣṭādhyāyī of Pāṇini with Translation and Explanatory Notes, vol. XV (4.1.1–75). Pune: Vaidika Saṁśodhana Maṇḍala.

The art of grammar in context  41 Saint-Simon, Henri de (1760–1825). 2013. Henri de Saint-Simon (1760–1825): Œuvres Complètes, ed. by Juliette Grange, Pierre Musso, Philippe Régnier, and Franck Yonnet. Paris: PUF. Schlegel, August Wilhelm von. 1832. Réflexions sur l’étude des langues asiatiques, adressées à Sir James Mackintosh suivies d’une lettre à M. Horace Hayman Wilson, ed. by Bonn Weber and N. Maze, Paris. Searle, John R. 2002. ‘End of the Revolution’, The New York Review of Books 33, February 28. Seuren, Pieter A. M. 1998. Western Linguistics: An Historical Introduction. Oxford: Blackwell. Staal, Frits. 1965. ‘Euclid and Pāṇini’, Philosophy East and West 15: 99–116. Also in: Staal 1988, 143–160. ———. 1966. ‘Indian Semantics I’, Journal of the American Oriental Society 86: 304–311. ———. 1988. Universals: Studies in Indian Logic and Linguistics. Chicago: The University of Chicago. ———. 1989. Rules Without Meaning: Ritual, Mantras and the Human Sciences. New York: Peter Lang. ———. 1993. Concepts of Science in Europe and Asia. Leiden: International Institute for Asian Studies. ———. 2006. ‘Artificial Languages Across Sciences and Civilizations’, Journal of Indian Philosophy 34: 89–141. Thieme, Paul. 1935. Pāṇini and the Veda: Studies in the Early History of Linguistic Science in India. Allahabad: Globe Press. ———. 1983. ‘Meaning and Form of the “Grammar” of Pāṇini’, Studien zur Indologie und Iranistik 8–9(1982–83): 3–34. [Kleine Schriften II, ed. by R. SöhnenThieme, 1170–1201. Stuttgart: Steiner, 1995.] Versteegh, Kees. 1986. ‘Latinitas, Hellenismos, “Arabiyya” ’, Historiographia Linguistica 13: 2–3: 425–448. Wilkins, Charles. 1808. A Grammar of the Sanskrita Language. London: The Author.

2 Sanskrit and computer science Anand Mishra

The ongoing academic work that comprises Sanskrit and computers can be summarised under the following broad categories: 1 The first area since the advent of desktop computers is to use it as a tool for typesetting Sanskrit texts. 2 The second big domain is creation of databases and annotating its content with useful attributes that can be used to program search engines and other similar services. 3 The third area is using the techniques of computational linguistics to develop programs that can undertake some kind of Sanskrit language processing. For example, generation of verb conjugations or nominal declensions and analyses of sandhi or basic parts of speech. Apart from these exercises aimed towards practical results, one can mention two-fold theoretical efforts: 4 To demonstrate the presence of some features of modern computing in the earlier works on Sanskrit-linguistics and other related fields. 5 Use of concepts, principles or certain features of Sanskrit, Pāṇinian grammar or other areas like Indian logic (Nyāya) or techniques of textinterpretation (Mīmāṃsā) for development of solutions in the field of computer science. A number of institutions and individuals are engaged in the first three areas of designing and developing fonts, transliteration mappings, annotated databases and application of computational techniques for Sanskrit language and corpora. Some of the important web-based electronic resources are: GRETIL – Göttingen Register of Electronic Texts in Indian Languages and related Indological materials from Central and Southeast Asia. It is an initiative of the Niedersächsische Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Göttingen.1

Sanskrit and computer science  43 TITUS – Thesaurus Indogermanischer Text- und Sprachmaterialien (Johann Wolfgang Goethe-Universität, Frankfurt am Main.2 SARIT – Search and Retrieval of Indic Texts.3 Tagging of texts conforms the Text Encoding Initiative (TEI).4 DCS – Digital Corpus of Sanskrit: Advanced search options from a collection of lemmatised Sanskrit texts are possible at the DCS, developed and maintained by Oliver Hellwig. Users can search for lexical units and their collocations in a corpus of about 3,250,000 manually tagged words in 430,000 sentences. In addition, DCS generates distributional key values and performs statistical tests that can be used to assess the distribution of lexical units from a chronological perspective.5 The Sanskrit Library – maintained by Peter Scharf, it provides access to digitised texts and manuscript images, lexical resources, linguistics software, and computerised research and study tools that analyse and maximise the utility of digitised Sanskrit materials.6 A more comprehensive list is available at indology: resources for indological scholarship. This website is maintained by Dominik Wujastyk.7 There are several individuals and institutions engaged in developing computer programs for processing Sanskrit texts. Chief among them are SanskritTagger8 developed by Oliver Hellwig, the Sanskrit Heritage Site9 developed by Gérard Huet, Sanskrit analysis tools for building Sanskrit– Hindi Translator (SaHiT)10 and the toolkits developed by the Technology Development for Indian Languages (TDIL) Program of the Department of Electronics and Information Technology of the Government of India.11 The proceedings of the International Symposia on Sanskrit Computational Linguistics that are being organised at regular intervals since 2007 cover the prime developments in this field.12 The current state of research in this field acknowledges the challenges involved in computational processing of Sanskrit owing to its specific features (Goyal et al. 2012: 1012–1014). Sanskrit has a higher degree of inflectional morphology. The recognition of individual words within a sentence is difficult owing to Sandhi. The individual sounds, especially in case of Vedic literature, require a number of additional phonetic features rendering its orthographic presentation difficult. Although all these problems are not insurmountable, and several solutions are already supplied by the researchers, at the same time the very fact that these hurdles pose themselves indicates that Sanskrit is not (or at least not yet) suitable for computers. One of the major efforts of the groups of researchers working in this field – and unfortunately their number is very few and funding even less – is to overcome this unsuitability of Sanskrit for the computers. This unsuitability is primarily because the programming architecture, data structures, conventions and program codes that facilitate the services of a computer are mostly written for Western languages, especially English. Sanskrit, with its features that distinguish it from English and other similar

44  Anand Mishra languages, requires substantial efforts to catch up. It should be mentioned here that most of the programming projects working in the field of Sanskrit computational linguistics employ the theories and techniques of modern computational linguistics established in recent decades on Sanskrit. Thus, while it is a welcome and necessary initiative to develop them, there is nothing in their methodology or techniques that can be attributed to Sanskrit. The claim that Sanskrit is the most suitable language for computers rests on a few assertions made by certain scholars and further taken up and blown out of proportion by activists and populists. In the following, I will attempt to summarise the dynamics of this claim. In the year 1985 Rick Briggs, a NASA scientist, published a paper on ‘Knowledge Representation in Sanskrit and Artificial Intelligence’ in which he compared the system of semantic roles (kārakas) with representational techniques in Artificial Intelligence and posited that: ‘Among the accomplishments of the grammarians can be reckoned a method for paraphrasing Sanskrit in a manner that is identical not only in essence but in form with current work in Artificial Intelligence’ (Briggs 1985: 32–34). This statement is illustrative of the aims to extract the techniques of representation in the Pāṇinian grammar that can be fruitfully employed for computational processing. Following this a ‘National Conference on Knowledge Representation and Inference in Sanskrit’ was organised in Bangalore in December 1986 ‘to extract this hidden algorithm of automatic semantic parsing from the Sanskrit pandits’ (Briggs 1987: 99). A group of scholars from the Indian Institute of Technology, Kanpur undertook projects incorporating Pāṇinian perspectives, especially the kāraka-system, with modern techniques of Natural Language Processing (NLP). Their aim was to develop a machine translation tool for English and Hindi based on insights gained by the grammar of Pāṇini (Bharati et al. 1994). The work initiated is followed by the ‘AnusAraka’ Language Resource Development project. This is still an ongoing project and, once completed, should ‘allow users to access text in any Indian language, after translation from the source language (i.e. English or any other regional Indian language)’.13 The nature of the previous efforts has been to utilise some of the insights from the Pāṇinian grammar and apply them to the standard techniques of Natural Language Processing. The next step comes from researchers working in the field of computational linguistics. A general opinion, which is oft articulated here, is that Sanskrit is one of the most suitable languages for computers. This is normally grounded on the assumption that it is a well-structured language, which in turn is justified on the basis of the algebraic rules of its grammar. Some scholars opine that Sanskrit, being a perfect language, with a grammar like the one by Pāṇini, comes closer to a computer language, and in the future even computer programs will be written in Sanskrit. A first effort in this regard is to create an electronic version of the corpus of Pāṇini’s grammar, which is prepared by Dr Shivamurthy Swamiji of Sri

Sanskrit and computer science  45 Taralabalu Jagadguru Brihanmath, Sirigere, Karnataka.14 Shivamurthy Swamiji is also developing a rule-based application of the Pāṇinian derivational process.15 Another database of examples found in major commentaries of Pāṇini’s grammar is prepared by the French Institute of Pondicherry. These are published in printed form as well as CD-ROM version including books on collection of examples, on compounds and on verb inflections (Grimal 2005, 2006a, 2006b, 2010).16 A digital edition of the grammatical corpus is prepared by Wiebke Petersen under the project: ‘Aṣṭādhyāyī 2.0’ (Petersen and Soubusta 2013: 84–102).17 Attempts to implement the content and processes of the Aṣṭādhyāyī are relatively recent and only a few in number. Most of them base themselves upon the research and publications in the area of formalisation of the Pāṇinian grammar. It is imperative, therefore, to first look into the outcome of the investigations in this field. Apart from a few early publications to explore the mathematical aspects of Pāṇini18 the tone for the research towards formalisation of the Aṣṭādhyāyī was set by developments in the generative grammar approach of Noam Chomsky in the late fifties and early sixties. The classical work in this regard is his book ‘Syntactic structures’ (Chomsky 1957). Chomsky declared Pāṇini’s grammar to be the first and earliest version of a generative grammar.19 The idea of a formal grammar of language that can generate an infinite number of utterances with a limited set of grammatical rules and a finite set of terms evoked a close parallel with the Aṣṭādhyāyī. Accordingly, some Pāṇinian experts published papers with the prime aim to compare and show the presence of Chomskyan findings in the grammatical system of Pāṇini. In a paper written in 1965, Murray Fowler attempted to test whether Pāṇini’s rules could be ordered in a manner so that they could be implemented through a Finite State Automaton (Fowler 1965: 44–47). This corresponds to the Type-3 or regular grammars in the Chomsky hierarchy.20 Frits Staal promptly corrected this assumption in a brief communication in 1966 and showed that, because of the way Pāṇini’s rules are conceived and organised, it would not be possible to equate them with a regular grammar (Staal 1966: 206–209). Staal further showed parallels with the Type-1 or context-sensitive grammars and certain phonetic rules for replacements of sounds in the Pāṇinian grammar. In the year 1965, he published an article on the ‘Context-sensitive rules in Pāṇini’ (Staal 1965b). He selected rules from the sixth chapter of the Aṣṭādhyāyī. He took the terminology from Chomsky21 and described the phenomenon of sound replacements dependent on their right or left contexts using the representation a b  c  d where ‘a’ is left context, ‘d’ is right context, ‘b’ is the sound to be replaced and ‘c’ is the replacement (i.e., ‘b’ is replaced by ‘c’). He showed that

46  Anand Mishra Pāṇinian meta-language can even represent the process of substitution for more than one phoneme in a collective manner. This is demonstrated by the convention for respective correspondence of two lists of equal cardinality. This would be equivalent to the following representation: a b1 ... bn  c1 ... c n  d Here, b1 is replaced by c1, b2 is replaced by c2 etc. Further, he notes that if the contexts remain the same, then they need not be repeated every time, and the idea of anuvṛtti (carrying over to subsequent rules) is applied in the grammatical corpus to present them in a more succinct manner. Thus, a1 b1  c1  d1 a1 b2  c 2  d 2 can be represented in a more concise manner as follows: a1 b1  c1  d1

b 2 

c2  d2

Staal extended the comparison beyond the phonetic rules and published a paper in which he showed that the methods of generative grammar are similar to the syntax of nominal compounds in Sanskrit (Staal 1966a: 198). The comparison and motivation from the generative grammar was extended to the syntactic and semantic relations in Pāṇini in a paper published jointly by Paul Kiparsky and Frits Staal in 1969. In this paper, the authors proposed that Pāṇini’s grammar is a system of rules for converting semantic representations of sentences (concepts like ‘agent’, ‘goal’, ‘location’) into phonetic representations (case endings, verbal affixes etc.). This is achieved via two intermediate levels, which may be respectively compared with the levels of deep (underlying) structure and surface structure in a generative grammar. The deep level corresponds to the level of kāraka-relations such as ‘(underlying) subject’ or ‘(underlying) object’, and the surface level represents morphological categories like nominal cases, derivational affixes etc. (Kiparsky and Staal 1969: 84). While carrying out the comparisons with the generative grammar, they pointed out that there are essential differences as well, especially in the manner in which rules are ordered and organised in the Aṣṭādhyāyī and the way constituent structures are used (Kiparsky and Staal 1969: 105–106). The authors worked out and improved successively this model and the actual version is stated by Kiparsky in a paper published in 2009 (Kiparsky 2009: 35–37).22

Sanskrit and computer science  47 The generative approach started by Staal’s comparison of the context-sensitive rules and extended and developed by other scholars like Kiparsky – and to some extent acknowledged by experts like Johannes Bronkhorst (1979: 146–157), S.D. Joshi and J.A.F. Roodbergen23 – had a far reaching impact on the attempts by later scholars aiming for computerisation of the Aṣṭādhyāyī. This will be evident from the following summary of these efforts. In the year 1993, Saroja Bhate and Subhash Kak published an article on ‘Pāṇini’s grammar and computer science’. They defined a Pāṇinian rule as follows: A Ps [Pāṇini’s rule (A.M.)] is a single clause proposition consisting of a subject, a predicate, and an environment. It is a statement about grammatical features such as a suffix, an augment, a substitute, accent, reduplication, elision, and compounding. It is usually of the form A is B in the environment C. This can be written in the following formula: Ps: A → B(C) Here → stands for is or becomes, and () stands for when, A stands for the subject, B represents predicate, and C stands for environment. While A and B are the necessary components of a sūtra [rule (A.M.)], C is optional. (Bhate and Kak 1993: 5) According to the authors the three categories A, B and C can be either a single member or multiple member categories or a combination of both. A multi-member category for A would look as follows: Ps: A1-n  B  C  The nature of this formulation by Bhate and Kak is close to the contextsensitive rules mentioned earlier. The main contention of this representation, however, is a general one. It says that in the grammatical process a given element A attains a particular identity or gets transformed to some other form B. This happens when there is some suitable condition (C). It does not take into account the details of derivational process, nor does it provide a practical framework to apply the rules. Moreover, it does not account for instances where the derivational history or earlier stages provide the conditions for some operation. Neither does it specify the different kinds of operations that are needed for the process of synthesis. Apart from a few examples, to show the formal nature of some of the rules of Aṣṭādhyāyī, it fails to develop a workable model of the Pāṇinian processes. In his article on the context-sensitive nature of Pāṇinian rules, Staal clearly notes that this is the case only with a limited number of rules. To quote him: ‘In the following we shall be concerned with some rules of Sanskrit

48  Anand Mishra grammar as described by Pāṇini, which are context-sensitive. It is neither suggested that such rules suffice for the description of Sanskrit grammar, nor that Pāṇini thought so’ (Staal 1965: 63–64). Despite the cautious note of Staal, Bhate and Kak suggest the proximity of computer programs and Pāṇinian grammar, primarily on the basis of such rules. The following quotation by them is illustrative of this hypothesis: The rules [of Aṣṭādhyāyī (A.M.)] are of different kinds: some are universal and context-sensitive transformations, others operate sequentially or recursively. Generally these rules are expressed in three groups: (i) rules of interpretation or meta-rules – sañjā and paribhāṣā rules, (ii) rules of affixation-rules prescribing affixes after two kinds of basic dhātu [i.e. verbal (A.M.)] and prātipadika [i.e. nominal (A.M.)] roots, and (iii) rules of transformation for the stems and the suffixes – the morpho-phonemic rules. Note that a computer program has exactly the same general features of context-sensitive rules, recursion, and sequential rule application. It is not surprising, therefore, that these sūtras [rules (A.M.)] have been compared to a computer program that generates Sanskrit sentences. Pāṇini’s grammar is algebraic where a finite set of rules generates an infinite number of words and sentences. (Bhate and Kak 1993: 2) They do not show the recursive nature of Pāṇinian rules, and the contextsensitive character, mentioned earlier by them, is not what Staal demonstrates only for some phonemic substitutions.24 Taking the previous clue, Sridhar Subbanna and Shrinivasa Varakhedi, in their paper on computational structure of the Aṣṭādhyāyī, mention that ‘[T]he structure [of Aṣṭādhyāyī (A.M.)] consists of definitions, rules, and meta-rules that are context-sensitive and operate in sequence or recursively’ (Subbanna and Varakhedi 2009: 56).25 Following the same note, Pawan Goyal, Amba Kulkarni and Laxmidhar Behera posit the context-sensitive nature of operational (vidhi-) rules. To quote them: ‘It has been already recognised that Pāṇini expresses all such rules as context sensitive rules’ (Goyal et al. 2009: 144, 153).26 The claims of Peter Scharf and Malcolm D. Hyman about the XML and Pearl scripts they wrote for sandhi, nominal and verbal inflections, are modest in comparison to the previous examples (Scharf 2009: 117–125). The authors note that [W]e look forward to utilizing the enriched framework in a revised, faithful model of Pāṇinian declension. We are currently enriching the XML tag set further to allow derivation of participle stems and hope to go on to implement derivational morphology generally. (Scharf 2009: 125)

Sanskrit and computer science  49 Hyman introduces an XML vocabulary for expressing Pāṇini’s Sandhi rules (Hyman 2009: 253–265). XML, however, again is a framework to implement context-free grammars, which sometimes in their later variations, like XML-Schema, can be extended to represent context-sensitive rules (DeRose 1997: 105–106, 139–142). The framework and the corresponding data structures, therefore, fall short of the potential to implement the rules where the conditions are formulated in a more complex manner than the immediate left or right contexts. To conclude, scholars like Staal took inspiration from the generative grammar approach of Chomsky and tried to show that some of the rules of the Aṣṭādhyāyī correspond to the Chomsky hierarchy. The fact that grammars listed in the Chomsky hierarchy are suitable for computer languages prompted some to hypothesise that the entire grammatical process can be written like a computer program. The previous review shows that the recent attempts to computerise the Aṣṭādhyāyī harp on the context-sensitive nature of Pāṇinian rules. There is, however, no study that establishes it to be sufficient for implementation of the whole of the Aṣṭādhyāyī on the computer. Pāṇini’s work with a formal structure that ‘can be easily adapted so as to perform numerical processing’ (Bhate and Kak 1993: 2) is still waiting to be implemented on the computer. In this regard, the following remark of J.E.M. Houben made a few years back is still pertinent: Since at least twenty years there have been ideas to develop ‘programs replicating Pāṇinian prakriyā’ and programs that analyse ‘strings in terms of Pāṇinian rules’ (cp. Cardona 1999: 272f). In spite of several elaborate and sophisticated attempts in this direction, it seems we are still far from a comprehensive and convincing end result. Why is it proving so difficult, for at least some twenty years, to computerize Pāṇini’s grammar? Perhaps a major reason is that we are not clear on some crucial issues regarding Pāṇini’s grammar. (Houben 2009: 18) The previous scepticism is shared by other experts of Pāṇinian grammar. During his keynote address at the ‘Third International Symposium on Sanskrit Computational Linguistics’ at Hyderabad in 2009, S.D. Joshi had the following to remark: Reading statements about information coding in which Pāṇini is hailed as an early language code information scientist, I am reminded of the situation in the early sixties, after Chomsky had published his book on Syntactic Structures in 1957. Here Chomsky introduced a type of grammar called transformational generative grammar. It earned him a great of applause, globally, I may say [sic]. Then it dawned on linguists that Pāṇini had also composed a generative grammar. So Pāṇini

50  Anand Mishra was hailed as the fore-runner of generative grammar. That earned him a lot of interest among linguists. Many linguists, foreign as well as Indian, joined the bandwagon, and posed as experts in Pāṇinian grammar on Chomskyan terms. Somewhat later, after Chomsky had drastically revised his ideas, and after the enthusiasm for Chomsky had subsided, it became clear that the idea of transformation is alien to Pāṇini, and that the Aṣṭādhyāyī is not a generative grammar in the Chomskyan sense. Now a new type of linguistics has come up, called Sanskrit Computational Linguistics with three capital letters. Although Chomsky is out, Pāṇini is still there, ready to be acclaimed as the fore-runner of Sanskrit Computational Linguistics. (Joshi 2009: 1) Here it should be noted that some scholars have expressed their disagreement regarding the very possibility of computer automation of the Aṣṭādhyāyī. Thus, Frits Staal conjectured in the year 1966: ‘The third stage, that of automation [of Aṣṭādhyāyī (A.M.)] . . . may not even be effectively realizable’ (Staal 1966: 209). Hartmut Scharfe noted some four decades after Staal: ‘We have to reject, I believe, the idea that Pāṇini’s grammar is, as it were, a machine that produces correct Sanskrit words and sentences, if only we apply its rules in conformity with established meta-rules of application’ (Scharfe 2009: 85). The previous doubts expressed by some experts of Pāṇinian grammar supply a ground to initiate a discussion on the possible problems in considering Pāṇini’s grammar as a computer program. There are, however, few explorations on this counter aspect of Pāṇini’s grammar. A few observations, therefore, in this regard, are noteworthy. A close examination of the main corpus of Pāṇini’s grammar, namely the rules of Aṣṭādhyāyī together with the lists of verbal roots and nominal stems, indicates that a significant amount of modelling would be required for its formal re-presentation. This re-presentation is necessary because Pāṇini’s grammar is formulated in an oral framework, and its application is meant for human individuals adept in Sanskrit language as well as proficient in the grammar. To re-present it in a non-oral and formal framework that facilitates an automatic application of the derivational process would entail a re-working of the grammatical corpus. There is no critical edition of the Pāṇinian corpus. Moreover, as Hartmut Scharfe notes: ‘We have no independent assurance that the division of sūtras in our traditional text is always the one intended by Pāṇini’ (Scharfe 2009: 33). The rules are not always stated in an explicit manner and require ample interpretation for their comprehension and application. Patañjali (150 B.C.E.), who composed the celebrated commentary Mahābhāṣya on parts of Aṣṭādhyāyī, points out this in the following lines: It is not that one derives linguistic expressions only through rules of grammar. Then how are the linguistic expressions derived? Through

Sanskrit and computer science  51 rules of grammar together with reasoned explanations (vyākhyāna). Now, if it is to be said that reasoned explanation is nothing but rules separated into constituent parts, then it is not correct, because it is not just dissected words such as vṛddhiḥ āt aic (of a rule like vṛddhirādaic). What, then, is reasoned explanation? It consists of examples, counter examples, completion of statements by filling the missing words. Reasoned explanation is all this combined together.27 It follows that one needs to provide mechanisms for incorporating the reasoned explanation (vyākhyāna) as well, if the formalisation is to be put to application. This, however, is not mentioned in the rules of grammar. In other words, the grammatical corpus of Aṣṭādhyāyī does not explicitly incorporate the understanding of its application. Therefore, for the purpose of application of grammar, mere rules of Aṣṭādhyāyī are not enough. Another problem is the lack of consistent application of its meta-linguistic conventions. This has led to the proposition that there must be successive additions to the corpus of Aṣṭādhyāyī. This hypothesis is further corroborated by the presence of ‘conflicting and incompatible elements in different parts of the text’ (Joshi and Bhate 1984: 252–253). One further handicap is the language of the Aṣṭādhyāyī itself. The grammatical corpus is in Sanskrit. This means the rules of the grammar are applied to the language of the grammar as well. Yet they are applied selectively and not in a consequent manner. Not all the rules that are applied for formation of linguistic expressions are applied in the formulation of grammatical expressions. In other words, the rules of Aṣṭādhyāyī are applied to the language of Aṣṭādhyāyī only as long as clarity of the grammatical corpus is not undermined. Another problem is the loss of meta-linguistic information, especially the accentuation and nasalisation of the grammatical elements. Further, metarules also do not cover all the eventualities. The observations noted earlier suggest that it would not be possible to input the text of Aṣṭādhyāyī and get as output a formal representation that a computer program can understand or implement. This does not negate the fact that Aṣṭādhyāyī is itself an attempt to present the grammatical system in a formal manner. Still, it was meant for oral transmission and human application.28 It would be anachronistic to expect that it should also accord for the requirements of machines developed some two-and-a-half millennia later. Moreover, any such claim would, on the one hand, ignore the efforts of later scholars of Pāṇinian grammar to amend, explain and bring consistency in the corpus through several conventions and, on the other hand, ignore the works of modern researchers as well. The previous summary shows that while some of the claims, e.g., presence of modern features of formal linguistics such as context sensitive rules, techniques of set formations, the idea of inheritance etc. can be perceived in Pāṇini’s grammar, these do not suffice to prove that it functions like a computer program. On the other hand it remains to be established in which

52  Anand Mishra manner and how far Pāṇini’s grammar can be compared with a computer program. Reiterating that Pāṇini’s grammar functions like a computer program or Sanskrit is like a computer language best suited for AI without supplying valid proofs for it is the process of ‘scientification’ of the study of Sanskrit grammar. Those who are expressing it in a vocal manner aim to re-establish the glory of Sanskrit in one way or another. In their opinion, since computers or the science of artificial intelligence are the most advanced fields of human intelligence, connecting them to be an off-shoot of Sanskrit language or Pāṇini’s grammar will justify the relevance of Sanskrit in modern times. Moreover, Sanskrit and the various ancient sciences such as grammar (Vyākaraṇa), logic (Nyāya) or techniques of textual interpretation (Mīmāṃsā) as a potential source of future developments in this field would show the deep ‘scientific’ nature of ancient Indian culture. There can be two main reasons why such claims are made before there is any valid proof for them: either the wish to show that ancient Indian culture was ‘scientific’ also in the modern understanding of this word or the expectation that the sciences of ancient India may contribute something significant to the future scientific developments. Both these desires can be associated with the obsession of glorifying the past in a curious manner, namely to portray it as scientifically better-developed than the present era. The political ramifications of such an attitude are increasingly becoming apparent in present day India. This behaviour is, however, paradoxical. Those emphasising the ‘scientific’ nature of the ancient texts and attempting to bring them in line with the modern sciences, in fact, indicate that they somehow accept the superiority of the modern sciences. Instead of exploring the content of the ancient texts on its own merits, the desire to compare them with some modern paradigm shows the acceptance of the modern paradigm as more advanced! One may even say that it entails the peril of ignoring or forgetting the actual, maybe more significant yet altogether different content that it might contain.

Notes 1 http://gretil.sub.uni-goettingen.de (all weblinks referred to in this article have been last accessed 12 September 2016). 2 http://titus.uni-frankfurt.de/indexd.htm. 3 http://sarit.indology.info/exist/apps/sarit/works/. 4 http://sarit.indology.info/exist/apps/sarit/docs/encoding-guidelines-simple. html. 5 http://kjc-sv013.kjc.uni-heidelberg.de/dcs/index.php. 6 http://sanskritlibrary.org/index.html. 7 http://indology.info/etexts/. 8 It generates lexical and part-of-speech analyses of digital Sanskrit texts using a stochastic language model. www.sanskritreader.de/. The related publications include (Hellwig 2009: 266–277) as well as (Hellwig 2010: 162–172).

Sanskrit and computer science  53 9 It includes a Sanskrit Parser as well as a Tagger. http://sanskrit.inria.fr/. 10 This project is based at the Special Centre for Sanskrit Studies of Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. http://sanskrit.jnu.ac.in/index.jsp. 11 This includes a consortium of seven institutes: University of Hyderabad, Jawaharlal Nehru University, IIT-Hyderabad, Sanskrit Academy, Hyderabad, Poornaprajna Vidyapeetha, Bangalore, Rashtriya Sanskrit Vidyapeetha, Tirupati and JRR Sanskrit University, Jaipur. http://tdil-dc.in/san/. 12 The proceedings are available in the following volumes: (Huet et al. 2009; Kulkarni and Huet 2009; Jha 2010); and Kulkarni and Dangarikar 2013. 13 The partner institutions of this project are: Chinmaya International Foundation (CIF) Shodha Sansthan, Kerala; Language Technologies Research Centre, IIT Hyderabad; Department of Sanskrit Studies, Hyderabad University. For more information, see the project website. http://ltrc.iiit.ac.in/~anusaaraka/. 14 www.taralabalu.org/panini/. 15 During his visit to Heidelberg on 17.05.2013, he showed me his application for the declension of nominal stems, which he hopes to finish in the near future. He told me that he is attempting to follow the exact process of Pāṇini’s grammar, although I did not have the opportunity to look into the program codes. Thus far, there is no publication to my knowledge on the manner in which it is implemented. 16 www.ifpindia.org/node/826. 17 http://panini.phil.hhu.de/panini/panini/. 18 These include publications by V.N. Misra (1964: 157–178) and M.D. Pandit (1966, 1974: 179–192). These are, however, mostly of the nature of detecting some mathematical similarities. Among the early publications are the articles of Klaus Mylius (1980: 233–248) on the application of mathematical methods in the Vedic research, which discusses mostly the statistical methods, as also Madhav M. Deshpande (1992: 15–27) comparing the Pāṇinian features with developments in computational linguistics. 19 E.g., speaking at the Asiatic Society of India, Kolkata on 22.11.2001, he tells that ‘the first generative grammar in the modern sense was Pāṇini’s grammar’ (Chattopadhyay and Chaudhuri 2001: 15–19). 20 The grammars of a formal language are put in a hierarchy called the Chomsky hierarchy. The Type-0 corresponds to unrestricted grammars, Type-1 to context-sensitive grammars, Type-2 to context-free grammars and Type-3 to regular grammars. Chomsky hierarchy plays an important role in the area of formal languages, which have special application in computer science, see Chomsky 1956: 113–124, 1959: 137–167; Chomsky and Shützenberger 1963: 118–161. 21 He provides the reference Chomsky and Miller 1963: 294. 22 For a history of development of this model and critical review, see: (Houben 1999: 41–46). 23 Note the following remarks: ‘Since it reproduces standard speech, the A. [Aṣṭādhyāyī] is a prescriptive grammar. It states the rules which must be applied, if the speaker wants to convey meaning in a grammatically correct form. It is also a generative grammar, in two senses. First in this (Chomskyan) sense that in the process of derivation the word form is fully described. Secondly, in the sense that, with the help of a limited number of rules (about 4000), and with the help of the Dhātupāṭha [list of verbal roots (A.M.)] and Gaṇapāṭha [selected list of nominal stems (A.M.)], which provide the basic lexical elements, the A. is able to produce an infinite number of words, and thus, an infinite number of sentences’. (Joshi and Roodbergen 1991: 15–16). Although Joshi uses the term generative grammar taken from the Chomskyan context, at the same time he clarifies that it

54  Anand Mishra be used in a slightly different manner in Pāṇinian system. (Joshi 1968: ix.fn.22). See also: (Joshi and Roodbergen 1980: vi–xv). 24 To substantiate their claims, they further point out the principles of numerical correspondence, the idea of ellipsis, code-letters (i.e., the markers) and the law of general and exceptional rules. 25 Kiparsky (2002) seems to be misquoted here by Subbanna and Varakhedi. The statement is from (Bhate and Kak 1993: 2). 26 By ‘all such rules’ is meant here rules for assigning a name, substitution, insertion, deletion. They refer to the previous study of Bhate and Kak (1993). 27 na hi sūtrataḥ eva śabdān pratipadyate. kiṃ tarhi. vyākhyānataḥ ca. nanu ca tad eva sūtraṃ vigṛhītaṃ vyākhyānaṃ bhavati. na kevalāni carcāpadāni vyākhyānaṃ vṛddhiḥ āt aic iti. kiṃ tarhi. udāharaṇaṃ pratyudāharaṇaṃ vākyādhyāhāraḥ iti etat samuditaṃ vyākhyānaṃ bhavati. (Paspaśāhnika 122–124). 28 For arguments, that the Aṣṭādhyāyī was developed keeping only oral representational apparatus at hand see also (Paspaśāhnika 155–163) in (Joshi and Roodbergen 1986: 40).

References Bharati, Akshar, Vineet Chaitanya, and Rajeev Sangal. 1994. Natural Language Processing: A Paninian Perspective. New Delhi: Prentice-Hall of India. Bhate, Saroja, and Subhash Kak. 1993. ‘Pāṇini’s Grammar and Computer Science’, Annals of the Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute 72: 79–94. Briggs, Rick. 1985. ‘Knowledge Representation in Sanskrit and Artificial Intelligence’, AI Magazine 6(1): 32–39. ———. 1987. ‘Conference Report: Knowledge Representation and Inference in Sanskrit’, AI Magazine 8(2): 99. Bronkhorst, Johannes. 1979. ‘The Role of Meanings in Pāṇini’s Grammar’, Indian Linguistics 40: 146–157. Cardona, George. 1999. Recent Research in Pāṇinian Studies. New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass. Chattopadhyay, Suhrid Sankar, and Kalyan Chaudhuri. 2001. ‘An Event in Kolkata’, Frontline 18–25: 15–19. Chomsky, Noam. 1956a. ‘Three Models for the Description of Language’, IRE Transactions on Information Theory 2(3): 113–124. ———. 1957. Syntactic Structures. The Hague: Mouton. ———. 1959. ‘On Certain Formal Properties of Grammars’, Information and Control 2: 137–167. Chomsky, Noam, and G. A. Miller. 1963. ‘Introduction to the Formal Analysis of Natural Languages’, in R. Duncan Luce, Robert R. Bush, and Eugene Galanter (eds.), Handbook of Mathematical Psychology, 269–322. New York: John Wiley and Sons, Inc. Chomsky, Noam, and Marcel P. Shützenberger. 1963. ‘The Algebraic Theory of Context Free Languages’, in P. Braffort and D. Hirschberg (eds.), Computer Programming and Formal Languages, 118–161. Amsterdam: North-Holland. DeRose, Steven J. 1997. The SGML FAQ Book: Understanding the Foundation of HTML and XML. Boston: Kluwer Academic. Deshpande, Madhav M. 1992. ‘Pāṇini in the Context of Modernity’, in R. N. Srivastava (ed.), Language and Text-Studies in Honour of Ashok R. Kelkar, 15–27. New Delhi: Kalinga Publications.

Sanskrit and computer science  55 Fowler, Murray. 1965. ‘How Ordered Are Pāṇini’s Rules?’ Journal of the American Oriental Society 85(1): 44–47. Goyal, Pawan, Gérard Huet, Amba Kulkarni, Peter Scharf, and Ralph Bunker. 2012. ‘A Distributed Platform for Sanskrit Processing’, in Proceedings of COLING 2012: Technical Papers, 1011–1028. Mumbai: COLING 2012. Goyal, Pawan, Amba Kulkarni, and Laxmidhar Behera. 2009. ‘Computer Simulation of Aṣṭādhyāyī: Some Insights’, in Gerard Huet, Amba Kulkarni, and Peter Scharf (eds.), Sanskrit Computational Linguistics Symposium, 139–161. Heidelberg: Springer. Grimal, François. 2005. Pāṇinīyavyākaraṇodāharaṇakośaḥ. Tirupati: Rashtriya Sanskrit Vidyapeetha. ———. 2006a. Samāsaprakaraṇam. Tirupati: Rashtriya Sanskrit Vidyapeetha. ———. 2006b. Udāharaṇasamāhāraḥ. Tirupati: Rashtriya Sanskrit Vidyapeetha. ———. 2010. Tiṅantaprakaraṇam. Tirupati: Rashtriya Sanskrit Vidyapeetha. Hellwig, Oliver. 2009. ‘SanskritTagger, a Stochastic Lexical and POS Tagger for Sanskrit’, in Gerard Huet, Amba Kulkarni, and Peter Scharf (eds.), Sanskrit Computational Linguistics Symposium, 266–277. Heidelberg: Springer. ———. 2010. ‘Performance of a Lexical and POS Tagger for Sanskrit’, in Girish Nath Jha (ed.), Sanskrit Computational Linguistics – 4th International Symposium, 162–172. Heidelberg: Springer. Houben, Jan E. M. 1999. ‘Meaning Statements in Pāṇini’s Grammar: On the Purpose and Context of the Aṣṭādhyāyī’, Studien zur Indologie und Iranistik 22: 23–54. ———. 2009. ‘Pāṇini’s Grammar and Its Computerization: A Construction ­Grammar Approach’, in Amba Kulkarni and Gerard Huet (eds.), Sanskrit Computational Linguistics Symposium, 6–25. Heidelberg: Springer. Huet, Gerard, Amba Kulkarni, and Peter Scharf (eds.). 2009. Sanskrit Computational Linguistics Symposium. Heidelberg: Springer. Hyman, Malcolm D. 2009. ‘From Pāṇinian Sandhi to Finite State Calculus’, in Gerard Huet, Amba Kulkarni, and Peter Scharf (eds.), Sanskrit Computational Linguistics Symposium, 253–265. Heidelberg: Springer. Jha, Girish Nath (ed.). 2010. Sanskrit Computational Linguistics – 4th International Symposium. Heidelberg: Springer. Joshi, S. D. 1968. Patañjali’s Vyākaraṇa-Mahābhāshya Samarthāhnika (P. 2.1.1). Pune: University of Poona. ———. 2009. ‘Background of the Aṣṭādhyāyī’, in Amba Kulkarni and Gerard Huet (eds.), Sanskrit Computational Linguistics Symposium, 1–5. Heidelberg: Springer. Joshi, S. D., and Saroja Bhate. 1984. The Fundamentals of Anuvṛtti. Pune: University of Poona. Joshi, S. D., and J. A. F. Roodbergen. 1980. Patañjali’s Vyākaraṇa Mahābhāshya Vibhaktyāhnika (P. 2.3.18–2.3.45). Pune: University of Poona. ———. 1986. Patañjali’s Vyākaraṇa Mahābhāshya Paspaśāhnika. Pune: University of Poona. ———. 1991. The Aṣṭādhyāyī of Pāṇini: With Translation and Explanatory Notes, vol. I. New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi. Kiparsky, Paul. 2002. On the Architecture of Pāṇini’s Grammar. Hyderabad: CIEFL Conference on the Architecture of Grammar, 15–17 January. ———. 2009. ‘On the Architecture of Pāṇini’s Grammar’, in Gerard Huet, Amba Kulkarni, and Peter Scharf (eds.), Sanskrit Computational Linguistics Symposium, 33–94. Heidelberg: Springer.

56  Anand Mishra Kiparsky, Paul, and J. F. Staal. 1969. ‘Syntactic and Semantic Relations in Pāṇini’, Foundations of Language 5(1): 83–117. Kulkarni, Amba, and Gerard Huet (eds.). 2009. Sanskrit Computational Linguistics Symposium. Heidelberg: Springer. Kulkarni, Malhar, and Chaitali Dangarikar. 2013. Recent Researches in Sanskrit Computational Linguistics – Fifth International Symposium Proceedings. New Delhi: D.K. Printworld. Misra, V. N. 1964. ‘Pāṇini’s Grammar as a Mathematical Model’, Indian Linguistics 24: 157–178. Mylius, Klaus. 1980. ‘Über die Anwendung mathematischer Methoden in der Vedaforschung’, Ethnographisch-Archäologische Zeitschrift 21: 233–248. Pandit, M. D. 1966. Mathematical Representation of some Pāṇinian Sūtras. Publications of the Centre of Advanced Study in Sanskrit, Class A No.7. Pune: University of Poona. ———. 1974. Formal and Non-Formal in Pāṇini. Annals of the Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute. Vol. LIV, 179–192. Poona: Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute. Petersen, Wiebke, and Simone Soubusta. 2013. ‘Structure and Implementation of a Digital Edition of the Aṣṭādhyāyī’, in Malhar Kulkarni and Chaitali Dangarikar (eds.), Recent Researches in Sanskrit Computational Linguistics – Fifth International Symposium Proceedings, 84–102. New Delhi: D.K. Printworld. Scharf, Peter M. 2009. ‘Modeling Pāṇinian Grammar’, in Gerard Huet, Amba Kulkarni, and Peter Scharf (eds.), Sanskrit Computational Linguistics Symposium, 95–126. Heidelberg: Springer. Scharfe, Hartmut. 2009. ‘A New Perspective on Pāṇini’, Indologica Taurinensia XII: 1–273. Staal, Frits. 1965. ‘Context-Sensitive Rules in Pāṇini’, Foundations of Language 1(1): 63–72. ———. 1966a. ‘Room at the Top in Sanskrit: Ancient and Modern Descriptions of Nominal Composition’, Indo-Iranian Journal 9(3): 165–198. ———. 1966b. ‘Pāṇini Tested by Fowler’s Automaton’, Journal of the American Oriental Society 86(2): 206–209. Subbanna, Sridhar, and Srinivasa Varakhedi. 2009. ‘Computational Structure of the Aṣṭādhyāyī and Conflict Resolution Techniques’, in Amba Kulkarni and Gerard Huet (eds.), Sanskrit Computational Linguistics Symposium, 56–65. Heidelberg: Springer.

3 Mathematics and Vedic mathematics Axel Michaels

Introduction This chapter is not about mathematics. Instead, it reflects on what is called ‘Vedic mathematics’ and its relationship to ancient Indian mathematics, i.e., the Śulvasūtras or geometrical treatises of the Vedic literature. What at first looks like a rather trivial comparison in the end turns out to be a serious conflict of truth claims. On January 7, 2015, the following article by Deal Neslon appeared in The Telegraph. It introduces aptly the challenges that Vedic mathematics faces in present-day India: India’s next gift to the world could be Vedic mathematics From next months, three Indian universities will begin to offer courses in Vedic calculations while home-learners can watch an entire television channel devoted to the subject on one of India’s digital networks. Several thousand teachers have been recruited for private college courses. Its supporters believe Vedic maths could become a major export like yoga and curry. The rising popularity of Vedic maths is partly because of a renewed campaign by the nationalist prime minister, Narendra Modi, to lay India’s claim to the cornerstones of human knowledge. He marked India’s successful mission Mars last year by claiming its ancient Vedic scientists had conceived of air travel thousands of years before the Wright Brothers made their first flight. It was a reference to a disputed ‘veda’ which described ancient air travel between ancient cities and to other planets. More recently Mr. Modi said Lord Ganesha, the elephant-headed Hindu God, was evidence of early Indian knowledge of plastic surgery. “Our scientists discovered the Pythagoras theorem but we gave its credit to the Greeks,” said Harsh Vardhan, the science and technology minister. India was familiar with algebra before the Arabs and made

58  Axel Michaels pioneering discoveries in astronomy, medicine and earth sciences but allowed others to take the credit, he added. (. . .) “I want it [i.e., Vedic mathematics A.M.)] go worldwide. Students in Singapore, United Kingdom, the United States are very interested because it’s so easy . . . mathematics without tears, magic for students who struggle with maths”, said Dina Nath Batra, a Hindu nationalist educationalist who enjoys the support of the prime minister. (. . .) The government’s promotion of ‘Vedic’ knowledge has caused controversy in recent weeks over fears that education and science are being politicised with religion. (The Telegraph, 7 January 2015) This is the context in which my chapter is situated. Along with other scholars, I will argue that Vedic mathematics is neither Vedic nor mathematics (section 2). At best it contains some calculation tricks (Dani 1993: 7), and it seems this kind of ‘Vedic Mathematics’ is a ‘scientifistic’ attempt to make calculation tricks a sort of science sanctioned by the Veda.1 I hold that Vedic mathematics cannot be reduced to just these elementary arithmetic calculations. There is more to the field. There is, for instance, a certain thinking that is innovative in the history of mathematics and even in the theory of science. I will elaborate on this aspect by referring to the geometry of the Śulvasūtras, i.e., geometrical treatises from the 8th to 5th century (section 3). Until now these texts are mostly cited in histories of mathematics in India and worldwide. It is especially pointed out that they contain the theorem of Pythagoras prior to Pythagoras and that the Vedic Indians discovered zero and were able to calculate the circumference of a circle using π. I will reject this position arguing that the most interesting aspect in the Śulvasūtras are their constructive methods at reaching theoretical propositions. In a third step (section 4), I will propose to discuss the history of Indian mathematics not as a kind of competition in cultural originality and authenticity but as a starting point for the question how scientific thinking comes into the world. In discussing also Western esoteric movements and comparing them with Vedic mathematics ideologies, I will try to differentiate between science, proto-science and pseudoscience.

‘Neither Vedic nor mathematics’ Already in the early 90s the Uttar Pradesh Government introduced ‘Vedic mathematics’ in school textbooks, and since then every once in a while new attempts are undertaken to introduce it in schools and universities, the last one by the National Council of Educational Research (NCERT). Vedic Mathematics or Sixteen simple Mathematical Formulae from the Vedas (For On-line Answers to all Mathematical Problems) (sic!) is a book

Mathematics and Vedic mathematics  59 written by a former Sankaracharya of Govardhana Maṭha in Puri, the late Jagadguru Swāmī Śrī Bhāratī Kṛṣṇa Tīrthajī Mahārāja (1884–1960), which was posthumously edited by V. S. Agrawala in 1965 and published with many reprints by Motilal Banarsidass. It is said that the svāmī composed the book during 1911–1918. Basically, it contains sixteen formulas in Sanskrit called sutras, which were allegedly reconstructed from the Atharvaveda. Krishna Tirthaji claims that he had written sixteen manuscripts that were lost or stolen, but his introductory volume Vedic Mathematics was (re-?) written in 1958, shortly before his death. Since then Vedic mathematics has become a growing branch of mathematical knowledge production. Several books (e.g., Gupta 2013) and DVDs appeared, courses in Vedic mathematics such as ‘The Certified Vedic Maths Online Course for Teachers’ flourished, and a TV series (‘Vedic Maths TV’) has been established. The book of Tirthaji contains some elementary arithmetic methods and algebra to be applied in performing computations with numbers and polynomials. An example would be the squaring of numbers ending with 5: Take the number apart from 5. For e.g., 75x75, then take 7. After 7 comes 8. So we multiply 7 by 8. That gives us 56. Next we multiply the last digits i.e., 5 by 5, which gives us 25. So the final answer is 5,625. Another example is the multiplication of numbers with a series of 9: Case 1: Equal number of 9’s, e.g.,: 654 x 999. We subtract 1 from the 654 and write half the answer as 653. So the answer at this stage is 653__. Now we deal with 653. Subtract each of the digits from 9, giving 346. So the final answer is 653,346. As is pointed out even in the foreword to the book by General Editor, V. S. Agarwala, the aphorisms in Sanskrit to be found in the book have nothing to do with the Vedas. Nor are these aphorisms to be found in the genuine Vedic literature. The term ‘Vedic mathematics’ is therefore entirely misleading and factually incorrect. However, the author claims to overcome this lack in authority by another trick; he simply declares any knowledge to be Vedic: The very word ‘Veda’ has this derivational meaning i.e. the fountainhead and illimitable store-house of all knowledge. This derivation, in effect, means connotes and implies that the Vedas should contain within themselves all the knowledge needed by mankind relating not only to the so-called ‘spiritual’ (or other-worldly) matters but also to those usually described as purely ‘secular’, ‘temporal’, or ‘worldly’ and also to the means required by humanity as such for the achievement of allround, complete and perfect success in all conceivable directions and

60  Axel Michaels that there can be no adjectival or restrictive epithet calculated (or tending) to limit that knowledge down in any sphere, any direction or any respect whatever. In other words, it connotes and implies that our ancient Indian Vedic lore should be all-round, complete and perfect and able to throw the fullest necessary light on all matters which any aspiring seeker after knowledge can possibly seek to be enlightened on. (Tirthajī Mahārāja 1965: 13) It is also evident that the arithmetical tricks used in the book have nothing to do with the arithmetical techniques of antiquity. Many of the Sanskrit aphorisms used by Tirthaji are very general and sometimes cryptic. The book is based on intuitive revelation from material scattered here and there in the Atharvaveda ‘after assiduous research and “Tapas” for about eight years in the forest surrounding Shringeri’ (Manjula Trivedi, Preface to Vedic Mathematics, p. ixf.). No wonder that a group of renowned mathematicians and scholars expressed their deep concern over the continuing attempts to thrust the socalled Vedic mathematics on the school curriculum by the NCERT. In a petition or statement2 signed by a group headed by S.G. Dani, Professor of Mathematics at the Tata Institute of Fundamental Research in Mumbai and Madhav Deshpande, Professor of Sanskrit and Linguistics at the University of Michigan, they say: The book “Vedic mathematics” essentially deals with arithmetic of the middle and high-school level. Its claims that “there is no part of mathematics, pure or applied, which is beyond their jurisdiction” is simply ridiculous. In an era when the content of mathematics teaching has to be carefully designed to keep pace with the general explosion of knowledge and the needs of other modern professions that use mathematical techniques, the imposition of “Vedic mathematics” will be nothing short of calamitous. The undersigned also state that India today has active and excellent schools of research and teaching in mathematics that are at the forefront of modern research in their discipline with some of them recognised as being among the best in the world in their fields of research. It is noteworthy that they have cherished the legacy of distinguished Indian mathematicians like Srinivasa Ramanujan (. . .) and many others including several living Indian mathematicians. But not one of these schools has lent an iota of legitimacy to ‘Vedic mathematics’. Nowhere in the world does any school system teach ‘Vedic mathematics’ or any form of ancient mathematics for that matter as an adjunct to modern mathematical teaching. The bulk of such teaching belongs properly to the teaching of history and in particular the teaching of the history of the sciences.

Mathematics and Vedic mathematics  61 We consider the imposition of “Vedic mathematics” by a Government agency, as the perpetration of a fraud on our children, condemning particularly those dependent on public education to a sub-standard mathematical education. (. . .) We are concerned that the essential thrust behind the campaign to introduce the so-called ‘Vedic mathematics’ has more to do with promoting a particular brand of religious majoritarianism and associated obscurantist ideas rather than any serious and meaningful development of mathematics teaching in India. We note that similar concerns have been expressed about other aspects too of the National Curricular Framework for School Education. We re-iterate our firm conviction that all teaching and pedagogy, not just the teaching of mathematics, must be founded on rational, scientific and secular principles. S.G. Dani has elaborated on this in a two-part article in Frontline titled ‘Myths and reality: On “Vedic mathematics” ’, published on October 22 and November 5, 1993. He criticises the book profoundly: Despite all its pretentious verbiage page after page, the svamiji’s book offers nothing worthwhile in advanced mathematics whether concretely or by way of insight. (Dani 1993: 9) Even at the school level “Vedic mathematics” deals only with a small part and, more importantly, there too it concerns itself with only one particular aspect, that of faster computation. (ibid.) He further points out that India has internationally highly valued mathematicians such as Srinivasa Ramanujan etc., who contribute enough to the national pride. In 2001 (August 13), the issue was also discussed in the Lok Sabha. On this occasion, scientists from across the country opposed the introduction of Vedic mathematics and astrology at the university level. According to The Hindu (August 14) they said ‘all teaching and pedagogy must be founded on rational, scientific and secular principles’ and signed a statement titled ‘Stop this fraud on our children. [. . .] The imposition of Vedic Mathematics would condemn children – particularly, those dependent on public education – to a sub- standard mathematical education’. It thus can be said that Vedic mathematics is certainly not Vedic in a historical sense. It might be a useful method for certain arithmetic calculations, especially at schools, but the claim of a superior all-encompassing way of calculating cannot be derived from the Veda.

62  Axel Michaels Moreover, the attribute ‘Vedic’ is unnecessary when it comes to the question of true knowledge. The laws of mathematics and Vedic Mathematics remain the same. It is always the same result no matter whether you use the calculator or the formulas proposed by Tirthaji. Sitting on the skin of the black antelope and wearing the ochre robe (as Tirthaji did) does not make the calculation 2 + 2 = 4 more true than wearing jeans, a suit or a sari. What, then, makes the difference? Why is it necessary to add the attribute ‘Vedic’ to mathematics when there is basically only one mathematics? It seems to me that this is done in order to claim a higher truth beyond the correctness of calculations. The religious connotations around the Vedic Mathematics book seem to justify such an assumption. I will return to this point later. Another motive of the incantation of the Vedic source of knowledge could be to point to India’s glorious past in reaction of the devaluation and ignorance of the ancient scriptures by the colonial British. Thomas Barrington Macaulay’s terrible and famous remark I have no knowledge of either Sanscrit or Arabic. But I have done what I could to form a correct estimate of their value. I have read translations of the most celebrated Arabic and Sanscrit works. I have conversed both here and at home with men distinguished by their proficiency in the Eastern tongues. I am quite ready to take the Oriental learning at the valuation of the Orientalists themselves. I have never found one among them who could deny that a single shelf of a good European library was worth the whole native literature of India and Arabia. (Thomas Barrington Macaulay, “Minute on Education”, 1835) is of course not forgotten in India’s soul. In this line might perhaps also fall another reference to Vedic origins, the so-called Pythagorean Theorem.

Pythagoras’ and/or Baudhāyana’s theorem As is well-known, the Śulvasūtras (cf. Plofker 2009: 16–28), texts belonging to the Vedāṅgas, are said to already contain Pythagoras’ Theorem. Indeed, one finds there an explicit formulation of parts of the Euclidean Geometry a few hundred centuries prior to Pythagoras: ‘It is this kind of authentic work, and not some mumbo-jumbo that would highlight our rich heritage’ (Dani 1993: 5). In a speech delivered before the scientists attending the 102nd edition of the Indian Science Congress, Dr Harsh Vardhan, Union Minister of Science and Technology and member of Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), supports this view. He is reported to have said: ‘Our scientists discovered the Pythagoras theorem but we very sophisticatedly [!] gave its credit to the Greeks’ (The Times of India, January 8, 2015). ‘India was familiar with algebra before the Arabs and made pioneering discoveries in astronomy, medicine

Mathematics and Vedic mathematics  63 and earth sciences but allowed others to take the credit,’ he added according to The Telegraph (January 7, 2015). Shashi Tharoor, a Congress Member of Parliament (Lok Sabha) supported Vardhan in a series of tweets. He wrote, ‘the Sulba Sutras, composed between 800 and 500 BC, demonstrate that India had Pythagorean theorem before the great Greek was born’ (The Hindu, January 8, 2015). There is nothing new in this claim. Scholars like George Thibaut or Albert Bürk studied the Śulvasūtras in detail, translated two of them and mentioned the parallel to the Pythagorean Theorem as early as 1875 or 1901. All histories of mathematics in general and of geometry in particular also recognise this similarity. Moreover, it has been proven that the theorem was known in Old Babylonia at least 1,200 years before Pythagoras (Seidenberg 1983: 101, Midonick 1968: 29–35). However, did the Vedic Indians really develop a theorem? To answer this question, I will have to elaborate a bit on the Śulvasūtras. These texts belong to the ancillary literature of the Veda. They mainly deal with the piling of the fire altar – the agnicayana (Staal 1983) – and other altars required for various sacrifices. These altars were piled with kiln-burnt and unbaked bricks of different shapes and sizes. All this happened in a practical context with measuring ropes (śulva, rajju) and bamboo sticks. In Cārvāka4, a website3 that is devoted to ‘Defending Secularism and Rational Inquiry’, Ramkrishna Bhattacharya, Emeritus Fellow of the UGC and Fellow at the Pavlov Institute, Kolkata, therefore opposed the view that Ancient India had developed already the ‘Pythagorean’ Theorem: ‘Whatever knowledge was acquired from such operations were essentially empirical in nature. Therefore, the very idea of a theorem is not to be expected. So Mr. Vardhan’s praise of “our scientists” is beside the point’. This position shared by many rationalists does not hold true as it becomes clear from the relevant passages in the sources: dīrghacaturaśrasyākṣṇayā rajjuḥ pārśvamānī tiryaṅmānī ca yat pṛthagbhūte kurutas tad ubhayaṃ karoti. (Baudhāyanaśulvasūtra 1.48) The cord stretched across a rectangle (i.e. in the diagonal) produces both an area which the longer (lit. ‘broadsided’) and the shorter (across the East-West line stretched (rope) produce each by themselves. Or, more elegantly formulated and devoid of the practical or sacrificial context: The diagonal of an oblong produces by itself both the areas which the two sides of the oblong produce separately (i.e., the square of the diagonal is equal to the sum of the squares of the two sides).

64  Axel Michaels This is a clear context-free formulation of the so-called Pythagorean Theorem even though it is developed without a theory of angles, and their measurement is taken from a quadrilateral and not right-angled trilateral context as in the Euclidian geometry, where it runs like this: ‘In right-angled triangles the square on the side opposite the right angle equals the sum of the squares on the sides containing the right angle’ (Euclid, Proposition 1.47). Nevertheless, Baudhāyanaśulvasūtra 1.48 is a general statement in the indicative mood and not – as mostly in practical contexts – in the optative. Also, the subject is not any more the priest – the adhvaryu – but the rajju, the cord. How did the priests and masons develop this as a theorem? My argument – more elaboratively developed in Michaels 1978 (cp. Pingree 1981) – is that Śulvasūtras emerged in a lucky combination of magicoreligious with practical requirements. One of these magico-religious requirements was that the altars had to be aligned symmetrically to the East-West line (prācī). Another one was that the surface area of the altars was fixed and should be the same in all layers though the bricks should not overlap completely. This led to an operational procedure of varying different brick forms on the given surface area resulting in the discovery of ­regularities in the congruence of the brick measurements. All this happened in an environment where the abstraction from bricks to geometric figures based on principles of homogeneity was already possible. It thus happened that, by geometrical arrangements of bricks of the same size and form and the arranging of bricks of different sizes, regular congruencies were noticed. These were then brought into general, contextfree formulations. It is mostly believed that this relationship between proposition and proof presupposes a theoretical interest, which only the Greeks demonstrated. Although it is true that the development of a scientific worldview is something that characterises Greek culture more than Indian culture, the geometry of the Śulvasūtras also demonstrates an elementary scientific relation of proposition and proof. Thus, even if the development of science in the West was different, the basic knowledge and theoretical insights, which are prior to the systematisation of knowledge in the West, are given in the Śulvasūtras. It is, moreover, highly interesting that the magico-religious norms of homogeneity and symmetry led to requirements of precision in constructing the altar and were not caused by technical requirements. Nevertheless, this theoretical interest remained within a priestly and sacrificial context. It is more a by-product of practical ritual necessities than the result of deductive thinking. As elaborated in my dissertation, it was perhaps the discovery of the irrational and incommensurable, which the Vedic Indians did not express, that led to the axiomatic-deductive science expressed in Euclid’s Geometria. Ramkrishna Bhattacharya aptly concluded: Even if the redactors of the Satapatha Brahmaṇa were aware of the theorem (as Seidenberg [1983] says, p. 106), the work cannot be pushed

Mathematics and Vedic mathematics  65 back to 1900–1600 bce. We should rather note that the theorem was formulated in India out of the practice of craftsmen quite independently of Babylonia or Greece or China. The same statement would be true of Greece and China as well. Here is an excellent example of polygenesis: the same conclusion was arrived at in different ancient civilizations, unknown to one another, all on the basis of empirical observation. Euclid provided a general theorem true for all right-angled triangles and attributed it to Pythagoras, and there lies his credit. His predecessors could only think of and note down several cases, but stopped there. (Bhattacharya 2015: 17) Thus, the claim of the antiquity of knowledge is only interesting for the history of knowledge production. It is not necessary and even sometimes dangerous to connect it with religious or nationalistic expectations or prerogatives. Another question is the origin of scientific knowledge production. Here, we could see how in the Śulvasūtras theoretical knowledge was already very early in history generated out of practical knowledge and not, as the Greek, especially Aristotle, would have it, out of intellect (Greek nous).

Science, proto-science and pseudoscience The notion that it was the West that discovered science cannot hold true anymore.4 This idea is based on the (Christian) dogma that there exists only one god who is a rational being. We all know Einstein’s famous aphorism ‘God doesn’t caste dice’. According to Whitehead, it was the rationality of God that made science possible even though it took quite some time (until William of Occam, 1285–1349, or even Francis Bacon, 1561–1626) until the inductive-experimental method was more or less accepted. The Aristotelian dogma that the deductive method of thinking is superior to the inductive method is based on the aversion to the practical knowledge that generally involves physical labour. However, both forms of generating knowledge do not bridge the gap between scientific and ‘scientifistic’ knowledge. The one, it seems, is true knowledge; the other is belief or faith. Vedic mathematics sometimes has perhaps better ways of calculating, but this does not mean that it provides better understanding of mathematical knowledge. The inductive generation of the so-called Pythagorean Theorem in the Śulvasūtras does not make Baudhāyana’s proposition 1.48 more valid than the deductive methods that led to Euclid’s proposition 47. The geometrical truth remains the same. What status has this knowledge? Is not scientific knowledge also a kind of belief system? Can religious knowledge and scientific knowledge really not go together? Are we as scholars living in a closed house that expels new and perhaps better forms of insight? Should then pseudoscience also be accepted as a form of science?

66  Axel Michaels The Greek, more precisely Plato (Politeia 477b-e), differentiated between knowledge or wisdom (Greek episteme, Latin scientia) and belief (doxa, opinio) or pistis (Engl. faith). Plato saw the difference between both forms of knowledge in the fact that knowledge (episteme) is argued, justified or deictically demonstrated and thus verifiable. In belief, however, we just trust somebody. In everyday life, we regard knowledge as mostly superior to belief. If we know that it will rain, we will take the umbrella; if we only believe it, we might not. What can be true by trust must not be true for everybody, whereas rational knowledge is not valid for some individuals only. However, how reliable is knowledge really? Is it definitely more reliable than belief? The Academic and Pyrrhonic Sceptics said that one could not know anything for sure – except this proposition. Others, the Empiricists, say that there is better, more reliable knowledge when it is based on personal experiences and senses and not just on rationally verifiable arguments, justifications or demonstrations. This form of knowledge is often offered as secret knowledge or as knowledge of the secret. To add Vedic to mathematics when ‘mathematics in Ancient India or Vedic Times’ would be more precise is such a case. Its critics oppose it in the same way as they did with gnostic, mystic or magic knowledge. They condemn such esoteric knowledge as false science (Frazer), pre-scientific science (Oldenberg) and primitive (Lévy-Bruhl), wild (LéviStrauss) or mythical thinking as lack of true knowledge or obsolete belief. The esotericists as I will call them argue that the inductive method is not enough. Already David Hume said that the most essential belief of humans would be the belief in the inductive method. To be sure, it cannot be proved but only believed that all natural laws are valid forever. We know why the sun rises next morning. It is based on astronomically tested knowledge. But can we really be sure? Many scientific propositions and laws had to be revised or even given up through better explanations: Who could imagine that Newton’s gravitation theory would be replaced by Einstein’s theory of relativity? This means that all scientific propositions are based on dogmatic assumptions but not in themselves provable or verifiable propositions, e.g., ‘nature is uniform’ or ‘future will be the same as the past’. Based on Karl Popper’s philosophy, the German philosopher Hans Albert (1991) has called this problem the ‘Münchhausen’s trilemma’ (baron Münchhausen was a figure in a fairy tale who tried to pull himself with his own hair out of the swamp), which leads to: 1 infinite regress, because always new explanations or reasons are given, 2 a logical circle, 3 or a more or less dogmatic or arbitrary termination of the explanatory procedure. De facto is scientific truth based on an empirical consensus among the scholars. This is variant 3 in Albert’s Münchhausen trilemma. Jürgen Habermas

Mathematics and Vedic mathematics  67 called it the communicative competence in the scientific community, KarlOtto Apel called it the apriori of the communicative community. Truth is what scholars accept as true. This also implies that truth is revisable and not absolute. For the esotericists, this, in itself not an any more justified principle of consensus in the scientific community, is nothing else than an instrument of power or even conspiracy. Why should a proposition that is shared by a majority be more valid than one shared by only a few? There is no way to bridge this epistemic gap between science and pseudoscience. In the end, it matters what you believe as the ineluctable principle of truth: god, reason, nature, language, etc. Even physicists do not claim to know how nature is. Niels Bohr once said: ‘It is not the task of physics to find out how nature is. Physics means only that what we can say about nature’. In practice we thus follow a kind of Science-Darwinism in which only those scientific theories survive which are the fittest to withstand the methodological scepticism that is inborn to science. For many people this ScienceDarwinism is not enough; they look for ultimate or absolute grounding, e.g., god, nature or the Veda. For them Vedic mathematics then is more than ‘just’ mathematics. I do not object this esoteric approach if one is aware of what one is doing. Vedic mathematics is not a scientific approach because it lacks the criteria of refutability. For me this approach is tolerable, but why do the esotericists often want to be ‘scientific’ when they do not follow the criteria of science? This is not only happening in India but also in the West: Scientology or Christian Science would be such examples. I think it is because esoteric science shares with science the principle of avoiding contingency: there is no fate, and in principle all problems are solvable. However, if one does not admit that science does not solve all problems and that there is fate, one is not a scientific but only a ‘scientifistic’ scholar.

Conclusion ‘Vedic Mathematics’ is neither Vedic nor mathematics (cf. Kandasamy and Smarandache 2006); it simply contains some calculation tricks and is sanctioned by the Veda. However, as demonstrated, Vedic mathematics can and should not be reduced to these elementary arithmetic calculations. There is more to the field. The Śulvasūtras, for instance, do not only contain the theorem of Pythagoras prior to Pythagoras but also theoretical propositions reached through constructive methods in the construction of the altars. These methods can be seen as one of the beginnings of scientific thinking clearly in contrast to Western esoteric movements and/or Vedic mathematics ideologies. Vedic mathematics then is science due to its verification methods, and by this it is evidently different from the pseudoscience of ‘Vedic mathematics’.

68  Axel Michaels

Notes 1 In the following, I will differentiate between ‘scientific’ and ‘scientifistic’. The first term is related to science, the second to methods pretending to be scientific but without using the methods of rational argumentation and proving or empiricalinductive methods for generating theories such as the method of trial and error in experiments. 2 www.sacw.net/DC/CommunalismCollection/ArticlesArchive/NoVedic.html (accessed 15 November 2015). 3 www.carvaka4india.com/2015/01/the-home-of-so-called-pythagorean.html (accessed 17 November 2018). 4 The following is based on Michaels (1998).

References Albert, Hans. 1991. Traktat über kritische Vernunft, fifth ed. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Bhattacharya, Ramkrishna. 2015. ‘The Home of the So-Called Pythagorean Theorem: Babylonia, Mesopotamia, China, India, . . .’, Frontier 47(27): 11–17. Bürk, Albert (ed. and transl. [into German]). 1901–02. ‘Āpastamba-Śulvasūtra’, Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenlädischen Gesellschaft 55: 543–591 and 56: 327–391. Dani, S. G. 1993. ‘Myths and Reality: On “Vedic Mathematics” ’, Frontline, 22 October and 5 November. Gupta, Atul. 2013. The Power of Vedic Maths with Trigonometry: Problem Solving Techniques for CAT, CET and Other Competitive Examinations. New Delhi: Jaico Publishing House. Kandasamy, Vasantha W. B., and Florentin Smarandache. 2006. Vedic Mathematics, ‘Vedic’ or ‘Mathematics’: A Fuzzy & Neutrosophic Analysis . . . Los Angeles: Automation. Michaels, Axel. 1978. Beweisverfahren in der vedischen Sakralgeometrie: ein Beitrag zur Entstehungsgeschichte von Wissenschaft. Wiesbaden: Steiner. ———. 1998. ‘Wissenschaftsgläubigkeit’, in P. Rusterholz und R. Moser (eds.), Bewältigung und Verdrängung spiritueller Krisen. Esoterik als Kompensation von Defiziten der Wissenschaft und der Kirchen, 29–55. Bern: Peter Lang. Midonick, Henrietta (ed.). 1968. Treasury of Mathematics, vol. 1, 29–35. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. Pingree, David. 1981. ‘Review of Michaels 1978’, Journal of the History of Science 72: 140–141. Plofker, Kim. 2009. Mathematics in India. Princeton, NJ and Oxford: Princeton University Press. Seidenberg, A. 1983. ‘The Geometry of the Vedic Rituals’, in Frits Staal (ed.), Agni, vol. 2, 95–126. Berkeley: Asian Humanities Press. Staal, Frits. 1983. Agni: The Vedic Ritual of the Fire Altar, 2 vols. Berkeley: University of California Press. Thibaut, Georg. 1875. ‘On the Śulba-Sūtras’, Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 44: 227–275. Tīrthajī Mahārāja, Bhāratī Kṛṣṇa. 1965. Vedic Mathematics or ‘Sixteen Simple Mathematical Formulae from the Vedas’ (For One-line Answers to All Mathematical Problems). New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass.

4 The birth of the (exorcism) clinic Media, modernity, and the jinn William S. Sax

Introduction This chapter deals with the ‘exorcism clinic’ – a new form of Muslim exorcism that serves the needs of a global Muslim middle class by appealing to science and modernity. I begin with a brief discussion of historical and ethnographic variation in Muslim exorcism, move on to discuss some of the controversies within the Muslim community regarding jinn and how best to combat them, and then provide details about the birth of the (exorcism) clinic in Europe. I conclude with some reflections about the ‘scientification’ of religious healing in Islam.

The Jinn in Islam Among Muslims, there is no room for scepticism regarding the existence of jinn (sg. jinni). They are frequently described in the Koran (the 72nd Sura is called surat al-jinn) as one of the three kinds of sentient beings created by Allah: angels from light, jinn from ‘smokeless fire’, and human beings from clay. Like humans but unlike angels, jinn possess free will. They have their own society and are divided into Hindus, Christians, Jews, Muslims, and others. From a human perspective, jinn are associated with a fundamental problem, which is that, although they are all around and can see us, we cannot see them. Black magic (sihr) is also mentioned in the Koran, and, indeed, the Prophet himself is said in several Hadith to have been a victim of it (e.g., Sahih al- Bukhari 3175 and 5765). That is why the existence of black magic, like the existence of jinn, cannot be doubted by a pious Muslim. During my research, I was struck by the profound similarities between Muslim sorcery on the one hand and certain forms of black magic and cursing among north Indian Hindus on the other (see Sax 2009). Although both Hindus and Muslims believe that supernatural beings like the Jinn sometimes choose their victims for personal reasons (e.g., because the victim offended them by treading on their shrines or otherwise polluting them, or perhaps out of sheer spite), nevertheless such cases are rare. It is much more common

70  William S. Sax for a human enemy to attack his victim by sending a jinni, demon, etc. to afflict him, even though this is considered to be a highly immoral act. Whether Hindu and Muslim, the perpetrators of such acts are mostly said to be inspired by envy. Devout Muslims must therefore acknowledge the existence of jinn and of black magic, at least in principle. But beyond this basic agreement, there is great diversity: The sheer variety of practices used in the Islamic world to exorcise jinn, to protect against black magic, and to repel the attacks of sorcerers, is much too great to address in this chapter.

Controversial practices Many practices in relation to jinn are subject to (often harsh) criticism by contemporary Islamic reform movements, in particular the so-called Salafists who trace their movement back to the 18th-century Arabian preacher and scholar Muhammad ibn Abd al-Wahhaab, as well as the Tablighi Jamaat, with its origins in the so-called ‘Deobandi movement’ in India, which was inspired by the teachings of another 18th-century scholar, Shah Waliullah Dehlawi. These movements and others like them, seek to purify Islam from what they regard as practices inconsistent with the Holy Quran and the teachings of the Prophet. Although many reformers are fervent believers in (and enemies of) jinn, they insist that there is one and only one legitimate method for fighting them: Qu’ranic recitation or ruqya. Recitation may be supplemented by impregnating water (preferably rain water) with the Qur’an by reciting into it or by writing verses on paper and placing the paper in the water or burning the paper and putting the ashes in the water, which can then be used for drinking, bathing, and the like. Other practices may also be recommended, and of course the victim should follow an appropriate lifestyle involving regular prayer, observance of dietary restrictions, and the like. One can study ruqya in leading Islamic universities such as Al Azhar in Cairo and get a degree in exorcism so that one is a raqi or recognised exorcist. But the terms ruqya and raqi are hardly known in South Asia. One finds instead a range of practices condemned by the reformers. One of these is the use of amulets – tawiz in Hindustani – to ward off both black magic and jinn (plates 1, 2, 3). The use of such tawiz is strongly associated with Sufis, and indeed during my research amongst Sufi healers in North India I saw how they distributed dozens of them to those suffering from jinnrelated afflictions. Such practices are resolutely opposed by the reformers, who believe that tawiz do more harm than good. They say that amulets are a form of shirkh, ‘idolatry’, they are ‘the path of the devil’, and that they actually provide access to jinn, rather than keeping them at bay. In my experience, it is this more than any other jinn-related issue that divides the community of believers.

The birth of the (exorcism) clinic  71 Another practice that is resolutely opposed by most reformers is the forging of alliances with jinn. Exorcists who are unfailingly and spectacularly successful or who are able to summon jinn quickly and without much difficulty or who have become conspicuously wealthy and powerful are often suspected of having made a pact with a jinni who helps them, either by giving them occult information or by overpowering his weaker brethren or both. But eventually the day comes when the jinni demands his due, and the healer stands revealed as a sorcerer himself, who must follow the jinni down into the depths of hell. Although this path is universally condemned, I did in fact meet several healers who followed it, claiming that they did so only in order to help their clients, who were victims of sorcery. One was from the suburbs of a large English city, and his shelves were lined with hundreds of books, not only on Islamic healing but also on Christian and Jewish magic and on Hindu tantra, about which he knew a great deal. He told me that he was planning to do a 40-day retreat, and when I asked him why, he gave me an enigmatic smile and muttered something about gaining ‘additional allies’. On another occasion I was in a Muslim slum in Pune in Western India, filming a mass exorcism by a Sufi of the Chishtiyya order, when the man sitting next to me went into a trance and reported to the healer some outstanding cases of patients who were having difficulties. I was later told, rather nonchalantly, that he was ‘Khan Sahib’, an old acquaintance who was visiting to see if he could be of any help. As it turned out, Khan Sahab was an ifrit, an enormous, winged jinni who had literally ‘dropped in’ while flying from Mecca to Ajmer, more than a thousand kilometres to the east. In the United Kingdom, these theological differences are ethnicised. ­Arabic-speaking Muslims tend to favour ruqya alone and accuse South Asian Muslims of having poor knowledge of Arabic, of having been corrupted by their long exposure to Hinduism, etc. They sometimes refer to the South Asians collectively as ‘Barelvis’, a term that derives from the famous Sufi scholar Ahmed Raza Khan from Bareilly (1856–1921), who defended such practices and preached eloquently against the reformers. But what looks in the United Kingdom like a polarisation is more differentiated in South Asia. Research scholar Sirajuddeen Ahammadu from Jawaharlal Nehru University in New Delhi, who is an expert on the Muslim healing practices in Kerala, has informed me that there is a theological split between those Kerala Muslims who approve of the use of tawiz and those who oppose it – and a further split amongst those who opposed it, between those who also oppose alliances with jinn and those who accept them. (Ahammadu says their reasoning is that, if the jinni is a good Muslim and able to help, then why not work with him?)

The birth of the (exorcism) clinic One of the most intriguing aspects of exorcism clinics is how they clothe traditional commitments of faith in ‘modern’ garb, beginning with the

72  William S. Sax architecture and ambience of the clinics themselves. As I have written elsewhere, beliefs and practices . . . relate to formal institutions: not just hospitals, but also, for example, spaces where the body is cultivated (fitness centers, beauty parlors, athletic venues); where illness is diagnosed (clinics, diviners’ huts, X-ray rooms); or where healing takes place (operating theaters, churches, physiotherapy centers) . . . a certain kind of behavior is called for by the simple act of entering a hospital rather than a health resort, or a healing shrine rather than a mental institution. What are the differences between the way people speak and act when they seek treatment in a hospital, as opposed to a temple? (Naraindas et al. 2014: 10) What sort of behaviour is ‘called forth’ by an exorcism clinic? In most parts of the Muslim world, someone afflicted by a jinni visits a religious healer and perhaps shares a cup of tea before discussing his problems and undergoing treatment in the healer’s prayer room. In South Asia treatment for jinn affliction often takes place at tombs (dargah) specialising in such matters.1 By contrast, the client visiting an exorcism clinic enters an office building, is met at the door by an assistant or the exorcist himself dressed in a white lab coat, fills out a set of forms quite similar to those one must complete when being admitted to the hospital, then discusses a ‘treatment plan’ with the exorcist.2 The ambience is resolutely clinical: shiny tile floors and steel gurneys along with Islamic decoration (e.g., framed verses from the Qur’an or photographs of Mecca) and frequently the sound of ruqya chanting in the background. Through its architecture and peculiar ambience linking modern medicine and traditional Muslim exorcism, the exorcism clinic normalises, regularises, and ‘scientises’ practices that, for the most part, used to take place in the healer’s residence or at a shrine. The range of services offered at such clinics also leads toward a kind of normalisation: Exorcism of supernatural beings is matter-of-factly listed next to treatments of asthma or high blood pressure, suggesting that jinn-possession is a normal health problem. Such clinics are undergoing something of a boom, as is shown by a bit of research on the Internet. In June 2015, had you googled the word ruqya, you would have gotten some 560,000 hits. Five months later, you would have gotten 584,000 hits, an increase of 24,000. One year later, in November 2016, you would have gotten 806,000 hits. Similarly, in June of 2015, had you googled ‘ruqya clinic’, you would have gotten 18,000 hits; five months later it was up to 28,000 hits, and one year later you would have gotten 79,800. That means that between June 2015 and November 2016, the number of Internet hits for ruqya went up by 43%, and the number of hits for ruqya clinic went up by 344%. What is going on here? What explains the explosive growth of the Muslim exorcism clinic?

The birth of the (exorcism) clinic  73 It should perhaps first be noted that such clinics are an urban phenomenon, concentrated mostly in Europe. Although a small number of them are found in global metropolises like Lahore, Delhi, Manila or Jakarta, they are much more likely to be found in cities like London and Amsterdam. In other words, they are fundamentally oriented to the needs of Muslims residing in Europe. This is related to the fact that exorcism is so deeply stigmatised in Europe but not in the Middle East and Asia. Although I was quite welcome to observe and even record jinn-possession and exorcism in South Asia and Africa, I was never allowed to do so in Europe: it was simply too embarrassing for the healer’s middle-class clients, who did not want me to observe it (though sometimes I could hear it from an adjoining room). My suggestion is that, by providing a ‘modern’ and ‘scientific’ form for exorcism, the form of the clinic helps Muslims achieve a kind of cultural compatibility by emulating the health-related behaviours of their non-Muslim neighbours.

Ruqya and Hijama Muslim exorcism is often paired with the practice of wet cupping known as hijama, in which incisions are made at certain points on the body and blood is withdrawn with the aid of suction cups. Proponents of hijama believe that this cleans and purifies the blood, and it is used for a variety of therapeutic purposes. The practice is mentioned in the Qur’an, and like the ruqya clinic, it has experienced explosive growth in recent years. It belongs to what is called ‘Prophetic Medicine’; that is, techniques and medications for healing that are associated with the Prophet, normally via the Hadiths reporting his behaviour and teachings. I suggest that because hijama appears to be a purely physiological, non-spiritual therapy, its association with ruqya helps ‘normalise’ the latter. This association is very strong indeed. For example, one side of a glossy handbill for a clinic in South London offering both hijama and ruqya lists ‘weight loss, menstruation problems, asthma, back pain/arthritis, infertility/ pregnancy, depression, indigestion/ constipation, skin conditions, high blood pressure, headaches/migraines, spiritual issues, & much more’ as the problems for which hijama is an appropriate therapy, while the other side defines ‘Ruqyah’ as ‘supplication or reading carried out to seek a cure from illness or other problems’’ adding that the clinic provides ‘a completely safe and 100% qur’anic treatment, using water, honey, black seed, olive oil and essential herbs’ and including ‘a holistic assessment, diagnostic and treatment plan’. The problems addressed include ‘[h]ealth disorders that modern medicine cannot diagnose or cure, including extreme tiredness, unexplained pains, repeated migraines, headaches and skin conditions, associated hair loss, pain in the ovaries or womb and impotency’ along with ‘[a]bnormal mental states’ including [o]bsessive thoughts, depression and anxiety, repeated episodes of anger and irritability, feelings of general restlessness and apathy, deterioration

74  William S. Sax in faith and belief, which can lead to the rejection of religions, absent mindedness, difficulty in thinking, indecisiveness, low memory and low confidence. A similar brochure distributed by another hijama specialist already blurs the difference between hijama and ruqya in its title, ‘Prophetic Medicine – Roqyah according to the Sunnah’ and asks, ‘Do you suffer from chronic pain, arthritis, high blood pressure, migraines, poor circulation, immunity and sexual problems, asthma or depression?’ If so, then hijama treatment is recommended by ‘experienced male and female health professionals with a wealth of experience’ who ‘strictly follow universal cross-infection control procedures’ and are ‘fully insured’. I asked a number of hijama practitioners why there was such a strong association of hijama with ruqya, and every one of them referred to a ‘reliable’ Hadith, viz., ‘Satan runs in the blood of humans’ (Sahih al-Bukhari 6219). As Shaykh Ben-Halim (see below) put it, a jinni is like a ghost, so if you are fighting with a ghost, if you punch him, or you stab him, or you shoot him, it won’t do anything. . . . But when you do the cupping, by pricking out (some) drops of blood, you tear out the body of the jinni, and that affects him very, very much. And, even in cupping centers – in cupping centers that do not do ruqya, just the cupping – they often have reactions by the people of the jinn, that are under cupping. Hijama practitioners say that people undergoing cupping often have the symptoms of jinn possession, and indeed this happened to me the first time I underwent the treatment: knowing that blood was being drawn from my body, I responded with light sweating and some trembling, and the man administering the treatment said, ‘See? This shows that the jinn have some influence on you’. Be that as it may, exorcists usually know some elementary hijama, while the hijama practitioners need to know a bit of ruqya and often play ruqya chanting in the background while administering hijama. As a result, patients at a ruqya clinic almost always get hijama, and the patients of hijama practitioners often get ruqya – or at least they are exposed to a recorded recitation in the background. My thesis is, then, that in its architecture and therapeutic space, the ruqya clinic ‘borrows’ from the secular, scientific legitimacy of the biomedical clinic, and that it also normalises itself by associating strongly with the purely physiological, ‘natural’ practice of hijama. Similar processes of scientification and normalisation are occurring with respect to psychological counselling. Shaykh Ben Halima for example has introduced what he calls ‘Islamic psychotherapy’ into his exorcism clinics, and when I asked him if this was not a rather extreme innovation, he

The birth of the (exorcism) clinic  75 acknowledged that it was indeed and said, ‘We’re not the only ones doing that, but of course we are trying to do it in a modern way. And we are trying to get recognition from the health authorities’. He went on to speak of his organisation’s attempts to obtain government recognition in Africa and named one country in which he claims to be the official partner of the Health Ministry. He also discussed similar attempts that were then (in 2015) underway to achieve such a status in England. In yet another English city, I interviewed the Pir (chief cleric) of a large mosque, who told me that, although, as a believing Muslim, he acknowledged the existence of jinn, nevertheless nearly all the cases of jinn-affliction that he had seen could be attributed to ‘stress’ rather than supernatural affliction. He emphasised that he had studied psychology and that, like me, he was a ‘scientist’. He had employed a young woman with a master’s degree in psychology to develop ‘Islamic Psychotherapy’ in his mosque. But it later transpired that he was well known for performing jhar-phuk, a simple magical technique, widely used in North India, for removing negative and supernatural influences from a client by brushing them with feathers and blowing on them. Hijama practitioners, too, seek scientific legitimation in numerous ways. In the first place, they simply assert, in their conversations with clients as well as in their promotional materials, that the efficacy of hijama has been ‘scientifically proven’. Other proponents of hijama have published research articles purporting to prove the efficacy of hijama in scientific or pseudoscientific periodicals. For example, Anees et al. (2015) discuss the history, applications, indications, and counter-indications for hijama and review several theories about why it might be efficacious, but cite no studies of the topic. Khalil et al. (2011) reviewed the mainstream medical literature and found that two of three systematic reviews found some evidence of pain relief and/or benefit from the use of hijama as an adjuvant, while the third found very little evidence of effectiveness for stroke rehabilitation. As their abstract puts it, ‘Few randomised controlled trials have examined the effectiveness of cupping (specifically wet cupping), and those that have been published were generally of low quality, with many limitations’. Shaban has written several rather extensive discussions of hijama treatment, including theories regarding its possible efficacy (e.g., Shaban 2011). But perhaps the most useful discussion is El-Wakil (2011), who provides a very useful summary of wet cupping in multiple historical periods and cultural contexts, including bloodletting in Europe. He points out that there are multiple references to hijama in the hadith literature – not just one – and that it is also to be found in the Shia tradition (cf. Jahromi et al. 2016). He discusses at length the difference between hijama and bloodletting, arguing that bloodletting seeks to reduce the quantity of blood while hijama seeks to improve its circulation and claiming that, although the latter is harmful, the former is useful. He discusses the revival of hijama in the 20th century and especially recently in the work of Ahmad Hefny of Egypt (who was the teacher of one of my main sources in this research), and in his discussion of the results of

76  William S. Sax randomised clinical trials he honestly acknowledges that there is nothing more than ‘some suggestive evidence’ for the efficaciousness of the practice. In a rather speculative section of the article, he links hijama to other kinds of ‘energy medicine’, provides a succinct but accurate summary of beliefs and practices in relation to the Jinn/black magic, and writes that (t)he use of hijama to rectify such imbalances has taken a step further as practitioners claim it can remove or significantly reduce the impact of possession and black magic. Cupping is recommended in the area beneath the neck and in between the shoulders (al-kahil) and the two areas on the neck just beneath the ears (al-ahda’ayn) . . . based on the sunna of the Prophet. Often the Qur’an is recited during the sessions in which hijama is administered to rid the patient of any possible affliction by a jinn, claiming it comes out in the ‘bad’ blood. This deduction is undoubtedly based on the famous hadith that ‘the devil runs in man’s bloodstream’ and the relationship that is commonly held between the jinn, bodily waste and impurities. (El-Wakil 2011: 7) Is this ‘scientification’? By and large, I think not. Rather, it is a kind of advocacy that uses science to paint the most positive picture of hijama that it can, but limits its claims because it is in fact respectful of scientific norms. What explains the phenomenal growth of the Muslim exorcism clinic in Western Europe and especially the UK? I think that the answer lies in the fact that the exorcism clinic is in its own way a bit like a shrine and a bit like a hospital. Like the quasi-scientific attempts to prove the efficacy of hijama or of Koran water, it strives to be modern and Islamic at the same time. Its scientific, rational appearance appeals to many modern, urban Muslims, especially those living in Europe. It allows them to continue traditional forms of religious practice in a new physical environment in which they are apparently normalised.

Notes 1 Beatrix Pfleiderer’s study of a popular Muslim healing shrine in Gujarat (2006) is a classic that gives a good description of the shrine and its ambience but must be read with caution. Subsequent studies of the same shrine by Helene Basu are theoretically much better (e.g., Basu 2009). Carla Bellamy’s 2011 monograph on an ‘ambiguously Muslim place’ is perhaps the best of its genre and gives exquisite attention to the ambience of healing places. 2 For a similar example of the ‘medicalisation’ of ritual healing, see Okwaro 2010.

References Anees, Safina, Yasir Arafath, Ayesha Naaz, and Khan Mohammed Qaiser. 2015. ‘Hijama (Cupping Therapy) as a Preventive Medicine – a Retro-Prospective Analytical Study’, International Journal of AYUSH (Ayurveda, Yoga, Unani, Siddha and Homeopathy) 4(2): 88–100.

The birth of the (exorcism) clinic  77 Basu, Helene. 2009. ‘Contested Practices of Control: Psychiatric and Religious Mental Health Care in India’, Curare 32(1 – 2): 28–39. Bellamy, Carla. 2011. The Powerful Ephemeral: Everyday Healing in an Ambiguously Islamic Place. Berkeley, Los Angeles and London: University of California Press. El-Wakil, Ahmed. 2011. ‘Observations of the Popularity and Religious Significance of Blood-Cupping (al-hijama) as an Islamic Medicine’, Contemporary Islamic Studies: A Qatar Foundation Academic Journal 2. Jahromi, Sheida Kolahi, Amali Jelodar Ghol, and Ali Mohammad Mallahi. 2016. ‘Effect of Wet Cupping on Human Venous Blood Factors in Golestan Province’, Bulletin of Environment, Pharmacology and Life Sciences 5(6): 25–27. Khalil, Mohamed, Ahmed Elolemy, Ibrahim Elsubai, and Asim Khalil. 2011. ‘Hijama (cupping): A Review of the Evidence’, Focus on Alternative and Complementary Therapies 16(1): 12–16. Naraindas, Harish, Johannes Quack, and William Sax (eds.). 2014. Asymmetrical Conversations: Contestations, Circumventions and the Blurring of Therapeutic Boundaries. New York: Berghahn. Okwaro, Ferdinand. 2010. ‘Modernity and Efficacy in Kenyan Ritual Healing’, Journal of Ritual Studies 24(2): 57–79. Pfleiderer, Beatrix. 2006. The Red Thread. Healing Possession at a Muslim Shrine in North India. New Delhi: Aakar. Sax, William. 2009. God of Justice: Ritual Healing and Social Justice in the Central Himalayas. New York: Oxford University Press. Shaban, Tamer. 2011. Cupping Therapy Encyclopedia. No Place: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform.

5 The science question in alternative agricultures Zero budget natural farming and the emergence of agronomical pluralism in India* Daniel Münster Western philosophers are in very wrong confident mentality that, only they, have absolute truth. But, it is not correct. There is only [one] absolute ­philosophy that is Indian philosophy. (Palekar 2013: 21)

Introduction In the shadow of Kerala’s much-noted organic policy (Thottathil 2014), a more radical natural farming movement has become active. Followers of charismatic farmer-cum-scientist Subhash Palekar practice ‘Zero Budget Natural Farming’ (ZBNF) or ‘Zero Budget Spiritual Farming,’ an alternative agronomy that is based on the activation of microbial life in the soil via a revival of putatively ‘ancient’ farming methods and technological innovations by their ‘guru’ Palekar. Aiming for near complete self-sufficiency of farmers’ households, Palekar and his disciples are outspoken critics of mainstream agricultural sciences, government run agronomical extension and everything that is associated with modern industrial agriculture and its global food. They counter these with utopian visions of rural self-sufficiency, prosperity and abundance that are actualised through heterodox practices based on fermentation and the centrality of native cows. This chapter deals with the epistemological, political and practical complexities of the critiques of science expressed in ZBNF. Their rejection of soil science, agricultural engineering, development ideologies and the workings of the global agro-food system is complicated by their dual positionality as small-holder farmers who are dependent on and practice science and technology on a daily basis and as historical subjects who – for good reasons – trace the decline of Indian agriculture to colonialism and Western ‘geopolitics of knowledge’ (Mignolo 2002). These farmers call their knowledge and practice ‘natural farming’ or prakṛti kṛṣi in Malayalam,1 in contrast to organic farming (jaiva kṛṣi) and what they call ‘chemical’ farming (rāsa kṛṣi). They participate in a complex epistemological and ontological project of recuperating vitality, multispecies togetherness, symbiotic processes and prosperity

The science question  79 in a dying and degraded world of smallholder agriculture. However, they feel this relational and ecological vision can only be achieved by a fundamental break with mainstream science, agronomy and development and through the exposure of a ‘Western conspiracy’ against Indian agriculture. It is thus a dual project of ecological repair and place-based critique, a simultaneous struggle for epistemic identity and a viable livelihood. The ontological politics of Natural Farming result in what I call agronomical pluralism, which can be understood as the competition of more than one agronomical system and the resultant need for farmers to navigate this plurality of choices and their respective claims to truth. Like other onto-epistemological pluralisms described by anthropologists, most notably medical pluralism (cf. Leslie 1980) and legal pluralism (cf. Benda-Beckmann 2002), agronomical pluralism manifests as a hierarchical opposition of established or ‘mainstream’ science-cum-practice and complementary or alternative science/practice. The ontological quality of this project involves doing agriculture ­differently – sensing, inhabiting and dwelling in ways on the farm and cultivating modes of care that allow for fully relating to soils, plants, insects, animals and even microbes. Regenerative ways of farming, they sense, have the potential to affectively and economically transform precarious lifeworlds into self-sufficient, autonomous and abundant worlds of life. I have written elsewhere about the practices of natural farming, the context of agrarian crisis that contributed to their rise and the novel relationships with native cows in Zero Budget Natural Farming (Münster 2015a, 2016, 2017a). In this contribution I want to focus on the epistemic side of this alternative agriculture movement – its critiques of science, state and the West: how does this natural farming movement discursively articulate questions of authenticity, belonging and attachment to place in relation to transcultural flows of knowledge, science and scientism? How does the movement position its agronomical innovations in relation to the sciences and engineering involved in contemporary agriculture? What specific epistemic space do they carve out for their movement in confronting the encroachments of colonialism, global capitalism, Indian nationalism and the biopolitics of development in their livelihoods? What are the positive uses of science for the onto-epistemological project of cultivating a new ecological agriculture of the future in a postcolonial landscape? My aim is to show the historical and place-based nature of Palekar’s critique of science that responds to the political ecology of ‘productivist’ (Wilson and Rigg 2003) agriculture. Zero Budget Farming challenges conventional or mainstream agriculture with many of the same arguments shared by scientists, activists and farmer-activists in the highly transcultural and cosmopolitan fields of agroecology, alternative and organic farming, which have emerged since the beginning of the twentieth century (for an institutional history see Lockeretz 2007; Thirsk 2000) and largely in response to the externalities of industrial agriculture. I thus hope to show the ambivalent position of science in ZBNF. On one hand, it is seen as a foreign occupying

80  Daniel Münster force, responsible for deskilling farmers and the colonisation of traditional lifeworlds. On the other hand, recent biological sciences (microbiology, ecology, soil science) are also an inspiration for the ecological renewal of agriculture, the restoration of relationships of care between humans, animals, plants and microbes and the reskilling of farmers with knowledge about soils and other interdependent ecosystems in agriculture. The ontoepistemological project of ZBNF is thus one of critique and recuperation.

On methodology This chapter is based on several mid-ranging periods of ethnographic fieldwork among smallholder farmers in Wayanad, Kerala, since 2008. I had first visited Wayanad district in order to study the historical changes in the agrarian landscape and how they contributed to crisis and farmer suicides (Münster 2015b). At the agrarian frontier of Wayanad, located at the frontier of settler cash-crop farming and wildlife conservation, decades of plantation monocropping, chemical biocides and commercial cultivars have produced an ‘environment of crisis’ (Münster 2017b), in which people involved in extractive agriculture experience increasing precarity, debt and the destruction of their agro-environments. In the context of the agrarian suicide crisis, Subhash Palekar’s Zero Budget Farming was a beacon of hope that could provide a plausible answer to questions of how to continue living as agriculturalists on a damaged planet. This chapter, however, despite being informed by my fieldwork among farmers, focuses mostly on the guru of the movement, Palekar, whom I have encountered in ZBNF training camps, in his books and all over the internet (on various social media platforms and websites).2 I will focus on his published (Palekar 2010b, 2011) writings. Palekar mostly speaks English when addressing farmers in South India, and his written texts are often identical to what and how he performs on stage (and how he spoke to me on the one occasion I was able to interview him in 2014). I have resisted the temptation to ‘translate’ Palekar’s English into (my Germanic version of) Standard English in the hope that these verbatim quotes may convey a good sense of his oral style and rhetorical force. This unfiltered, raw and uncorrected stream of Maharatiinflected English seems to be deliberate and part of Palekar’s populist agenda. As he explains in the preface to his first book, he had ‘reader farmers’ in mind when writing it, ‘who cannot speak English but can read a simple no literal English. So, they will accept this rustic or boorish English language, no doubt. I have not written these books for Professors, Doctors, Scientists, Barristers or so-called Intellectuals. So, please, sorry’ (Palekar 2010b: 11).

Critique of science: confronting the mainstream In February 2014, I participated a five-day workshop on Zero Budget Natural Farming, or celavillātta prakṛti kṛṣi in Malayalam, in the South Indian

The science question  81 town of Nilambur (Kerala). Subhash Palekar was going to teach this workshop in person. I had first met his followers in Wayanad much earlier, some 150 committed farmers who had been learning about this technology since 2008 when Palekar taught a similar workshop in Wayanad, followed by a second workshop in the district in 2012. Kerala came relatively late to the movement, which is much larger in other parts of South India, most notably in Karnataka. Many farmers of Wayanad participated in the workshop in Nilambur – which is the neighbouring district – and made camp in the auditorium for the duration of the course. The Nilambur workshop had the character of a revival meeting for peasant farmers. It was hosted in a large multi-purpose auditorium in the outskirts of town at the foothills of the Western Ghats, geographically located below Wayanad district, but historically it was also a region of settler migration. The auditorium seated several hundred farmers from across Kerala, members of women’s self-help groups (Kudumba Shree), agricultural officers and other members of the interested public in long rows of white plastic chairs. The workshop lasted long hot days from morning to evening interrupted only by a vegetarian lunch break and ‘coffee breaks’ without coffee (Palekar pushes his followers to break the habits of drinking tea, coffee and milk). Most of the day was thus spent listening to Palekar on stage. Palekar speaks in a very energetic and captivating style and mostly in English, which another person on stage struggles to translate to Malayalam after every other sentence. Palekar’s speech is full of irony and puns. He calls Justus von Liebig (1803–1873), the nineteenth-century pioneer of soil chemistry, ‘Mr. Lie Big,’ renames biodynamic farming ‘bio-dynamite farming,’ refers to the Green Revolution as ‘suicide revolution’ and mocks the incompetence of extension officers with little anecdotes. Occasionally he interrupts his lectures and calls his audience to order shouting, ‘Are you understood?!,’ to which his audience replies with an enthusiastic ‘Yes!’ (see also Münster 2014). Palekar holds a BSc in agronomy and is a farmer himself. According to his scattered autobiographical statements, he developed his heterodox agronomy in the years 1989 to 1995 on his farm in his native Maharashtra. He spent these years studying Vedas, Western sciences and organic farming methods. Most importantly, he conducted experiments on his farm until he found his system of natural farming and the recipes for his central ‘miracle preparations,’ which he calls jīvāmṛta (Sanskrit: nectar of life) and bijāmṛta (seed nectar). Before Palekar lets his audience in on his findings and his methodology he spends the first two days debunking all other methods of farming, the Green Revolution and agriculture science. He decries the ‘scandal’ of vermicomposting as practiced by organic agriculture which robs Indian soil of fertility and lectures on incompetent and corrupt agriculture universities, which ‘should be closed.’ He warns his audience to keep away from ‘demonic’ substances (chemical fertilizers, pesticides), ‘demonic’ species (Bos taurus or ‘foreign cows,’ the ‘destructor beast’ and Eisenia

82  Daniel Münster foetida, which is the earthworm used in vermicomposting), hybrid seeds and ‘demonic’ technologies (biotechnology and the ‘demon tractor’): This tractor is a demon, which destroys your future. This tractor does not give you milk, dung or urine, but it drinks Diesel, which is not prepared in any factory, which is lifted through the stomach of the earth and which is created before crore of years, by buried forests under the earth by means of earthquake and volcanoes. (Palekar 2011: 20) Wayanad’s farmers respond particularly emotionally to Palekar’s repeated references to rural suicides and the increase in dreaded diseases, most notably cancer. After many years of prosperity from cultivating pepper and other high-value cash crops, Wayanad had become a ‘frontier in ruins’ (Münster 2017b). The former frontier of agrarian settler migration had entered a situation of crisis, caused, among other factors, by the ill-effects of speculative monocropping and chemical inputs on the health of soils and humans. Many farmers subsequently lost their entire plantations to pathogens, cancer is on the rise and farmers are trapped in loan and pesticide treadmills (Münster 2015c). For farmers it is quite clear that they have been ill advised by the ‘government’ [sarkkār]. Palekar is quite precise in pointing to the specific origin of agricultural extension work in India: Who guides the farmers to purchase these inputs? Agricultural Universities? Yes! Agricultural Universities! If, it is proved that, there is no any necessity to purchase or to use these inputs, so also, then, are Agricultural Universities misguiding the farmers? Yes! So, the guidelines of the Agricultural Universities are straight responsible for the debt. And debt is straight responsible for the suicides of the farmers. (Palekar 2010a: 5) In my earlier work on farmers’ suicides, I have recorded many voices that criticise if not betrayal by extension workers then at least their indifference and ‘uselessness.’ Wayanad’s farmers can thus relate to statements like this one, which was paraphrased several times during the workshop: Millions of farmers have committed suicides and these suicides waves are continued and are increasing. Every year millions of people are dying by increasing deathful diseases. Increasing cost of production by means of chemical farming and organic farming is the main cause for farmer’s suicides, and poisonous food and polluted air, water are the main causes for deathful diseases of both farmers and consumers; which is given by both chemical and organic farming. (Palekar 2013: 8)

The science question  83 Natural farming’s promise of hope through a restoration of joy and fascination in farming has to be seen in relationship to farmers being affected by declining incomes, forced exits from agriculture, deteriorating health, the disappearance of familiar species and a general sense of abandonment by the same state agronomy that used to encourage them to take up commercial agriculture and new technologies. Living through agrarian crisis has put the hegemony of Green Revolution agronomy for many in question and opened up the possibilities for agronomical pluralism. Experimenting with alternative agronomies and their claims to a decolonial ‘Indian’ science contests the knowledge, practices and materialities disseminated by agricultural offices and other institutions of state extension work. Palekar and his followers are radically opposing what they call agrarian mainstream. Mainstream agriculture refers to ‘prescribed agricultural practices within conventional systems. [. . .] [It] is underpinned by a productivist logic with established supply chains and formal institutions and actors’ (Maye 2016). Under this global productivist regime, agricultural science and research, as well as state and industry support, is exclusively geared towards the expansion of production, quantitative growth, increase of yield, and the intensification of chemical and capital inputs (Puig de la Bellacasa 2015). The Green Revolutions of the 1960s have brought productivist regimes to many countries in Asia – installed to combat hunger and to win the Cold War. Here is what Palekar has written about the ‘violent, unscientific, inhuman, barbarous, demonic, atrocious, ferocious, monstrous Green Revolution’ (2010b: 13): ‘[it] is a world-wide pre-planned conspiracy to exploit our rural economy, natural resources like soil, water, environment and existence of living being’ (2010b: 37). For actual devotees of Palekar, ZBNF entails a change of personality as well as a change in the culture of farming. Palekar camps double as revival meetings in which farmers were repeatedly invited to stand up, raise their right arm and solemnly vow to transform themselves from being a ‘demon destroyer of nature’ to a ‘saint protector of nature.’ In Palekar’s words: While practicing Zero Budget spiritual Farming in your farm, there will be a beginning of dramatic and miracle changes in your behaviour automatically. You will be internally changed. [. . .] Your bad habits i.e. drinking the liquor, gambling, eating non-vegetarian, waist, falsehood, defilement also will be continuously run away from you. Absolute cultivation of mind. Spiritual farming means to overall change you yourself. The internal change and external change simultaneously. (Palekar 2010b: 186) Appachan, a Syrian Christian settler of Wayanad with whom I talked long hours about his conversion to natural farming (Münster 2017b), emphasised the great importance of the aspects of ZBNF that are unrelated to agriculture: the ‘simple lifestyle,’ the withdrawal of coffee, vegetarian food and the

84  Daniel Münster daily appreciation of life on his farm. To Appachan ZBNF has been realised in the almost-utopian terms set out by Palekar: ‘Natural farming is a selfdeveloping, self-nourishing and self-sufficient farming. So, in this system, there is no any human made exploitation. There is no any chance for it. It is a pain free, care free, loan free, passion free3 farming’ (Palekar 2010b: 194). This vision stands in stark contrast to the image Palekar and his followers have of mainstream farming and its support nexus of state and science. Agriculture science is one ‘branch’ of the great Western ‘exploiter system.’

Scientism, ecology and displaced knowledge in modern agriculture Agriculture is indeed an ancient empirical science in which cultivators have innovated and engaged in seasonal experiments on the basis of vast knowledge about their environment. As Henke puts it: ‘In this sense, science and agriculture share a practical interest in a kind of mastery of the world, disciplining and systematizing it into a form that reduces but does not quite eliminate uncertainty’ (Henke 2008: 6). Much of farmers’ knowledge, however, is practical, experiential, tacit or embodied knowledge (see Wulf, this volume). Agriculture as science has thus as much affinity to knowledge as it has to skill and practice. There is thus a point to be made that scientistic and economistic imaginings constitute a new quality of scientification in agriculture with the power of alienating producers from their own capacities of practical research. Chemical farming, in Palekar’s words, ‘carries you from life to suicide, from creation to destruction, from knowledge to ignorance [. . .] from affluence to poverty. Chemical Farming is Allopathic farming’ (Palekar 2010b: 193). Historically speaking, agriculture has been a relative late-comer to the scientification of human lifeworlds. Compared with human bodies, for example, whose study in medical tracts is among the oldest in the history of science (Foucault 2008 [1973]), agriculture became the focus of scientific attention only in nineteenth-century Europe. But agrarian science and engineering had epochal consequences. Vaclavc Smil (2001) has called the Haber-Bosch synthesis of ammonia and nitrogen one of the most important technological inventions of all human history, as it made chemical fertilizers and hence the contemporary growth in world populations possible. Scientism in agriculture has had close connections to threats on human lives and responses to crises such as famines. If we define scientism as ‘the misuse of the language of science, and its aura of predictive certainty, to portray certain political and economic visions as being inevitably true, natural and triumphant’ (Douglas 2009), then the question is, what is the particular political, economic, aesthetic vision that is rendered inevitable by techno-scientific interventions in agriculture? Defenders of the Green Revolution have always argued that it was all about hunger and poverty and continue to accuse its critics of ‘antiscience zealotry’ (Borlaug 2000). On the other hand, its most outspoken critics have called the Green Revolution a project of the Cold War (Cullather 2013).

The science question  85 Agronomy, in the narrow sense as the technoscientific research in agriculture, has been historically deeply entangled with European colonialism (Brockway 2002) and the development of global food regimes since the midnineteenth century (Friedmann 2005). The publication of German chemist Justus von Liebig’s seminal work Organic Chemistry and Its Application to Agriculture and Physiology (1840), for example, is inextricably linked to the ‘Guano mania’ of 1840s: Liebig had recommended the use of Guano as the best source of nitrogen, a scientific statement that contributed significantly of the ‘age of guano,’ in which the Guano islands off the coast of South America became an essential material part of the first global food regime that provided cheap food for the industrial revolution in Europe (Mann 2011; Friedmann 2005). Colonial botanical gardens have been key research institutions for the expansion of tropical plantation crops across the colonial world. The globalisation of cultivars like rubber, tea or coffee has been synonymous with Green Revolution research and extension. With the introduction of the Green Revolution in 1966, each state in India was given a centrally funded State Agriculture University as part of the National Agricultural Research System. In 1971 the Kerala Agricultural University (KAU) was founded, incorporating two earlier state-run institutions, the Agricultural College and Research Institute at Vellayani, and the College of Veterinary and Animal Science at Mannuthy.4 Since then, the state of Kerala has installed a wide network of research and extension institutions. Kerala Agricultural University includes six colleges, six regional agricultural research stations (RARS), seven KVK, 15 research stations and 16 research and extension units across the state. As became evident in my research on farmers’ suicides (Münster 2012, 2015a, 2015b), rural publics in India are increasingly unhappy with recommendations and ‘packages of practices’ regarding agriculture. The agriculture officers and the researchers at Wayanad’s KVK and RARS stations did little to discourage farmers from shifting to monocultures and overusing chemicals and were seen as helpless when it came to fighting the pathogens and drought that ruined so many fields in Wayanad. The Research and Extension has to a great extent lost legitimacy among small-scale producers. During the Nilambur workshop, small farmers would cheer for statements like Palekar’s calls to ‘boycott all the techniques of Agricultural Universities’ and his sentiment that ‘Agricultural Universities have no any right to say that chemical farming is a science and truth. It is a fraud’ (2013: 15).

Recuperation: soil ontologies in natural farming One way to live and die well as mortal critters in the Chthulucene is to join forces to reconstitute refuges, to make possible partial and robust biological-cultural-political-technological recuperation and recomposition. (Haraway 2016: 101)

86  Daniel Münster Palekar and other contemporary and historical critics of the ‘ “actually existing” science’ (Kloppenburg 1991) of agronomy and of techno-scientific interventions in agricultural production have much in common: rejection of an increasing chemicalisation of agriculture in favour of biological dynamics, critique of the mechanical understanding of soil fertility and plant health in favour of symbiotic and microbial processes, uneasiness about the loss of tacit and local/traditional knowledge in processes of deskilling and loss of biocultural diversity and dismay at the increasingly exploitative integration of small farms in industrial complexes ‘upstream’ and ‘downstream’ of farming (Levins and Lewontin 1985), among numerous further issues. Despite the shared concerns among activists and critics of agriculture, I hope to be able to show that Palekar’s position of critique is also very specific and differs from many other alternative agricultures – permaculture, biodynamic, organic – in its insistence that agrarian technoscience is not so much a hybrid of high-modernism (Scott 1998) and capitalist development but first of all ‘Western,’ ‘foreign’ and alien to India. As a matter of fact, alternative agricultures are also part of the foreign exploiter system: Friends, attention please, how much dangerous is chemical farming, more dangerous is this Organic or Biodynamic or Sustainable Farming. These alternative farming systems are more exploiter than Green Revolution techniques. We have to strongly protest against these alternatives. These both, chemical and organic farming systems are a pre-planned array or conspiracy arranged by this exploiter system. (Palekar 2010b: 39) Subhash Palekar’s movement is embedded in an emerging field of agronomical pluralism in India. Zero Budget Natural Farming is arguably the largest and most successful among several alternative agronomical systems emerging in India that call themselves natural farming and work towards a specifically Indian system of agriculture. These communities of oppositional theory and alternative practice are united in their rejection of Green Revolution agriculture, in the widest sense of the word, on one hand and the conventionalisation trends in the certified organic agriculture on the other. Such groups reject certified organic as Western import for its reliance on export, NGO support and its compatibility with mainstream sustainable development thinking. The diverse Indian alternative agricultures have to do epistemic work to find their proper balance between an embrace of Western science and a revival of Indian agronomical heritage. There seems to be a shared tendency to glorify the agrarian past and traditional ecological knowledge, also known as TEK, as is evident in this statement from Claude Alvares’ popular Organic Farming Sourcebook: In contrast [to the Green Revolution], agricultural practice in India dates back more than 4,000 years. Indian agriculture therefore could be

The science question  87 called a self-sustaining agriculture simply because it has maintained soil fertility over this enormously huge period of time. This is permaculture at its best. (Bajaj and Srinivas 1996: 10) Alternative agriculture movements beyond organic operate across India with highly variegated numbers of followers and impact. Their oppositional understandings of agriculture and practices of farming have complex transcultural influences that include Mahatma Gandhi’s (1869–1948) ideas of rurality and ascetic lifestyle (Jodhka 2002); the agrarian ecocritique of Rachel Carson (1907–1964), Albert Howard (1873–1947) and Masanobu Fukuoka (1913–2008) and the travelling technologies of alternative agriculture movements like Permaculture or Biodynamic farming. Palekar is also only one among several charismatic agrarian gurus of natural farming in India; other important names include L. Narayana Reddy, Shripad Dabholkar (1924–2001), G. Nammalvar (1938–2013) and Baskar Save (1922– 2015), who each innovated their own style of farming and have regional groups of followers. It may not come as a great surprise that Palekar rejects them all: They have given the name for their alternative technology as ‘Organic Farming,’ ‘Eco Friendly Farming,’ ‘Agro Ecological farming,’ ‘Jaiva Krishi,’ ‘Alternative Farming,’ ‘Sustainable Farming,’ ‘Saawaya Krishi,’ ‘Aero Greens Technology,’ ‘Biodynamic Farming,’ ‘Rhishi Krishi Technology,’ ‘Agnihotra Farming,’ ‘Rekki Farming’ and so on. All these techniques are alternative techniques, but unnatural and non-scientific techniques. (Palekar 2010b: 120) The reason for rejecting them – being unnatural – points to the central theorem in the recuperative side of Palekar’s system: the nature of nature. Which is in existence in the nature is natural and which is not in existence in nature is unnatural. [. . .] What is natural, it will be not certified by Agricultural University or Organic University or any third party. It will be certified only by the Nature. Nature will define. Nature can discuss with it’s mouth, in its language. What is nature’s language? Forest trees are the forest’s language. (Palekar 2013: 60) Palekar’s Nature (capital n intended) is based on an idealised forest as a model ecosystem. In the forest, he claims, we can observe plants growing and bearing countless fruits without any interference by humans. In the same way, natural farming has to follow the example of the forest: ‘How nature is self-developing, self-nourishing and self-sufficient, our Spiritual Fanning

88  Daniel Münster is also self-developing, self-nourishing and self-sufficient’ (Palekar 2010b: 184). And in the forest plants don’t need any farm-management techniques, mainstream or organic, in order to bear fruit: ‘That means, both chemical and organic farming are totally absent in the nature’ (Palekar 2013: 15). Observing forests is also the preferred scientific method: ‘What are existed in the nature are the knowledge, science, truth and non-violence. Forest is the nature. Nature is the system of the God, eyes of the God’ (2013: 14). The scorn and bile Palekar has reserved for the sciences and biologies of mainstream farming are mirrored by his exuberant praise for the techniques and multispecies assemblages enrolled in Natural Farming. He activates all his poetic capacities when he speaks of ‘beautiful and marvellous biodiversity,’ the grace of native cows, their urine and dung and the amazing liveliness of soil or compares the necessity for mulching to the need for covering the body of your mother with a saree. His wit is then also sometimes combined with ironical anthropomorphism, like when he calls microbes nature’s ‘input industries’ that have been given ‘contracts’ by God to fix nitrogen, or speaks of ‘Potash the wanderer’. When it comes to his allies in the fields of academia, he has no issue speaking the language of science and even claims that certain principles are ‘basic science’ or have been ‘proven by science.’ On stage, he lectures extensively in the ‘scientific’ language of nutrient cycles, microbial symbioses between plants and bacteria, nitrogen fixing, soil biota, phosphate solubilising bacteria, mycorrhiza and so on. Palekar’s system of farming, which I have summarised in more detail elsewhere, rests on the principle of consciously designing farm plots for multiple crops and maximum diversity of species. The ‘five layer Palekar model’ (Palekar 2010a) follows Palekar’s principle that plants do not compete for water but only for sunlight and hence arranges plots vertically for the best utilisation of sunlight and shade. The main onto-epistemological shift happens when natural farmers learn a novel appreciation of soil as a living thing or, as Palekar puts it, as annapurna, mother soil. ZBNF is all about building and maintaining the health and fertility of soil with the help of microbial agents. The microbial turn in soil care is a remarkable shift from mainstream practices in Wayanad. Soil care is a fundamentally relational activity that requires humans, cows, plants and microorganisms to work symbiotically for mutual benefit. The cows of ZBNF need to be absolutely native, dēśi cows as Palekar calls them or nāṭan paśu in Malayalam. Only Bos indicus, they claim, have the miraculous high microbial count in their dung and urine that makes it possible to cultivate 30 acres with one cow. As the movement is vegan, the cows are only kept for their excrements (Münster 2017b). The excrements are then fermented for several days with sugar, water and pulses into Palekar’s ‘miracle preparation’ Jiwamrita (jīvāmṛta – Sanskrit for ‘nectar of life’. Jiwamrita is an Amrit. Jiwamrita is a deathless, immortal beatitude of nectar. Jiwamrita has not only a microbial saturation; it has a spiritual

The science question  89 power, make the soil saturated and spiritual, make the crops saturated and spiritual, make the food eater (naturally grown) nutrition saturated and spiritually saturated, powerful, potent, valiant, a mighty person. Jiwamrita is not only a culture; it is a message of God. Jiwamrita is a saver, protector of the life. (Palekar 2013: 131) When applied to the soil, Jiwamrita (jīvāmṛta) does not act as a fertiliser – which means it is not absorbed by the plants. Instead, it feeds and activates the soil microorganisms: ‘countless beneficial and effective microbes are divided speedily and activated; soil becomes bio-diversitically saturated, soil becomes alive animate; all creative forces and spiritual forces are activated in the soil’ (Palekar 2010b: 128). Microorganisms in turn attract (native) earthworms, who in turn cycle macronutrients from deep layers of the soil to topsoil. Earthworms and microbes feed on the organic matter that is placed as mulch cover onto the ground. This entire process produces humus near the roots and feeds the plants with nutrients. Plants grow and feed humans with healthy and nourishing grains and vegetables. These technologies are of course specified and refined by Palekar and his followers to suit the needs of particular crops and landscapes. But the transformation of practices and subjectivities actualises a recuperative ontology of care. One could call it a post-anthropocentric relational ontology of agriculture. It is all about letting ‘nature’ do the work and realising an agriculture of abundance in which farmers stand on an ‘ocean of nutrients’ under their feet that simply needs to be activated by allowing processes and principles to unfold that naturally occur in forest ecologies. However, ZBNF is also about the claim that only native biologies (cows, earthworms, seeds, microbes) have the capacity to recuperate India’s rural health and prosperity. And it is also about the claim that India had agriculture figured out thousands of years ago, with god Krishna as the first agricultural scientist (Palekar 2010b: 165) and that the Golden Age was destroyed by a conspiracy of foreign colonial forces.

Conclusion Among farmers in Wayanad the need to take consequential decisions has proliferated. Agricultural practices cannot be taken for granted anymore and the recommendations by scientific trustees have lost parts of their trustworthiness. Farmers who were used to making high-stakes decisions, for example about which crop to cultivate, what seed to choose or where to lease additional land, are now increasingly confronted with a new set of choices: how to cultivate and which style of farming to follow. This situation I call agronomical pluralism. In the choice between chemical, organic and natural farming – to name only the broad categories – economic, moral and ethical considerations intersect.

90  Daniel Münster Zero Budget Natural Farming’s critique of Green Revolution science and the recuperative efforts of this heterodox agronomy allow us to draw a variety of conclusions about agronomical pluralism. First, agronomical pluralism is not a liberal pluralism of peaceful coexistence. Slightly overstating the case, the opening quote to this chapter may be interpreted to indicate that Palekar replaces the violence of Western scientism with the chauvinism of Hindu supremacy. He counters putative Western claims to universal ‘absolute’ truth with the equally disturbing (and false) claim that ‘there is only [one] absolute philosophy [and] that is Indian philosophy’ (Palekar 2013: 21). Palekar is also less than generous when it comes to evaluating the merits of other alternative agronomies, such as permaculture or biodynamic farming. He even considers other ‘Indian’ natural farming systems to be demonic or at least wrong. Farmers, however, are much less rigorous. In Wayanad, many practitioners of ZBNF have trialled a variety of alternative agronomies, before adopting Palekar’s system. The spirit of trialling and experimenting prevails among many of them. Among farmers other practices are not so much regarded as categorically wrong but simply as not needed anymore, too costly or too much work. Essentialist claims to the putative purity of indigenous, traditional or local have been effectively deconstructed (Agrawal 1995) as ‘invented space of authenticity’ (Gupta 1998: 229). Palekar’s statement thus exemplifies Akhil Gupta’s point about the dangers of a politics of purity and continuity: ‘Discussion or efforts to “preserve” indigenous knowledge end up privileging certain kinds of knowledge over others’ (1998: 289). My hope is that the case of Palekar’s blunt and outspoken nationalist rhetoric may open up future conversations about environmentalism and questions of belonging. ZBNF may serve as a magnifier of the ‘false consciousness of place’ (Plumwood 2008) and the reliance on unhelpful purities and unacknowledged nationalisms that may be part of agrarian environmentalisms in more subtle ways. The second conclusion to be drawn about agronomical pluralism is that it has to relate to the sciences and does so in ambiguous ways. Palekar does not reject science categorically. On the contrary, whenever he finds support for his microbial ontology of soil health, he is eager to cite scientific journals. Palekar’s very specific style of both rejecting and selectively embracing science and technology may be articulated in a backward-looking and chauvinistic idiom, but it is not unlike the position held by many critical scholars in Science and Technology Studies who on one hand reject Big Agriculture, Big Science and Big Capital (cf. Haraway 2016) and on the other celebrate speculative possibilities of cutting edge science, such as the of ‘homo microbis’ (Sagan 2013) or the biology of ‘ecological evolutionary developmental worlding and unworlding’ (Haraway 2016: 97). When I challenged Palekar in the one interview he gave me about the many commonalities I see between his teachings and permaculture principles he responded that this was obvious, as there is only ‘one Nature.’ The science question is then less a question of science versus traditional knowledge but

The science question  91 rather which sciences are supposed to take a lead in honing our understanding of agronomy. My aim has been to go beyond the deconstruction or ‘exposure’ of nativist discourses in agrarian environmentalism. I hope to have been able to show that Zero Budget Farming is also a valuable contribution to theoretical and practical problems regarding food and agriculture in the contemporary world. ZBNF seems to work really well for farmers and their other-than-human companions. The Wayand farmers who have adopted it, whether partially or fully, attest to its efficacy, to increased yields and availability of healthy and tasty food and to reduced costs and labour requirements. But most importantly, they are certain that it has restored their pleasure for working the field without having to handle toxic substances. To the environmental humanities, questions of belonging, ecological nationalism, epistemic violence, transcultural knowledge, imperial science and the scientification of lifeworlds remain critical issues – but so are processes of symbiosis, coevolution, fermentation and nitrogen cycling, which have yet to be integrated into critical cultural theory. Just like Zero Budget farmers, the social sciences and humanities face questions of how they ‘ought to relate to science, technology, engineering, and medicine (STEM) subjects’ (Castree 2014). As geographer Castree puts it, ‘It’s become a burning question in the world of “global change science” of late because the scope, scale, and magnitude of the human impact on Earth is unprecedented’ (2014). Subhash Palekar and his followers in Wayanad district do not inhabit a straightforward positionality. On one hand, the critique embodied in these alternative agriculture movements stands in a long genealogy of postcolonial critiques of scientific interventions in the name of ‘development’ (Kapadia 2002), ‘high modernism’ (Scott 1998) and ‘progress.’ It is an undeniable fact that in the field of agriculture scientific interventions have displaced well-adapted situated practices, skills, knowledge and species (cultivars and breeds) for uniform ‘Package of Practices,’ simplified and productivist logics of cultivation and novel biotechnologies of seeds, fertilizers and livestock breeds. Palekar and other natural farmers do the work of recuperation. Engaging the ecological nationalism of Palekar, the humanities are also always reminded that agriculture is fundamentally about life and materialsemiotic nature-cultures, thus realities beyond ideas, culture and language. Agriculture is about growing plants and raising animals on a multispecies farm. Its study is thus a field that invites a bridging of the divide between humanities and sciences not only by bringing the humanities to bear on science (as Science Studies) but by reading sciences like ecology and microbiology in order to rethink ontological assumptions within the humanities. The Indian natural farming movement that I studied resonates strongly with recent trends in environmental humanities (inspired by some trends in the sciences) to develop an affective, materialist, vitalist and more-than-human ontology of the world. However, theoretical and ethical traps are manifold in an ontological politics that combines biophilic relationality with place-based identity politics.

92  Daniel Münster Palekar frames his critique of the State-Capital-Science nexus in obscurantist idioms of conspiracy theories, cultural nationalism and Hindu chauvinisms. He counters the justified critique of the violence of hybridisation with a celebration of native cows that brings him very close to forces of the Hindu Right. But perhaps it is a mistake to overemphasise the implicit theories of culture, history and belonging in interpreting Palekar. Such a reading is after all not innocent of the structural power of Orientalism. Perhaps it would be better to give Palekar the benefit of the doubt that his essentialism is a strategic deployment of nativism and traditional knowledge and that in the end only practices and results matter. This pragmatic translation is what his Malayalee followers, among whom I did fieldwork, seem to do. Farmers in Wayanad translate or sanitise Palekar’s sweeping claims about spirituality, ancient Hindu wisdom and total disinvestment from state-run extension into a pragmatic methodology with the potential of recuperating agrarian livelihoods. Perhaps it is because many of them are Syrian Christian settlers with tenuous claims of belonging to this frontier landscape that they tend to translate ZBNF into a mere technology based on recommendations and recipes rather than a (Hindu) spiritual renewal of farmers’ subjectivities. In any case, I hope that this case has the potential to instigate a perhaps inconvenient but certainly necessary debate about ecology and belonging.

Notes * Acknowledgements: research for this chapter was funded by the Cluster of Excellence “Asia and Europe in a Global Context” (EXC 270) at Heidelberg University. I would like to also thank Joby Clement, Mercedes Duff, Andrew Flachs, Axel Michaels, Ursula Münster, Julia Poerting, T.R. Suma, Christoph Wulf, C.K. Vishnudas and the Zero Budget farmers of Wayanad. A different version of this chapter appeared in The Journal of Political Ecology 25.1 (2018). 1 Malayalam is the language spoken in Kerala. English is widely used in Kerala when speaking about farming methods, owing perhaps to the fact that Palekar does speak in English to his audience and that organic farming was earlier introduced by Non-Governmental Organisations and certifying bodies with strong transnational ties. ZBNF is hence most commonly known as zero budget kṛṣi in Wayanad. 2 Subhash Palekar runs his own website, which also features video lectures he has given (http://palekarzerobudgetspiritualfarming.org, accessed 15 November 2013). The online presence of his community followers is also vast. 3 In the context of Palekar’s writings, the notion of ‘passion free’ refers to Indian yogic tradition of freedom from passions and attachments as a goal for an ascetic lifestyle. It does not refer to boring farming without passion. 4 For the history of KAU see www.kau.in/basic-page/about-kerala-agricultural-­ university, (accessed 10 December 2016).

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The science question  95 Sagan, Dorion. 2013. Cosmic Apprentice: Dispatches from the Edges of Science. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Scott, James C. 1998. Seeing Like a State: How Certain Schemes to Improve the Human Condition Have Failed. New Haven: Yale University Press. Smil, Vaclav. 2001. Enriching the Earth: Fritz Haber, Carl Bosch, and the Transformation of World Food Production. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Thirsk, Joan. 2000. Alternative Agriculture: A History from the Black Death to the Present Day. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Thottathil, Sapna E. 2014. India’s Organic Farming Revolution: What It Means for Our Global Food System. Iowa City: University of Iowa Press. Wilson, Geoff A., and Jonathan Rigg. 2003. ‘Post-Productivist’ Agricultural Regimes and the South: Discordant Concepts?’ Progress in Human Geography 27(6): 681– 707. doi:10.1191/0309132503ph450oa.

6 Counting food? The pitfalls of caloric conception of nutrition and alternative theories of food V. Sujatha The nutritional status of women and children is the most serious public health issue confronting health experts and policy makers in India and the world. In India, health parameters like IMR and MMR have responded to public health interventions, but nutritional parameters like low weight and anaemia among women and children are not showing much improvement in the past decade. Nutritional status of populations has occupied the attention of biostatisticians, economists, econometrists and demographers for several decades, and there have been debates about how it is to be conceptualised and measured (Osmani 1991). While broader conceptual discussions on food and nutrition that investigate comparative physiology, ethnicity, diets and ecology are going on and are open-ended, the measurement of nutritional status has come to be based on narrow statistically defined indicators often regarded as self-evident and as having an independent existence. Food intake is measured by per capita caloric intake or per capita expenditure on food stuffs depending on whether the measurement is sought by the nutrition scientist or the economist. Computing the correlation between caloric intake, anthropometric measures like height and weight and a host of other socioeconomic variables like household income, household size and education for various populations has become the most common institutional approach to the study of nutritional status. This is also true of India, where the mainstream nutritional discourse drawing upon the surveys of the National Nutrition Monitoring Bureau (NNMB), NFHS and NSS data is heavily characterised by numerical indicators, and qualitative data are conspicuous by their absence. While quantitative assessment and monitoring is an essential for health administration and policy making and to ensure right to food among the poorest, there is an excessive and overwhelming reliance on statistical correlations on food and nutrition. The argument of this chapter is that mainstream nutrition discourses frame the understanding of nutrition purely on the caloric system of food analysis, which reduces food to energy irrespective of the wide qualitative differences of substances that constitute the human diet. The caloric

Counting food?  97 conception of food is blind to environmental and ecological aspects of food substances and metabolic differences of populations and groups. The caloric conception of nutrition is expert-centred and relies heavily on laboratory and clinical parameters of food in terms of few biochemical properties that excludes both qualitative and ecological concerns about food, which is central to ordinary people’s understanding of food and eating in several parts of the world (Sujatha 2018). In the framework of scientism, food is seen as a thing, a measurable intake whose quantity has effects on body weight and height. Reducing different qualities to one universal quantitative measure, the caloric approach has its own advantages for state policy and the food industry. While the imperative of the state to devise a universal common minimum dietary intake for its citizens in order to address poverty and deprivation is not disputed here, the issue is that the entire discourse on nutrition has been taken over by what I call the statist imperative, with little room for non-expert views or for views from expert theories of food and nutrition in other systems of medicine. Is it not possible to have a broader and environmentally sensitive conception of food and nutrition? Are there alternative ways of arriving at an approach to nutrition that is more environmentally sensitive and less reductionist? Would such an approach be relevant to public policy on nutrition that is based on large scale measurements and nationwide interventions? This chapter is an exploration into these questions. There are indigenous and ancient forms of medical knowledge such as those of Asia, Africa and Latin America, which are repositories of information on botanical, animal and mineral substances that constitute the human diet. Some of these forms of knowledge have a coherent theory of food, digestion and metabolism and also influence the diet and eating behaviour of people in the region. Ayurveda is an ancient system of medicine in the Indian subcontinent that has a comprehensive pharmacology and theory of substances that are consumed as food. It also has definite approach to the problem of human nutrition which is rational, ecological and holistic. In this chapter, we wish to highlight how ayurveda looks at the problem of malnutrition based on interviews with ayurvedic practitioners and reading of the English translation of selected ayurvedic treatises. This chapter is divided into three sections: the first briefly highlights the issues about the caloric and quantitative approach to food and nutrition, the second section discusses what an ayurvedic approach to food would be and the third section discusses how it can be applied to the contemporary problems of nutritional status.

Is food just a numerical value? Anthropometric measures of nutritional status such as weight and height are common in the assessment of nutritional adequacy. While debates on genetic and ethnic variations in height and weight continue to happen, for

98  V. Sujatha the purpose of measuring nutritional level it was decided that environmental factors were more critical than ethnic and regional factors. Besides, the anthropometric measurements for children from middle and high income groups in many parts of the world were found to match with NCHS values, and hence a single international reference value was adopted for anthropometric measures of nutrition. Arriving at standard reference points for ideal weight and height is one step; assigning minimum caloric requirements per day per individual is another. Fixing standards of physical growth and dietary requirements, however, was preceded by conceptual debates touching upon theories of food metabolism, physical size and racial variation and so on. One basic question was: is there an absolute nutritional standard for all populations, and, if so, how is it determined? Biostatisticians, economists and nutrition scientists debated different aspects of the food metabolism to address this question. While it was generally accepted that there is an absolute basic requirement of minimum calories for everyone irrespective of other variations, some dissenters argued that the body metabolism adapted itself to reduced intake depending on the availability of food (Osmani 1991). State policy and intervention for malnutrition, however, requires uniform, standard and replicable parameters, and the standard summary measure for nutritional status that is now widely agreed upon is weight for age for children and body mass index for adults, and the daily dietary intake is fixed at 2,400 calories for rural and 2,100 calories for urban populations in India. Economists interested in studying the nutritional level of a population in order to measure the magnitude of poverty tend to correlate data on per capita expenditure on food with weight for age. A variety of other factors such as hygiene, functioning of PDS and preventive and curative medical care available are considered in nutritional studies. But it has been difficult to establish any match between income and caloric intake of different regions in India or between caloric intake and mortality(Deaton and Dreze 2009). In other words, nutrition measured as per capita caloric intake does not provide any explanation as to why people consuming lesser calories in some regions do not suffer from anaemia and greater levels of mortality. Despite differences of opinion on the factors of malnutrition, economists and nutrition scientists both rely exclusively on quantifiable data on food intake that allow them to make national and international comparisons at the macro level, while it is known that the nutritional status of the Indian population eludes simple and linear correlations. Though it is said that nutrition is a multidimensional problem, the expert approaches reduce nutrition to a monolithic problem of deprivation of food; for the economist the dispute is about whether the deprivation is voluntary or due to lack of resources, and for the nutrition scientist the issue is whether required caloric intake has been provided or not. Non-economic factors are ignored in the former, and comparative physiology is underplayed by the latter approach, while both the econometric and the medical approach neglect ecological factors such as source of the substance used as food, the intake of crops and

Counting food?  99 animals that are part of the human diet, cultural products and lifestyle patterns. The impetus to identify one or two factors for the country as a whole leads to a narrow focus on what could be delivered en masse to populations. Nutritionism is the term that Scrinis (2013: 13) uses to refer to the tendency to reduce complex relationships between food and bodily health to the presence and absence of few ingredients like starch, fat and protein and to measure their numerical value in terms of calories, ignoring crucial intermediary factors like food processing techniques and the effect of other additives. Nutritionism has become an ideology in his view ‘because it reflects a number of political, social and economic ideologies’ that are presented with the certainty of nutritional facts whereas the findings of the nutrition sciences and comparative physiology are open-ended. Nutrition scientists with a broad-based experience are aware of the rich culture of food and nutrition found in this country. Veena Shatrugna1 frequently refers to the knowledge of mothers and grandmothers on food and nutrition and rightly calls for a more diverse food basket from the regions to be included in the PDS. In fact, she is quite critical of the narrow laboratory and clinical trials of the Indian nutrition scientists of the 50s at whose initiative India’s public discourse on nutrition and the public distribution system became wholly cereal-centred to the exclusion of proteins, especially animal and milk proteins. The vegetarian bias and Hindutva orientation of most of the scientists and administrators, in her view, led to a system in which none other than vegetarian sources of nutrition were included, and the rich biological value of animal protein from fish, meat and especially beef was neither researched upon nor considered for inclusion in the public distribution system. Further the compulsion to arrive at the economically most expedient way to fulfil the required caloric intake so that it may be applied to diets supplied at schools, prisons and government hospitals led the economists to stress only on cheap cereals for public distribution. For instance, in Andhra Pradesh a low-cost powder mix consisting of soya bean and wheat fortified with irons and vitamins was designed by nutrition experts in the laboratory and provided under the ICDS to improve nutritional status of children and pregnant women. Shatrugna found that not only does the powder taste and smell horrible, but is not fit for consumption even by animals. She and others of her persuasion hence insist that, rather than designing cheap packages, the need is to conduct laboratory investigations into the varieties of food normally consumed by the people – especially animal proteins – and study their impact on child growth and nutrition. Notwithstanding the fact that the nutrition experts are guided by a sincere motive to make good and nutritious food available to the poor, the laboratory imperative that their discipline relies upon is based exclusively on the caloric conception of food. Caloric conception of food is totally an expert-dominated approach in that it is not based on sensory parameters measurable by the ordinary person but only with technology that could analyse the biochemical composition of food. So, a balanced diet could be developed only by the experts under clinically controlled conditions and

100  V. Sujatha disseminated to a compliant population, creating passive subjects of citizens. There is no epistemic possibility in this system of studying food for an ordinary person to measure and assess the quality or quantity of his/her intake. There is already much discussion at a global level on coping with the nutritional campaigns of the billion-dollar food industry by empowering the ordinary person to develop sensory parameters to assess qualitative aspects of food and the combined effect of a diet pattern on the body (Scrinis 2013). It is this context that an investigation into alternative theories of food and nutrition becomes critical to the discourse on nutrition in India, a region known for medical traditions that regard ‘food as medicine’ and that have an established textual corpus on the sensory modes of analysing the properties of food and for studying its effect on bodily functions. While policyrelated discourses may have the compulsion to pitch their discussion around quantifiable macro-variables, it does not mean that an independent and pluralistic understanding of food and nutrition is not possible, nor that public policy could not draw some guidelines from such an understanding. There is considerable research on agriculture, biodiversity and nutrition that talks about the significance of sustainable agricultural practices and their impact on diet. There have been small but successful experiments in the states with a more pluralistic approach to anaemia, but these inputs do not seem to figure in the mainstream nutritional status debates in the country. ‘Life is nothing but food transformed into life’: ayurveda In this section I explore other possible ways of approaching the problem of nutrition in public health by drawing upon my interviews with two ayurvedic practitioners and some textual study of the writings in English on Indian medicine by physician-scholars as well as the English translation by Sharma and Dash (2001) of the classical text Charaka Samhita. How does ayurveda look at the question of nutrition? The very definition of life in the classical texts of ayurveda is based on food as a fundamental constituent. ‘Life is nothing but food transformed into life’ (Charaka Samhita in Chattopadhyaya 1977: 81). ‘The specialists assert that the phenomenon called life of those things known as living beings is made of food and drink. They assert this, because of the results being directly observed’ (ibid). ‘Prana’, loosely translated as ‘life sustaining breath’ is said to originate from food. The physicians of ancient India, after much debate with Vedanta philosophers on the question of what constitutes prana, assert that it is nothing but food transformed into life (ibid). The macrocosm (universe) and the microcosm (body): the panchabhuta theory In the ayurvedic texts, we find dedicated treatment of the relation between ecology and body in the theory of panchabhuta that sets out how the

Counting food?  101 microcosm (body) contains the same elements that constitute the macrocosm (the universe). The relation between food, the body and the ecology is the linchpin of this medical theory. The theory of panchabhuta sets out that all substances in the world are made of five elements in various forms. ‘The qualities discussed as belonging to the substances of the world, exist also in the human body. Therefore, the condition of the human body, its growth and decay, are all determined by the substances in nature’ (Sushruta Samhita 45 in Chattopadhyaya 1977: 73). The transformation of matter from outside into matter inside the body is carried forward by food. ‘Body means the totality of the transformation of five forms of matter – a totality that becomes the substratum of consciousness’ (Charaka Samhita iv.6.4, 49 in Chattopadhyaya 1977: 76). ‘The body is verily the product of food’ (Charaka Samhitai. 28. 41 in Chattopadhyaya 1977: 75). Physical characteristics like strength and complexion and those properties of the mind known as psychical are said to come from food. However, this process of transformation of matter from ecology into the body and into the making of its subtle mental faculties happens in multiple stages. The growth and maturation of crops, plants and animals is one part of the process, in that some kind of ‘cooking’ by nature under sunlight takes place. Fruits are said to have been cooked more by nature and are hence easier to digest than raw vegetables. These substances are again cooked in the hearth by human agency and, in the last cycle, food ingested is ‘cooked’ by digestive fires into nourishment for the seven dhatu (seven body tissues translated as – digested food juice, blood, muscle, bone, fat, bone marrow and semen). In ayurveda, nutrition is the transformation of annarasa (food juice) into rasa dhatu, namely assimilation into the body of the rasa extracted from food intake. Nutrition is hence not only a matter of biochemical constituents of food but a question of how much of the food consumed gets assimilated into the respective dhatu. Sections on digestion and metabolism in ayurveda offer a meticulous account of how heat energy within the body cooks ingested substances (Sujatha 2015: 125). In this framework, the preparation of medicines is regarded as a more advanced form of cooking, and normal food could have medicinal effect when prepared and consumed under regulated conditions. In a system in which medicines were prepared by the physician, pharmacology involved a comprehensive study of properties of substances and the laws of their transformation. The homology between food and medicine also enhanced the importance and care given to food preparation in ayurveda. The methods of preparation, kind of utensils and firewood to be used to get desired effect from food substances are carefully described (ibid). Several books on food and nutrition have been written in the regional languages since the 14th and 15th centuries. For instance, a text titled, ‘Bhojanakuthookalam’ (well-being through food) from western India – Maharashtra region, lists recipes to suit different seasons and taste. Based on the classification of substances in terms of the measure of five elements in their composition, the

102  V. Sujatha texts analysed them in terms of six kinds of taste (rasa); eight kinds of qualities (guna) based on the pattern of combination of bhautik substances; five kinds of motion of the atomic, molecular and molar substances (karma); two kinds of potency or energy locked up in the ingredients in the food substance (virya); the transformation in the forms of substances in combination towards the end of digestion (vipaka) and special properties of substances (prabhava) as measured in their actions that cannot be attributable to their rasa, gunavirya and vipaka. Prabhava refers to the different metabolic effects that substances with similar biochemical composition could produce in different types of body (Dwarakanath 1967; Nanal and Nanal 1991). The nutrient food juice (annarasa/chyle/sap) undergoing multiple transformations is carried by the rasa dhatu, the circulating fluid in the body that transports the nutrients to the seven tissues and also carries the energy required for functions of organ systems such as secretion and movement. The sap becomes ever more subtle in the course of its transformation through metabolic processes of ‘cooking’ and follows a time cycle in reaching different tissues depending on the qualities of the substances consumed (Dwarakanath cf. Sujatha 2015: 126). Food substances and their ingredients merely form the diet, whereas nutrition according to the ayurvedic theory involves digestion and absorption of digested food, its transportation to the tissues and their subsequent utilisation for growth. ‘In short, diet is what one takes, and nutrition is what one derives from the diet’ (Jayasundar 2013: 461). Nutrition cannot be understood only from actual quantity of intake but also what gets assimilated into the body for different people. The problem of nutritional status in this framework would go beyond deprivation of food, which is only one factor, and examine a host of other factors such as the method of cooking, other ingredients combined while talking about food becoming nutrition. It is also pertinent to keep in mind that all the food ingested may not necessarily go to enrich the bodily tissues (the six dhatus) due to intervening factors like metabolic rate, lifestyle excesses, mental stress and incompatible combination of foods and so on, leading to a problem of non-assimilation of nutrients from the food consumed. Undigested food juice or unassimilated ingredients could lead to several health problems, according to ayurveda. What kind of bodily functions are then associated with ingestion and digestion of food? Tridosha theory Modern biology views the body as a structural hierarchy with atom in the lowest level forming the basic building block that makes molecules, which in turn form cells and then tissues, organs and then organ systems and so on. This breaking down of a complex system into smaller, more manageable parts and then studying them separately and as an approach has its own value. Substances like food and medicine are also understood in the same structural framework by modern chemistry as made up of atoms, molecules

Counting food?  103 and compounds. Life is understood in terms of its chemical constituents, all processes are translated into chemical reactions and diseases are understood and treated from a chemical perspective. Although this perspective has provided in-depth structural information about the human body and diseases, it has shown little by way of an integral explanation as to how these structures collude to produce a particular function in a living body – digestion, respiration and blood circulation. In other words, structural/chemical components are studied in the dead body or in isolated tissues; biomedical knowledge is hence derived not from the living but a dead body (Sujatha 2015; Leyder 1992). The tridosha theory, which is the linchpin of ayurvedic physiology, pathology, diagnosis and therapeutics, views an organism as a system of relationships defining functions, which manifest through the structures. According to physician scholars of ayurveda, the three ‘doshas’ vata, pitta and kapha, represent the three-fold functions of the living body. ‘The Sanskrit words vata, pitta and kapha refer to a set of parameters which include functions like movement, transformation and support and growth, respectively and other physico-chemical and physiological parameters contributing to these functions’ (Jayasundar 2009). It is important to note here that vata, pitta and kapha include not only physiological but also psychological functions. The doshas, i.e., functions, and the parameters contributing to them operate at all levels – from macroscopic organ systems to microscopic structures like cells and molecules. Despite the risk of simplification, we may for instance say that vata is responsible for all movements in body and mind, that is, movements in different systems – skeletal, respiratory, excretory, reproductive, circulatory and so on; pitta is responsible for all metabolic processes in the body, controls digestion and transformation of physical input like food and inputs to the mind and kapha governs all cohesive functions including nourishment to organs systems. The emphasis on functions of the lived body as opposed to mute structural parts as in modern biology gives ayurveda and several folk conceptions an edge in the understanding of the body in situ. Taste and nutrition: an apparatus for the commoner We saw how substances of the world including the human body are made of five material elements and that food is made up of these elements. How does a person ascertain the properties of food and its effect on the body? There are several classificatory schemes of food in the texts (Payapallimana and Venkatasubramaniam 2015). Ayurveda provides a non-expert starting point in that, at the preliminary level, properties of food stuffs could be understood in terms of their taste. Ayurveda provides a detailed framework to match the six basic tastes of substances, which are sweet, sour, salt, pungent/hot, bitter, and astringent. Further it takes into account their guna (properties), virya (potency or thermogenic property), vipaka (special effects

104  V. Sujatha of the substance) and prabhava (combined effect of the digested food juice). The ordinary person could gauge the first two whereas the last two could be understood and measured only by the expert ayurvedic physician. By making taste the parameter to understand the properties of food, ayurveda provides a level playing ground for the expert and non-expert to think about food. It is worth noting that the ayurvedic texts talk about adequate nourishment not as ‘balanced diet’ as in the caloric language but as ‘wholesome diet’ (satmya), which means habitual intake of a meal consisting of all the six tastes and according to eight factors that determine the utility of food consumed. They categorically state that excessive intake of any particular taste to the exclusion of other tastes would lead to health problems. In Jayasundar’s words: Ayurveda considers the organoleptic property of taste as the most important characteristic of any substance and uses it to identify the functional, nutritional and medicinal values of food. Just as body functions are classified into V (vata), P (pitta), and K (kapha), all food substances are also similarly categorised. For this, all substances are first classified into taste, which is understood in terms of its actions on V, P, and K. (Jayasundar 2013: 456) Each taste is identified with specified metabolic functions and pharmacological properties. For instance, the properties of substances with clear sweet taste are wholesome, soothing, invigorating and nourishing. It helps in growth of tissues and promotes strength and healthy skin. It alleviates thirst, burning sensation and pain and is an antidote to poisons. The function of the sour taste is to add deliciousness to food, stimulate appetite, cause salivation, nourish and energise the body. It also promotes strength and is refreshing and light. Saline taste is carminative, laxative and produces stickiness and salivation. It cures stiffness and clears obstruction in channels. Moreover, it adds taste to food. Pungent/hot taste, on the other hand, promotes digestion, lacrimation (production of tears) and helps in absorption of food. It induces weight loss and is used in treatment of obesity. Bitter taste promotes firmness of skin and muscle and is carminative, digestive, antitoxic, and germicidal while astringent taste could cause constipation, stiffness and dryness; it also slows digestion (Jayasundar 2013). However, ayurveda does not consider taste as the sole criteria for classification of substances. The effect of these tastes on the body also plays a very key role in categorisation. For example, although honey tastes sweet, ayurveda classifies it under the astringent category because of its action on the body and on the tridoshas – Vata, Pitta and Kapha – is similar to that of astringent taste (Jayasundar 2013). Ayurvedic texts and compendiums in regional languages also have in-depth information on the functional,

Counting food?  105 therapeutic and nutritional attributes of hundreds of food substances, both common and rare, starting from varieties of rice and wheat; milk of different animals and products such as butter, ghee (clarified butter), buttermilk and yogurt; different kinds of pulses; properties of meat from animals from coast, forests and mountains; various kinds of sugars and salts; oils from different sources; wines and alcohols; vegetables; fruits and herbs, as well as their effect under various methods of preparation. Compendiums on properties of various food grains and foods stuffs have been written every century. A wholesome meal is supposed to have ingredients with all the six tastes. So the simple rule for any person is to ensure that the meal is not too sweet, too pungent or too salty because repeated and habituated consumption of one or two tastes could lead to imbalance and nutritional problems. For instance, regular and large doses of chilli and salt are likely to lead to weight loss due to vitiation of heat (pitta dosha), just as a highly sweetened diet could trigger problems of fluid retention (kapha). The ayurvedic approach of fixing taste as one of the key parameters of the panchabhautic properties of food and the creation of a rich vocabulary to describe the metabolic effects of food ingested makes it possible for an ordinary person to study one’s own body constitution and its response to different foodstuffs.

Ayurveda and public health How do we apply these theories and principles to the public health problem of nutritional status? In our interviews, we collected concrete inputs from ayurvedic physicians on specific queries from our field data in rural South India. We are also citing from the writings of these physician researchers on the subject. Physiological view of food We already saw how ayurveda adopts a functional approach to food and nutrition. In this framework, food is not a stable combination of discrete compounds, and the human body does not metabolise and burn calories in accordance to physical laws. The body should have sufficient metabolic enzymes for digestion, which may vary with individual body types, and the nutritional content of the food will be conditioned by factors like breed and soil where the raw ingredients were grown, the climatic conditions where the substance was grown and the harvest conditions. The caloric composition of food only gives a partial picture. For instance, modern nutrition science regards animal and vegetable pulse protein as similar in action, the only difference being quantity of protein available. But ayurveda says that pulse protein increases vata, whereas meat controls vata. So when large amounts of sprouts and vegetables are consumed to increase protein, it aggravates vata (wind). On the other hand meat pacifies vata, and a meat soup is a good source of protein that could be given for vata diseases. But

106  V. Sujatha for kapha-related ailments, warm vegetable soup is better because meat soup is heavy. Thus, ayurveda gives details on specific effects of different kinds of starches and proteins and of what are today called bioactive compounds (Jayasundar 2013). Rules for eating We already saw how nutrition in ayurveda is more than intake of specific food; it pertains to proper digestion, and proper digestion is dependent on the following factors: What to take: meal consisting of all six tastes calibrated to one’s constitution is a must. How much to take: quantity of food should be such that there is no undue pressure on the stomach or sides of the chest, but there should be relief from hunger and thirst. One is able to perform physical activities like standing, sitting, walking inhaling laughing and talking without any discomfort. Food should be of quantity that promotes strength, complexion and plumpness. We understand that food is not adequate when there is an impairment of strength, longevity, virility, distension in the abdomen, affliction of mind and intellect, impairment of tissues and aggravation of eight types of vatika diseases (diseases of movement). Quantity of food (matra) also has to be varied depending on heaviness or lightness of foods consumed. How to take: the order in which the food is ingested in the meal is critical to assess quantity. So taking heavier food in the beginning will help assuage vata and start the digestion. Besides, taking heavy and sweet foods in the beginning of the meal give us a sense of how much more we could take and facilitates digestion. There are more details on the exact sequence of the tastes in a meal, and this has been customised for different seasons and regions. Season: quality and quantity of food should vary with seasons, and ayurveda gives plenty of information on the right regimen for different seasons. Proper time for consuming food: every day food is to be consumed at the same time – constancy, moderation and regularity are crucial for assimilation of nutrients in a proper way. Incompatible foods: some kinds of foodstuffs should not be taken together in the same meal regularly as they will lead to the formation of undigested food juice that is the root cause of several ailments. Mixing milk and curd or curd with fruits is not advised, for instance. Ayurveda recommends several food stuffs to be included on a daily basis in order to achieve a wholesome diet consisting of six tastes that will nourish all the six body tissues. They are rice, wheat, barley, meat of animals from arid area, tender radish haritaki, amlaki, grapes, moong dal, unrefined sugar, ghee, honey, rain water, milk and pomegranate and saindhavanamak (Girija Mukundan 2006). A meal with a predominantly sweet taste is more nourishing and recommended for weak body constitution. A pungent,

Counting food?  107 sour and salty diet is likely to lead to pandu, the equivalent of anaemia in ayurveda.

Factors of anaemia: the ayurvedic understanding Unlike biomedicine, Ayurveda does not treat all problems of nutrition as being of the same order, namely, arising from some kind of deprivation or absence of food or a nutrient. In conventional biomedicine anaemia is attributed to lack of iron, folic acid or vitamin B12; underweight is attributed to lack of cereal calories and so on. Studies on nutrition always discuss anaemia and underweight in the same breath, ignoring huge discrepancies and gaps in their pattern of incidence. Ayurveda, on the other hand, attributes some nutritional problems to less food but assigns multiple causes for anaemia, foremost among them being faulty diet pattern that is based only on three kinds of taste – pungent, sour and salty. So underweight and anaemia are not problems of the same order. According to ayurvedic theory, when blood gets vitiated in quantity and quality, it leads to a condition called pandu, which is similar to what allopathic medicine refers to as anaemia. The reason for vitiation of blood could be excessive intake of salty, sour and spicy food and overconsumption of alcohol. Other important factors that could lead to pandu are hard physical labour and habitual day sleep. Emotional stress due to extreme fear, grief and anxiety could, in the ayurvedic aetiology, contribute to vitiation of blood. Thus, extremes of leisure and day sleep, as well as of hard physical work, could cause anaemia. So according to ayurveda, it is not right to view anaemia purely as nutritional deficiency but as arising from a faulty diet and lifestyle. Citing statistics from NSS 1999–2000 and NFHS 2, Girija Mukundan (2006) explains how anaemia among women and children is greater in rich states like Haryana, Gujarat and Punjab whose caloric intake is higher and is found to be high among the well-off sections of society as well. Anaemia does not vary with education level of the mother, either. On the other hand, anaemia is lowest in Kerala and Manipur, which are not rich states. More important is that the caloric intake, protein intake and fat intake in these states is less than stipulated by the biomedical experts, yet anaemia is lowest. This shows that a diet rich in calories, proteins and fats does not ensure reduction in anaemia as long as it is salty, spicy and pungent. The author points out that, though the diet of Kerala is deficient by the norms of modern nutrition, it has the lowest levels of anaemia because even today it is based largely on ayurvedic principles of food and nutrition. Ayurvedic medicaments for pandu/anaemia include iron compounds in ash form and other preparations where these compounds are added to herbs. Various kinds of medicated ghee, fermented decoctions and medicinal powders are also suggested with advice for suitable lifestyle. This is superior to the iron supplements advocated by biomedicine, which cause severe

108  V. Sujatha digestive disorders among pregnant mothers and are not consumed by them even when distributed. Media reports intermittently show that hundreds of schoolgirls in different parts of the country who receive folic acid tablets through national programmes often report sickness and are admitted to the hospital. Yet experts and administrators treat this as an exception rather than a problem inherent to their approach. Girija mentions the Tamil Nadu government scheme to prepare a kit of ayurvedic preparations for anaemia and distribute the medicines through Village Health Nurses. The scheme was successful in improving the maternal nutrition in this region as testified by the government health officials (Sujatha and Abraham 2012: 24). These interventions show that there is a need to revisit some established notions of health and nutrition from a more pluralist perspective than to rely on biomedical theories alone. Low weight and diabetes: ayurvedic perceptions As regards underweight women and children, ayurvedic practitioners rejected the prevalent interventions that they found to be doing the opposite – distributing light food grains meant for weight loss to pregnant women with low weight. The ayurvedic theory does not support the supply of coarse grains powder to pregnant women as done in the government schemes because coarse grains are light and are not substantial and cannot address the problem of low weight. They are lighter than rice and are meant for labouring people who wish to eat a light gruel before going to work. In fact, the physician explained that the coarse grains in the government package under the ICDS may contribute to weight reduction. Any programme addressing low weight among women and children will have to include milk and meat, which ayurveda strongly recommends for weight gain, among other things. Similarly, the suggestion given to women by the health centre to consume more greens and vegetables to combat anaemia is again erroneous. Substantial meals of whole grain, yellow lentil, some varieties of fish and meat and other ingredients indicated previously are better than a meal with large portion of greens and vegetables as they do not contribute to body strength. Villagers are doing the right thing in not eating vegetables, the ayurvedic physician said. Further, she added that they must be asked to avoid pungent, salty and sour food, which they are habituated to. The more leisurely groups must be asked to refrain from day sleep, but current health campaigns do not pay attention how the meal is cooked, how spicy it is and when it is consumed because they only see the problem as lack of food. Regarding the rising statistics of diabetes in rural South India, the ayurvedic practitioners opined that increased rice consumption itself cannot lead to diabetes in a labouring population. Rather, it is the kind of rice that makes a difference. According to ayurveda, freshly harvested rice when consumed regularly in large quantities could lead to prameha, a condition known as

Counting food?  109 diabetes. So, it might be pertinent to examine the kind of rice that is being consumed. Irregular eating habits, not eating food at the same time every day, could also lead to a variant of diabetes, according to ayurveda. Apart from the ecological and holistic ways of understanding nutrition, the ayurvedic practitioner in our study also advocated the use of ayurvedic medicaments to address severe and debilitating forms of malnutrition. A programme for severely malnourished children such as Ashwagandha and Lohabhasmamto school children from the socially depressed communities in rural Andhra Pradesh called the ‘Jeevani milk programme’ distributed milk fortified with ayurvedic medicines. This was included as a part of the mid-day meal scheme in schools. The follow-up studies report significant enhancement of weight and reduction in morbidity2 of the children who consumed the milk containing ayurvedic rejuvenants. The report adds that the attempts to address protein deficiency by giving exclusive proteinenriched foods such as boiled and sautéed channa (chickpeas) as advised by the allopathic doctor ‘were not substantially effective’. It seems that identifying single deficiencies and dealing with them in an isolated manner, namely what Scrinis (2013) calls functional nutrition, does not take into account what ayurveda refers to as samyoga – or the nature of combination of food substances in a meal – and vipaka, or the special effects produced by increased quantities of protein-rich food on digestion – and prabhava, which refers to the combined effect of the food juice after digestion when one ingredient like protein is enhanced and its absorption into the bodily tissues. Milk fortified with ashwagandhadhichurnam and lohabhasmam, according to the report, showed good results in a month, and the children have stayed relatively healthy over the last four years. Thus, it seems possible to develop specific solutions to the problems of malnutrition based on ayurvedic aetiology and pharmacology, which are significantly different from the caloric conception of food. In the early 20th century, hakims and vaidyas did address public health problems like cholera and plague epidemics, TB and nutritional ailments (Gupta 1976; Panikkar 1992; Varier 2002; Alavi 2006; Attewell 2007). Holistic medicines also have an active pharmacology to address acute conditions of malnutrition. The mainstream nutrition discourses will have to consider other theories of food and nutrition seriously.

Folk knowledge on food and ecology It is pertinent to refer to my field data3 from rural South India on popular conceptions of food and eating behaviour (Sujatha 2002, 2018). When asked what were the ‘nutritious’ foods, the villagers said that food without chemical fertilizers and pesticides was healthy. Healthy food for the farming communities was strongly associated with food grown without chemical inputs, and a healthy diet for them also entails eating in peace without anxiety, grief and hurry. They spoke about good food and healthy diet, but no

110  V. Sujatha one seemed to think of food in terms of caloric intake or balanced diet in the sense of presence of micronutrients. The reasons behind the agrarian communities’ persistent emphasis on the absolute value of food free of chemicals are not far to seek. Farmers saw their health as closely connected to that of the living species in their habitat. They thought of food as a chunk of ecology because food consisting of plants and animals carried ecology into the body. Anything that affects the earth, plants and animals such as chemical fertilisers and pesticides also affect human health (Sujatha 2002). Here ‘nutrition’ does not seem to mean the absence of any food but the absence of a certain quality of food. In view of erosion of traditional conceptions of food, it may seem that farmers’ indigenous knowledge of food is obsolete. This is not the case. Small farmers may not be able to hold on to millets, coarse grains and chemical free crops, but these things do become valuable to more educated sections of society; indigenous knowledge does not disappear but migrates to another social class through the market mechanism. The growing demand for organic foods in the global market is an indicator of this preference for good quality food. Educated middle farmers are forming associations for organic cultivation and trying to link up to the market for organic products and also set up their own retail outlets in towns like Pondicherry, Mysore, Calicut and so on. Thirty years ago, nobody, including the block development officer and the medical officer, thought coarse grains could be good; now we have the Britannia company making ragi and millet biscuits. Grains and herbs free of chemical inputs once consumed by peasants in the global south are thus becoming the aspirational food of the upper middle-class populations in North America and Europe that have become chemical weary. Through an upward spiral ‘natural products’ that were once the regular food in the subsistence economy have climbed up the hierarchy through commodification to enter the global market for organic and natural food (Sujatha 2018).

Conclusion In the foregoing sections we discussed the pitfalls of the caloric conception of food in understanding and addressing the problem of malnutrition. We also presented the ayurvedic conception of food and its possibilities in dealing with the problem. It is quite clear that the understanding of food in the ayurvedic system and in folk conceptions of food-producing communities takes the quality of food and its ecological source seriously. But we also found that the farmers who produce crops with heavy chemical inputs for the market often choose to cultivate a little bit for themselves without chemicals whenever possible. There is enough knowledge about the adverse effects of pumping chemicals into land as fertilisers, into plants as pesticides and into people in the form of food. Small farmers are not able to stand against the tide anymore and reserve some land for the cultivation

Counting food?  111 of chemical free crops for household consumption; it is the prerogative of a select few. Social economic change does not erase older practices as the linear ideas of modernisation or Westernisation suggest, rather it makes things of use value for the farmers at the lower end, such as coarse grains, natural food, herbs, river water and the like into commodities for the higher sections while leaving those at the lower end of the hierarchy to manage with the common minimum rations. The non-viability of traditional knowledge of crops and food and its selective use by the farmers does not mean that this knowledge is obsolete and will totally disappear. In fact, environmentally sound and wise food practices could survive through socio-cultural movements or get reworked and revived, even through the statist imperative. In the meanwhile, we also have to see whether the mainstreaming of alternative systems of medicine by their incorporation into the state health services (Priya and Shweta 2011) is likely to make AYUSH physicians deliver allopathic services and messages or whether mainstreaming would entail the possibility of dialogue of systems on public health concerns like malnutrition. The latter option would make possible a wholesome perspective on nutrition with interventions at multiple levels and at times with simpler and limited resources.4 In other words, in the context of bio-medicalisation of traditional medicines, there is the possibility of reductionism in traditional medicine as well. Only by counterposing them along with folk knowledge of food-producing communities and the sensory knowledge of the ordinary people could we harness expert knowledge of any kind in a democracy towards problem solving initiatives.

Notes 1 See Veena Shatrugna interview at www.youtube.com/watch?v=aSwPRuWxCbc (accessed 20. 2019). 2 www.downtoearth.org.in/blog/ambrosial-nectar-for-malnourished-­c hildren61712 (accessed 3 October 2018). 3 Early fieldwork in Central Tamil Nadu was conducted in 1989–1990 and the recent fieldwork in 2017. 4 An example is that of an experiment in Tamil Nadu to address night blindness by reviving the practice of consuming green leaves of the murungai tree (Sujatha 2011).

References Alavi, Seema. 2008. Islam and Healing: Loss and Recovery of an Indo-Muslim Medical Tradition, 1600–1900. New Delhi: Permanent Black. Attewell, Guy. 2007. Refiguring Unani Tibb: Plural Healing in Late Colonial India. New Delhi: Orient Longman. Chattopadhyaya, Debiprasad. 1977. Science and Society in Ancient India. Calcutta: Research India Publication. Deaton, Angus, and Jean Dreze. 2009. ‘Food and Nutrition in India: Facts and Interpretations’, Economic and Political Weekly XLIV(7): 42–65.

112  V. Sujatha Dwarakanath, C. 1967. Digestion and Metabolism in Ayurveda. Calcutta: Shree Baidyanath Ayurveda Bhavan. ———. 1998. The Fundamental Principles of Ayurveda. Varanasi: Chowkhamba Series. Gupta, Brahmananda. 1976. ‘Indigenous Medicine in Nineteenth and Twentieth Century Bengal’, in Charles Leslie (ed.), Asian Medical Systems: A Comparative Study, 368–377. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Jayasundar, Rama. 2009. ‘Ayurveda: A Distinctive Approach to Health and Disease’, Current Science 98(7): 908–914. ———. 2013. ‘Ayurvedic Approach to Functional Foods’, in Danik Martirosyan (ed.), Introduction to Functional Food Science, 454–475. Richardson: Food Science Publishers. Leyder, Drew. 1992. ‘A Tale of Two Bodies: The Cartesian Corpse and the Lived Body’, in Drew Leyder (ed.), The Body in Medical Thought and Practice, 17–36. Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Mukundan, Girija. 2006. ‘Nutrition – The Ayurvedic Approach’, Sanjeevani Ayurveda Foundation 4: 1–4. Nanal, M., and R. M. Nanal. 1991. Ayurvedic Principles of Food and Nutrition, vol. II. Monograph No. 6. Chennai: Lok Swasthya Parampara Samvardhan Samiti (LSPSS). Osmani, S. R. 1991. ‘Social Security in South Asia’, in Ehtisham Ahmad, Jean Drèze, John Hills, and Amartya Sen (eds.), Social Security in Developing Countries, 305– 355. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Panikkar, K. N. 1992. ‘Indigenous Medicine and Cultural Hegemony: A Study of the Revitalization Movement in Keralam’, Studies in History 8(2): 283–308. Payapallimana, Unnikrishnan, and Padma Venkatasubramaniam. 2015. ‘Principles of Ayurveda for Food Nutrition and Health’, in Luisella Verotta, Maria Pia Macchi, and Padma Venkatasubramaniam (eds.), Connecting Indian Wisdom and Western Science: Plant Usage for Nutrition and Health, 16–34. Boca Raton: CRC Press. Priya, Ritu, and Anand Shweta. 2010. Status and Role of AYUSH Services and Use of Local Health Traditions Under the NRHM: A Health Systems Study Across 18 States. New Delhi: National Health Systems Resource Centre (NHSRC). Scrinis, Gyorgy. 2013. Nutritionism: The Science and Politics of Dietary Advice. New York: Columbia University Press. Sharma, R. K., and Vaidya Bhagwan Dash (transl.). 2001. Charaka Samhita, vol. I–II. Varanasi: Chowkhamba Sanskrit Series. Sujatha, V. 2002. ‘The Immanent Cause from Outside: Medical Lore on Food and Health in Village Tamil Nadu’, Sociological Bulletin 51(1): 80–100. ———. 2007. ‘Pluralism in Indian Medicine: Medical Lore as a Genre of Medical Knowledge’, Contributions to Indian Sociology 41(2): 169–202. ———. 2011. ‘Innovation within and between Traditions: Dilemma of Traditional Medicine in Contemporary India’, Science, Technology & Society 16(2): 191–213. ———. 2015. ‘Is Food Natural or Cultural? Food, Body and the Mind in Indian Medical Traditions’, in Gordon McQuat and SundarSarukkai (eds.), Science and the Narratives of Nature: East and West, 113–136. New Delhi: Routledge.

Counting food?  113 ———. 2018. ‘Econometric and Existential Understanding of Food: Analysing Economic Growth and Nutritional Status in South India’, Indian Journal of Human Development 11(3): 1–16. Sujatha, V., and Leena Abraham. 2012. Medical Pluralism in Contemporary India. New Delhi: Orient Black Swan. Varier, M. R. Raghava. 2002. The Rediscovery of Ayurveda: The Story of Arya Vaidya SalaKottakkal. New Delhi: Viking in Penguin Books.

7 Thinking about agriculture in an industrialising economy An essay1 Susan Visvanathan

Kerala has always resisted industrialisation because of the fervour of its inhabitants, who have, in spite of its communist manifestos, supported agriculture, information technology and tourism. However, tourism and information technology are dependent on post-modern practices, which then usher in industrialisation. Not surprisingly, Palakkad, which was known to be the rice belt of Kerala, is to have a coach factory and an Indian Institute of Technology, opening soon. This will mean new elite, as well as the state supporting working class consumer needs. Shri Shibu Baby John has been instrumental in setting forth the preparatory mechanism for housing projects in Palakkad for the Domestic Migrant Labourers who now number 2.5 million workers from Bengal, Orissa and UP. (personal communication, M.P Joseph, 9.5.2015). Since agricultural labour is being transformed rapidly into construction labour, as the wages are more remunerative, farming is going to be doubly threatened in the legendary rice bowl of Kerala. In the 1960s, the famine in Kerala resulted in changes in food patterns, and while in Travancore yams and tapioca became the staple, in Palakkad it was the wheat gifts of the American missionaries that tided the population through difficult times. (personal communication, Sasi Kumar 14.5.2015). The growing of rice became predominant in the 1990, and was also accompanied by the support given, in policy, to organic farming. Ezhimayoor – in Palakkad – and surrounding villages became a hub for rice cultivation, which then was to be generated as a success story for further duplication in other districts. This chapter attempts to look at organic farming as an offshoot of new interest in survival strategies, where Kerala farmers are inducted into techniques that will allow for independence from Tamil Nadu vegetable and fruit markets. After the discord set up with regard to the Mullaperiyar dam, when processions and demonstrations demanded recognition of the dangerousness of the dam with regard to its age and its height, Keralites have been very clear that they needed to de-link also from the import of vegetables from the Tamil farmers. Of course, the Tamils also lost milk and curd and vegetable sales, purportedly up to six lakhs during the severest of the months of discord. However, the move to grow vegetables and fruits came

Thinking about agriculture  115 in the early years of the 1990s, when it was observed that Kerala had a high rate of occurrence of cancer among its population. It was decided, then, that the Keralites should prosper by including fruits and vegetables in their diet. They could escape the chemical-ridden commodities of the largescale producers, functioning from the border with Tamil Nadu, if they could grow their own food stuffs in a monitored way with help from the Kerala government. It was a self-conscious shift away from cash crop farming or an attempt to mix horticulture with traditional agriculture practise. One of the ways in which we can understand the relationship between industry and agriculture is to look at cash crops. Quite often, farmers are rendered destitute because of the drop in prices of cash crops, which previously got them a good remuneration. That aspect of farmers’ lives is read in their ability to take the raw materials to a trader and to get a price that covers not only their costs but also the sum required to feed and educate their families. Production of cash crops like rubber and ginger are frequently dependent on communities that may not actively farm themselves but draw on labour to whom a fixed salary or daily wage is to be paid, as the farmer with small landholdings is not always capable of doing the work himself. Subsistence farming entails the use of those who are known to the family as a pool of hereditary labour, where the relation between the farmer and the labourers is defined as an aspect of genealogical time. Their fathers and grandfathers knew one another, and the women, though in hierarchical positions, are intimate. Slavery is camouflaged through the tacit assumption that the workers feel indebted to the dominant family by ties of affection and socialisation into adima or servitude. In Kerala, diaspora communities lost their relationship to the land as well as the utilisation of traditional serfs, which is represented as necessary in traditional rice farming. Master and servant both went to the Gulf, to the UK or to America and returned ostensibly as equals, where once they were in an asymmetrical relationship. Of course, here too, cash economies became the way in which salaried classes presented themselves in the new social system. Subsistence farming meant that the families had enough to eat and sold the excess to the state or to the local traders. With education, and unwillingness to engage in the rituals and occupational hazards of paddy cultivation, the lands began to be sold, constructed upon or had other crops planted instead of the traditional crops such as rice, pepper, coconuts and fruit trees. Coffee, vanilla, ginger and rubber received higher prices and were preferred. Even pineapples began to be grown for the market, since they proliferated and did not need much attention. When prices crash, however, the farmer growing for the market has no backup plan. And that is how he or she falls into debt. Their lifestyles also change with cash crop farming because, unlike plantations, the farmer with small land holdings is drawing from his traditional reserves to harvest his crop. If his rubber tapper has gone to the Gulf or wants more than the daily

116  Susan Visvanathan wage of 700 rupees, how will he or she finish the day’s requirements of tapping? Some of the problems that farmers face when dealing with cash crops, including pepper and ginger, is that they do not have an available pool of labour, nor are they able to break from old habits that make them capable of new types of investment. Of course, the call to grow flowers such as orchids or varieties of tropical fruit, which are traditionally grown in Malaysia, for instance, is tempting, but that would depend on the kind of soil and the rainfall that part of Kerala receives. Consumption patterns depend on easy availability of goods and having cash in hand so that the farmer who has children in the Gulf would be exposed to new desires and tastes, which are fed by a nouveau riche culture artificially created by large salaries that are sent back into Kerala, as children work abroad. Organic farming actually supports cash crop farming in niche areas such as vanilla or spice gardens and raises the income of the farmer by the appellation ‘organic’. Rubber cultivation sometimes benefits from this, as nitrogen fixing beans may be grown not for consumption but for providing the plantation with nutrients.

Class as mediating social differences and boundary crossing as a routine principle The service tradition in Kerala is very strong, so people are happy to marry across class, not seeing discrepancies in world views, as they contract alliances specifically on the bases of religion and community. Since mobility is much desired, farmers do pay great attention to the education of their children and grandchildren. As a result, many children study under the supervision of their grandparents, as their parents may be in the Gulf states, earning incomes as masons, nurses, doctors, teachers and engineers. The farms are not fallow, the villages are not empty, some activity continues, but it is difficult to see these as traditional activities, since the co-existence of the diaspora communities and the relatives who stay behind is palpable. Organic farming is now a buzz word, since such food on the table for the family and visitors is not seen to be the result of a hobby but a self-aware life choice. Not surprisingly, organic farming is what Keralites may do in their country of adoption too. The pervasive presence of fruits and vegetables in rituals are also part of the Malayali way of life, and diaspora clan members exult in its variety when they return for annual functions such as the ter (religious festival) or rath (great ritual chariots) festival in Palakkad. It is one of Kerala tourism’s great successes to see how people come from all over India and the world to Kalpathy Heritage Festival to see the different varieties of fruit, vegetables and cereals festooning the raths (chariots) dedicated to the gods and to attend the ten-day music festival.

The organisational aspect of organic farming in Kerala Thus, according to the agricultural scientists in Alathur, Palakkad, Kerala Horticultural Development Programme (KHDP) was set up as a collaborative

Thinking about agriculture  117 venture between The European Union and the Government of Kerala. Dr Jacob Thomas of the Indian Police Service was the first head of the KHDP, which later became the Vegetable and Fruit Promotion Council, Keralam – or VFPCK. He had a PhD in agriculture and was very passionate about the project, and he served as Director of the Research Centre from 1991–1996. What the KHDP discovered was that farmers were educated, but they were very traditional. The attempt then was to induct new Agricultural Scientists and graduates into the organisation and work with self-help groups in Kerala for the propagation of fruits and vegetables. They invited farmers, helped them to establish themselves, created networks and stable organisations, set up farmers’ markets, and invited traders. The idea was, according to the scientists at the VFPCK, to propagate through selected seeds and to eliminate the middle man. The European Union in the 1990s was willing to help with loans, and as the project became successful they withdrew, leaving a corpus fund to continue the work at hand. From 2001, the new organisation, Vegetable and Fruits Promotion Council, was established with a Board of Directors and a CEO. The farmers held majority stake, and only 30 percent stake was with the Government of Kerala. The representatives of the Board would choose the best panchayats in Kerala, and the fieldworkers would begin to visit them. The Seed Processing Plant would harness the best seeds from the university scientists. Earlier, seeds used to come from Tamil Nadu, but now the seeds would be accessed from Kerala research scientists, and, if there was 60 percent success in propagating the plant in the controlled circumstances of the laboratory, they would be given to the farmer for enhanced seed production for further distribution. Palakkad was chosen as the site for setting up the seed production unit, because land was plentiful and labour costs were much cheaper than Alappuzha. Seed production requires a congenial climate, specifically a dry climate. In Chittoor (Chittur) in the Palakkad district, the Mother Seed or Breeder Seed project was facilitated. The Agriculture Scientists go to the university and get the seeds that are generated through research. The seeds are hybrid seeds but not genetically modified. There are hundred trained seed producers in Palakkad. Phil Donasia, the Deputy Director said, in an interview with me on 12 May 2015, In 1996, we took the farmers to Tamil Nadu, and trained them there. We produce 50 to 60 tonnes of seeds. These seeds are to be maintained carefully for genetic purity. Tamil Nadu costs are competitive. In Kerala it rains eight months, and isolation is impossible. We chose Chittoor for its dry climate, and its very committed farmers. So we grow the seeds and transplant them. When they are stable, we distribute or sell them to farmers. The impetus towards organic farming has actually come from the media, which for years took it upon itself to inform readers about the statistics of cancer, the need for autonomy, for generating

118  Susan Visvanathan solutions to commonly known problems. A lot of checks and balances were put into cultivation and sustainable development through media alerts. Organic cultivation was considered to be safe cultivation. There are three types of seed. The first is Naadan or local seeds. The truth is in Kerala, with our traditional methods, we can cultivate one acre, and produce one ton, and in Tamil Nadu, the same acre produces ten tonnes. Then there are the high yielding seeds, which we seek now to get from Kerala Universities as prototypes, grow in our laboratory here, and then promulgate to Seed Farmers. Tamil Nadu uses the best hybrid seeds, purchasing them season after season, putting in some costs initially and then reaping the benefits. Our farmers like to harvest the vegetables and fruit, select the best for purpose of deseeding, wrap it in ashes, and use for the next season. What we are now helping them to do is to use the seeds we get from the Kerala scientists, where 1 kg of high yielding seeds can be propagated for five botanical generations. This is in keeping with the mindset of the Malayali farmer, keeping the context of Kaala avastha (climatic conditions), type of soil (mannu), and the krishi, or agriculture patterns. The problem with this is really about keeping the isolation of valuable commodities in place. We demand that there should be five hundred metres between one crop and another, so cross fertilisation should not take place. The seed harvester has to abide by these rules, or else the seeds cannot be purchased for further dissemination. In Modallamadda for instance, thought to be the mango capital of India, where the first mangoes in history are thought to have been cultivated, the farmers grow mangos for the family without insecticides and fertilisers, but for the market, they use chemicals freely. We do not have a solution for this problem, i.e organic farming for the family, and commercial farming for the market. The only possibility of saving future generations from this involves socialisation of young children into horticultural practices, at the school level, as Central Schools are doing, and the question of introducing terrace gardening for personal use. By training housewives and interested individuals, we hope that they will make a commitment towards safe eating habits, by growing their own vegetables and fruits in their gardens, in their verandahs, or balconies, or wherever they can access sunlight and water. Vazhae (banana saplings) were seen growing in plastic bags in virus-free surroundings on the terrace of the VFPCK building. These seedlings grow in little tubs and are hybrid seeds with proficiency of reproductivity for five generations. These are not GM seeds. Since there is a lot of discussion about GMT seeds, individuals often communicate their reasons for doubting the validity of using such seeds. A scientist whom I spoke to in Tiruvannamalai, (personal communication 23 April 2015) a small town in Tamil Nadu, where organic farming is a buzz word because of Rudolf Steiner and other

Thinking about agriculture  119 alternative theologies, says that GMT seeds are being endorsed today by the state, but corporate pharmaceutical organisations invest in armoury companies (war) and in GMT seeds, because both will result in illness and disease, making their own company even more profitable. Since corporations are taking over everything, the small enterprises and concerns are being swallowed up. With organic farming and the fresh vegetables and fruit movements, the same anxieties are rampant. Does government have a support system in place for these farmers with two and a half acres, the average plot in India for home based and market gardening needs? We know policies without concomitant support cannot be viable. Two field officers of the agricultural department introduced me to their field sites in Kozhinjanpara, Chitoor district on 13 May 2015. These agricultural officers are part of a team, come in to VFPCK (Vegetable and Fruit Promotion Council, Kerala) to file in their field reports one day a week, and for the rest of the time they are in their field offices talking to officers and examining the soil, the plants and the produce of the farmers. Meena Shyam, an agricultural scientist, tells me that there are 104 members in the Seed Growers Associations: We chose Chittoor because of the dry climate. For seed production, dry climate is essential. Because of the Tamil influence, since we are close to the Coimbatore border, family farms are large, on an average up to 16 acres. For Seed Production, isolation is necessary. There should be 500 metres between the different plants, otherwise cross pollination will occur. We take a strict stand on this, because if the distance is not maintained, then cross-pollination will occur, and then in the second and third generation, differences in colour and quality will occur. Breeder seeds are used for two seasons, so while it can be continued up to six years, however, for purposes of preserving purity, we provide seeds every two years. Breeder seed for propagation is provided to good farmers. They are selected for their proficiency. From field inspections, rigorously and frequently conducted by the field scientists, those farmers are chosen who are able to maintain isolation distance, that is, the requisite spacing between plants and germination capabilities. However careful the farmer may be, cross pollination happens, and this can be made out from the colour of fruit and flowers. Rogue or ‘rogi’ plants can be distinguished, and the field officer can recognise the good from the mutations. There are Samithis or associations for the farmers. A minimum of 25 farmers (self-help groups) form a Vibam, and when these increase in number and the tonnage of production increases they become a Samithi. The farmers in Chittoor district work with the help of family labour as they are influenced by Tamil culture, and they sometimes have landholdings of up to 16 acres, unlike the Kerala farmers, who have on the average two and a half acres per household. The mode of irrigation

120  Susan Visvanathan is open well or bore well. From December to January it is open well or bore well, but the water level is now dropping. After December, there is no water. Vibham and Samithi help the farmers to sell their crop. Earlier it was agriculture, but with the coming of the European Union initiative with Kerala Government the farmers began to turn into market gardeners. The question was how to market, and where could farmers gather? It was the job of the associations to take the product further. Further, the agricultural officers helped them to go to training camps. For example, Prof Dharmalingam from Coimbatore University became a great help in training farmers in new methods in seed technology and in time became a director of KHDP. Since these farmlands belong to the rain shadow area of the Nilgiris, there were advantages as well as disadvantages in terms of crops and seed proliferation. Nellampalli, Puthusheri, Vadakarapati, Modallamada, Elavancherry and Kollamkode were the most productive in terms of the new orientations. It began with production of 400 kilogrammes of vegetables and seeds and is now up to 60 tonnes. Britto, a local farmer and President of the Seed Growers Association said: Till 2006 we had no subsidy. We were being trained. When we had an understanding of things, our minds were changed. As we are farmers, we cannot change our ways rapidly. The Association however grew to 100 members. We grow gourds, coconuts, grass for fodder, and chickpeas. Mangoes are grown as a cash crop. However, mangoes are most famously grown in Modallamada, where the farmers grow for their own use organically, and for the market, with pesticides. Thirty kilometres away, we are not able to grow the same mangoes for home or for sale. That is the thing with agriculture; everything has its own seasons and cycles, appropriate soil and weather. Here there is a cycle of seven years of rain, and then severe drought. In 2002 and 2012 there was a severe drought, and crores were lost. Dairy management has always been profitable, and helps us with income as well as manure and fertile soils. When there is drought, we manage by selling small portions of our farms, ten cents here or there. During the last drought, several varieties of sugar cane went extinct, and so also did things we grew regularly and consumed habitually such as ragi (finger millet), varagu (kodu millet), cholam (maize), kadala (bengal gram), nelakadala (groundnut), chama (Indian barnyard millet), ella (sesame), and kamba (pearl millet or bajra). We no longer grow these. Other food items which are disappearing are tapioca, wild spinach and kamban kool (a millet gruel) which have given way to new food tastes, mainly non vegetarian, such as biriyani and fried chicken. Britto says that in his childhood there was only one meal a day, and that too after a long day’s work, but now over consumption is a habit and non-­ vegetarianism a daily requirement. P Gangadevi, an agricultural officer

Thinking about agriculture  121 based in Alathur, Palakkad, says that, because of such overconsumption and increase of lavishness, the poverty in contrast is much more visible. Earlier food was the marker of difference, but now it is vehicles that stratify consumers. Britto reminds us that his ancestors worked in the woods or walked to Valayar (outpost near Coimbatore, where there were once verdant forests), but now no one walks, and there are lifestyle diseases. Earlier only sesame oil was used or coconut oil, and there were no fried foods. The earlier diet was rice gruel or ragi with a chutney of small onions and chillies; now there are four stir-fried items with every meal. However, farmers like Britto still continue in the old ways, because they only go to neighbouring towns like Palakkad, Pollachi and Coimbatore for weddings, once or twice a year. For the rest they work on their farms and never go to town or have access to modern facilities. Even if Britto went to town for purchases, he never entered the malls and large city shops or their branches; he went only to the traditional small shops. In the old days, the village supported the farmer. Four or five farmers worked together, but now, with difficulty, only two or three join up for work. Even the women go in Jeeps to the town as packers of spices, and the men join up for contract manual labour, which is much better paid than farm labour. Gangadevi says that the labour class in Kerala cannot be identified as labour; they have a house and all amenities, including access to education for children. This may be contrasted to the living conditions for migrant labourers coming to Kerala from other parts of the country who live in the most degraded of conditions and have minimal protection from the environment in their tin sheds or collective and communal camp life. An organic farmer near Mannil village, about ten kilometres from Palakkad, says it will take up to 25 years for a cultivator to acquire the skills for jaivakrishi or organic farming. Another says, in the old days, that sort of farming was called prakarti, (nature), but now it is technically known as jaivakrishi. Most farmers cannot afford to do this kind of cultivation, because it is expensive. However, Appankuttan, from Kannadi village, Palakkad says that he knows 1,000organic farmers who are certified association members and are part of a network. It is imperative to keep an eye on one another, for those not fully organic must admit that they use an ‘integrated’ approach. One of the most successful of these farmers is KSRTC Narayan, who, however, has moved away from the organic movement, because, according to those who know him, he now maintains that commercial farming cannot be fully resolved with organic herbicides. However, he continues to be careful that the proportion is 80 percent organic and says that he advertises his crops as ‘Fresh Vegetables and Fruit.’ In a television interview on 14 May 2015, Narayan said that he and his wife were successful because they had the total support of consumers, not just locally but from distant places. His wife, a former school teacher, said to the TV camera, ‘Retirement is no longer boring, and we, consumers and us, have all become a family’. One of the customers said in the televised interview that the Narayan outlet ‘is

122  Susan Visvanathan becoming a co-operative and others also bring their produce here, and we buy from them too.’ Another client said that Narayan and his wife sold vegetables that did not spoil for four or five days, even when not refrigerated. Narayan himself agreed and said that they were concerned with quality over quantity and did this work as a service. Appankuttan says that they do this as a hobby, as their daughters are independent and work abroad. Appan himself grows only for his family, and they are self-sufficient in everything, except onions, garlic and potatoes, which they have to buy in the market. In the typical hospitality of Malayali farmers, Appankuttan’s wife brought us mangoes and bananas from their trees, delectable, free of chemicals, ripened naturally. Appankuttan feels that rice farming, organic or otherwise, will be extinct soon. He introduces us to extended clan members who have started to diversify into the production of pupae or silk cocoons for the market. This farmer buys butterfly eggs from Pollachi, hatching them on his farm, and then he feeds mulberry leaves to the caterpillars, which then weave their cocoons, after which they are taken for sale to Ramnagar in Mysore by tempo, by the other silk cocoon farmers who collaborate in the venture. Appankuttan says that in Palakkad farmers just do not like to take risks. They enjoy their work, and there is a saying among them that Pullthoti Adichu Kazhukiyal Attrem Madi Jeevikan. This means that the cow’s feeding platter when scraped will give one enough to make a living, or that subsistence farming depended on the cow and pasture. So, owning ten acres and 12 cows is wealth indeed. Appankuttan informs me that it was his relatives who were from Alappuzha district who persuaded him to give his children a good education, and, because of this, his son is a professional with a law degree and earns a good salary, without having to bear all the anxieties of a farmer, such as fear of unseasonal rain and low prices. The agricultural officers whom I had spoken to earlier told me that they had heard of farming as a new occupation for people who felt that this was a passion, but they themselves had not met any such new age farmers. Appankuttan feels that the organic farmer must own more than one acre for it to be successful and that certainly it must not be contaminated from the canal water from other farmers’ fields. As Palakkad farmers were dependent on bore wells, it was feasible to engage in organic farming. While farmers are aware about the vulnerability of their situation, scientists are much more vehement about the technicalities of the dangerous situation India is now facing. In the Financial Chronicle of May 19 2015, A.V Balasubramanian from the Centre of Indian Knowledge Systems (www.Ciks.org las accessed on 20 November 2019) writes: For several years now, agriculture in India is said to be in a state of crisis. This is tantamount to saying that India is in crisis since about 70 percent of our population is still in rural areas with agriculture as their main livelihood. This crisis manifests itself as increasing impoverishment of

Thinking about agriculture  123 the farmers and lack of options for rural non-farming employment. There is an alarming degradation of the resource base of agriculture, especially of soil, increased pressure and demand on land from nonagricultural activities, erosion of biodiversity in terms of both species and varieties of cultivated crops and decline in cattle population. This has led to distress migration to the cities and causes scarcity of labour in rural areas for agricultural activities. (FC, KNOW, p. 12, 19.5.15) We must remember that most farm labour is now migrant labour, as these migrants are leaving their own homes and villages to work in Kerala. The Gulati Institute Report of 15 February 2013, on Domestic Migrant Labour in Kerala, authored by D. S. Narayan, C. S. Venkiteswaran and M. P. Joseph, suggests categorically that building up urban centres rapidly in Kerala requires the presence of domestic migrants from Bengal, Orissa and UP to augment the Malayali workers’ presence. However, these migrants, who live frugally and send the major chunk of money back to their homes, are referred to as aliens and are treated as such. Tragically, many of them are landless labour from SEZ domains or farmers with small land holdings. They live in dreadful conditions, as tenants in barracks or in apartments, organised on the bases of language or regions, with no facilities for cooking or eating. As for even occasional recreation, after work this is taboo, as the Malayalis resent their presence in local parks where they themselves congregate, mistrusting proletarian habits. The domestic migrant tended to say to the data collectors that the local people treated them well, but this is something that is part of the good behaviour clause manifesting itself, since the Malayalis actually have nothing to do with the ‘other,’ ignoring them totally. Thus, the Minister for Labour and Rehabilitation Mr Shibu Baby John was anxious that they be provided with appropriate social security and safe living conditions. Farm Land is also rendered dissolute not just from rapid urbanisation but because the Malayali no longer knows how to manage new kinds of waste, which are not bio-degradable. Everywhere, the householder is being told that the official policy is that each person should take care of the waste generated by his household. A survey of web related articles on Garbage in Kerala shows how urgent the situation is as journalists report across the state. The land is being polluted at a very rapid rate. My field notes for 11 May 2015 are as follows: Alappuzha is burning its waste. There is no collection scheme. Every house has been told to take care of its own garbage. As a result they bury it or burn it, or throw it into the river or canal. Burning is the easiest solution. No one seems to have heard of climate change or global warming. As no garbage collector comes around, they just sweep it up into neat piles and light bonfires. It keeps away the mosquitos, they say.

124  Susan Visvanathan They are surprised by the rising temperatures in summer in Kerala and the unseasonal and intermittent rain. John, a goldsmith, I meet on a passenger train going to Alappuzha says, ‘People have been sent abroad to study recycling and invest in incinerators. But they don’t practise it. Money is allotted for this but there is no implementation. People throw garbage into their neighbours yard. They drop things out of the windows. Awareness has to start at a very young age. If there are Collection Centres, the matter of recycling plastic would go very well.’ John says that the only solution to the waste problem in Kerala is to change the mindset of the Malayali from passive to active, to demand recycling and collection facilities, to avoid plastic and to encourage children to conserve and use carefully without littering. N.C. Narayanan from IIT Mumbai has worked hard with summer schools in Alappuzha to bring young people together with regard to canal cleaning and sludge management. The plan is to socialise the wards and to have each resident involved with the programme of waste management and weed cleaning from the waterways. They have used the slogan that ‘the river is not a drain’ as the clarion call to educate local people into community management of resources. The project CANALPY with its website link documenting the integrated work of students, housewives, concerned citizens, representatives of political parties and NGOs is now hard at work trying to bring about a change in consciousness of the people of Alappuzha. One of the most interesting experiments to face the new world, where earth may indeed become dead or ‘absent’ due to misuse, is bionics, a creative blend of biology, botany and engineering where, for instance, fish farming is linked with nutrient production for plants, which are grown on a bed of algae and gravel. Vijayan, in Kannadi village in Palakkad, circulates the waste or offal from the fish to the plastic-covered algae troughs on which he experimentally and successfully grows coriander, cauliflower, spinach and marigolds. He tells village agriculture officer Padmaja Sasi Kumar and me on 14 May 2015 that he knows only two people other than himself who are experimenting with this method, which requires electricity to circulate the water in the fish tank to the various troughs. One, according to him, is a farmer on the Coimbatore border (who taught him the modalities of New Age farming on igneous rocks, osmotic plastic sheets and algae, with constantly circulating water from the fish pond); the other is the award-winning actor Sreenivasan, in his Chennai home. Perhaps the question of climate change and adaptation is already in place with the courage and labour of unknown farmers like Vijayan and his son, who do what they do because they have guts and ambition and a desire to see things work for the betterment economically and socially of their farming families. Since it costs five lakhs to set up and consumes electricity, it requires a certain pioneering imagination, which not every farmer can have, as the dividends are success with an idea, rather than the quantity of materials produced.

Thinking about agriculture  125

Conclusion In this chapter I have tried to show the relationship between Kerala agricultural scientists and local communities who have traditionally been associated with farming as an occupation. They see this dialogue as mutually very absorbing and satisfying. Many of the scientists have been trained in Maharashtra agricultural colleges and have brought with them the idea of the native or indigenous cow as central to organic farming, for the quality of the dung it produces is excellent. There is a science to the proportions that are amalgamated, and, for those who are not able to concoct their own manure, the Alathur centre has on sale varieties of manure that have been composed out of shells, composted earth, dried fish waste, dung combined with molasses and so on. This rich tradition of interaction and engagement has been of utmost use to the Kerala farmer, who becomes the intelligentsia of the proletariat by bringing his expertise to the work table.

Notes 1 A sizeable part of this chapter is available on the blog “Writing Tomorrow” (http:// writingtomorrow.blogspot.com/2015/05/thinking-about-agriculture-in.html accessed 23 September 2018). Acknowledgements: Padmaja and Sasikumar, Asha and K. Kuruvilla, M.P Joseph, Suresh Kumar, scientists at the Vegetable and Fruit Development Council, Alathur, Palakkad and Shiv Visvanathan for ‘Footnotes to Vavilov: An Essay on Gene Diversity’, circa 1996. I gratefully acknowledge that this study was written as Professional Excellence Award Fellow, 2018–2019 at the Central European University, Budapest, Hungary. 2 All accessed last 23 September 2018.

Bibliography Ahuja, S. P. 2002. Managing Social Change. New Delhi: Centre for Research Planning and Action. Bauman, Zygmunt. 2004. Wasted Lives, Modernity and Its Outcast. Cambridge: Polity Press. Burling, Robbins. 1963. Hill Farms and Padi Fields, Life in Mainland South East Asia. Englewood, NJ: Prentice Hall. Davis, Ioan. 1995. Cultural Studies and Beyond, Fragments of Empire. London: Routledge. Devy. G. N. 2009. The G.N. Devy Reader. New Delhi: Orient Blackswan. Dil, Anwar. 2015. Life and Work of M.S. Swaminathan, Toward a Hunger-Free World. Chennai: East West Books. Firth, Raymond. 1957. We, the Tikopia, Kinship in Primitive Polynesia. Boston: Beacon Press. Hawken, Paul. 1995. The Ecology of Commerce: A Declaration of Sustainability. New York: Harper Collins. Irschick, Eugen F. 1994. Dialogue and History, Constructing South India 1795– 1895. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Mead, Margaret. 1961. New Lives for Old: Cultural Transformation- Manus-1928– 1951. New York: Mentor.

126  Susan Visvanathan Moon, Vasant. 2013. Growing Up Untouchable in India: A Dalit Autobiography. New Delhi: Vistaar. Najita, Susan Y. 2008. Decolonising Cultures in the Pacific. New York: Routledge. Natrajan, Balmurali, and Paul Greenough. 2009. Against Stigma: Studies in Caste, Race and Justice Since Durban. New Delhi: Orient Blackswan. Patnaik, Utsa. 2007. The Republic of Hunger and Other Essays. Gurgaon: Three Essays Collective. Samantara, Prafulla. 2011. ‘Rural Commons: A Source of Livelihood and Sustainability’, in Vocabulary of Commons. Anand, Gujarat: Foundation for Ecological Security. Singh, Chetan (ed.). 2011. Recognising Diversity: Society and Culture in the Himalaya. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Thakkar, Himanshu. 2018. ‘Role of Dams in Kerala’s Flood Disaster’, Economic and Political Weekly 53: 38, 22 September. Visvanathan, Shiv. 1997. A Carnival for Science, Essays on Science, Technology and Development. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Visvanathan, Susan. 2013. ‘Kalpathy Heritage Village: Sacred and Modern’, in Ishwa Modi (ed.), Education, Religion and Creativity. Jaipur: Rawat Publications. ———. 2014. ‘Alternative School Education and the Right to Education’, in Ideas, Institutions, Processes: Essays in Memory of Satish Saberwal. New Delhi: Orient Blackswan.

Website links2 Gadgil, Madhav. 2018. ‘Kerala Floods Is Man-Made Calamity’, India Today, 17 August. Gupta, Ridhima. 2018. ‘Kerala Judge Stages Unique Sit in Protest Besides the Garbage Pile, Gets It Cleaned Within Hours’, The Logical Indian, 14 June. John, Hariha. 2017. ‘There’s an Organic Farming Revolution Building in Kerala’, The Newsminute.com, 8 August. Kallungal, Dinesh. 2018. ‘Kerala Floods: Agriculture Production Badly Hit: Losses May Cross 1356 Crore’, The New Indian Express, 25 August. ‘Kerala Floods: A Million in Camps and Thousands Stranded’, BBC News, 22 August 2018. ‘Kerala Floods: Water Level in Mullaperiyar Dam Touches 2397.94 Feet’, timesofindia.com, 13 August 2018. ‘Kerala Rains’, timesofindia.com, 11 August 2018. Misra, Tanvi. 2018. ‘The Kerala Floods: A Disastrous Consequence of Unchecked Urbanisation’, citylab.com, 31 August, An Airport Reopens/Environment. ‘Mullaperiyar Dam Caused Floods, Says Kerala: The Dispute Between Kerala and Tamil Nadu Goes Back Decades’, huffingtonpost.com, 24 August 2018. ‘Smart Kitchen Garden to Promote Organic Farming in Kerala’, The New Indian Express, 11 May 2018.

Part II

Philosophical and anthropological foundations in the European history of science

Introduction to part II Philosophy, anthropology and history of the humanities Christoph Wulf

Religious and governmental influence and manipulation of science Not only in India but also in the Western world there are attempts to exert influence on science from religious and nationalist positions. Within the religiously motivated influence, it is above all creationist positions that call scientific knowledge into question by referring to the Bible. To date, such attempts mostly take place in creationism in the United States. Here, an attempt is made to take literally the narrations of the Bible about the genesis of the world and on this basis to prove the theory of evolution wrong. These approaches go back to early 20th-century evangelicalism in the United States, where, despite opposition from the churches and the sciences, they still have quite a few followers today. These attempts to devaluate the validity of scientific knowledge by resorting to the Bible are accompanied by a radical politicisation of religion and a religious nationalism, against which there were always protests. In 1925, a teacher in Dayton took legal proceedings against the US state of Tennessee, in which Darwin’s theory of evolution in favour of creationism was no longer allowed to be taught. Although the objection of the so-called scopes in the so-called teacher teaching was rejected, until the 1960s valid prohibition of the theory of evolution in school lessons was no longer enforced. In 1961, the relatively popular book Genesis Flood by Whitcomb and Morris was published, attempting to establish the Creation Science movement as a science equivalent to evolutionary theory (Whitcomb and Morris 1961). In 1981, creationism was recognised as a science in Arkansas. In a lawsuit challenging this, however, creationism was considered as a religion – not as a science – and thus excluded from mediation in the classroom. Although the Protestant churches and the Roman Catholic Church have repeatedly pointed out that evolution theory and Christianity represent two distinct forms of thoroughly compatible knowledge, creationism has many supporters in rejecting central scientific knowledge among religious rights and nationalists in the United States. Likewise, fundamental are interventions by the state into the freedom of science. Three examples stand for this. In the 1930s and 40s, there were

130  Christoph Wulf numerous attempts to politicise science, research and teaching as part of National Socialism in Germany and to develop ‘German’ physics and biology and a corresponding racial science. With the declaration of 300 German university teachers on 4 March 1933 in the NSDAP newspaper Völkischer Beobachter, in many disciplines began the forcible coordination (Gleichschaltung) of the sciences. This statement states: We signed German university teachers declare in public today that we see the right way in the seizure of power of Adolf Hitler and the union of national forces, which want to participate in the reconstruction of the German people, to stop the tremendous distress and misery of the German people. The 300 academic signatories supported the proclaimed goals, the ‘recovery of our entire public life and thus the salvation and resurgence of Germany’ and the struggle ‘against the Marxist-Bolshevik influences on the spirit of our people’ (Völkischer Beobachter 1933: 7). A few months later, another confession signed by 900 professors followed. With the collapse of National Socialism, there was never again a comparable politicisation and nationalisation in Germany. After the end of the Second World War, there were once again attempts by the state to restrict the freedom of universities in the Soviet occupation zone and the GDR. An outstanding example of this was the attempt of the Communists in 1949 to take over the Berlin University through political intervention. In future, only children from working and farming families should be admitted to study. This decision subsequently led to the founding of the Freie Universität Berlin. But even today, controlling influences of the state on the university and the freedom of its research and teaching occur in Europe. A blatant example from the present is the liberal Central European University in Budapest, which is forced by the Hungarian government, corresponding provisions, to leave the country with a resettlement to Vienna. The reason given by the state is that the university comes from abroad, i.e., by the US, in an unacceptable way. In this case, the charge is directed at the liberal US billionaire George Soros, who had been financially supporting the university since its inception. Despite extensive international protests and extensive demonstrations with thousands of participants in October 2018, it was not possible to protect the endangered university and to make it possible for it to continue its work in Budapest. However, these developments are leading to increased public sensitivity to political interference by the state and, at the same time, to a strengthening of the civil society that opposes such developments. Since the Age of Enlightenment there has been an intense effort in Europe to separate religion and science from the state. The resulting academic freedom in many countries led to different positions and paradigms within the sciences being mutually questionable. This relative autonomy thus offered

Introduction to part II  131 the sciences the opportunity to question and reflect on themselves, their objectives, methods, concepts and research results. As important as such epistemological reflections are for all sciences, they are constitutive for humanities and social science research. They require an epistemological, historical and sociological accompaniment to the research to improve their quality. It is crucial that these processes of questioning, reflection and control are seen as part of scientific research itself. In the 18th and 19th centuries, the humanities with their high cultural and social prestige defined the dynamics of scientific development in Europe. With the end of the 19th century, this situation fundamentally changed. From now on, the natural, technical and life sciences gained in importance and are gradually pushing the humanities into the background. For under the influence of the natural and social sciences and with the help of a growing empirical orientation, there has been a change in the humanities. However, the developments of recent years also make it clear that – as important as this new accentuation is – such a change has its limits. To better understand this development in the humanities in Germany, it is necessary to reconstruct some historical developments.

Central developments in the humanities Wilhelm Dilthey’s distinction between the humanities (‘Geisteswissenschaften’) and natural sciences (‘Naturwissenschaften’) marks a point that is still important for the humanities and social sciences today. The humanities have to understand and interpret, the natural sciences to explain the world. In the face of several epistemological debates it is obvious that the uniqueness of this distinction cannot be maintained. Accordingly, it is more important to combine ‘explanation’ and ‘understanding’. Dilthey’s distinction made it clear that the humanities and much of the social sciences are paradigms where criteria other than in the natural sciences ensure the scientific character of research. Particularly important today is Dilthey’s distinction between the methods used in both scientific traditions. According to Dilthey, the task of humanities (Geisteswissenschaften) is to understand the meaning of life. The focus is on hermeneutics, which dates to Friedrich Schleiermacher and his efforts to understand and interpret contexts of meaning (Schleiermacher 1977). Dilthey sees hermeneutics as an ‘empirical science of mental phenomena’ or as a ‘science of the spiritual world’ (Dilthey 1988, 2008; Gadamer 2002; Ricoeur 1973). In the last two decades of the 20th century, ethnographic research in American anthropology yielded many references to Dilthey’s ideas and his conception of the significance of hermeneutics for empirical research (Geertz 1973; Wulf 2013). In the Anglo-Saxon world, the distinction between humanities and science has also been found in the popular book of C.P. Snow, in which he argues that there is an insurmountable difference between humanities and science. In the ensuing discussions it became clear that the

132  Christoph Wulf esteem of the sciences connected with the progressive thinking of modernity led to the humanities being less socially important (Snow 1963). In Germany, this assessment was less pronounced. Rather, here, the humanities gained the social status of sciences, by which they were somewhat protected from devaluation as inferior non-sciences. In Germany, the humanities and the social sciences were conceived as human sciences characterised by other objectives, concepts and methods than the natural sciences. This relatively higher status of the humanities compared to other European countries still plays a role in Germany and has an impact on the level of financial support for this area (Wulf 2003). What are the humanities today? In the opinion of the ‘Council of Science and Humanities’ (Wissenschaftsrat), they include the following dimensions with the appropriate subject groups: I Languages/texts II Image/music/theater III History/society IV Cognition/ethics/religion V an appropriate representation of non-European knowledge areas. (Wissenschaftsrat 2006) The ‘Council of Science and Humanities’ (Wissenschaftsrat) also states that talking about a crisis of the humanities is not appropriate. Rather, the figures of students make it clear that the humanities and social sciences make up a large part of the academic disciplines and thus make an important contribution to the development and identity of a country. It has also been emphasised by many that the humanities should contribute to solving cultural and societal problems, especially the great social problems of the world. These include, among others, the problems of peace and violence, diversity and sustainability – to name but three in exemplary terms (Wulf 2020). Given this situation, a general distinction between the humanities and the natural sciences is no longer adequate. For this reason, the sciences in Germany today are subdivided into natural sciences, technology, life sciences and humanities, which have different social esteem and consequently different levels of research funding but also many overlapping themes and research objectives. The sciences represent a unitas multiplex in which they have differences and similarities. The great challenges facing the humanities today include questions of inter-, multi- and transdisciplinarity and the issues of inter-, multi- and transculturality connected with globalisation. These questions are of particular importance in the context of collaborative research, in which numerous projects currently cooperate with different scientific paradigms (Kuhn1972; Wulf 2013). Here, an attempt is made to overcome the limits of research in the 18th and 19th centuries through cooperation, thereby

Introduction to part II  133 creating new forms of complex knowledge. This takes place at the edges and between the disciplines. New forms of knowledge are produced. Networking with researchers from other countries and cultures creates new forms of sustainable knowledge. By focusing on meaning and understanding of historical, ethnographic and physical-aesthetic knowledge, the humanities also provide orientation in terms of meaning and practical knowledge. They are essential to understanding the world in the 21st century, the well-being of people and the preservation of the planet. Of importance is their contribution to the transmission and development of culture and to the development of cultural identity and to coping with alterity. Democratic societies need the humanities to sustain people, to help them orient themselves in a more and more complex world.

The humanities and other forms of knowledge production In the debate about what science is, which different paradigms there are and how the social function of science can be assessed in the knowledge society, there are many, sometimes very different, positions. In any case, in the course of the 20th century, the humanities lost the dominant position they occupied in the 19th century. The centre of political and social interest moved to the natural sciences, technology and life science. With them a shift of emphasis to quantitative empirical research took place. In the humanities and social sciences, qualitative, ethnographic research and the development of the cultural sciences and cultural studies gained importance. The gradual devaluation of the humanities and the high estimation of the sciences lead to the devaluation of other forms of cultural and social knowledge. Forms of knowledge such as practical knowledge, body knowledge and aesthetic knowledge, which are difficult to research, receive less attention (Kraus and Wulf 2021). This is the case even if their social significance is undisputed. This applies, for example, to practical knowledge. Attempts are being made to explore it with scientific methods (Kraus et al. 2017). The loss of recognition of these forms of knowledge is accompanied by the fact that in education, for example, the central importance of mimetic processes for cultural learning is overlooked. The knowledge of wisdom, which for centuries in India and Europe was regarded as the highest form of human knowledge, has lost weight in favour of scientifically acquired knowledge (Wulf and Baitello 2019). Although scientific knowledge cannot replace the knowledge of wisdom, it has lost its meaning. An extension and appreciation of forms of knowledge is required (see Wulf, this volume). This is all the more necessary as much of the scientific knowledge has contributed to the negative developments of the Anthropocene (Lieberg 2018; Wallenhorst 2019). Correcting them is essential for the future of the planet (Wulf 2020). A major challenge to the objectivity of knowledge is the genesis of a ‘science of language’. Almost all scientific knowledge is linguistically

134  Christoph Wulf constituted, especially in the humanities. Given that the emergence of national languages is central to the expression of certain forms of thought and scientific research, it affects rationalism and empiricism. The study of their origins and the development of their national and cultural character thus contributes significantly to the understanding not only of language and its function in the development of social hierarchies but also its central role in the realisation of oppression, colonialism and racism as opposed to academic freedom (see Manjali, this volume). Another challenge is the emergence of the subject and its relation to scientific knowledge. With the beginning of modernity, with Descartes, there is indeed a fundamental separation between philosophy and religion. But the situation is more difficult: ‘natural philosophy of early modernism took over the doctrinal model of religion, while theology started acquiring a cognitive trait’ (see Thaliath, this volume). Descartes’ cogito, ego sum can be understood as the beginning of a new stage of individualisation and subjectivation: thinking creates the existence of the subject; it becomes the motor of philosophy and of evolving science, subjectivation creates individuation and identity; both are created through the production of science. The emergence of science is closely tied to the modern subject; at the same time scientific thinking and research confirm the subject and his or her identity. While the separation of religion and science gradually took place at the beginning of modernity, this was not the last word in the relationship between science and religion. In the centuries that followed, the relationship between knowledge and belief received great attention. Their relationship changed. In its historical reconstruction, a wide range of considerations arose, which require further metatheoretical considerations and methodological reflections (see Reina, this volume). Scientific thinking has led to the development of technical knowledge and technology sciences in the 18th and 19th centuries. Since World War II, many places have seen accelerated development by global markets. The various forms of knowledge required for this purpose have driven science and industry not only in the field of technology but also in the social and educational fields. This is especially true because ‘today, technoscientific selection processes dictate the production of knowledge. Computerised knowledge leads to communication processes, relationships, and ways of thinking’ (see Sorgo, this volume). Technical knowledge also requires contextualisation and the combination of different forms of knowledge. Therefore, research must not only produce high-level knowledge and create far-reaching theoretical insights but also practical knowledge and its relation to other forms of knowledge. It is increasingly demanded that science should be ‘naturalistic’, that is, that it only deal with what is visible and measurable. That this understanding of science is too narrow and therefore often harmful is obvious. This has led to numerous unwanted negative effects of positivist knowledge. These determine the Anthropocene (2020), the age of man, in which man

Introduction to part II  135 determines the destinies of the planet by acting on these forms of knowledge (see Portera, this volume). This is true even if geologists maintain that, despite industrialisation, the production of vast quantities of plastic, the destruction of non-renewable resources, environmental degradation and global warming, we still live in the Holocene. In view of this situation, the question arises as to whether we need to give more space to other forms of knowledge such as knowing how to create new customs and habits that will save our fellowship. These include raising awareness of the destructive effects of non-reflexive scientific and technical knowledge and the willingness to engage more with non-violent aesthetic experiences. The art of living too – here not to be understood in the sense of Sri Sri Ravi Shankar – includes everyday and philosophical forms of knowledge generated in different humanities disciplines. They include both quantitative and qualitative methods of knowledge acquisition. An important dimension of the art of living is to lead an ‘aesthetic existence’ (Foucault), a mutual interpenetration of everyday knowledge and scientifically gained knowledge. The goal is to convey different knowledge and thus different logics, procedures, laws and goals. Practical knowledge of action and explicit theoretical-abstract knowledge play an equally important role here. Theoretical knowledge is acquired, discussed and passed on according to certain rules, techniques and rituals. Practical knowledge is acquired situationally and requires the situational shaping of each situation. It is perspective and contextually organised and flexible. Practical knowledge leads to intuitive situational action that cannot be reduced to the application of explicit knowledge. In this context mimetic processes and learning through trial and error play an important role. Through scientific knowledge realities become complex, dynamic, fleeting and contingent (structurally open). They can be viewed from different perspectives (historical, empirical, institutional, etc.) and with the perspective of different disciplines (such as psychology or sociology). Insofar, one sees and thinks more and more through scientific knowledge (see Zirfas, this volume). The art of living emerges in the combination of different forms of knowledge with the goal that life succeeds. What a successful life is depends also on culture and social class. While the chapter on the art of living aimed to pinpoint the importance of different forms of knowledge for a successful life, Vando Borghi’s contribution explores how the body of knowledge that has been steadily expanding since the dawn of modernity is used for policy decisions. This is about a ‘cosmopolitan approach from below’ (see Borghi, this volume). This expansion of knowledge takes place in close connection with the development of capitalism. The stocks of knowledge resulting from individualisation, freedom, autonomy and self-determination are not homogeneous; they are contradictory and heterogeneous. They contribute to the spread of colonialism and can promote comprehensive democratisation processes. What is the ratio of these new heterogeneous knowledge stocks to political decisions? With reference to Amartya Sen, the informational basis for policy-making

136  Christoph Wulf is emphasised and the question of how to transform the growing body of knowledge into forms of knowledge that improve policy-making is explored. What knowledge is selected, which is disregarded, what possibilities do human rights have to promote a cosmopolitanism from below? Scientific knowledge is central to shaping the globalised world of the Anthropocene. This is all the more the case when its limits are seen and other forms of knowledge are consciously included in this process of knowledge. That is what philosophy keeps drawing attention to. It also repeatedly points to the limits of the various paradigms of the sciences and clarifies their connection with the social and political hierarchies. At a time when scientific knowledge is pushing many other forms of knowledge into the background and scientific knowledge is often naively and uncritically used to direct and legitimise political action, a philosophical reflection on the fundamental questions of world society is needed. These are addressed by Jacques Poulain referring to the seventeen Sustainable Development Goals. Particularly important in this process are the human rights and the resulting conclusions for shaping the world community.

References Dilthey, Wilhelm. 1988. Introduction to the Human Sciences: An Attempt to Lay a Foundation for the Study of Society and History, transl. by Ramon J. Betanzos. Detroit: Wayne State University Press. ———. 2008. The Construction of the Historical World in the Humanities. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Gadamer, Hans-Georg. 2002. Truth and Method. New York: Continuum. Geertz, Clifford. 1973. The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays. New York: Basic Books. Kraus, Anja, Jürgen Budde, Maud Hietzge, and Christoph Wulf (eds.). 2017. Handbuch Schweigendes Wissen (Handbook of Silent Knowledge). Weinheim: JuventaBeltz. Kraus, Anja, and Christoph Wulf (eds.). 2021. The Palgrave Handbook of Embodiment and Learning. New York: Palgrave Macmillan (in preparation). Kuhn, T. 1972. The Structure of Scientific Revolution. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Lieberg, Albert. 2018. Der Systemwechsel. Utopie oder existentielle Notwendigkeit. Marburg: Büchner. Resina, Joan Ramon, and Christoph Wulf (eds.). 2019. Repetition, Recurrence, Returns: How Cultural Renewal Works. Lanham: Lexington Books. Ricoeur, Paul. 1973. ‘Task of Hermeneutics’, Philosophy Today 17(2): 112–128. Schleiermacher, Friedrich Daniel Ernst. 1977. Hermeneutics: The Handwritten Manuscripts, ed. by Heinz Kimmerle and transl. by James Duke and Jack Forstman. Missoula: Scholars Press. Snow, Charles Percy. 1963. The Two Cultures: And a Second Look: An Expanded Version of the Two Cultures and the Scientific Revolution. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Introduction to part II  137 Völkischer Beobachter. 1933. Berlin edition 46th vol., 63rd ed., 7, also Munich ed., 3 March. Wallenhorst, Nathanael. 2019. L’anthropocène décodé pour les humains. Paris: Éditions Le Pommier Humensis. Wissenschaftsrat/Council of Science and Humanities. 2006. Recommendations for the Development and Promotion of the Humanities in Germany. Cologne: Wissenschaftsrat, Council of Science and Humanities. Whitcomb, John, and Henry Morris. 1961. Genesis Flood Narrative. Phillipsburg, NJ: Presbyterian & Reformed Publishing. Wulf, Christoph. 2003. Educational Science: Hermeneutics, Empirical Research, Critical Theory. Muenster: Waxmann. ———. 2013. Anthropology. A Continental Perspective. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. ———. 2020. Bildung als Wissen vom Menschen im Anthropozän. Weinheim and Basel: BeltzJuventa (Arabic edition 2019; English and Chinese translation in preparation). Wulf, Christoph, and Norval Baitello (eds.). 2019. Sapientia Uma arqueologia de saberes esquecidos. Sao Paulo: SESC.

8 The dominance of scientific knowledge and the devaluation of other forms of knowledge Christoph Wulf The development of the humanities and sciences in the 19th century and the increasing importance and dominance of the natural and technical sciences in the 20th has led to a situation in which other forms of knowledge have been devaluated and do not receive the recognition they should have, given their social and cultural importance. This development has produced a reduction of complexity in many areas of social life and social knowledge to be corrected. Body knowledge and practical knowledge, ethical and aesthetical knowledge are part of devaluated knowledge (Kraus and Wulf 2021). To lead a good life these forms of knowledge are very vital. There is a discrepancy between the social importance of body knowledge and practical knowledge and their social, cultural and scientific appreciation. There are many reasons for this situation. Since body knowledge, practical knowledge (Wulf 2006), implicit and tacit knowledge (Kraus et al. 2017) are forms of knowledge that in modern societies are perceived based on criteria of the traditional sciences, they are insufficiently understood. This situation may also have contributed to the emergence of what has often been termed the Anthropocene, in which the ‘unwanted side effects’ of modernisation including modern forms of scientific knowledge have led to a situation in which the human being determines the destiny of the planet with his extraordinary positive and negative productivity. It is not clear, however, whether humans will be able to reduce the violence of their actions in terms of environmental and climate destruction and the destruction of non-renewable resources. In any case, in view of this danger to the future, a new complexity of human thought, performance and action is needed, which must take up and redesign previously often-excluded areas of human knowledge (Gil and Wulf 2015; Resina and Wulf 2019). The goal of human and societal development is sustainability in all social and cultural areas (Wulf 2020). This also implies new contents and forms of learning. In the social sciences and in the humanities intensive discussions take place to decide what can be considered as scientific. I just refer to the dispute between quantitative and experimental and qualitative and ethnographic research. There is a consensus that both forms of research are important. But often the representatives of the quantitative experimental

The dominance of scientific knowledge  139 approach insist that only they provide true scientific results. This is the case, although recently a comprehensive study on the reproducibility of 200 research findings in psychology published in Science proved that only in one third of the studies the reproducibility of the findings could be confirmed. Since the representatives of the quantitative research paradigm insist that only reproducibility guarantees the scientific character of the research findings, they now have a problem. Given the finding of the study published in Science, at least historical and cultural differences must be accepted, and they limit the reproducibility of the research results. Given this situation, the representatives of the quantitative paradigm in the social sciences can no longer reduce the value of qualitative research to the development of hypotheses. Their assumption is highly questionable that due to the reproducibility of their proceedings and results only quantitative methods can verify or falsify something and provide the label ‘scientifically proven’. The argument is not acceptable, that research only produces scientific results, if it uses one normative method and applies it to different contents (cf. Popper 1959; Wulf 2003). Despite these arguments the dominance of quantitative social science research is deeply related with the values, attitudes and structures of our present society and culture. The assumption to produce a universal knowledge, valuable for people in different cultures and societies, with one single method, is an example for the exclusion of the historical and cultural character of social sciences and humanities. Contrary to the implicit assumption in this research, humanities and social science knowledge do not only have a universal but also a historical and cultural character, open to many divergent interpretations. As I experienced in my cross-cultural research in Japan and Germany, the perception and consequently the conceptualisation of social phenomena changes according to one’s own historical and cultural prerequisites (Wulf, Suzuki et al. 2011). The high value attributed to ‘evidencebased knowledge’ also is an example for a reduced way of research. Which forms of research and knowledge are accepted is related to societal power. Knowledge in the humanities and social sciences often fulfils political and social tasks and functions. If social and cultural concepts and practices are labelled ‘scientific’, their social power increases. The PISA-tests in education are a good example for this mechanism. Why do these tests receive worldwide attention and why are they accepted as adequate ways of measuring and comparing the quality of educational systems? Surprisingly enough, according to these data the most successful educational systems are in Singapore, Hong Kong and Korea. The validity of these results to measure the quality of education must be questioned and criticised. Obviously, these tests have an anthropological and cultural bias. Many important dimensions of education and human development are not considered in these tests. I just mention political and cultural education, practices of cooperation with others or the acquisition of social knowledge, which enables children to live together in mutual recognition.

140  Christoph Wulf In what follows, I would like to show that cultural learning is complex and implies forms of learning, which can be observed and interpreted but not tested. I agree with Albert Einstein: “Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted”. Cultural learning, i.e., social action, ritual behaviour, gestures and practical knowledge, are learned mimetically. Mimetic learning is considerably body-based, often unconsciously. It frequently is a form of implicit learning that produces tacit knowledge, which is far more important than generally accepted. Built on my research on rituals and gestures, emotions, images and practical knowledge I got more and more interested in body-based forms of learning and knowledge, in which their performance is of central importance (Wulf et al. 2001, 2004, 2007, 2010, 2011; Wulf, Göhlich et al. 2001; Wulf and Zirfas 2007; Renger and Wulf 2016).

Cultural learning as mimetic learning Infants and small children relate to the people with whom they live: parents, elder siblings, other relatives and acquaintances. They try to be like them, by, for example, answering a smile with a smile. However, they also initiate responses in adults by using skills they have already acquired (Dornes 1993). These early exchanges also enable small children to learn feelings. They learn to evoke their own feelings towards other people and to elicit them in others. The brain and the body develop in the course of their exchanges with the environment, i.e., certain capacities are trained; others, on the other hand, fade (Rizollati and Sinigaglia 2008; Fuchs 2008). The cultural conditions of early life are imprinted in the brains and bodies of small children. Anyone who has not learned to see, hear or speak at an early age has tremendous difficulties acquiring these skills at a later age. Initially, the mimetic actions of infants and children do not allow for a separation of subject and object; this occurs only at a later stage of development. At first, the world is perceived as magical, i.e., not only humans but also objects are experienced as being alive. As rationality becomes more developed, the capacity to experience the world in this way gradually becomes less central. However, it is this capacity upon which children draw to transform the external world into images in mimetic processes and to incorporate them into their internal image worlds (Gebauer and Wulf 1995, 1998). In his autobiography, Berlin Childhood around 1900, Walter Benjamin (2006) illustrated how children incorporate their cultural environments in processes of assimilation. In the course of these processes, children assimilate aspects of the parental home, such as the rooms, particular corners, objects and atmospheres. They are incorporated as ‘imprints’ of the images and stored in the child’s imaginary world, where they are subsequently transformed into new images and memories that help the child gain access to other cultural worlds. Culture is handed on by means of these processes of incorporating and making sense of cultural products. The mimetic ability

The dominance of scientific knowledge  141 to transform the external material world into images, transferring them into our internal worlds of images and making them accessible to others, enables individuals to actively shape cultural realities. These processes encompass not only our modes of dealing with the material products of culture but also social relationships and forms of activity and the way social life is staged and performed. This involves forms of practical knowledge that are learned mimetically in body-oriented, sensory processes and enable us to act competently in institutions and organisations (Wulf 2006). Ritual knowledge is an important area of this practical social knowledge, and this is how institutions become rooted in the human body, enabling us to orient ourselves in social situations. Images, schemas and movements are learned in mimetic processes, and these render the individual capable of action. Since mimetic processes involve products of history and culture, scenes, arrangements and performances, these processes are among the most important ways of handing down culture from one generation to the next (Wulf 2014). Without our mimetic abilities, cultural learning and ‘double inheritance’, i.e., the handing down of cultural products along with biological inheritance, which enables culture to change and develop, would not be possible (Tomasello 1999). Writings – an assemblage of non-sensory similarities – elicit mimetic processes that help to bring to life what is read. It is the same with other products of culture that also require a mimetic relationship for them to come alive. Without such a relationship, they represent simply a cultural possibility that can only realise its full potential through processes of education and self-education. Such processes are particularly important in the transfer of culture from one generation to the next, since these processes require a metamorphosis to keep forms of living, knowledge, art or technology alive. As mimetic processes are not simply methods of copying worlds that have already been symbolically interpreted but also consist in our taking and then incorporating ‘impressions’ of these worlds, these mimetic relationships always contain creative aspects, which alter the original worlds. This creates a cultural dynamism between generations and cultures, which constantly gives rise to new things. To a great extent, cultural learning is mimetic learning, which is at the centre of many processes of education and self-education. It is directed towards other people, social communities and cultural heritages and ensures that they are kept alive. Mimetic learning is a sensory, body-based form of learning in which images, schemas and movements needed to perform actions are learned. This occurs largely unconsciously, and it is this that is responsible for the lasting effects that play an important role in all areas of cultural development. Mimetic processes are also connected with the processes whereby we are affected by experiences in which our subjectivity dissolves into chaos and uncontrolled violence. These processes also involve confrontations with power, dominance, violence and oppression, which are part of every culture

142  Christoph Wulf and into which the mimetic processes are repeatedly immersed. The vicious circle of violence is an example of the mimetic structure of many forms of violence (Girard 1989). However, mimetic processes are also linked to aspirations for the forms and experiences of higher levels of life, in which ‘lively experiences’ (Adorno) can be sought and found. ‘Becoming similar’ to the world in mimetic action becomes an opportunity to leave egocentrism, logocentrism and ethnocentrism behind and to open oneself to experiences of otherness (Wulf 2016).

Social action and mimetically acquired practical knowledge The capacity for social action is acquired mimetically in cultural learning processes. This has been shown in numerous studies in recent years. In mimetic processes, people develop skills that differ from one culture to another, in games, the exchange of gifts and ritual behaviour. For people to be able to act ‘correctly’ in each situation, practical knowledge is necessary. This is acquired in sensory, body-orientated mimetic learning processes in each different field of activity. The corresponding cultural characteristics of social behaviour can only be learned using mimetic approximations. Practical knowledge and social activity are shaped largely by historical and cultural factors. In a first approximation social acts can be regarded as mimetic (Gebauer and Wulf 1998), • if as movements they relate to other movements; • if they can be understood as performances or enactments of the body; • if they are independent actions that can be understood in their own terms and that relate to other actions or worlds. Thus, non-mimetic actions would be mental calculation, decisions, reflex actions or routine behaviour as well as one-off acts or rule-breaking. Anywhere where someone acts in reference to an existing social practice and thereby creates a social practice him- or herself, there is a mimetic relationship between the two. This occurs, for instance, when one performs a social practice as in the example of the birthday present, or when one acts according to a social model or uses the body to express a social concept. As we have seen, this does not simply involve actions of copying. Mimetic actions are not mere reproductions that follow a pre-existing image precisely. Social practices performed in a mimetic manner lead to the creation of something individual. Unlike the processes of mimicry, which merely require an adaptation to given conditions, mimetic processes create both similarities and differences to the situations or persons to which or whom they relate. In the adapting and becoming similar to situations experienced earlier and to worlds that bear the mark of the culture of which they are part, the subjects acquire

The dominance of scientific knowledge  143 the skills required to behave appropriately in a certain social situation. By participating in the living practices of other people, they expand their own lifeworlds and create for themselves new ways of experiencing and acting. Receptivity and activity overlap. In this process, the given world becomes interwoven with the individual experience of those who form a mimetic relationship with it. We recreate the situations and external worlds experienced earlier and, by duplicating them, turn them into our own. It is only by confronting earlier situations or external worlds that these gain their individuality. It is not until this happens that our excess drive loses its indeterminate nature and is directed into individual wishes and needs. The confronting of the external world and the creation of the self occur as part of one and the same system. The external and internal worlds become increasingly similar and can only be experienced in their mutual dependency. Thus, the internal and the external take on similarities and begin to correspond to each other. People make themselves similar to the outside world and change as they do so; this transformation involves the changing of their perception of the external world and of themselves. Mimetic processes lead us to perceive similarities and create links to our social environment, and it is through experiencing this that people make sense of the world. One of the earliest human skills was to create similarities, and these can be seen clearly in phenomena that correspond in a sensory way. Similarities can occur between two faces or in processes where one person imitates the actions of another. Forms of similarity can also be found between the living and the inanimate. One of the purposes of the human body is to create and express similarities. Dance and language illustrate this clearly (Brandstetter and Wulf 2007), as here there is no difference between representation and expression on the one hand and performance and behaviour on the other. They form two aspects that are not separate in the act of mimesis but inextricably linked. The acquisition of practical knowledge in mimetic processes does not necessarily involve similarities. If mimetic knowledge is acquired by relating to social actions or performative behaviour from the world of the past, then it is only possible to identify the perspective of the mimetic relationship by comparing the two worlds. Similarity is nevertheless a frequent trigger for the mimetic impulse. However, creating a magical contact can also become the initial point of mimetic action. A mimetic relationship is even necessary to distinguish actions from existing social practices, and it is only this that gives us the option of accepting, changing or rejecting previous social actions. Previous social actions are carried out for a second time in mimetic learning processes. The relationship is created not by theoretical thinking but aesthetically, through the senses (Michaels and Wulf 2014). The second action differs from the first, not by challenging it or altering it but by re-performing it; thus, the mimetic action has both a revelatory and a performative ­character, and its performance creates its own aesthetic qualities. Mimetic

144  Christoph Wulf processes relate to social worlds already created by humankind that are either real or imaginary. The dynamic character of social activities relates to the practical nature of the knowledge required for the enacting of such situations. As practical knowledge it is less subject to rational controls than is analytical knowledge. This is also because practical, ritual knowledge is not a reflexive, selfaware knowledge. It only becomes this in the context of conflicts and crises where the actions that result from it require justification. If social practice is not questioned, practical knowledge remains ‘semi-conscious’. Like habitus knowledge it embraces images, schemas and forms of activity, which are used for the staging and bodily performance of social acts without requiring any reflection on their appropriateness. They are simply known and called upon for the staging of social practices. Human beings’ residual instinct, the hiatus between stimulus and response and also their ‘eccentricity’ (Plessner 1982) are prerequisites of the extraordinary plasticity of humankind and the opportunities this provides for acquiring practical knowledge in mimetic processes, thereby allowing social action to be conceptualised, staged and performed. This practical knowledge also includes the body movements that are used to stage scenes of social action. Discipline and control of body movements result in a disciplined and controlled practical knowledge, which is stored in the body memory and enables human beings to enact the corresponding forms of symbolic and scenic actions. This practical knowledge is based on the social forms of action and performance established in a particular culture and is therefore a pronounced but specific knowledge, limited in terms of its historical and cultural horizons. Imitative change and adaptation of previous worlds take place in mimetic processes (Hüppauf and Wulf 2009). This is the innovative factor of mimetic actions. Social practices are mimetic if they relate to other actions and can themselves be seen as social arrangements that constitute independent social practices and also relate to other practices. Social actions are made possible by the acquisition of practical knowledge in the course of mimetic processes. The practical knowledge necessary for social actions is not only historical and cultural but also body and ludic knowledge; it is formed in face-to-face situations and is not semantically unequivocal; it has components of the imaginary and cannot be reduced to intentionality, it incorporates an excess of meaning and can be seen in the social stagings and performances of religion, politics and everyday life.

Mimetic embodiment in rituals and social performances In all areas of human existence rituals and gestures are important for the mimetic development of practical knowledge. Embodied practical ritual knowledge is indispensable in politics, economy, science, families and education. It helps us to deal with difference and alterity and to create a sense

The dominance of scientific knowledge  145 of community and social relationships. It also enables us to assign meaning and structure to human relations. Ritual knowledge facilitates both continuity and change, as well as experiences of transition and transcendence. Given the significance of rituals in so many areas of social life, it is no surprise that there is no generally accepted theory of rituals, since the positions of the individual academic disciplines differ too widely. Scholars now generally agree that it makes little sense to reduce the wealth and diversity of studies on rituals to individual theories and lines of research. What is needed is rather to be aware of a wide variety of aspects and to render the complexity of the field explicit (Wulf et al. 2001, 2004, 2007, 2010, 2011). All approaches to classifying rituals are faced with the fact that rituals are always the product of multidimensional processes of symbolisation, construction and performance. The phenomena studied are also more complex than the concepts and theories used to describe them. This also applies to the attempt to organise the field of ritual studies by types of occasion and to distinguish, for instance, the following kinds of rituals: • Rituals of transition (birth and childhood, initiation and adolescence, marriage, death) • Rituals of institution or taking up office (taking on new tasks and positions) • Seasonal rituals (birthdays, days of remembrance, national holidays) • Rituals of intensification (eating, celebrating, love, sexuality) • Rituals of rebellion (peace and ecological movements, rituals of youth) • Rituals of interaction (greetings, taking leave, conflicts). (Gebauer and Wulf 1998: 130) Other attempts at classification are also conceivable and can provide orientation in the complex field of ritual research. It is possible to differentiate between the following types of ritual activity: ritualization, convention, ceremony, liturgy, celebration (Grimes 1985). For the carrying out of these rituals, it needs knowledge of how to perform the rituals, i.e., it needs practical knowledge. It is through the participation at the mis-en-scène and performances of rituals and the implied mimetic processes that this practical knowledge is learned. In all rituals mimetic processes contribute to the development of practical knowledge. When we look at the staging and performance of rituals, the bodies of the participants are implicitly involved. How do these appear in a ritual? How are they enacted? What does their arrangement in the ritual tell us about the community, the individuals and their culture? The movements and practices of bodies need to be considered. How are they used to exploit the ritual space, and what rhythm do they follow? The distance between bodies and the way they approach each other or distance themselves are significant. What positions do they take up? Do they stand or sit? What movements do they make when they dance? The configurations of the body

146  Christoph Wulf are symbolically encoded and convey messages. In terms of gestures, which we can consider to be language without words, it is possible to distinguish between iconic and symbolic gestures. Iconic gestures are simple ‘pictorial’ gestures with meanings that are largely independent of the knowledge of a historical time or a particular culture. Examples of such gestures are giving indications of dimensions with simple hand movements or expressing tiredness and the need for sleep by inclining the head and placing the hands together beside it. Symbolic gestures, on the other hand, have different meanings depending on the historical era or culture, and more precise historical and cultural knowledge is required to understand them (Wulf and Fischer-Lichte 2010). In each case, the ‘logic’ of the body, that is, its presentation and expression, plays an important role in the performance of gestures and rituals. This is especially true of the preconscious perception of bodily expressions, which forms the basis upon which the atmosphere of ritual arrangements is felt. The bodies of other people look at us before we become consciously aware of them, and in this way, they determine our perception of them. For the performance of rituals to result in embodimentprocesses, people need to experience the flow of energies and forces between them as a physical and psychological process that takes place at the outer reaches of consciousness. During the staging and performance of rituals, a new social reality is created and incorporated by the past (Wulf and Zirfas 2007). This reality is not completely new, since previous versions of it have existed before; however, it has not existed in this particular form at this particular location before this particular time. Drawing on earlier rituals, every staging and performance creates a new ritual reality and a new ritual community. This ritual community can develop for the first time among the people who carry out the ritual actions, but it can also be experienced as a repetition through which the community confirms its status as such. The performance of rituals is decisive for the forming of the members of communities. The community presents itself in the staging and style of the performance. In the ritual presentation it expresses something that cannot be portrayed in any other way. The ritual staging can therefore be seen as a ‘window’ that provides a glimpse into the deep structure of the community and the culture that creates it. The staging and performing of rituals render something visible that was previously invisible and embody it in the participants of the ritual. The staging of rituals always includes a reference to previous ritual performances. However, this can vary greatly. In some cases, the connection between old and new ritual performances is very close; in others it is very loose. However, in both cases the performance and incorporation of the ritual establishes a form of continuity that is important for the effectiveness of the ritual. Often, the historical continuity is incorporated by the participants of the ritual and stabilises the social order of the community, legitimising it. This frequently serves to uphold the current distribution of power and maintain body-based social hierarchies. It requires a critical analysis of power relations.

The dominance of scientific knowledge  147 Rituals are tied to time and space, and their cultural and historical conditions are embodied in these terms. Different spaces have differing effects on the structure, quality and style of the rituals that take place within them. Ritual spaces differ from physical spaces. On the one hand, they create ritual stagings and performances; on the other hand, rituals create ritual spaces using body movements, settings and symbolic and indexical frames. Rituals and space are not related in terms of subject/object or cause and effect but interactively. Both rituals and spaces are performative (Wulf, Göhlich, and Zirfas 2001). On the one hand, a decorated gymnasium provides the space for a school dance, just as a church provides the space for a confirmation ceremony. On the other hand, the school dance transforms the gymnasium into a ballroom, and the confirmation ceremony transforms the church into a living, sacred space. The intermeshing of real, virtual, symbolic and imaginary spaces with the bodily movements of those taking part plays an important role in the development of ritual activities. This intermeshing of real, virtual, symbolic and imaginary spaces with bodily movements takes place in an environment shaped by historical and cultural factors (Wulf 2013, 2018). This results in an atmosphere that affects the mood of all the participants in the ritual. Actions that have already been carried out here before and for which the space is suitable are repeated as part of an attempt to adjust to the atmosphere, structure and function of the space in which the ritual is being carried out. The participants change by mimetically recreating the conditions of the space around them. The performative effects and embodiment of ritual spaces such as the church, the family living room and the virtual space of electronic media are very different from one another and have different socialising effects. The other constituent condition of ritual activity apart from space is time. Two complementary views are important in the way humans deal with time. First, rituals play a major role in introducing children to the time structure of society. Parents attempt to adjust their children’s rhythms to the time rhythms of society and thus to accustom even infants to the manner of structuring time that is the social norm. Childhood rituals are used to ensure that time becomes the main structuring influence in children’s lives. Second, in our ritualised handling of time, we acquire practical knowledge that is indispensable for the staging and performance of rituals. Insofar as the management of time results from cultural learning processes, rituals play a very important part in this. Their repetitive character helps to inscribe the order of time into our bodies, which then become structured by time. Many rituals are repeated cyclically. Their purpose is to assure us of the presence of the community and to reaffirm its order and potential for transformation. The aim of rituals is to stage continuity, timelessness and constancy. They are oriented towards processualism and the projectivity of communities and individuals. As we structure our time in a ritualised manner, we learn to manage it as a social skill. In today’s societies the ritual organisation of time lends a structure to every aspect of individual and communal life.

148  Christoph Wulf Between the beginning and the end of a ritual, different sequences of ritual activity occur in which different kinds of actions are expected and carried out. The rule-bound nature of ritual activity is closely linked to its sequentiality. The ritual actions follow an order that is also chronological and embodied. Periods of time are created in and by means of rituals, which differ from the uniformity of everyday life and become moments of heightened intensity. This kind of intensification is due to the exceptional character of the events and is also achieved by highly condensing them and speeding them up. In many rituals, time becomes sacred time. Memory and reconnection with the past are therefore constitutive elements of religions, which, with the aid of rituals, transfer sacred content from communicative memory to cultural memory. They thereby render it accessible so that it can be used to shape the future. In the experience of sacred time, it is not so much the length of time that counts as its intensity. On the one hand, rites of passage make it possible to experience different stages of life as phases with their own temporal dynamics; on the other, they create continuity and meaning in the process of life. In the time structures of rituals, different times often overlap, resulting in highly complex temporal experiences. Rituals are essential for worship and the embodiment of religion, regardless of whether one sees their importance in the creation and practicing of religious feelings in cult ceremonies or focuses on their capacity to create sacrality, in which society makes an image of itself. The magical character of ceremonies of promotion to a higher office also has many aspects in common with sacred ceremonies. Even a candlelit dinner for two, where the candles on the table emphasise the special atmosphere of sharing a meal, raises the question as to whether the scene has elements borrowed from the sphere of the sacred and transferred to everyday life. The upgrading of such customs by adding sacred symbols may be connected to the far-reaching changes in attitudes towards religion and sacred matters that we are currently experiencing. During the performance of rituals, the participants refer simultaneously and directly to the actions of other participants. They do so largely by means of mimesis, using the senses, the movements of the body and a joint orientation towards words, sounds, language and music. A ritual can only take place as a structured whole if all actions are successfully coordinated, precisely orchestrated and adequately embodied. Here the staging is indispensable; however, the performance itself is the decisive factor, as the ritual actions need to be exactly coordinated. Otherwise the results are farcical, and the ritual breaks down. If the interaction is to be harmonious, the ritual activities must be mimetically coordinated with each other. If this is achieved, energies can ‘flow’ between the ritual participants, and this is experienced as intense, pleasant and bonding (Csikszentmihalyi 1990). As in dance or courtship behaviour, the rational control of actions also has limits in rituals. We only have the feeling that a ritual is successful if a mimetically created harmony that is beyond rational control develops between one

The dominance of scientific knowledge  149 body and another, one movement and another and one gesture and another. These mimetic processes form the basis of the feeling of belonging to a community as well as the experience of the sacred. Whereas the synchronous dimension of mimetic processes relates to the importance of mimetic processes in the actual conduct of rituals, the diachronous dimension relates to the historical aspects of rituals. Rituals always relate to others that have taken place before – either ones in which one has participated or ones of which one has heard. Thus, the historical dimension is essential for the creation and the incorporation of rituals. Ritual actions include mimetic references to earlier rituals. As these references are made by mimesis, they create an ‘impression’ of earlier performances of the ritual, which is then adapted to suit the current context. Depending on the requirements, some aspects of the ritual may be transformed in this process. Creating a mimetic link between the current world and a previous world ensures historical continuity, which legitimises the current ritual activity, even if it differs from its predecessor. This use of mimesis to refer to or reconnect with previous performances of a ritual does not mean that it is recreated in the same way every time. To make a reference by mimesis is to “adjust oneself to become similar”, that is, to repeat a similar action that would not be possible if the previous ritual activity had not taken place. In some cases the result of this mimetic referencing also leads to a critical distancing from the reference point of the ritual, although this point of reference does not become superfluous. In mimetic referencing processes, the configurations and arrangements of the ritual action are updated and modified to match the context of our own activities. Mimetic constellations, staging styles and types of movement are acquired and modified according to necessity or what the person thinks fit. The ‘repetition’ of earlier rituals does not result in a copy in a photographic sense. Rather, through the inclusion of mimetically transferred and assimilated elements, something new is created in the repetition for everyone involved. The older version is merged into the new in a dialectical fashion. The ritual that has been updated by a mimetic process contains the old ritual, which has been given a new face and new clothing (Michaels and Wulf 2013). Mimetic processes play an important role in the staging, performing and incorporation of ritual events: they produce the practical knowledge necessary for the ritual actions in question. This ritual knowledge, which enables us to act competently in rituals, evolves from real or imaginary participation in ritual activities. In mimetic processes people take part in ritual actions that are corporeal and are both independent and related to other ritual acts or arrangements. In so doing, they undergo an expansion in order to accommodate the ritual practice. Thus, through mimetic referencing, they undergo a process of adjusting to the ritual activities in which corporeality and performativity play an important role. These processes incorporate ritual configurations, scenes, sequences of events, images and behaviour patterns, all

150  Christoph Wulf of which, in other contexts, contribute to the competent execution of social practices (Wulf and Baitello 2018).

Tacit knowledge An important feature of much of cultural learning, mimetic and ritual learning and practical knowledge is the tacit knowledge. In the 1940s, Gilbert Ryle made an important distinction between ‘Knowing How and Knowing That’ and showed that there are different forms of knowledge. What I described as the mimetic learning of culture mainly belongs to the ‘knowing how’ of knowledge, which is difficult to investigate (Ryle 1990). ‘Knowing how’ is not based on a linguistically expressible knowledge. ‘Knowing how’ refers to knowledge that enables people to act. Rituals are examples for this kind of knowledge. To perform a ritual, it needs no explanations or reasons. What counts are the mise-en-scène and the performance. The required knowledge is a performative knowledge. This knowledge differs from knowledge necessary for description, analysis and interpretation. ‘Knowing how’ characterises practical and embodied knowledge that gets visible in its performance. Games, dances, performances of music, painting etc. also are examples for this type of knowledge, manifested in performances. Many daily life practices like car driving, cooking and the use of mobile phones demand practical performative knowledge. In these cases, the practical knowledge to drive a car is learnt when the explanations of how to drive a car are understood. But you only know how to drive a car when you do not have to think what to do when you are driving. When the knowledge is embodied, then you are able to drive. In many disciplines like medicine, law and education, practical knowledge is constitutive. In these fields, the social practice is prerequisite for the theoretical and conceptual knowledge. Ryle does not distinguish between practical and theoretical knowledge. Knowing how refers to both. Here differs Karl Polanyi, who describes knowledge as a process of knowing in action and therefore writes: “I regard knowing as an active comprehension of the things known, an action that requires skill. Skilful knowing and doing is performed by subordinating a set of particulars, as clues or tools, to the shaping of a skilful achievement, whether practical or theoretical” (Polanyi 1974: VII). Polanyi explains, when you point with your finger to a wall and ask somebody to look at you, the person will not look at the finger, but at the wall. One way is to look at a thing. This is the way you look at the wall. But how is one to describe the way you see my finger pointing at the wall? You are not looking at my finger, but away from it. I should say that you do not see it as a mere object to be examined as such, but as an object having a function: the function of directing your attention away from itself and at something else. But this is not to say that my pointing

The dominance of scientific knowledge  151 finger was trying to make you disregard itself. Far from it. It wanted to be seen, but to be seen only in order to be followed and not in order to be examined. (Polanyi 1974: 313) In this example, there is an implicit knowledge that not the finger but the wall is the goal. A pianist can serve as another example for the importance of body-based practical knowledge. If he starts to think about what he is doing or what he should do, he will no longer be able to play; he will be paralysed. Another example for the complexity of practical knowledge is the keeping of balance on a bicycle. You can read several books about cycling and know a lot about it without being able to ride a bike, which does not require a linguistic but a body-based knowledge of movement.

Outlook In many areas of education, the dominance of quantitative knowledge based on the research paradigm of the natural sciences is problematic. This is the case in cultural education. Since education is often reduced to the testable and measurable aesthetic, moral, social and political education do not receive the necessary attention. The transfer of these aspects of cultural education to the next generation takes place in mimetic processes. As we have seen, mimetic processes are not simply processes of copying. Rather, they are productive or even creative. In mimetic processes, for example, the upright walk, language ability and emotions are learned. Mimetic processes are of vital importance for the learning of social action and the acquisition of practical and aesthetic knowledge. For the embodiment of practical knowledge, rituals and ritual repetitions play a central role. Given the importance of practical knowledge for individuals and communities, more research on the mimetic, ritual, gestural and tacit character of practical knowledge is needed.

References Benjamin, Walter. 2006. Berlin Childhood Around 1900. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Brandstetter, Gabriele, and Christoph Wulf (eds.). 2007. Tanz als Anthropologie. Munich: Wilhelm Fink. Csikszentmihalyi, Mihalyi. 1990. Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience. New York: Harper & Row. Dornes, Martin. 1993. Der kompetente Säugling. Die präverbale Entwicklung des Menschen. Frankfurt am Main: Fischer Taschenbuch Verlag. Fuchs, Thomas. 2008. Das Gehirn – ein Beziehungsorgan. Eine phänomenologischökologische Konzeption.: Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Gebauer, Gunter, and Christoph Wulf. 1995. Mimesis. Culture, Art, Society. Berkeley: The University of California Press.

152  Christoph Wulf ———. 1998. Spiel, Ritual, Geste. Reinbek: Rowohlt. Gil Capeloa, Isabel, and Christoph Wulf (eds.). 2015. Hazardous Future: Disaster, Representation and the Assessment of Risk. Berlin, Munich and Boston: De Gruyter. Girard, René. 1989. The Scapegoat. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Grimes, Ronald L. 1985. Research in Ritual Studies. Methuen, MA: Scarecrow Press. Hüppauf, Bernd, and Christoph Wulf (eds.). 2009. Dynamics and Performativity of Imagination: The Image Between the Visible and the Invisible. London and New York: Routledge. Kraus, Anja, Jürgen Budde, Maud Hietzge, and Christoph Wulf (eds.). 2017. Handbuch Schweigendes Wissen. Erziehung, Bildung, Sozialisation und Lernen. Weinheim and Basel: Beltz Juventa. Kraus, Anja, and Christoph Wulf (eds.). 2021. The Palgrave Handbook of Embodiment and Learning. New York: Palgrave Macmillan (in preparation). Michaels, Axel, and Christoph Wulf (eds.). 2013. Emotions in Rituals and Performances. London, New York and New Delhi: Routledge. ——— (eds.). 2014. Exploring the Senses: South Asian and European Perspectives on Rituals and Performativity. London: Routledge. Plessner, Helmuth. 1982. ‘Ausdruck der menschlichen Natur’, in Helmuth Plessner (ed.), Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 7, 391–398. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp Verlag. Polanyi, Michael. 1974. Personal Knowledge: Towards a Post-Critical Philosophy. A Chemist and Philosopher Attempt to Bridge the Gap Between Fact and Value, Science and Humanity. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Popper, Karl. 1959. The Logic of Scientific Discovery. Abingdon-on-Thames: Routledge. Renger, Almut-Barbara, and Christoph Wulf (eds.). 2016. ‘Körperwissen: Transfer und Innovatio’, Paragrana. Internationale Zeitschrift für Historische Anthropologie 25(1). Resina, Joan Ramon, and Christoph Wulf (eds.). 2019. Repetition, Recurrence, Returns. Lanham: Lexington Books, Roman & Littlefield. Rizollati, Giacomo, and Sinigaglia Corrado. 2008. Mirrors in the Brain: How Our Minds Share Actions and Emotions. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Ryle, Gilbert. 1990. ‘Knowing How and Knowing That’, in Collected Papers, vol. 2, 212–225. Bristol: Thoemmes. Tomasello, Michael. 1999. The Cultural Origins of Human Cognition. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Wulf, Christoph. 2003. Educational Science: Hermeneutics, Empirical Research, Critical Theory. Münster: Waxmann. ———. 2006. ‘Praxis’, in Jens Kreinath, Jan Snoek, and Michael Strausberg (eds.), Theorizing Rituals: Issues, Topics, Approaches, Concepts, 359–411. Leiden and Boston: Brill. ———. 2013. Anthropology. A Continental Perspective. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ———. 2014. Bilder des Menschen. Performative und Imaginäre Grundlagen der Kultur. Bielefeld: Transcript Verlag. ——— (ed.). 2016. Exploring Alterity in a Globalized World. London: Routledge.

The dominance of scientific knowledge  153 ———. 2018. ‘Unknowing and Silent Knowledge as a Challenge: Iconic, Performative, Material Perspectives’, in Bernard Andreas, Koch, Matthias, and Leeker Martina (eds.), Non-Knowledge: Digital Culture, 123–140. Lüneburg: Meson Press. ———. 2020. Bildung als Wissen vom Menschen im Anthropozän. Wiesbaden: Springer VS. Wulf, Christoph, Birgit Althans, Kathrin Audehm, Constanze Bausch, Benjamin Jörissen, Michael Göhlich, Stephan Sting, Anja Tervooren, Monika Wagner-Willi, and Jörg Zirfas. 2001. Das Soziale als Ritual. Zur performativen Bedeutung von Gemeinschaft. Opladen: Leske & Budrich. Wulf, Christoph, Birgit Althans, Kathrin Audehm, Constanze Bausch, Benjamin Jörissen, Michael Göhlich, Ruprecht Mattig, Anja Tervooren, Monika WagnerWilli, and Jörg Zirfas. 2004. Bildung im Ritual. Schule, Familie, Jugend, Medien. Wiesbaden: Springer VS. Wulf, Christoph, Birgit Althans, Kathrin Audehm, Gerald Blaschke, Nino Ferrin, Benjamin Jörissen, Michael Göhlich, Ruprecht Mattig, Sebastian Schinkel, Anja Tervooren, Monika Wagner-Willi, and Jörg Zirfas. 2007. Lernkulturen im Umbruch. Rituelle Praktiken in Schule, Medien, Familie und Jugend. Wiesbaden: Springer VS. Wulf, Christoph, et al. 2010. Ritual and Identity: The Staging and Performing of Rituals in the Lives of Young People. London: Tufnell Press. Wulf, Christoph, Birgit Althans, Kathrin Audehm, Gerald Blaschke, Nino Ferrin, Ingrid Kellermann, Ruprecht Mattig, and Sebastian Schinkel. 2011. Die Geste in Erziehung, Bildung und Sozialisation. Ethnographische Feldstudien. Wiesbaden: Springer VS. Wulf, Christoph, and Norval Baitello (eds.). 2018. Sapientia Uma arqueologia de saberes esquecidos. Sao Paulo: SESC. Wulf, Christoph, and Erika Fischer-Lichte (eds.). 2010. Gesten – Inszenierung, Aufführung, Praxis. Paderborn: Wilhelm Fink. Wulf, Christoph, Michael Göhlich, and Jörg Zirfas (eds.). 2001. Grundlagen des Performativen. Eine Einführung in die Zusammenhänge von Sprache, Macht und Handeln. Weinheim and München: Juventa. Wulf, Christoph, Shoko Suzuki, Jörg Zirfas, Ingrid Kellermann, Yoshitaka Inoue, Fuomo Ono, and Nanae Takenaka. 2011. Das Glück der Familie: Ethnographische Studien in Deutschland und Japan. Wiesbaden: Springer VS. Wulf, Christoph, and Jörg Zirfas (eds.). 2007. Pädagogik des Performativen. Weinheim and Basel: Beltz.

9 Modernity, colonialism and the ‘Science of Language’ Franson Manjali

Introduction Though linguistics or the contemporary ‘science of language’ has advanced claims regarding a universal grammar since the 1960s, it must be admitted that the structures and the uses of languages of the world differ in indefinitely many ways. This is what renders a science or a theory of language a near impossibility. In fact, it is as difficult or impossible as a unique science or theory of god. And similarly, just as in matters of divinity, the ways in which scholars have approached and studied languages are also irreducibly diverse and different. And moreover, if linguistic theories and practices in ancient and medieval times, especially in the Hebraic, Indian, Latin, and Arab traditions, have had religious orientations, it can be noticed in the modern, post-Enlightenment contexts they have a strong, direct or indirect anthropological and political orientation. When a language is no more viewed as having its provenance in God or religion – as it happened after the advent of scientific modernity – and when the humans had to decide on and determine its structure, its use and its fate in the mundane milieu, then political issues are often called upon to respond to questions of language. In this context, in showing the tenacity of religion on the other hand, Jean-Pierre Vernant has noted that scientific rationality is not something that pre-exists the subject matter of study. Each time, according to him, ‘[s]cientific rationality defines itself as it constructs the subject matter and methodology of each new discipline. In the human science, moreover, there is no virgin territory to explore; the fields of investigation are continents mapped by tradition and explored by religious thought’.1 In ancient and medieval periods, languages have not only been understood as the medium of God’s revelation to the humans or the mode of man’s submission to Him but also that by which humans order the living world of people and things. Historically speaking, it can be seen that languages have not only been identified with the divine spheres but have aided and been promoted by empires and nations. It is said that before the Spanish ships sailed to conquer the New World, the scholar Anton de Nebrija recommended to Queen Isabel his then newly published grammar of Castilian

Modernity/colonialism/‘Science of Language’  155 (1492) with the observation that ‘language was always the companion of empire . . . language and empire began, increased, and flourished together’.2 It is not difficult to see, again historically, instances of how linguistic power operates either within the context of one’s own community or nation or across national boundaries where direct political domination exists. Bernard Cohn (1996) has succinctly described the exercise of British linguistic power in the early colonial Indian context: The years 1770 to 1785 may be looked upon as the formative period during which the British successfully began the program of appropriating Indian languages to serve a crucial component in their construction of the system of rule. More and more British officials were learning the ‘classical’ languages of India (Sanskrit, Persian, and Arabic) as well as many ‘vulgar’ languages More importantly, this was the period in which the British were beginning to produce an apparatus: grammars, dictionaries, treatises, class books, and translations about and from languages of India. . . . The subjects of these texts were first and foremost the Indian languages themselves, represented in European terms as grammars, dictionaries, and teaching aids in a project to make the acquisition of a working knowledge of the language available to those British who were to be part of the ruling group in India.3

The European context We shall begin by considering the early modern era in Europe, also referred to by Michael Foucault as the ‘classical’ period. It is useful to see that the political basis of linguistic studies has manifested in multiple ways in the European context. Perhaps we may mention as the first approach the path opened up by Benedict Anderson in his well-known work Imagined Communities (1983) and see how a material-historical process involving languages became the basis of nationalism and nation-formation in Europe. The second is to follow the one proposed by Michel Foucault (1970), where the very discourses pertaining to language within what emerged as ‘the human sciences’ underwent specific discontinuities, first from the Renaissance to the Classical period and then from the latter to the Modern period. As a third approach we shall try and follow how philosophical ideas, such as those of John Locke, Condillac and Johann G. Herder, emphasised the voluntary and creative use of language in individuals’ expressions, in relation to both scientific and popular knowledge formations. Related to this, there may still be a fourth issue that is closely connected with what Edward Said had famously identified as the discourse of Orientalism, which is clearly evident in the works of the philologically oriented scholars, William Jones, Wilhelm von Humboldt and Max Müller, among others. We shall go on to see how, by the end of the 19th century, a relatively autonomous ‘science of language’ was being established.

156  Franson Manjali We are thus directly concerned with the question: how did the European colonisations affect the balance of power between languages and cultures in that continent? Philology began with the contact and the ‘command’ the European scholars established with the cultural and linguistic material brought into the continent. The comparative and historical studies of the early philologists had the effect of levelling out on the one hand the differences and the distance between the Judeo-Christian languages and their associated world views (of Hebrew, Greek and Latin) and those of the newly discovered and attested languages of the colonies. And, on the other hand, it led to the preferential acceptance and placement of certain languages or groups of languages over others. In the new global order of languages and assumed kinships of peoples, certain languages and their corresponding ‘families’, such as that of Sanskrit and the related ‘classical’ Indo-European languages were elevated in rank over others, and languages outside of this family, such as Chinese, Arabic, Turkish etc., were relegated to an inferior and underdeveloped status. The ideological biases of such scholarly positions, often springing from previously internalised philosophical or religious beliefs, could only be prejudicial and therefore devoid of the assumed scientific basis.

Emergence of national languages Anderson (1983) focuses on the material substructure of the formation of European ‘national languages’ – that further led to the corresponding nation states – which started appearing in the 14th century (English 1382) and began to accelerate from the 16th century with the declaration of ‘François’ (1539) as the official language in his dominion by the French King François I, who chose to name the new language (later to be known as Français) after himself. Anderson has described how, in the context of the emergence of capitalism and print-technology, a wide variety of European vernaculars were assembled into a smaller number of ‘print-languages’ and how the latter with the aid of ‘print-capitalism’ became the basis for the emergence of national consciousnesses and eventually of the nation states. This process, he notes, further entailed: a) the creation of ‘unified fields of exchange and communication below Latin and above the vernaculars’; b) providing ‘a new fixity to language, which . . . helped to build the image of antiquity so central to the idea of the nation’; c) the creation of new ‘ “languages of power” of a kind different from the older administrative vernaculars’ (Anderson 1983: 44–45).

The discourse of language Foucault observes a somewhat parallel movement involving a discontinuity from a discourse of ‘resemblance’ during the Renaissance period to that of

Modernity/colonialism/‘Science of Language’  157 ‘representation’ in the Classical period. In the latter period, in contrast to the former, things in nature did not signify by means of words that were thought to naturally resemble them, but it is now the rationally endowed man who ‘represents’ by means of signs the ideas that correspond to the things. The authors of the Cartesian-inspired Port-Royal Grammar (1660) claimed that signs are not naturally present but are ‘invented’ by man. The historical period that Anderson considered in which national languages began to take shape is that of early European modernity, which somewhat coincided with what Foucault calls the ‘classical’ period starting from 1600 – that is, the period preceding that of the ‘Enlightenment’ – or the ‘modern’ period that begins in the second half of the 18th century. Foucault, in his Order of Things (1966), discusses the latter period that harbingered the ‘comparison’ of languages and study of their historical changes. This was the beginning of comparative philology, which in many ways paved the way for modern linguistics of the late 19th and 20th centuries. Foucauldian ‘archaeology’ sees this emergence of comparatism and historicism as the second major ‘discontinuity’ in European linguistic thought (along with other similar and parallel discontinuities in economics and biology). This discontinuity from the classical to the modern period is characterised by a shift from understanding language as ‘representation’ by means of signs to the study of the historical changes in the form of languages, by way of comparison. Such comparisons between languages, Foucault says, involved ‘great confrontations between various languages’, which sometimes reflected ‘pressures of political motives.’4 In his account of the ‘confrontation’ between languages, Foucault rightly identified the grammatical ‘inflection’ as the ‘form intermediary between articulation of contents and the value of roots’ (ibid.: 234). We note here that the grammatical property of ‘inflection’ became the basis of the comparison between the ‘classical’ languages, Sanskrit, Greek and Latin, initially undertaken by Gaston Cœurdoux and A.H. Anquetil-Duperron and later Sir William Jones. A tight inflectional system was also the basis of Jones’ claim regarding the superiority (and for some like Humboldt, the near-perfection) of Sanskrit even among these ‘classical’ languages themselves. Foucault is noticeably silent about the ideological elevation of these ‘classical’ Indo-European (and, for some, ‘Aryan’) languages, but he is right in noting the decisive role played by ‘inflection’ in the birth of modern linguistics.5 Right as he is about the emergence of philology as a modern historical science, Foucault’s ‘archaeology’ is also decidedly averse to seeing the ideological dimensions that accompanied this discontinuity. Edward Said (albeit inadequately) and others have focused on the central role that philology played in the formation of the bourgeoning field of ‘Orientalism’. Said quotes Benjamin Disraeli as the incipit of his book: ‘The East is a career’ (Said 1979: xii).

158  Franson Manjali

Rationalism and empiricism in language studies Grammatical studies of the ‘classical’ 17th century were connected, in the classical philosophical system, with the emergence of the notion of ‘innate ideas’ and the mental operations with them as what words stand for or represent. As per the opening definition of the General and Rational Grammar of Port-Royal: ‘Grammar is the art of speaking. Speaking is explaining one’s thoughts by signs which men have invented for this purpose’.6 As per this formulation, signs are the means by which one expresses innately present ideas and explains to others one’s logically organised thoughts. Knowledge, according to Cartesian rationalism, does not naturally emerge from the world, nor is it provided by religious sources, the priest or the Book but is generated by human beings on the basis of their innate ideas and mental operations involving them and is expressed in signs. Further, the signs consist of a material part, ‘the sounds or letters’ and an ideal part, ‘signification’, which is the specific manner in which one uses the former to ‘signify’ one’s thoughts generated by the universal mental apparatus. Grammar is thus not a matter of the ‘signs of things’ as it was for the medieval ‘modistae’ grammarians (e.g., Thomas of Erfurt). Words are no more considered natural ‘signs’ on par with natural things. Signs invented by man signify and ‘represent’ the (objects and events in the) world by means of innate and rational ideas. This picture of the interrelationship between the innately endowed knowledge and the ‘invented’ signs of language was substantially transformed and altered by John Locke in the late 17th century. Rejecting Cartesian rationalism, Locke claimed that the signs that constitute language do not pre-exist the corresponding ideas. Just as he maintained in his empiricist theory that ideas arise by transforming the sensations experientially received from the external world, he would also insist that words are obtained by voluntarily imposing upon articulable sounds marks in order to remember and recognise particular ideas. Since the imposition of a mark is voluntary and devoid of any prior necessity, a sign can only bear an arbitrary relationship with the corresponding idea. Thus, in Locke’s opposite philosophical proposal, linguistic signs come to exist only by way of voluntary acts of the human individual. They do not exist as a random set of elements to choose from in his communicative acts, but rather they have to be created in specific experiential situations by each individual. There is no common, universal human invention of the sign. Signs are the result of voluntary impositions of many different individuals, and that is what in Locke’s view renders them prone to errors or ‘imperfections’. Locke claimed that ideas may be formed from the things in a more or less correct or perfect manner, but what words do primarily is ‘signify’ or ‘stand for’ the ideas, by means of the voluntary and imposed marks, which as signs help humans in recording their own thoughts, to assist them in fixing

Modernity/colonialism/‘Science of Language’  159 their own memory and to present and to transfer their ideas to others. Thus potentially there would be an extreme degree of individuality of the linguistic signs. Words signify the particular ideas derived from the experience of the individual speakers. One’s idea about a particular thing expressed by one’s own words cannot be the same idea of another that he would express by his words. There are no signs in general corresponding to things. He says: ‘Words being voluntary Signs, they cannot be voluntary Signs imposed by him on Things that he knows not’.7 Locke takes his empiricism to an extreme, even when he is admitting ‘ideas’ at the level of language and knowledge. Sensations from things are transformed into ideas. The individual imposes marks on the sounds or sound sequences corresponding to the ideas he has formed, leading to the arbitrariness of signs. The scenario is less complicated at the level of simple ideas of things and the corresponding signs, which tend to be somewhat similar for most individuals. However, the complex ideas (in the higher intellectual domains) or propositions got by compounding simple ideas and the signs for them cannot be the same for all individuals. This disparity involving the signs and ideas for oneself, as well as that between the ideas of different individuals in conversation, and argumentation in fact renders ordinary language more of a hindrance than an aid in communication. Locke refers to this as the ‘imperfection’ of words in relation to ideas, and correcting these imperfections is one of the main goals of philosophical reasoning. The imperfections are to be remedied by providing stable ‘definitions’ of words and their meanings. And the definitions have to be arrived at particularly for the complex terms, by attending critically to the metaphorical extensions that may have been made from the simple ideas formed on the basis of the initial sensations.

Origin and historical development of languages Locke’s follower in France, Etienne Bonnot Abbé de Condillac, later speculated on the natural and historical origins of language and its development to higher and higher degrees of progress by means of analysis of language in relation to the thinking process. The more one undertakes this linguistic analysis, the better would be one’s ability to think. Thus, by way of an analytical empiricism, he introduces the precedence of language over thought. Thinking, Condillac declares, is ‘the art of speaking’.8 Condillac’s interest lies not just in the question of obtaining right knowledge but rather in how language enables thinking. Highest forms of thinking, judging and reasoning are undertaken with words, and he claims, ‘just as we calculate with numerals . . . languages are for ordinary people what algebra is for the geometricians’.9 For Condillac, man needs to have a voluntary control over the signs of language and use them not only to remember things but even more to reflect and to think. Higher forms of thinking can take place only with the acquisition and use of language.

160  Franson Manjali However, though language and thinking involve a natural and interlinked growth and development by men from a natural base of gestures by way of analogical principles, Condillac insists that this process of linguistic and mental development is not uniform across different cultures, for the patterns and the quality of analogical creation are not the same in different contexts. Humans analogise in a better or worse manner to produce a superior or inferior mental and linguistic development in relation to nature’s fount of knowledge, available equally for all mankind. And since our thoughts are proportional to how well we analyse our language, the latter has a determinant role in man’s knowledge development. Since our languages which take form in proportion as we analyse them, became so many analytical methods, it is understandable that we find it natural to think according to the habits that they cause us to acquire. We think with them. Rulers of our judgment, they determine our knowledge, opinions and prejudices. In short, they do in this domain everything good or bad.10 Furthermore, our first naturally available and gesture-based language is the most appropriate human language. Therefore, it is best that a people maintained a natural course (of direct analogy) in their own linguistic and mental developments and remained uncontaminated by the influences of other peoples on their own language and culture. Condillac’s naturalistic theory of linguistic and mental development has had two consequences. One is historical and the other anthropological. The latter has to do with the firm conviction à la Sapir and Whorf (passing through Humboldt in the 19th century) regarding linguistic relativism/ determinism: ‘language determines thought’. Therefore, the existence of diverse languages suggests a diversity of mental processes and thinking on the basis of different degrees of analysis attained and applied. The former involves the belief that historically languages and cultures have responded differently to the original linguistic and mental disposition in man, and they would have done this in a better or a worse manner, and, consequently, they would have shown correspondingly superior or inferior intellectual results in their given historical situations. This conclusion of a historical and cultural hierarchy seems to have been too facilely arrived at on the basis of the ‘evidence’ that European scholars, aided by colonial expansions, claimed to have obtained from their exposure to the vast diversity of human languages and cultures.

Herder and the question of the Volk The first significant break with a rationalism divorced from the realm of human cultural experience took place with the works of Johann Gottfried Herder, who was not only keen on reconnecting man with God but also

Modernity/colonialism/‘Science of Language’  161 emphasising the relevance of poetry and the uniqueness of each human culture. The speculation about language is no longer about its source in reason or thought but on knowing what language God spoke and passed on to the first humans He created. This speculation has been aptly characterised by Maurice Olender as that of determining ‘the language of paradise’. By Herder’s time, there was already evidence of a diversity of rich texts and culturally significant discourses from different parts of the globe that European scholars had become familiar with. What fascinated many Romanticists – not averse to the absolute of divinity and of poetry – and related scholars was the question of the language that man spoke at the moment of divine creation, i.e., in paradise and in the cradle of the human civilisation. This was important for them in the wake of the new competitors that could stake a claim to it (the first language) in the wake of the European colonial expansion. As a philosopher of history, Herder’s focus was on human cultural and linguistic origins. A Lutheran pastor keenly engaged in religion, his initial attention was turned to the Hebrew language, particularly its poetry. This was the time when the Oriental was identified as the ‘original’. An oriental language, Hebrew of the Old Testament, for the Christians and the Jews, had to be thought of as the original language. Herder is initially ecstatic in his devotion towards Hebrew, assumed to be man’s first language that linked him with God. The poetic simplicity of Hebrew language is considered as a virtue, for that makes it less abstract and rich in images, confirming its claim to be the original language. Herder replaced the idea of a transcendental/universal human reason with the notion of volksgeist (folk spirit) that was manifested in each ordinary people’s language, literature, history, mythology, folktales, and religious beliefs. According to Herder, humans everywhere start with the same mental capacities, but their experience of living in specific environments and contexts, as well as their specific historical conditions, form their mentalities differently. These acquired mental dispositions, in turn, are manifested in their differential creative outputs, that is, in their languages, tales and myths, cultures, and religious thoughts and beliefs. Herder’s main merit, according to commentators, lay in favouring a cultural pluralism, not devoid of features of relativism.11 Unlike the proponents of universal reason on the one hand and the votaries of divine creation on the other, Herder projected language as the decisive feature in human history and human existence. Human beings are made up of language; their nature is ‘a tissue of language’.12 Human reason needs language to grow and articulate itself. The grammatical form of any language, whether simple or complex, reflects a people’s historical engagement with the world as impressed in language. Herder admired Hebrew poetry for its simplicity and spiritual richness that reflected a paradisiacal innocence. Language, for Herder, is not just a means for expressing Reason, but each nation is provided with a divine linguistic source simultaneously spiritual-poetic and legal-political, which undergoes historical developments.

162  Franson Manjali Herder, as a self-proclaimed historian of humanity, attempted to trace its progress through time in terms of the differential attainments of languages and mentalities in different nations, which were in turn the result of human interactions and sense-making. Human societies are all equally endowed, and they progressed historically according to the zeitgeist or time-spirit of each, but the succession of epochs in the universal human history is, however, predetermined by the Divine plan, that is, by the Christian Providence. In effect, Herder pursued a vibrant cultural pluralism, where every culture is historically progressing in different environments, in terms of its own singularity, but, ultimately, the whole of human history must unfold according to the Providential plan. And moreover, since each nation had its own internal developments and destiny (though within Providential terms), Herder was opposed to any form of religious conversion in the newly established colonies.13 But yet, understanding the creative unfolding of human history – even if humans are sense-making agents – is possible only as ‘an art of uncovering the divine order hidden in the Bible’.14 Olender notes that if Herder subordinates a secular ‘cultural history respecting national and spiritual diversities’ to a ‘providential anthropology’, that’s because for him ultimately only the Bible provides ‘[r]evelation in the proper sense of the word’.15 Other religions can only provide mythology, liturgy or high morality. Herder’s final coup de grace is directed at Judaism, whose holy scriptures, their prayers and moral judgments are ‘sublime writings’,16 but in spite of that Providence itself had made a decision in favour of Christianity as the ‘unique design of Providence for our species’.17

William Jones and the beginnings of colonial linguistics A recent work on William Jones, arguably the founder of modern philology, has shown that his dependence on an ‘antique theology’ undermines Jones’ reputation as a liberal and progressive orientalist scholar. The Swiss author of The Birth of Orientalism,18 Urs App’s main criticism of Jones runs as follows: While the volumes of the Asiatick Researches stunned their European readership by their utterly secular and objective outlook on Asia and thus propagated a new kind of orientalism that was no more the handmaiden of theology, [William] Jones’s yearly discourses show how even the erudite and coolheaded founder of the Asiatick Society remained chained to Europe’s time-honored religious ideology with its peculiar vision of an extremely short history dominated by a God who kindly instructed his first creatures, drowned most of their descendants in the deluge, and had three sons of Noah populate the entire world in a couple of thousand years . . . [H]is yearly discourses demonstrate a surprisingly deep attachment to Bible-inspired chronology, sacred history, and ancient theology.19

Modernity/colonialism/‘Science of Language’  163 According to Jones’ mytho-geographical history presented in the third anniversary lecture of 2 February 1786, the ‘vast continent’ of Asia has been inherited by ‘five principal nations’: the Hindus (i.e., Indians), the Chinese, the Tartars, the Arabs and the Persians. His stated intention is to study them all in every detail so that a ‘more perfect knowledge of them all’ would be to the advantage of the Europeans.20 He is also interested in knowing about their common origins, if any. He begins with the study of the Indians in the third lecture, ‘On the Hindus’, because, he says, ‘it is the country, which we now inhabit, and from which we may best survey the regions around us’.21 His own historical description of India is decidedly partial, for he intends to keep the Muslim period out of his scholarly considerations. He says: in all these inquiries concerning the history of India, I shall confine my researches downwards to the Mohammedan conquests at the beginning of the eleventh century, but extend them upwards, as high as possible, to the earliest authentic records of the human species.22 Central to Jones’ geographical-historical accounts are the following principal themes: •

the British are now in command of the Indian territory (Bengal to begin with) and are settlers on this land; • the Muslim rulers and their religion and culture present in the Indian territory are irrelevant for studying the history of India; • India is the prized possession of the British, and its antiquity is directly linked with the antiquity of the Europeans; • the Biblical (Old Testament, i.e., ‘Mosaic’) account of the history and geography of the peoples of the world can be attested by modern studies under the aegis of the Asiatic Society of Bengal that he founded in 1784; • the British have a God-given (‘Providential’) role to guide the destiny of the Indian people. Significantly, Jones claims that his modern historical studies could establish a more or less seamless mapping between the ancient Biblical accounts and the contemporary lay of the lands.23 In the 10th anniversary lecture (February 1793, he died the following year), Jones is explicit and perhaps ecstatic about the discovery of the truth of the Mosaic ethnology and the role of Providence in aiding to re-establish the connection between modern Britain and the antiquity of India: all our historical researches have confirmed the Mosaick accounts of the primitive world; and our testimony on that subject ought to have the greater weight, because, if the result of our observations had been totally different, we should nevertheless have published them, not indeed with

164  Franson Manjali equal pleasure, but with equal confidence; for Truth is mighty, and, whatever be its consequences, must always prevail.24 And furthermore: In these Indian territories, which Providence has thrown into the arms of Britain for their protection and welfare, the religion, manners, and laws of the natives preclude even the idea of political freedom; but their histories may possibly suggest hints for their prosperity, while our country derives essential benefit from the diligence of a placid and submissive people, who multiply with such increase, even after the ravages of famine.25 It is worth noting that Jones first came to India with the aim of translating into English the Persian law, which he had thought was the basis of Indian society. After his discovery in Calcutta and subsequent learning of Sanskrit in Benares, he went on to assign this role for the Sanskrit text of Manusmṛti, also known as the ‘Manu’s laws’. For the British, Jones’ main scholarly contribution was to have translated this text – by now infamous for being derogatory to the Dalits (previously referred to as ‘untouchables’) and women – and referring to it as the basic Hindu (Indian) law (analogous to the divinely ordained Mosaic Law of the Jews that begins with the Ten Commandments and the Roman Law of Justinian) – and not his substantial philological and literary outputs. The European civilizational account forcefully narrated by William Jones in the late 18th century would re-emerge later in a full-blown manner and with greater political ramifications, including the propagation of the Aryan myth in the 19th century. This has been submitted to an astute analysis in the work of Maurice Olender (1989/2008).26 Historically, there has always been a yearning to name the original and perfect language of mankind. In the European context this was thought to be the language of paradise, by which man was originally united with God, and whose language was that in which God spoke to the first man, Adam. William Jones’ famous 1786 declaration on Sanskrit, regarding its ‘exquisite refinement’ and its possibly having come from a no longer extant common source, along with the other European ‘classical’ languages, Greek and Latin, led to the overturning of the hitherto dominant linguistic position of Hebrew and downgrading of the status of Semitic languages in general. His strong claims in this regard led to the hypothesis regarding an Indo-European ‘family’ of languages and caused a seismic shift in understanding the racial composition of Europe and the rest of the world. In the mid 19th century, after comparative and historical linguistics had been firmly established in Germany, F. Max Müller, who was made the first Chair of Comparative Philology at Oxford University, had summed up the significance of this change: Thanks to the discovery of the ancient language of India, Sanskrit as it is called . . . and thanks to the discovery of the close kinship between

Modernity/colonialism/‘Science of Language’  165 this language and the idioms of the principal races of Europe, which was established by the genius of Schlegel, Humboldt, Bopp, and many others, a complete revolution has taken place in the method of studying the world’s primitive history.27 The twists and turns in the conceptions of world history between 1750 and 1850 must be stated more specifically in terms of the fluctuating fortunes of Hebrew and Sanskrit, by then the two main contenders for being named the ‘languages of paradise’.28 As early as the 1750s the principal French philosopher of Enlightenment, Voltaire, was keen to detach the European civilisation from its Biblical and Hebrew origins and look for alternatives, possibly from the shores of the Ganges in India. On the basis of a newly invented geo-linguistics and along with the discovery of the Vedic texts and with the beginning of the colonial domination of the Indian subcontinent, the ‘Aryan’ paradise was said to supersede the Adamic Hebrew paradise.29

Humboldt: typology, national character and the race hierarchy By the time Wilhelm von Humboldt had written his major philological works and died in 1835, comparative and historical linguistics had come of age through the efforts of Franz Bopp, the Schlegel brothers and others. Humboldt’s main contribution in what he and others had viewed as a philosophy of language is twofold: a. to firm up the idea of a genealogical classification of world’s languages in terms of a family-tree model (Stammbaum theory) and b. even more importantly to propose a classification of the world’s languages in terms of their structure or ‘morphology’.30 For him, there is a mental capacity specific to language as such, the ideal ‘inner linguistic sense’, which interacts with the material phonetic part in diverse ways, depending on the effort or energy expended by the speakers of particular languages, to yield a diversity of languages. In Humboldt’s conception, there is a potential ideal of such a combination, but which perhaps no language really attains. Depending on how well a linguistic community has worked on their language, the linguistic structures have appeared that are more or less perfect. If the genealogical typology showed merely the historical relationships among languages and their classification in terms of ‘family’ relationships, the morphological typology reveals the scale of structural perfection different families of languages and their members have attained with regard to the ideal combination of the universal mental component of language (Innere Sprachform or ‘inner linguistic sense’) and the limited set of human sound forms. This structural hierarchy is headed by the family of Indo-European languages of the ancient period, which manifest an inflectional morphological type. These languages (Sanskrit, Greek and Latin) have structures that approximate what in Humboldt’s view involve an ideal melding of external sound and inner linguistic sense. They are followed by the structural types

166  Franson Manjali of other languages, viz., the agglutinating, the isolating and the incorporating languages, in that hierarchal order. The significance of Humboldt’s linguistic hierarchy and the corresponding (implicit) racial bias are evident in the following statement: We have everywhere set out at first from the structure of languages alone, and in forming a judgement about it have also confined ourselves solely to this. Now that this structure is better in one than another, is more excellent in Sanscrit than in Chinese, and in Greek than in Arabic, could hardly be disputed by any impartial scholar. However we might try to weigh off their respective virtues, we should always have to admit that one of these languages is animated by a more fruitful principle of mental development than the other.31 The structural superiority is construed upon the belief that in the making of the ancient, ‘classical’ Indo-European inflectional languages, the speakers have spent more intellectual energy in the internal structural formation of the roots to yield diverse forms, whereas in languages like Chinese or Arabic, grammatical variations are merely a matter of differing word-orders or morphological suffixing, respectively. In Humboldt’s view, what makes the latter linguistically inferior is the fact not enough conscious linguistic thought was employed to get morphological and grammatical variations by means of root-inflections. Correspondingly and by extension, as many philologists believed, a poorer grammatical formation is an indication of lesser intellectual development, and hence one can infer the ‘evident’ superiority of the Indo-European languages (Sanskrit, Greek and Latin) with inflections over the Semitic (e.g., Hebrew and Arabic) or the Dravidian languages, which have agglutinating morphologies and over the Sino-Tibetan family of languages with their isolating structures. This hierarchy of languages is thus directly correlated with their status in the hierarchy of race and mental development. Humboldt’s race-based nationalism is equally complex. Though like Kant and other rationalists he accepted that all humans have the same initial mental make-up, according to Humboldt during the primitive formation of their languages, the inner linguistic sense combined with the sound form, rather unconsciously, in a ‘single burst of energy’, as it were, guided the destiny of languages and their families. It is but a chance spontaneous occurrence that privileged certain nations and their languages but not others in their subsequent intellectual and linguistic development. Once this mysterious event had taken place, the language and the mentality of different peoples moved along their predestined courses in forming their inexorable ‘national characters’. It is this event that determines the superiority of certain nations and races (e.g., the ‘Indo-Europeans’) over the others (e.g., the Semitics, the Chinese etc.).

Modernity/colonialism/‘Science of Language’  167

Max Müller and the ‘Natural Selection’ of languages By the time Max Müller was chosen for the first Chair of Comparative Philology at Oxford University, the question of the ‘Aryan’ race and the Sanskrit language had been raised to an exalted position in European scholarship. Müller began his career with the intent of founding a ‘Science of Religion’, but simultaneously he invented a historicist and positivist Science of Language. He is indeed one of the most venerated European scholars in India, with a prestigious street in central New Delhi named after him. However, we notice that his enthusiasm for everything Sanskrit, Aryan, Hindu, and Indo-European led him to make an odd claim in a report submitted to the British army. Trautmann observes that: Max Müller said, in 1854, that the same blood flowed in the veins of the soldiers of [Robert] Clive that flowed in the veins of the “dark Bengalese,” and that this truth, contrary to the testimony of skin color, was guaranteed by the linguistic connection between English and Bengali as members of the same Indo-European language family (1854: 29).32 Thus language, not complexion, is a sign of the inner and invisible entity called race and symbolized by blood.33 Race and religion were central concerns for Max Müller. He argued that, soon after God’s act of creation, a divine intuition was implanted in man by way of a Revelation. This intuition was arguably something like an ‘inner religious sense’, perhaps akin to Humboldt’s inner linguistic sense, and the former varied ‘according to the expression which it took in the languages of man’.34 Therefore divergence of human languages was a consequence of how the revealed divinity was expressed differently in different languages. The task of the new science of language that he proposed was to investigate the primordial link between divinity and languages. In Müller’s words, ‘[t]he history of religion is, in one sense the history of language’.35 Religion and language converged in Müller’s thought on the notion of the linguistic ‘roots’ (dhātu or verbal root is a prominent notion in the Sanskrit grammatical texts) as distinct from the earlier European notion of ‘signs’. It served him in distinguishing the animal from the human, the natural from the cultural-mythological and, finally, Judaic monotheism from Aryan polytheism. Working backwards in the history of the verbal roots, Müller claimed that it is the roots having a primordial divine content, which separated the beasts from men, and the natural from the religious-mythological. He also identified the distinction between the agglutinating Semitic type of language and the inflecting Aryan type of language as the distinction of how their respective roots functioned. The Semitic roots are easily identifiable, and therefore their substantial meanings can be taken to be transparent. This simplicity of the Semitic roots wherein the natural and the divine could

168  Franson Manjali be kept separate is what renders these languages more prone to monotheism. In the Aryan languages the roots are mired and become indistinct in a complex inflectional system of suffixes and derivations so that such a transparent relationship between them and the natural world could not exist, and therefore the roots of words are easily transfigured from the natural domain to the transcendental. Thus, for example, the ‘sun’ can easily be transposed as God in the ‘Aryan’ languages, a pattern that results in rich but often misleading mythological formations. The task of a science of language, for Müller, was to dig deep into language past the point where the mythological obscures the level of the roots and where divine intuition is inexorably merged with the most primordial ‘roots’ of human languages. However, it must be noted, as Olender points out, that Müller’s sense of linguisticreligious cosmopolitanism did not prevent him from insisting on the uniqueness and superiority of Christianity in the Providential order of which he claimed to be aware perhaps in the same manner as Herder.36 At the peak of his career in the mid 19th century, Müller was also deeply influenced as much by Darwin’s evolutionary theory (mediated by the work of August Schleicher:37 Darwinist Theory and the Language Science) as by the positivist philosophy of Auguste Comte. It can be seen that Müller was, along positivist lines, ‘rationalising’ the social or the conventional part of language. And, moreover, it is natural and biological evolution that makes languages historically more and more rational. Languages and language forms, in their own historical existence, undergo an evolutionary selection, akin to biological selection as proposed by Darwin. Perhaps Max Müller expressed this idea more forcefully than Darwin himself had wished, and the latter openly acknowledged Müller’s contribution in showing language as the best instance of how his own evolutionary theory works. In Müller’s formulation: Let us substitute for this Epicurean idea of a conventional agreement an idea which did not exist in his time, and the full elaboration of which in our own time we owe to the genius of Darwin; – let us place instead of agreement, Natural Selection, or, as I called it in my former Lectures, Natural Elimination, and we shall then arrive, I believe, at an understanding with Epicurus, and even with some of his modern followers.38 This would mean that now it was not Providence that guided the forward movement of the world’s languages but a biological principle of natural selection or, expressed in more savage terms, the survival of only the rationally fit languages. Therefore, it is an intrinsic mental process of functionalqualitative selection that has favoured the surviving languages. Or, those languages that have survived are to be deemed as the best! The forms that have disappeared were simply not fit to survive. We don’t know if Max Müller was aware of the irony of his statement, for from another perspective it is those so-called languages that were dead and disappeared in ancient times

Modernity/colonialism/‘Science of Language’  169 that were the ones that were assumed to have a philologically robust structure, at least from the Humboldtian perspective mentioned earlier.

Saussurean structuralism and beyond Having been trained in the milieu of the positivistically oriented Neogrammarians (Junggrammatiker), the Swiss linguist Ferdinand de Saussure inherited many of the tenets of his teachers of the German school. However, his later posthumous work Cours de linguistique générale (1916) also marked the beginning of the end of the dominance of the European tradition of historical linguistics or philology that reigned supreme for more than a century (Saussure 1959). Saussure’s break with that tradition also implied for him a decisive break with Positivism. He rejected the notion of a continuous movement of physical linguistic material that undergoes historical changes on the basis of (objective) laws that are akin to biological laws in the natural order. Linguistic entities, in his view, cannot be understood other than as parts of a holistic system. For Saussure, the notion of a system or what later came to be known as ‘structure’ has relevance both in the context of the people who speak a given language and for the system of interconnected elements of that language. At the beginning of the 20th century, his role was to take language outside of the prevailing framework of naturalist explanations for changes in individual elements – albeit according to laws – and instead to provide an alternative ‘scientific’ perspective where language is seen as a signifying system embedded within a living social (and psychological) milieu and central with respect to other comparable Semiotic systems. This is what emerged as the exalted methodology of Structuralism, only to be later overthrown by Chomskyan ‘cognitive’ approach and the poststructuralists’ politically inclined critiques of language studies that are based on sign and structure. Chomsky has insisted that his ‘generative’ approach maintains links with ‘scientific’ traditions of Europe coming down to us from the period of Enlightenment and as mediated by Positivism and refurbished by the rationalistic orientations of Logical Positivism of G. Frege and B. Russell in the early 20th century, while the post-structuralists reject the Enlightenment accounts and their antecedents in classical Greek philosophy. In their view both meaning and form cannot be reduced to anything that can be subjected to ‘scientific’ studies. For them, language, be it that of philosophy, science or literature, is forever constituted and reconstituted in human activities of constructing discourses, texts and other performative modes of ordering the world. They believe that these can therefore be resisted and constantly overcome.

Notes 1 Quoted in Olender 2008: viii–ix. 2 Quoted in Errington 2008: 18.

170  Franson Manjali 3 Cohn 1996: 20–21. 4 Foucault refers to the publication in Saint Petersburg, Russia, in 1787 the first volume of the Comparitivum Totius Orbis, which ‘includes references to 279 languages; 171 in Asia, 55 in Europe, 30 in Africa, 23 in America’. This was possibly the largest comparative glossary of world’s languages based on the notion of a basic vocabulary (ibid.: 233–234). 5 ‘Inflection’ is a grammatical mode where verbal morphology is based on the internal changes of the root. E.g., ‘buy’ → ‘bought’ or ‘bring’ → ‘brought’ as distinct from ‘work’ → ‘worked’. The languages that have ‘inflection’ as their major mode of verbal morphology were traditionally referred to as ‘inflectional languages’ (e.g., Sanskrit, Greek and Latin), as distinct from the ‘agglutinating’ languages where grammatical elements are added on the root (e.g., Turkish, Hebrew, Tamil) and the ‘isolating’ languages, where the roots and grammatical elements remain unconnected (e.g., Chinese). 6 Quoted in Harris and Taylor 1997: 95. 7 Ibid.: 109. 8 Ibid.: 120. 9 Ibid.: 137–38. 10 Quoted in ibid.: 133. 11 See Olender 2008 who devotes a full chapter to Herder (pp. 37–50). 12 Quoted in ibid.: 33. 13 ‘To convert a nation to Christianity by imposing on it a new way of life is to compel it to betray its own values, to lose its own identity, and thus to imperil its spiritual and political integrity’ (ibid.: 42). 14 Ibid.: 44. 15 Ibid. 16 Ibid.: 49. 17 Ibid.: 48. 18 App 2010. 19 App 2009. 20 Sir William Jones, Discourses and Essays, op cit.: 5. 21 Ibid. 22 Ibid. 23 As per Jones’ ‘Mosaic ethnology’, clearly articulated in his ninth anniversary discourse of 23 February 1792, the world is inhabited by the descendants of Noah’s sons, Ham, Shem and Jafet. After the great deluge, Noah’s family having initially settled in northern Iran, the descendants of the three sons settled in different parts of Eurasia and Africa: Jafet’s descendants over northern Europe and Asia, Ham’s in Egypt and Ethiopia (the Hamitics) and Shem’s in the Middle East or West Asia (the Semitics) (see Sir William Jones, Discourses and Essays, 1984, ed. M. Bagchee, pp. 91–99). 24 Sir William Jones’ 10th Anniversary Discourse (February 1793). Source: www. elohs.unifi.it/testi/700/jones/Jones_Discourse_10.html (accessed 24 May 2013). 25 Ibid. 26 See Olender 2008. 27 Quoted in M. Olender, ibid.: 7. 28 Olender justifies the title and the contents of his book thus: ‘The sources on which this book is based invite us to consider Aryans and Semites as functional pair with a providential aspect, as elements of a theory of the origins’ (ibid.: 18). 29 It should be noted that a major consequence of these philological moves was the alienation of both the Jews in the European cultural milieu and the Muslims in the south Asian milieu, eventually leading to the violent political turn of events resulting in the formation of two religion-based nation states, viz., Israel in 1948

Modernity/colonialism/‘Science of Language’  171 and Pakistan in 1947, where it was preceded, accompanied or followed by mass killings of people. This issue, mentioned elsewhere, is beyond the scope of the present chapter (see Manjali 2015). 30 A term presumably adopted from botany to describe the structure of words. 31 Quoted in Harris and Taylor 1997: 10. 32 Müller, M., Suggestions for the Assistance of Officers in Learning the Languages of the Seat of War in the East. London: Williams and Norgate. 1854. Quoted in Trautmann 2006: 191. 33 Trautmann 2006: 221–222. 34 Quoted in Olender 2008: 83, from Max Müller’s New Lessons on the Science of Language (1863). 35 Ibid.: 84. 36 Ibid.: 90–92. 37 A. Schleicher: ‘Grammar is a branch of linguistics or glottics. This in turn is a component of the Natural History of Man. Their characteristic method is that of the natural sciences. . . . One of the key tasks of glottics is the classification and description of groups of dialects or linguistic branches, that is to say, languages derived from a single and even original language, and the classification of these branches following a natural order.’ (My translation of a citation in the French Wikipedia. (http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/August_Schleicher, accessed 24 June 2014). 38 Müller, M., quoted in Harris and Taylor 1997: 183.

References Anderson, Benedict. 1983. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso. App, Urs. 2009. ‘William Jones’ Ancient Theology’, Sino-Platonic Papers 191: 77 (online ed.). ———. 2010. The Birth of Orientalism. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Cohn, Bernard S. 1996. Colonialism and Its Forms of Knowledge: The British in India. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Errington, Joseph. 2008. Linguistics in a Colonial World: A Story of Language, Meaning, and Power. Oxford: Blackwell. Foucault, Michel. 1970. The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences (transl. from French). London: Tavistock. Harris, Roy, and Talbot J. Taylor. 1997. Landmarks in Linguistic Thought, Volume I: The Western Tradition from Socrates to Saussure, second ed. London: Routledge. Jones, Sir William. 1793. ‘10th Anniversary Discourse’, February. www.elohs.unifi. it/testi/700/jones/Jones_Discourse_10.html (accessed 24 May 2013). ———. 1984. Discourses and Essays, ed. by M. Bagchee. New Delhi: People’s Publishing House. Manjali, Franson. 2015. ‘Beginnings of Modern Linguistics and the Colonial Context: Perspectives from History, Culture and Religion’, in Studies on Indian Languages and Cultures. Thiruvananthapuram: International School of Dravidian Linguistics. Müller, Max. 1854. Suggestions for the Assistance of Officers in Learning the Languages of the Seat of War in the East. London: Williams and Norgate.

172  Franson Manjali Olender, Maurice (ed.). 2008. The Languages of Paradise: Race, Religion, and Philology in the Nineteenth Century, transl. by A. Goldhammer. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Said, Edward. 1979. Orientalism. New York: Vintage. Saussure, F. de. 1959. Course in General Linguistics, transl. by W. Baskin. New York: Philosophical Library. Trautmann, Thomas, R. 2006. Languages and Nations: The Dravidian Proof in Colonial Madras. New Delhi: Yoda Press.

10 Scientism of early modern age and the prevailing scholastic discourse on principium individuationis Babu Thaliath Transition of medieval philosophia naturalis into early modern mechanical philosophy One of the important historical developments that characterised early modernism – both as a turn to progressive scientification of the world as well as a clear break from the intellectual history of medieval scholasticism – was the transition of scholastic philosophia naturalis into the mechanical philosophy of the modern age. This was manifested particularly in the philosophical and scientific writings of René Descartes. Cartesian modernity was thus a continuation of an already existing scientific tradition and also the beginning of a new scientific culture indicating paradigmatic developments and transformations of the epistemic nature of philosophical and scientific knowledge. The characteristic divergence between philosophy – as philosophy of mind – from natural sciences, as established programmatically by the Cartesian system, was preceded however by a primary divergence between Christianity and philosophy, particularly the philosophy of nature. The time-specific constellation between Christian doctrines and notions of natural philosophy in the context of medieval scholasticism was radically reversed during the advent of Cartesian modernity; the autonomy of scientific knowledge from religious dogmas and theological speculations became leitmotivs of an emerging scientific culture. However, the strategic separation between religion and philosophy remained an unfinished project in the early modern age. In his pioneering studies on the development of scientific culture in the middle ages and early modernity, Stephen Gaukroger refers to a correlation between traditional Christianity and science, more precisely between the doctrinal nature of Christianity and the purely epistemic nature of knowledge that the early modern natural philosophy aspired to establish. Gaukroger (2006) argues that the early modern divergence between doctrinal religion and rational science inevitably presupposed an exchange of their main features, namely the doctrinal and epistemic-cognitive nature of knowledge. According to Gaukroger, natural philosophy of early modernism took over the doctrinal model of religion, while theology started acquiring a cognitive trait. In other

174  Babu Thaliath words, the early modern divergence between religion and natural philosophy led paradoxically to the doctrinalisation of the philosophy of nature and, at the same time, to the scientification of religion: Among a number of considerations that shaped the scholastic conception of what understanding consists in – not least the models of systematised Roman law and canon law and systematic aspirations in classical Greek and Hellenistic philosophy – there is one consideration that stands out from all others in terms of importance: Christian doctrinal theology and its role in shaping an identity for Christianity. The idea of a doctrinal conception is not easily defined and is better understood in action, in contrast, for example, to various nondoctrinal approaches. Nevertheless, some general characteristics can be identified. The Christian doctrinal conception aspires to be both comprehensive and exhaustive; it envisages a single source of truth and tends to build on a set of general principles; it offers an exclusive ‘world view’, and what it aims at above all is the establishment of a single and permanent body of truth, securing this in part by a regimenting of and reconciling of particular truths by grounding them where appropriate in the basic principles. These characteristics are features of systematic thought, albeit in an extreme version, one that seeks to guarantee a final system, immune to further revision. In what follows, I shall be arguing that doctrine is not something at the core of religions in general but rather something of specific concern to Christianity. My central concern, however, is with the way in which a doctrinal model borrowed from Christianity shapes natural philosophy in the early modern era (Gaukroger 2014: 95–96). Scientification of religion was already initiated in the middle ages, in the 13th century, with Thomas Aquinas’ Aristotelianism. The Renaissance philosophy of Aristotle in the middle ages was followed by systematic integration of Aristotelian natural philosophy in the context of scholastic doctrines. However, in the Thomistic system of scholasticism the philosophy of nature was strategically separated from metaphysics. This separation resulted from a differentiated notion of the origin of cognition. For the Thomists and the medieval scholasticism in general the natural-philosophical knowledge was based on senses, while the metaphysical knowledge owed the divine revelation (or God’s Grace) its origin. This shows a certain parallelism and flexibility of epistemology within the medieval scholastic philosophy of nature. These characteristics were alien to the doctrinal nature of the modern (Cartesian) epistemology. The diversity and parallelism of the sources of knowledge in medieval scholasticism can be traced back to the prevailing precedence of ontology over epistemology. Here it is not a matter of phenomena that can be ontically reduced but their ontological diversity that presupposed a dominant discourse in middle ages on principium individuationis. Though it refers to a principle of causality, i.e., that which causes a singular and particular individuation, the principle of individuation primarily constitutes an ontological principle. This principle requires the presupposition of an ontologically

Scientism of early modern age  175 diverse individuation of phenomena. The knowability of a phenomenal individuation – which every natural philosophy has as its main subject of investigation – relies here on its existence. The primacy of the phenomenal existence over the knowability of phenomenon was tacitly established by the irrefutable existence of God as the origin of all revelation, from which the scholastic philosophy had emanated. The predominance of ontology in medieval scholasticism impeded every attempt to subsume the phenomenal existence under the context of a single or, rather, doctrinal epistemology. Such epistemological heterodoxy in medieval scholasticism owed the prevailing discourse on principium individuationis its timeliness and legitimacy. In the introduction to the work Individuation and Identity in Early Modern Philosophy Kenneth Barber explains how the discourse of individuation, which prevailed throughout the medieval scholasticism, could hardly find any resonance in the advent of Cartesian modernity. Barber argues that the strategic repression of this discourse in the early modern age was not a coincidence but based on certain facts and trends in the development of the early modern epistemology. The primacy of epistemology over ontology, for which the early modernity had been striving, preconditioned in the first instance the avoidance or marginalisation of ontologically accentuated scholastic discourse on the problem of individuation: Some philosophical problems, by virtue of their importance relative to a philosophical system, are widely discussed by those safely within the parameters of a system – solutions are contested, distinctions are generated, and the promise of eventual resolution is entertained by all. Once the system comes under attack, however, leading either to its piecemeal or even wholesale rejection, those problems formerly of consummate importance may reduce to minor irritants mainly of antiquarian interest. [. . .] One issue constituting the theme of this volume apparently shares the same fate, namely, the problem of individuation (or, more accurately, the cluster of related problems discussed under that heading) whose contending solutions were debated with much vigor during the medieval era, but to which only passing reference is made by philosophers in the early modern period. (Barber and Gracia 1994: 1) Barber tries to trace the neglect of the individuation debate in the early modern age back to two specific facts that characterised the advent of modernity: An abrupt change in philosophical fashion of this magnitude is perforce a matter of interest to the historian of philosophy on at least two counts. First, one concerned with intellectual history, an enterprise broader than the pursuit of answers to philosophical questions, may inquire into the reason why a philosophical problem no longer attracts

176  Babu Thaliath widespread interests. [. . .] Second, since philosophers in early modern period were for the most part systematic, presenting ontologies rivaling their medieval counterparts in comprehensiveness if not in detail, one can ask how within their systems the problem of individuation could or should have been resolved even where explicit discussion of the issue is minimal. (ibid.: 2) In its historical transition from late medieval scholasticism into the early modern age the principle of individuation (principium individuationis) seems to have developed an increasingly ambiguous relationship with the traditional ontological and the rising epistemological contexts of both philosophy and science. The phenomenal and the purely mental individuation are indeed primarily ontological principles in which the individuation is conceived as a final determination of the state of phenomenon. However, the perceptibility of individuation, i.e., its ontological identity, constitutes in essence the principle of individuation. Kenneth Barber speaks of two models of a programmatic co-relativization – like a ‘marriage’ – between ontology and epistemology with reference to the historical development of the principle of individuation from late medieval scholasticism into early modern age. Barber defines a strong model, in which epistemological considerations serve ‘as criteria for the adequacy of an ontological system’ and a weak model, in which ‘epistemology and ontology are considered to be parallel methods of investigation having in common only the fact that their respective inquiries are directed towards the same classes of objects’ (ibid.: 4–5). While the weak model was dominant in late medieval scholasticism – with Suárez, Aquinas, Scotus and Ockham – the strong model ruled Cartesian modernity. Broadly speaking, the weak model is dominant in medieval philosophy. Epistemological concerns are subordinate or at best parallel to ontological concerns. The existents, beginning with God, are given as are the categories available for their analysis. The task of the epistemologist is to support, not to challenge, the schema, and any attempt to reverse the subordinate role assigned to epistemology (or to advocate the Strong Model) would have been regarded not as indication of philosophical acumen but rather as a potential source of heresy. By 1641, however, the strong model had replaced its weaker medieval counterpart. In the opening paragraphs of the Meditations Descartes announces that he will suspend belief in the existence of anything not known with certainty. Ontological claims concerning the existence of material objects, of God and even the self must be subjected to a most rigorous epistemological scrutiny before one (or at least Descartes) is entitled to accept those claims (ibid.: 5). The ideal correlation between epistemology and ontology refers to a complementarity between the cognition and the existence of phenomena.

Scientism of early modern age  177 Following this complementarity, cognition should correspond to the true mode of existence of phenomena. However, the ideal correlation or complementarity between knowability and existence of phenomena could easily be at risk, as the cognisability of phenomena in the framework of an epistemology becomes subsumed under certain methodical preferences, paradigmatic frameworks in the history of science as well as the strategic selection of particular premises (and the neglect of many other important assumptions). Our cognition of the mode of existence of natural phenomena is not pure or neutral; some predetermined or preferred perspectives seem to have an influence on it. Moreover, the observed aporias in the phenomenal existence would hinder the neutral and adequate cognisability of the phenomenon (e.g., mechanical phenomena such as the gravitational or inertial motion). This raises an important question: is the cognisability of the phenomenon determined by its existence? Or, vice versa: does the cognisability of the phenomenon form or construct its existence?

The epistemological turn The epistemological turn in the early (Cartesian) modernism emerged apparently from a historic change of accentuation from ontology to epistemology. The ontological pre-emphasis that prevailed in medieval scholasticism was based on the priority of existence – of God and of the world – in philosophical speculations over knowability or cognisability. In a wider, i.e., superordinate philosophical or philosophical-theological context, there was a tendency in the middle ages to unconditionally believe in the existence of God and the world before supplementing these existences and their ontological implications epistemologically, i.e., by their cognisability. In other words, in medieval scholasticism the epistemology served a prevailing ontology in philosophical speculations in order to legitimise the – doctrinally predetermined and uncritically assumed – existence of God and worldly phenomena, without re-examining them or their cognisability. These epistemological problems hardly arise from an uncertainty or aporia within a selfcentred and autonomous subject (such as the Cartesian res cogitans). Rather they arise from the puzzlement of the knowing subject over the object. The aporetics in medieval scholasticism had therefore a clear ontological preemphasis; i.e., it was based mainly on the aporias of the divine and the phenomenal individuation. If the existence – in a strict ontological framework – is an irrefutable assumption, then knowability becomes rather secondary or, at the most, complementary, as Barber observes. The primacy of existence over knowability – in the epistemological investigations in the medieval scholasticism – led to unending aporetics relating to physical and metaphysical individuations, as represented in several disputations in theology, metaphysics and also in natural philosophy from early to late medieval scholasticism. Numerous

178  Babu Thaliath theories of fundamental mechanical phenomena such as impetus and gravity are evidence of how the ontological accentuation imparted indefinite continuance and irresolvable aporicity to scientific investigations, in which the primacy of phenomenal existence over knowability was an irrefutable assumption. In early modernism, the hierarchical order of ontology and epistemology (passed down from medieval scholasticism) was reversed and thereby radicalised. Now the cognisability alone could guarantee the existence of phenomenal and mental individuations. Even God as the absolutely primary causal principle had a specific function in a prevailing epistemological system, that innateness of ideas or representations could ultimately be attributed to him. The existence of God and all worldly phenomena were then not mere assumptions – like in medieval scholasticism – that could be taken for granted. Rather they should first pass through a thorough epistemological scrutiny. For this purpose Descartes developed the method of epistemological doubt and the subsequent negation of all uncertain modes of existence (which points to a primarily ontological negation). This constituted a clear propaedeutic in the Cartesian system of philosophy. In my treatise I attempt to show how the Cartesian epistemological turn took on the previously discussed doctrinal feature and how it, consequently, unfolded into a form of scientism – especially in the field of Mechanical Philosophy, established by Descartes and post-Cartesian philosophers in the early modern age. During the advent of modernism many enduring discourses in philosophia naturalis of medieval scholasticism (which seemed to be, accordingly, observed as unsolvable aporetics) were carefully suppressed through axiomatizing certain fundamental but aporetic notions within the framework of a mechanical philosophy. They are, for example, the discourse on the principle of impetus, gravity, the mode of existence of sensory-secondary qualia as well as on atomism and corpuscular philosophies – i.e., on the idea of microscopic mechanisms as irreducible basic phenomena, to which all physical and mental qualities were reduced. This investigation aims to demonstrate how the prevailing discourse on the principle of individuation (principium individuationis) in medieval scholasticism, whose aporetic endurance was suppressed in the Cartesian modernism by a radical accentuation of epistemology, was subtly and tacitly assumed in the scientific axiomatisation of the aforementioned basic phenomena and notions in the early modern mechanical philosophy. This discourse – both on the nature of individuation as well as its causal basis – had undergone some necessary changes, as surfaced in the axiomatic foundation and establishment of the early modern mechanical philosophy of Descartes and post-Cartesian philosophers and scientists, such as Locke, Hobbes, Newton, Hooke or Boyle. Gaukroger traces the doctrinal nature of medieval theology back to the Neo-Platonic influences on early Christianity. According to Gaukroger the philosophy of Plato and Aristotle demonstrate for the most part

Scientism of early modern age  179 systematic and propositional argumentation but, however, no strict form of systematisation: In the work of Plato and Aristotle themselves, and in that of their immediate followers, the aim is to follow the argument where it goes, not to build up a comprehensive body of true beliefs which are not open to revision. Epicureanism and Stoicism, by contrast, offered distinctive ‘world views’ on the basis of fundamental principles which were deemed to support comprehensive aspirations. The Stoics in particular systematized knowledge generally in terms of an exhaustive classification of disciplines: logic, natural philosophy, and ethics. Here we have something that comes closer to doctrinal aspirations. But even Stoicism pales by comparison with Neoplatonism, which offers a clear and unambiguous example of a doctrinal vision of what philosophy, and understanding generally, should be. Here systematic argument and system-building become synonymous for the first time, and the assumption is that nothing whatsoever, in the realm of understanding, could fall outside the system. Note also a transcendent element in Neoplatonism absent from other Western philosophical movements, but which it shares with Christian mysticism. [. . .] Neoplatonism, with its overarching concern with transcendence, played a crucial and central role for early Christian thinkers. Tertullian, the early third-century founder of Latin theology, was one of the fiercest critics of philosophical, that is, secular, learning, seeing in it the source of all falsehoods. Preoccupied with the perils of worldliness, he sees an irreconcilable opposition between Christian and worldly values in every domain. Yet he began as a Neoplatonist, and his rejection of philosophy has a characteristic that it shares with Neoplatonism. His aim is to establish a single source of authority, a single route to truth, namely, Christian teaching, at a time when there were moves in the eastern parts of the Roman Empire toward forms of religious pluralism, and when there was an upsurge in theological speculation. (Gaukroger 2014: 97–98) The ‘single route to truth’ became the fundamental characteristic of Christian theology in the middle ages. This doctrinal nature empowered theology as a discipline in its search for truth, as against traditional ancient philosophies – especially that of Plato and Aristotle. Consequently, Thomas Aquinas regarded philosophy as ancilla theologiae (maidservant of theology). As modern epistemology, on which both the early modern philosophy of mind as well as the early modern natural philosophy or the mechanical philosophy were based, took over the doctrinal nature from the medieval theology, this subtle acquisition was primarily characterised by a rigorous epistemological reductionism – as closely represented in the Cartesian system itself. Here it is important to note that the (almost)

180  Babu Thaliath doctrinal reduction of reality into two final and irreducible entities, res cogitans and res extensa (which, at the same time, points to an equally doctrinal substance ontology in Descartes’ system of philosophy) was carried out by a method of doubt and systematic negation. What is negated and consequently appropriated by a perceiving and knowing subject (in the object) are all the sensible properties of the object. From this complete epistemological reduction remains only pure – epistemologically irreducible – extension of the object as res extensa, i.e., as purely extended substance. This programmatic epistemological reduction, given more or less as propaedeutic in Descartes’ system of philosophy, was notably opposed to the prevailing medieval notion of phenomenal individuation, which was based or rather built on both primary as well as secondary qualia of objects. The Cartesian-epistemological negation and isolation of all secondary qualia in objects thus marked a counter-principle to the phenomenal individuation, although this method resulted in two absolutely final, i.e., irreducible and residual modes of individuation – res extensa and res cogitans.1 This indicates that the Cartesian-epistemological reductionism, premised on the total reduction of phenomenal individuation, finally produced two absolutely elementary forms of individuation as res cogitans and res extensa. However, they differed from the traditional medieval-scholastic notions of mental and phenomenal individuation. A doctrinal objective is to be clearly identified in the Cartesian-epistemological method of negation, namely the reduction of the soul and body to homogeneous, absolutely final and as such irreducible modes of being. From the negation of all subjective attributes remains only a primary quality, namely the mere extension; it has been designated substance-ontologically as a res extensa. The sensory qualia, which were negated in the object by a perceiving subject, should in principle substantially contribute to the individuation of the subject (or of the soul, according to Descartes). But the individuation of the soul, to which Descartes attributes primacy over the phenomenal individuation, forms, in turn, an irreducible elementary individuation as res cogitans – as thinking substance. At this point, all sensory qualia are strategically subsumed under a higher or superordinate abstract concept, namely, thinking, as Descartes reduces all forms of sensory perception and bodily volition into different modes of thinking (Descartes 1972: 145). This reduction of sensory perceptions and volition in favour of a singular notion of thought, which alone characterises the soul as a merely thinking substance, is a necessary strategy in the Cartesian system. The volition and sensory perceptions refer to the union of the soul with the body, which Descartes attempts to systematically dismantle through his propaedeutic method of epistemological negation. When Princess Elizabeth of Bohemia, a passionate follower of Descartes, questioned the exclusion of bodily volitions from the reductionist conception of the soul (res cogitans), Descartes admitted that he strategically ignored volitions and sensations in favour of

Scientism of early modern age  181 a unified notion of thought – as the first principle. For the emphasis on volition and sensory perceptions would not have supported his basic idea of the perfect ontological isolation of soul from the body; it would, instead, contradict this premise: Denn von den zwei Dingen in der menschlichen Seele, von denen die gesamte über ihre Natur mögliche Kenntnis abhängt, ist eines, daß sie denkt, das andere, daß sie durch ihre Vereinigung mit dem Körper mit diesem handeln und leiden kann; ich habe fast nichts über das letztere gesagt und mich allein bemüht, das erste gut verständlich zu machen, weil es meine Hauptabsicht war, den Unterschied zwischen Seele und Körper zu beweisen; dazu konnte nur dieses dienen, und das andere wäre dem schädlich gewesen. (Lauth 2006: 187–188) Descartes’ epistemological reduction illustrates a clear quest for reaching unified doctrinal principles of absolute elementary individuation of the soul and the body. The Meditations should, therefore, form the first philosophy – i.e., a philosophy of first and fundamental principles. In the Cartesian system the reduction of soul and body to basic principles, res cogitans and res extensa, was carried out in a strict epistemological framework; this reduction invalidated the traditional diversity and dominance of the ontologies from medieval scholasticism and consequently initiated an epistemological turn in the history of philosophy. But this reduction was also an ontological reduction, i.e., a reduction into an ontological finality of soul and body at an absolutely elementary level. The substance-ontological notions – res cogitans and res extensa – refer to final forms of elementary individuation within the framework of ontology. The limits of epistemological reduction here are ultimately determined by an ontological finality of phenomenal and mental individuations. Now Descartes does not ascribe to these elementary principles – of a thinking and a merely extended substance – an ontological diversity (that originally belongs to them). Even the materiality of a body (which was legitimised by John Locke as a primary quality of the body – in addition to the spatial extension and the temporality) was epistemologically negated, resulting in a residual and final notion of the mere extension of body. Similarly, the soul was no more conceived of a composite of all its diverse perceptual and epistemological functions and volitions but reduced to a uniform and homogeneous principle – to a res cogitans. Such epistemological reductions to ontologically final and irreducible entities unfolded in the Cartesian system of philosophy into a leitmotif, which also characterised his natural philosophy and, in general, the early modern mechanical philosophy. Descartes introduced his natural philosophy in the second part of his treatise Les Principes de la Philosophie. It deals exclusively with the purely mechanical properties of bodies. Since in the Cartesian system of philosophy the soul was originally separated from

182  Babu Thaliath the body – or from the physical world – through a method of epistemological negation and isolation, Descartes was inclined from the outset to the basic notion of purely mechanical bodies devoid of spirit. Descartes therefore considered human bodies without – or empty of – a soul to be mere machines. This complete mechanisation of the physical world – in the context of early modern mechanical philosophy – proved to be hardly unitary. Two distinct phases can be identified in the historical development of early modern mechanical philosophy: a first phase of classical mathematical and a second phase of the classical material sciences. The bodies were first considered in their ontological unity, which can be easily represented mathematically, particularly in the context of classical mechanics. Subsequently, during the advent of classical material sciences, bodies were causally reduced to ontically homogenous elementary mechanisms such as atoms and corpuscles. Accordingly, the mere mechanical properties of elementary mechanisms determine both the objective-mechanical properties of the body as well as the purely subjective qualities of the soul, especially the sensations. This had led to a historic transition from the mathematical into material sciences such as physics, chemistry or biology. Belief in the existence of atoms and corpuscles (which were at the time not empirically proven) became a doctrine that consequently found its legitimacy within a belief system. Therefore it is important to investigate further how the basic characteristics of such a belief system suggest a form of scientism in early modernity.

The persisting discourse on principium individuationis From the medieval discourses on the problem of individuation, the principle of individuation (principium individuationis), which basically refers to an ontological causation, seemed to persist in the early modern period – indeed in accordance with the principle of efficient causation, that alone (out of the four forms of causation according to Aristotle) was recognised in the context of early modern mechanical philosophy. However, the emphasis of individuation changed in its historic transition from the late middle ages into the early modern age. It was no longer the individuation of phenomenal diversity but the individuation of phenomenal unity – as represented in the mechanical and philosophical conception of elementary mechanisms – that became an important object of investigations in ­modern mechanical p ­hilosophy. Elementary mechanisms should thereby form a principle of ­causation – i.e., a causal basis – that also should adequately explain the various physical and mental individuations, as demonstrated by many mechanical-philosophical fundamental notions of Descartes, Locke, ­Hobbes, Newton, Boyle and others. The idea of elementary phenomenal individuation, which should form the ultimate foundation of mechanical and material phenomena within the mechanical philosophy, developed in early modernism also in accordance

Scientism of early modern age  183 with some higher or superordinate contexts of science, namely the analytical geometry, classical mechanics as well as the material sciences. The mechanisation of the world was carried out first in the context of classical mathematical sciences – such as classical mechanics and optics – and further in the context of physical sciences. In the mechanical-philosophical system of early modernity (of Descartes, Galileo, Newton et al.) the body was considered more or less as a singular elementary individuation of mechanical phenomena. The early mathematical sciences, such as classical mechanics and optics, dealt only with a few – mathematically and mechanically conceivable – basic phenomena, e.g., body, space, light (as a geometric-dynamic structure), static and dynamic forces in general, inertia, gravity etc. Such a mechanical reduction of phenomenal reality in the context of classical mathematical sciences provided an adequate basis for the complete mathematization of mechanical phenomena, as particularly demonstrated in Newton’s Principia – however, at an early stage of development of the mechanical philosophy. The transition of mathematical-mechanical sciences into material sciences historically presupposed an enhanced understanding of elementary individuation of material phenomena, that, as an absolutely fundamental mechanism, was to serve as an irreducible causal basis for the individuations of mechanical phenomena. Consequently, in the course of this transition, the body, conceived as a mechanically uniform entity, was dismantled and reduced in some respects to microscopic, singular, ontologically irreducible and as such final mechanical phenomena. The idea or belief of a solely mechanical or mechanically explainable world, established almost in the mode of a scientism, initiated in the context of early modern mechanical philosophy a complete reduction of phenomenal individuation (whose ontological diversity was never called into question in the natural philosophy of medieval scholasticism) to elementary phenomenal but rather speculative mechanisms such as atoms or corpuscles as well as mechanical (speculative) entities such as ether, vortex etc.2 In the Cartesian early modernity, mechanisation of the word apparently occurred in two main stages: first the corporeal world and even the entire phenomenal reality was explained – both in the framework of terrestrial as well as celestial mechanics – solely through elementary mechanical principles; second the macroscopic (mechanical) phenomena were reduced to (equally mechanical) microscopic mechanisms such as atoms and corpuscles. The complete mechanical reduction of the physical world and the mental phenomena in the early modern period tacitly brought forth an almost scientistic conception of phenomena in classical sciences. Thus every alternate observation in terrestrial and celestial mechanics that deviated from the norms and conventions of the prevailing mechanical philosophy was not tolerated and consequently banned from a ‘legitimate’ science. For example: Kepler’s notion of vis anima, which is inherent in planets and leads them to the observed librations from a circular orbit, could not be legitimised in the context of mechanical philosophy (Westfall 1977: 10–11).

184  Babu Thaliath Similarly, anthropomorphised observations of gravitational phenomena, which surfaced in the works of Hooke, Kepler, Galileo and others, were not acceptable to mechanical philosophers of the early modern age. For example, while trying to explain the gravitational phenomenon through a purely mechanical analogy, namely the congruence and incongruence between fluids, Robert Hooke described these material-mechanical phenomena as ‘Sympathy’ and ‘antipathy’. Such views contradicted the principles of mechanical philosophy in relation to the complete reducibility of physical phenomena to purely mechanical laws: The principle of congruity and incongruity was less congruous than incongruous with the principle of mechanical philosophy. [. . .] Nevertheless, the notion of congruity and incongruity repeatedly pushed Hooke’s thought in directions the mechanical philosophy sought to avoid. In the Micrographia he referred to congruity as ‘a kind of attraction’; he even called congruity and incongruity ‘sympathy’ and ‘antipathy’. All three terms were anathema to mechanical philosophers of strict persuasion. Perhaps the principle raised the greatest difficulty by calling the ultimate homogeneity of matter into question. Applied to gravity it suggested, not universal gravity, but particular gravities. In a similar vein Roberval argued in favour of ‘a terrestrial gravity (pasanteur), a lunar gravity, a solar gravity, a jovial gravity, etc.’. Half a century earlier Kepler had defined gravity as ‘a mutual corporeal affection to unity or conjunction among cognate bodies (of which kind is the magnetic faculty)’. (Westfall 1967: 245–246) Anneliese Maier here writes about the mechanisation of the world in the 17th century mainly in relation to the mechanisation of qualia, especially the sensory qualia, as undertaken by the early modern philosophers and scientists. The prevailing scholastic-peripatetic doctrine of qualia thereby experienced a radical reversion, in which the qualia were causally reduced to pure mechanical and more quantifiable features of bodies (Maier 1938: 2ff). However, what resulted from this programmatic reduction was a complete divergence between sensory qualia and primary qualia of the objective material world, even though the ontological status of an epistemological function, namely the causal basis of all emergent qualia, was attributed to the world of material objects. Accordingly, the sensory qualia were ontologically changed, i.e., their existential base in material objects was hardly taken into account or rather was denied (Maier 1968: 18). The mechanisation of sensory qualities was undertaken during the advent of atomism and corpuscular philosophy in the early modern period, as represented in the philosophical and scientific writings of Descartes, Galileo, Locke, Gassendi, Newton, Hooke or Boyle. The Mechanics of Galileo,

Scientism of early modern age  185 Descartes, Newton and other mechanical philosophers began to supersede the speculative-philosophical observations of phenomena – especially of the sensory qualia. This emerging dominance of mechanics was based on the reduction of all qualitative material and mental phenomena to purely mechanical principles on the one hand and to irreducible mechanical entities (which had been referred to both in late medieval scholasticism as well as in early modern age as primary qualities – qualitates primae) on the other. In compliance with this early modern reduction of qualia into purely mechanical and material quantities – as represented in spatial, temporal, formal and functional determinations of mechanisms – the prevailing hierarchy of the sensory qualia from the time of medieval scholasticism was reversed, to which Maier refers in her own investigation. The medieval-scholastic notion of an original and rather generic nexus between primary and secondary qualities presupposed the primacy of touch or tactile sensation over other forms of sensory perceptions, particularly over vision. For only the sense of touch, which is presupposed by all the other modes of sensation, can establish and ensure this original connection between primary and secondary qualia.3 Such reductions to the first principles – by suppressing all other nonmechanical notions of material and mental phenomena – were doctrinally established in the early modern age, accounting for a form of scientism of early modern mechanical philosophy. The precedence of touch over other senses clearly refers to the characteristic tendency of medieval scholasticism to a primarily ontological notion of individuation, which is based on the real existence of physical objects and mental sensations. For the sense of touch – in comparison to all other modes of sensation – closely embodies the spatiotemporal and, as such, primary structure of sensations in the form of a skeleton. The assumption of scholastic philosophy, that the sense of touch was preconditioned by all other forms of sensory perception – such as sight, sound, smell, taste, heat or pain – invariably points to a real spatiotemporal extension of sensation in and outside the body, in which the fact of tactile sensation underlies all the bodily and outer-bodily extensions of sensation – like a framework or skeleton. However, the medieval-scholastic conception of the origin of qualitates secundae from the primae in object manifests a clear aporia – indeed an aporia of the individuation of senses. The qualitates primae in objects exist independently of the perceiving subject. Within the framework of scholastic philosophy, the autonomy of the primary spatiotemporal structure of senses over the merely subjective sensations was a basic assumption. Nevertheless, this implies a spatiotemporal extension of sensation in the sphere of objects, i.e., in the sphere of phenomenal reality independent of subject, which encompasses all objects – bodies and non-bodily free space. Such a conception of the individuation of senses seems to be an aporia even within the context of medieval scholastic philosophy, as it contradicted precisely the Aristotelian Species theory of vision. The revival of the old platonic

186  Babu Thaliath emission or visual-ray theory was from the outset undesirable in medieval scholasticism.

Axiomatic masks of aporetics An important characteristic in which the emerging Cartesian Modernity differed from the medieval scholastic philosophy was the recognition of aporetics as a scientific discourse and thus the admittance and retention of aporias in philosophical and scientific speculations. Many discourses and disputations within the philosophia naturalis of scholasticism – such as the disputes over empty space, infinitesimal, time, space, motion, momentum, gravity etc. – remained aporetics that were ultimately unsolvable by nature (i.e., they never came to a final solution). The status of a discourse as perpetual and indissoluble aporetics can be explained by the objective aporia in scientific discourses. It was the ontological recognition of objective aporia – as represented, for example, in the earlier-mentioned entities of natural philosophy – that imparted the aporetic discourses in the framework of scholastic philosophy of nature their insolubility and infinity. For here is aporetics primarily a struggle with the objective aporia and only secondarily an investigation of the aporia in subjective thinking. In comparison with a subjective aporia – the knots in thinking – the objective aporia proves to be a profound and as such unsolvable puzzle, as indicated in one of the seminal observations by Aristotle.4 Such aporetics, in which one investigates in vain the puzzles of objective existence in science, could not safeguard a unique and final knowledge (as solution) or even a justified belief. Rather, it unfolded in the form of an interplay between faith and its constant negation or reinterpretation, from which no definitive solution to the problem could arise. However, this characteristic interplay between scientific beliefs and disputation seemed to enable the scholastic natural philosophy to avoid scientistic ideas, which only gave the impression of knowledge but in truth were based on blind faith. By contrast, the Cartesian modernity had – especially in natural philosophy – an effective tool of scientific discourse at its disposal, namely the axiomatisation of scientific knowledge into an epistemological finality and uniformity. The early modern age aspired precisely to overcome the insolubility and incessancy of aporetic discourses, passed down from the medieval scholasticism. For the rise of natural sciences in the early modern age required a rather pragmatic theorisation as axiomatisation, only on which the scientific disciplines could be erected. For various reasons, the medieval aporetics should be replaced particularly in the field of natural philosophy by scientific discourses that characteristically lead to axiomatic finalities. Since the aporetics hardly lead to an epistemological finality of basic ideas or ultimate justifications, the sciences cannot be founded on them. Sciences need axioms that constitute final and irreducible knowledge. In their

Scientism of early modern age  187 epistemological finality and irreducibility, axioms form the foundation and building material for erecting and establishing the sciences in history. The strategic axiomatisation within the emerging natural philosophy conformed in some respects to the doctrinalisation of scientific knowledge in the early modern age, as observed by Gaukroger. Axioms are unique principles and not aporetic ideas; they should be absolutely primary and infallible, which also implies that one should firmly believe in them – like religious dogmas. There were certain important facts or fundamental issues that necessitated or rather constituted the aporetic basic notions within the scholastic philosophy of nature. They were mostly ontological questions on various existential characteristics of phenomenal individuation; for example: the question of objective existence or whether objects such as emptiness or infinitesimal actually exist; the question of the mode or how objects such as time and space exist and finally the question of causality – of mechanical phenomena such as gravitation or impetus. As long as these objects or, more precisely, the objective individuations, are considered to be aporias, these fundamental questions will not find adequate and definitive answers. For terminating such aporetic discourses from medieval scholasticism, certain scientific-epistemological methods or tools were developed in the early modern age. They were apparently two distinct modes of axiomatisation, namely the linguistic-conceptual and mathematic-formal. Moreover, the causal phenomenon was almost doctrinally subsumed under a unified principle of causality. The quartering of the causal principle in Aristotelian philosophy, which remained more or less intact in medieval scholasticism, was reduced in the early modern age axiomatically into a uniform principle, which actually corresponded only to one of the Aristotelian causal principles, namely the causa efficiens. The more ontologically accentuated causal principles, namely the material and formal cause, were thereby ignored and consequently excluded from the investigations in mechanics and mechanical philosophy. The axiomatisation developed in Cartesian and Newtonian systems into an effective scientific method, through which many of the aporetics from the medieval scholasticism could be concluded or rather concealed within a greater or superordinate framework of mechanical philosophy. The aporia of impetus in scholastic natural philosophy was based on the enigmatic existence of a cause of motion in the moving body. Philosophers of scholasticism speculated about an accompanying or transmitted cause as impetus (Wolff 1978: 16–17). In short: the question, what actually underlies a freely moving body as its cause of motion, formed the basis of the aporia of impetus – of motions of bodies in general – in the scholastic natural philosophy. This etiological feature of the aporicity of movements was axiomatically reduced to or rather eliminated in a principle of inertia by Descartes and Newton. Both the Cartesian notion of inertia or of the inertial static and movement of bodies (in his major work Les Principes de la Philosophie)

188  Babu Thaliath as well as the principle of inertia in Newton’s Principia are basically mere descriptions of a physical condition, without explaining its cause: That each thing remains in the state in which it is so long as nothing changes it. [. . .] That every body which moves tends to continue its motion in a straight line. (Descartes 1955: 84–85) An object at rest stays at rest and an object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force. (Newton, Principia) Both axioms describe only the mode of the inertial phenomenon, namely the inertial state of rest and the inertial movement; they do not explain the ‘what’ and ‘why’ of this basic mechanical phenomenon. If this axiom gives the appearance of axiomatic finality, it is solely based on this axiomatic description, which is in fact merely a linguistic-conceptual formulation. The axiomatic description of the inertial phenomenon here is nothing but the accurate and infallible description of the objective individuation of inertia. Likewise, the axiom of inertia is a linguistic or linguistic-conceptual individuation. Both forms of individuation refer to a unique inertial phenomenon. Since the principle of inertia only describes the inertial states, it buries the aporicity of inertial motion – that prevailed long and incessantly in scholastic discourses – under the solid ground of axiomatic finality. It is important to note that these new forms of individuation again masked the aporias or aporicity of many basic phenomena that were widely discussed in medieval scholasticism. In the previously quoted axiomatic notions of inertia by Descartes and Newton, a clear ontological emphasis with respect to the mechanical individuation of this natural phenomenon can hardly be overlooked. Besides the principle of inertia, Newton developed axiomatically a few absolute and final principles as propaedeutic to his mechanical philosophy, namely the absolute space, absolute time, absolute motion or the universal gravitation. These axiomatic final principles grew like plants on a ground which was, in reality, the burial ground of many aporias in natural philosophy that were passed down from the medieval scholasticism into early modernity. For the axiomatisation of scientific knowledge, early modernity had another and equally important tool at its disposal, namely the geometrical-mathematical formalism. The mechanical intuitions were strategically subsumed under mathematical intuitions – following the Galilean principle, that the book of nature was written in the language of mathematics. Through the preferential position of mathematics, mathematical formalism unfolded into a higher

Scientism of early modern age  189 and paradigmatic context. The strategic mechanical reduction or ­theoretical mechanisation of the world in the early modern age was carried out methodically through mathematical formalism. Classical mechanics was built on the foundation of Newton’s Principia that attempted to substantiate and axiomatize natural philosophy solely on the basis of mathematical principles. The mathematization as the tool for axiomatizing natural-philosophical – mainly mechanical and optical – principles seems to be manifested in ­ Principia in different geometric-mathematical individuations of basic phenomena, as represented in terrestrial and celestial mechanics. The geometric-mathematical formalism – in the form of geometricmathematical individuations – tacitly served the Newtonian investigations of certain mechanical basic phenomena as contextual masks, which disguised the real mechanical phenomena and their aporias. Newton tried for long in vain to establish the cause of magnetic and gravitational attraction purely on a mechanical basis, i.e., in accordance with the prevailing principles of early modern mechanical philosophy. Finally he had to give up his attempts to explain the magnetic and gravitational phenomena – i.e., their action at a distance – causally and in compliance with mechanical philosophy. Consequently, Newton stressed only the reality of magnetic and gravitational action at a distance and contented himself with an almost doctrinal conviction: satis est (‘Et satis est quod gravitas revera existat’). Newton’s conviction is clearly based on an ontological accentuation, namely the mere existence of gravity and magnetism without the adequate explanation of their causation; his contentedness, however, draws upon the geometric-mathematical formalism, the tool that he uses in Principia to axiomatize the principles of natural philosophy. Mere ‘existence’ of gravitational action at a distance – without its causal explanation – is sufficient (for most of the scientific purposes), as reality or real nature and structure of gravitational action at a distance and their laws can be mathematised without any difficulty. But Newton went one step further to develop the axiomatic notion of universal gravitation from the observed gravitational action at a distance. Though Newton never believed in the attraction between celestial bodies at great distances,5 he expanded the gravitational attraction of celestial bodies (as observed particularly in tidal phenomena) into a boundless (hypothetical) absolute space. The Newtonian notion of a boundless universal gravitation evolved apparently from a geometric-mathematical intuition. This prioritised intuition nevertheless surpassed all other mechanical notions of spatially bound particular gravities proposed by Kepler, Roberval and Hooke. The intuition of a universal gravitation can also be viewed as a mathematical-formal individuation, under whose axiomatic status the purely mechanical-­intuitive individuations of particular gravities were subsumed. Another example would be the strategic elimination of the (Aristotelian) aporetic notion of potential infinity by the axiomatic notion of a finite and discrete actual infinity or infinitesimal in the context of modern calculus, invented by Newton

190  Babu Thaliath and Leibniz. The algebraic formula of actual infinitesimal, dy and dx, presupposed the complete elimination of potential infinitesimals, Δx and Δy, by equating them to zero.6 Such linguistic or mathematical-formal individuations of axiomatic intuitions suggest a form of scientism in the context of early modern mechanical philosophy. The programmatic scientification of natural phenomena in early modernity can hardly be compared with the popular forms of scientism in our time. However, the infallible doctrinal nature of axiomatisation seemed to impart the early modern mechanical philosophy at various stages of its development certain characteristics of scientism. For the ­earlier-mentioned axiomatic principles were ultimately mere descriptions and no causal explanation of natural phenomena. The axiomatic descriptions, which strategically obscured the aporias of natural phenomena and their mechanical causation, were steadily and authoritatively established in the early modern age; they were then doctrinally imposed on scientific communities. In modern philosophy the doctrinalisation of empirical knowledge was primarily accomplished through the epistemological method of negation. However, a residual factum of object remained of every epistemological process of negation – from Descartes to Hegel. These objective residues that constitute imperishable phenomenal individuation – such as the Cartesian res extensa, Kantian Ding an sich or Hegelian absolutes Nicht – prove finally to be aporias and would, as such, demand a faithful adherence to them. In summary it can be said that the problem of the principle of individuation continued to exist during the advent of modern age, in which it took an axiomatic feature, as chiefly represented in linguistic and mathematical individuations. However, the aporias of phenomenal individuation, which seemed to be retained in the natural philosophy of medieval scholasticism, were strategically expunged in the historic process of axiomatisation within the context of early modern mechanical philosophy. The secure and final axioms replaced those uncertain and incessant aporetics. The axiomatisation unfolded in the early modern period into an important instrument of scientification of nature and mechanisation of the world; it was to, in principle, overcome once and for all the doxastic-dogmatic Middle Ages through a scientific-epistemic enlightenment of modernity. Cartesianism had attempted to bring philosophy and sciences back to their first principles. This had apparently bestowed on axioms – as first principles – a certain doctrinal nature. The axiomatisation (in early modern age) concealed the aporetics on scientific phenomena and, accordingly, the unsolvable aporias of phenomenal individuation that were passed down from medieval scholasticism. Within the context of early modern mechanical philosophy the axioms constituted new individuations, namely the linguistic and mathematical-formal individuations, as represented in different linguistic basic concepts and geometric-mathematical formulas and structures. However, they hardly turned out to be final justifications. The persisting and prevailing aporias of scientific

Scientism of early modern age  191 objects were strategically subsumed or rather buried under the ­doctrinal power of scientific axioms. In many cases of scientific-epistemological axiomatisation, the leitmotivs of scientific enlightenment were subtly intertwined with a doxastic-doctrinal nature, giving the appearance of a certain scientism.

Notes 1 In her work, Zwei Untersuchungen zur nachscholastischen Philosophie, Anneliese Maier refers to such reduction of secondary qualia, which were considered in the context of medieval scholasticism as inseparable modes of being of phenomenal individuation, in the Cartesian modernity. The secondary qualia such as colour were indeed held for subjective perceptions in medieval scholasticism, but their objective existence i.e., their existence in objects, was hardly doubted. The necessary connection between primary and secondary qualia, which the medieval-scholastic notion of phenomenal individuation presupposed, was negated and rejected in the Cartesian and post-Cartesian epistemologies: ‘für die Scholastik entstehen die qualitates secundae aus den primae im Objekt und nicht erst, wie für die späteren, im wahrnehmenden Subjekt. Ihre Realität wurde darum in der traditionellen Philosophie nie in Zweifel gezogen, und ebenso wenig die Abbildlichkeit der Qualitätsempfindungen. [. . .] Wie die Qualitäten im einzelnen von den primären abhängen sollen, wird, besonders wenn es sich um die nicht-taktilen handelt, in der älteren Philosophie nur sehr undeutlich gewusst und gesagt. Die Argumentation geht häufig übe die Vorzugsstellung des Tastsinns, denn der ist zwar nicht der vornehmste, aber der notwendigste Sinn, der von allen vorausgesetzt wird, selbst aber keinen voraussetzt. Die Betrachtung wird damit auf ein Gebiet hinübergespielt, das vielleicht die stärkste Problematik und die meisten Ansatzmöglichkeiten für die Weiterentwicklung enthielt’ (Maier 1968: 18). 2 In his seminal work Perspective as Symbolic Form Erwin Panofsky refers to a historic correlation between the geometric conception of space and plastic art, as represented particularly in a period of transition from Middle Ages to Renaissance. Using specific examples from geometry, painting, sculpture and architecture, Panofsky shows how the historical transition of the idea of space from a long tradition of ancient synthetic geometry into Cartesian analytical geometry found its parallel and analogue resonance in the history of plastic art. According to Panofsky, the antique aggregate-space, as represented both in geometrical as well as in cosmological intuitions, had undergone a transition into a homogeneous and abstract system-space during the rise of modernity (Panofsky 1998: 689–694) 3 See note 1. 4 See Jacobi (2008: 31ff): Wer einen guten Weg finden will, für den ist es förderlich, die Ausweglosigkeit gründlich durchgehalten zu haben. Denn der spätere Weg ist die Lösung dessen, worin man zuvor keinen Weg hatte. Man kann nicht lösen, wenn man den Knoten nicht kennt. Wenn man aber im Denken keinen Weg hat, dann zeigt das diesen Knoten in der Sache an. (Aristotle, Met. B 1, 995 a24–b4)

192  Babu Thaliath 5 ‘It is inconceivable that inanimate brute matter should, without a mediation of something else which is not material, operate upon and affect other matter without mutual contact. [. . .] That gravity should be innate, inherent, and essential to matter, so that one body may act upon another at a distance through a vacuum, without the mediation of anything else, by and through which their action and force may be conveyed from one to another, is to me so great an absurdity that I believe no man who has in philosophical matter a complete faculty of thinking can ever fall into it’ (from Newton’s letter to Richard Bentley in 1693). See Janiak (2008: 34). 6 In his treatise, ‘analyst’ George Berkeley criticised the method of calculus by Newton and Leibniz. However, his criticism hardly found any resonance in the history (Berkeley 1969: 89–103).

References Barber, Kenneth, and Jorge J. E. Gracia (eds.). 1994. Individuation and Identity in Early Modern Philosophy. New York: State University of New York Press. Berkeley, Georg. 1969. Schriften über die Grundlagen der Mathematik und Physik. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp Verlag. Descartes, Rene. 1955. ‘Principles of Philosophy’, in Elisabeth S. Haldane and G. R. T. Ross (transl.), The Philosophical Works of Descartes. New York: Dover. ———. 1972. Meditationen. Hamburg: Felix Meiner Verlag. Gaukroger, Stephen. 2006. The Emergence of a Scientific Culture. Science and Shaping of Moderninty 1210–1685. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ———. 2014. ‘The Early Modern Idea of Scientific Doctrine and Its Early Christian Origins’, in Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 44:1. Durham: Duke University Press. Jacobi, Klaus. 2008. ‘Kann die Erste Philosophie wissenschaftlich betrieben werden? Untersuchungen zum Aporienbuch der aristotelischen Metaphysik’, in Paulus Engelhardt und Claudius Strube (eds.), Metaphysisches Fragen. Colloquium über die Grundform des Philosophierens, Collegium Hermeneuticum, Bd. 12. Köln: Böhlau Verlag. Janiak, Andrew. 2008. Newton as Philosopher. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lauth, Bernard. 2006. Descartes im Rückspiegel. Paderborn: Mentis. Maier, Anneliese. 1938. Die Mechanisierung des Weltbildes im 17. Jahrhundert. Leipzig: Felix Meiner Verlag. ———. 1968. Zwei Untersuchungen zur nachscholastischen Philosophie. Rome: Edizioni Di Storia E Letteratura. Panofsky, Erwin. 1998. ‘Die Perspektive als symbolische Form’, in Karen Michels und Martin Warnke (eds.), Deutschsprachige Aufsätze II. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Westfall, Richard S. 1967. ‘Hooke and the Law of Universal Gravitation’, in The British Journal for the History of Science, band vol. 3. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 1977. The Construction of Modern Science. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wolff, Michael. 1978. Geschichte der Impetustheorie. Untersuchung zum Ursprung der klassischen Mechanik. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp Verlag.

11 Prolegomenon to the study of science and religion A philosophical and historical reflection Dhruv Raina For some time now a group of Jesuit seminarians and scientists in India have been running a quasi-academy or forum to debate the developments in the sciences and their impact on the religious life. As happens with academies and fora for such discussion and debates, the themes and sub-themes diversify and branch out with the outreach of the programme, as scholars and participants from quite diverse backgrounds are drawn into the network of the academy. For the purposes of the present chapter, I briefly refer to the programme on Science-Religion Dialogue managed from De Nobili College – a Jesuit seminary located in Pune – and its research institute the Jnana Deepa-Vidyapeeth in Pune, before setting up a discussion on the relationship between science and religion. The activities of the network were reported over several years by the news bulletin called IISR NEWS: ScienceReligion Dialogue from the Indian Perspective.1 The issues of the bulletin predate my own discussions with members of the network. The Association for the Study of Science and Religion was founded by Job Kozhamthadam S.J., a Jesuit researcher and a historian of science by training with a doctoral degree on the work of Kepler from the University of Notre Dame. Amongst the many activities undertaken by this association was an annual conference organised under the larger banner of the Science and Religion Dialogue that was further qualified by a sub-theme from year to year.2 These workshops were organised by Job Kozhamthadam S.J. and coconvened by another Jesuit theologian, Pandikattu Kurivilla S.J. The participants included other Jesuit scholars, seminarians, men and women of the cloth belonging to other Christian orders, such as the Dominicans, as well as secular historians and philosophers of science, practicing and retired scientists, science teachers, scholars, and teachers from other faiths. In addition to which every year a couple of undergraduate students from colleges in the proximity of the workshop venue were invited. This being said, the terms of the ‘Science Religion Dialogue’, I shall argue, were characterised by an asymmetry that I shall elaborate upon in the latter part of this chapter. But this asymmetry, it need be pointed out, arises from one of the imaginaries of science in the contemporary world amongst the spiritually inclined participants in the dialogue. In the first instance the notion of dialogue

194  Dhruv Raina itself is premised upon an openness to another point of view, a desire for engagement in the hope of either resolving a conflict or seeking a deeper understanding or clarification. And so, in the naming of the dialogue, the precedence of ‘Science’ in the debate signals a prior presence of Science in the debate in relation to which the engagement commences. In the imaginary of this gathering scientific knowledge and technological expertise and accomplishments associated with it were but divine extensions of a vision. The participants in the dialogue were to reckon with the way the spiritual life and the concomitant ethical dilemmas were to be resolved in the light of these developments. The dystopian vision of science had little to do with the science or technology per se but was the outcome of a distortion. In other words, the critiques of science and technology that had marked the recent decades were of no consequence in this technoscientific-theological discourse.3 The terms of the dialogue were celebratory, accommodative, at times alarmist, but rarely conflictual and never dismissive or rejecting the evolution of technoscience. By and large the themes of the workshop were framed by the dyad of science and religion either by the conjunction X and Y or the juxtaposition XY and Z, wherein X = {science, nanoscience, cognitive science, neuroscience, gravitational waves, god particle . . .}, and Y = {spirituality, religion, faith, human values . . .}. Typically, the themes of the international symposia were: • Modern Science, Values and the Quest for Unity (Mahabaleshwar 2004) • Science-Religion and Cosmic Future: The Perspective of Teilhard de Chardin and Sri Aurobindo (Lonavala 2006) • Jesuits and Modern Science: Past Heritage, Present Status and Future Prospects (Pune 2007) • The Neuroscientific Revolution: The Human Soul and Spirituality (Lonavala 2009) • The World of Nanoscience: The Encounter between the Mastery of Science and the Mystery of Religion (Lonavala 2010). There were several objectives that the symposia were addressing, one of which was clearly didactic. And since these workshops were being organised by the members of a Jesuit seminary, the dialogues organised as part of the movement could be seen as an attempt to expand the evangelical activities of the order with a difference. The more speculative but not incredulous dimension would be that of holding and preparing the flock to live and cope with a scientific knowledge economy without losing their sense of the spiritual. But the second and equally important dimension would be to forge alliances with other religions and denominational orders to address the issues arising within an increasingly scientised society. In order to reach out to two possible audiences, the one consisting of those who were to be instructed and the second of the participants in the dialogue who presented

Prolegomenon to the study of science and religion  195 papers, a bound set of papers was circulated. The papers to be presented were prefaced by another set of readings that included articles or essays from newspapers, as well as papers or chapters from books that set the context and provided a background to the papers to be discussed. In other words, the additional readings or selected readings became the background material for the novices and their edification. Furthermore, in the long run the intent was to ensure that the participants acquired a language to express their concerns animating the sciencereligion dialogue. The proceedings of the workshop were so structured that afternoon sessions were devoted to discussion amongst groups distributed across the different sub-themes identified by the organisers or the participants themselves. And in the evening session there was a summary of the day’s discussions followed by an open house. Young students were identified as rapporteurs for these discussions and it was their task to summarise the sessions in the evenings – the last session was in effect preparation for the continuation of the programme. As teachers, with a long history as a teaching order, the Jesuit organisers had enough experience with the transmission of assemblages of ideas and practices that coalesced to form a particular discourse.

Two philosophers on the science-religion distinction The interesting question for me as a participant observer was to understand the genesis of this asymmetry, which meant asking questions of the history of scientific thought in both a global and local context. Now clearly histories of science of a certain genre have played an important role in centring a triumphalist narrative of science with the Galileo episode as the turning point in the history of the relation between science and religion, and one could in principle locate the origins of the asymmetry in the 17th century. Within this triumphalist narrative it would be possible to trace the emergence of secular modern science as distinct from scientia sacra to a rupture in 17th-century scientific thought, referred to as the scientific revolution. The next concern would be to follow the evolution of this discourse and its changing vocabulary. What sorts of questions have been raised at different moments in the last 300 years, in order to acquire an understanding of this relationship? In the section that follows I turn not to the scientific but to the philosophical schism between philosophy and religion in the works of a philosopher of Christian religion and the Indian philosopher S. Radhakrishnan. In a well-known work by Thomas McPherson entitled Philosophy and Religious Belief, the author examines Christian religious beliefs from a philosophical perspective, wherein he reckons that debate on the subject has been organised along two axes with emphases varying with historical time, these axes being those of religious belief and religious practice. Excessive emphasis on belief provides a limited perspective of religion, and beliefs often cannot be understood without examining practices.4 The

196  Dhruv Raina philosopher’s approach to religion, being of an analytical nature, could result in an inability to appreciate the role played by religion in the life of the believer. As a discipline addressing the ‘essence of religion’, philosophical interest in the subject is of the same vintage as the Romantic movement and shares concerns with understanding religious experiences, mysticism and its psychological aspects.5 The early generation of scholars dedicated to these investigations indicated that, unlike the philosophical enterprise, in the last analysis a philosophical understanding of religion was premised on ‘nonrational’ or ‘non-conceptualisable foundations’. The truth claims of religion were thus not analysable, and religious endeavour presented itself as a radical alternative to the philosophical project.6 However, this viewpoint of a Western scholar is shared by philosophers at large amongst whom I include the Indian philosopher Sarvapalli Radhakrishnan. But the far more interesting point that resonates with contemporary concerns in the social sciences, in particular with concerns relating to the emergence of disciplines, is the construction of the boundary wall separating philosophy and religion. The idea that religion has an essence that transcends the particular manifestations of the world religions is seen to be of a very recent past, and the fact that its essence resided in the realm of the psychological and experiential was determined amongst other factors by the horizon of academically oriented disciplines in the 19th century, their state of internal development and their perceived linkages and relations with other aspects of human culture. McPherson rightly conjectures that, were such an inquiry to commence today, it would have taken on a sociological and, I might venture, anthropological form, rather than one anchored in psychology.7 In an earlier essay I had referred to the different models scholars studying science and religion have adopted in approaching their subject matter.8 One of these models is referred to as the conflictual model that depicts both science and religion or science and theology to be in a state of perpetual warfare or conflict.9 This warfare could arise from differences within the two camps in their understanding of religious beliefs or of the claims of religious knowledge in opposition to other kinds of knowledge and their claims such as that of scientific knowledge. This divide is not merely that of knowledge claims but the legitimacy of beliefs across the two warring camps as well as the methods adopted and practiced within different disciplinary communities. In a sense, then, McPherson sees this conflict to have generated a sort of conceptual clarity about beliefs, the nature of knowledge and methods on both sides.10 But, in the conflict, we can also envision the expansionist project of science. Thus questions raised by science from the 17th to the 19th centuries relating to the nature and origins of the physical universe – a legitimate concern of a discipline called cosmology today, the origins of living creatures and man did overlap in significant measure with questions theology had sought to answer several centuries before.11 This expansion nevertheless in the dominion of science was enabled through a concomitant

Prolegomenon to the study of science and religion  197 secularisation of physical and biological meaning wherein questions of destiny were replaced by questions of nature and origins and purpose with that of function. Naturally, this transgression of boundaries was no innocent activity, and theologians learned that they could not ignore science, while some scientists on the other hand, as Mary Midgley has so ably discussed, donned the mantle of prophets in metaphysical passages premised on ‘quasiscientific speculations’.12 The distinction between science and theology is then articulated in terms of the distinction between the methods of science and theology on the one hand and between the attitudes of scientists and theologians on the other. Scientific and theological attitudes would consist in the application of the methods of theologians and scientists in order to achieve the goals of their respective disciplines.13 As far as attitudes are concerned there is a fundamental asymmetry that characterises the two, an asymmetry in a way that is a product of the times and the movement of science to the centre of contemporary culture as the great legitimator.14 Thus, scientists adopt the scientific attitude when pursuing their science, and most of them may maintain that attitude and carry it over into other domains of their lived experience, whereas some may not. Those religiously inclined individuals would consider their religious attitude as essential to their religious lives but would think little of extending it into the secular domain of their lived experience. Thus, in McPherson’s words: ‘it is not a delinquency in a scientist that he should fail to carry “the scientific attitude” into his everyday life, it is a delinquency in a religious man that he should regard his religious attitude as something to be adopted only on Sundays or only in connection with certain things’.15 This does not suggest that the two attitudes are incompatible, but it is a source of tension, and, in the case of some scientists, I might add, tension bears creative possibilities. The most powerful image of science has been that of a revolutionary force ushering in large social changes, and in the face of this powerful imagery religion has often been forced into a corner, thereby reforming and reinventing itself, invoking from within its rich epistemic veins elements that are cognate with the currently reigning epistemological framework of science – in particular emphasising a version of empiricism and reason working in tandem. The framework adopted by McPherson to distinguish between science and theology on methodological grounds is inspired by Popperian philosophy of science. But he goes on to tease out four distinctions to supplement Popper’s method of conjectures and refutations that characterise science: [1] the scientist is given to drawing generalisations, for she or he is not interested in particular cases; [2] the methods of science are empirical; [3] models and analogies are utilised in framing and constructing hypotheses; and [4] mathematics becomes an indispensable tool in several sciences.16 In the light of this Popperian construction of the scientific method, the methods of the theologian appear as a contrast, not in a pejorative sense but as being of an essentially different nature. The portrayal then of the similarities between

198  Dhruv Raina science and religion could as well be seen as ideologically motivated towards reconciling the two. Theology, through these Popperian spectacles, is not an activity oriented towards proposing brave conjectures to be submitted to the process of refutation. Theology comprises a set of doctrines that are not considered conjectures or hypotheses. The conjectures that one may encounter in theology are not about the body of doctrines but about the interpretation of a doctrine or doctrines. The theologian, unlike the scientist, is not dedicated to the task of refuting doctrines in order to advance the frontiers of theological thinking. Second, as McPherson points out, the theologian is interested in comprehending the particular case, though like the scientist he or she may employ analogies and models to make sense of these particular cases. And finally, theistic religion is founded on a body of authoritative doctrines stipulated by the founders of the religion and not by theologians interpreting the religion who are the analogical counterparts of scientists proposing theories and hypotheses about the nature they investigate.17 It would be interesting to contrast the views of the Indian philosopher Sarvapalli Radhakrishnan on the subject. Radhakrishnan was a philosophical amphibian with respect to Western and Indian philosophies. His work entitled An Idealist View of Life is a philosophical exposition on the goals, methods, and interpretation of religious, scientific, and philosophical endeavours, and there is much for the philosopher of science, even though Radhakrishnan was no philosopher of science.18 The work deserves a separate discussion and exposition. In this chapter I shall very briefly indicate some of the methodological points made by the author in the context of the foregoing discussion. Radhakrishnan too commences his elucidation of the differences between the scientific method and that of religion by analysing the nature of propositions encountered in the two domains. Unlike McPherson he is predisposed to a verificationist rather than a falsificationist understanding of the nature of science. Thus, he suggests that the method of science permits us to entertain only those propositions that can be verified. This verification requires individuals who have acquired the abilities to carry out this process of verification. He argues that according to Freud religion is comprised of dogmatic statements, which require that we accord them credibility.19 We are further exhorted to accept these claims on three grounds. First, on the authority of our ancestors who had accepted them. Second, these statements were to be believed because they were proven, and these proofs had been handed down to us from antiquity. And third, these statements resided beyond the pale of interrogation of their authenticity. As these doctrines do not admit proof, their authority is maintained only as long as we do not submit them to critical analysis; in other words the conflict of authority renders any absolutist notion of authority itself irrelevant.20 In our own times Radhakrishnan reckoned that the doctrinally inclined were reinventing their discursive strategies and were anxious to appeal to

Prolegomenon to the study of science and religion  199 reason in order to find support for their doctrinal positions. Hence, scientific theories were constantly superseded by later scientific theories so that each theory ‘is a temporary resting place in the search for truth’, without having an absolute character to it. Religious truth on the other hand claims to be absolutistic and unalterable, different from the more tentative and provisional character of scientific truth.21 As verificationist, Radhakrishnan then clarifies the perspective on religion and the role of reason in it: ‘reasoning in religion is only an arrangement of our prejudices’. The scientific attitude displays an expansionist tendency insofar as it seeks to extend the application of the scientific method to every domain of human affairs. Religion on the other hand prescribes not how the world is but how it ought to be. Further it stipulates that there are realms of human experience that lie outside the domain of ‘ordinary knowledge’ and empirical science.22 It is this realm that Radhakrishnan explores in the book. And so we have two philosophers coming from two culturally different locations sharing a common ground on the methodological distinction between science and religion but, more particularly, theology. While between them there are epistemological distinctions on their conception of science, their views about theology are quite similar. They differ in their falsificationist and verificationist positions concerning the nature of the scientific method, in which case the theological method is the very opposite since the theological method does not concern propositions to be submitted to either of these approaches.

‘Science and Religion’ against the backdrop of the history of scientific thought The history of sciences, informed by scholarship from historical sociology, has chronicled the ascent of the sciences as the grand legitimator. Over a period of time it becomes the singular source of legitimacy for matters pertaining to knowledge – but not only knowledge. Science becomes institutionally embedded within bureaucratic practices of rationalisation and subsequently provides scientific legitimacy to ideological programmes of the modern state.23 The aura, the ethos and the power of science are omnipresent. This is the new narrative and perhaps is too totalising in its spirit. For the political and ideological ascendency of science is concurrent with that of the modern state and the onset and expansion of the processes of modernisation. In the mid 18th century, as monarchies and, subsequently, towards the end of that very century, as quasi-republican anti-monarchical movements swept Europe, science as ratifier of a new world order seemed to provide a cognitive and ideological mooring for widespread movements and social transformation.24 These movements were not necessarily opposed to religion to begin with, but they were certainly sceptical about the place of the Church for sustaining the new social order, even as the Church’s political and economic influence began to decline.25 From the 15th century onwards

200  Dhruv Raina the emergent universities had already splintered the philosophical from the theological.26 And the asymmetry being discussed entails the process whereby science replaces religious authority as the ultimate arbiter on matters of state, knowledge and society. By the beginning of the 20th century it becomes both a signifier of the sense of ‘modern’ of modern states as much as an instrument of governance, providing tools, techniques such as cartography, statistics and evaluation schemes that make up the science of governmentality This social contract between state and science, although unwritten and unsigned, has a century-old history, and as we amble towards the end of the second decade of the 21st century this contract is being redrafted.27 Over the past 300 years, in ever-widening circles of modern educated society, the religious sphere has been drawn into responding to science as a cultural and political system in a variety of ways.28 The response varied with cultural context over time. However, it could be conjectured that, as the dominion of science and modernity expanded, the distance between the protocols of argumentation and validation within the scientific and religious spheres increased. As a result the burden of validity shifted from the sciences to the religious sphere, with religion now having to seek legitimation in scientific terms. As has been extensively discussed in the history of sciences, irrespective of the historiographic framing – the frame of science vs. religion story or the frame of reconciliation – the trial of Galileo is recognised as a moment of disjuncture.29 And as the new scholarship on the history of science has disclosed, Galileo had provided modern science with a powerful origin myth, but this moment could also be seen as the moment of what Tarnas calls the grand cosmological compromise.30 The compromise entailed leaving unto science what belonged to science and to God what belonged to God. These were the terms offered by the Church that Galileo conceded to but possibly reneged on. Galileo’s correspondence with his daughter and scores of authoritative works on the controversy reveal that Galileo was a pious Christian and would have been deeply hurt if somebody had suggested otherwise. Westfall’s classic biography of Newton argues a similar point.31 The cosmological compromise ensured a peaceful coexistence for about two centuries. Over this period the accumulation of developments within the sciences and the larger political adjustments and reconfigurations within the social sphere consolidated the locus of science in society, as it ascended to the epicentre of the academy and the wider social imaginary.32 The reshaping of the imaginary of science, it could be argued, changed the question in the minds of the believers. The compromise became dysfunctional in the controversy surrounding Darwinism in the mid 19th century. Again the responses to Darwinism were contingent upon institutional and cultural context.33 Subsequently, across national contexts, in the West or East, wherever modern science became part of secondary and higher education, a major response of the religiously minded was to seek scientific or epistemological

Prolegomenon to the study of science and religion  201 validation for faith.34 In other words, the gradual ascent of science to the centre of contemporary societies was accompanied by the larger scientification of the social imaginary.35 Both its amazing revelations of the universe across the macro and micro scales, as well as its success in transforming society, resulted in the internalisation of a theory of knowledge, the protocols of certification, and validation of knowledge. At a more fundamental level, Helga Nowotny refers to the processes of the scientification of society that unfolded through the 20th century that over the last three decades has been gradually substituted by concurrent processes of the socialisation of science.36 But the former imposed an empirical optic on religion as if the findings and theories of science would concretely demonstrate the reality of God’s truth. The life of the numinous would now stand on empirical and rational foundations. Since the different domains of knowledge exhibited multiple rhythms of development, each of these domains underwent a process of scientification at different periods, a process that was amplified by the presence of modern nation states and universities where disciplines crystallised, producing a more globalised, interconnected world order. In this country in living memory we have recollections of scientific controversies at both the level of the nation and internationally, controversies that have erupted in the public sphere. The media has played a central role in orchestrating these controversies and in reporting and highlighting scientific discoveries.37 For example, we constantly read of experiment after experiment that corroborates either the standard interpretation of quantum theory or another prediction of the general theory of relativity, the discovery of an elementary particle. On the other hand there are controversies surrounding the phenomena of coloured rain, a scandal around the testing of a drug without the consent of patients, etc. In a study of one such controversy from the 1990s concerning the episode wherein statues were reported to be sipping milk, as well as several others, there appears a tendency amongst the religiously inclined to interpret these events as confirmations of a fundamental religious insight or truth. As if in a major reversal science was now leading the way, rather than science being drawn in by religious insight. In the latter case science was inspired by the aesthetic of the marvellous. In either case, the protocols of validation were those of the contemporary sciences. This has been a recurring pattern over the last century. Clearly this chapter has underlined this reversal, but the important question that historians of science have been investigating in multiple contexts is: how did the science supplant other ways of knowing? David Wooton’s book The Invention of Science is a recent attempt by a historian to engage with one aspect of that question. One could of course in principle produce a historical chronology and inventory of how each area of intellectual and cultural activity underwent a process of scientification over the past two centuries. The dimensions of the process were amplified by and its pace accelerated by modern nation states and a university system with the modern disciplines crystallised, producing

202  Dhruv Raina a globalised and interconnected world order. These processes of scientification would encounter challenges after the Second World War. As the historian Eric Hobsbawm points out in his A Short History of the Twentieth Century, the age of catastrophe, the period between the two world wars, was also one where the imaginary of the brave new world became more distinct. Rather than social harmony, a sense of social aberration and human conflict became pervasive, a technocratic culture stabilised that was unresponsive to human values, or the values encoded within technology enabled dystopian possibilities.38 Naturally, then there are many avenues and pathways for exploring the reshaping of science as a life form in the late 20th century. A variety of movements around science and society issues, as well as science and religion, are then cognitive movements attempting to anticipate the changing relationship between spiritual meaning and the advancing frontiers of scientific knowledge.

Notes 1 The IISR News: Science-Religion Dialogue from the Indian Perspective was a biannual newsletter published by the Jnana-Deepa Vidyapeeth, Pune and was published from 2000 and possibly continued publication till 2010. This, along with its twin Association for the Study of Science and Religion, was institutionally located at Vidyapeeth, Pune. 2 The reports on each of these conferences and activities of the ASSR can be found in the IISR News. 3 Within the many subcultures of science manifest in a variety of social movements is one that deliberates not so much upon the present state of science in society or that of the world but on its future when machines possibly take over for humans. The science writer John Horgan classifies this literature as scientific theology that could throw up fresh perspectives on age-old philosophical and theological questions. Ironically enough he identifies the physicist and Marxist historian of science J.D. Bernal as the first practitioner of scientific theology. His book The World, the Flesh and the Devil, the title itself deeply evocative of Christian imagery and eschatology, discussed how the progress of science and technology conferred on humans the powers to orient their evolution (Horgan 1997: 247). But one is not surprised to confront the resemblances between Utopian Marxism and Christian millenarianism. I have elsewhere discussed Bernal’s colleague, the chemical embryologist historian of science Joseph Needham’s essays entitled ‘Religion and the Scientific Worker’ and ‘Science, Religion and Socialism’ that appeared in his book Moulds of Understanding: A Pattern of Natural Philosophy. Within the frame of Natural Philosophy Nedham seeks to foreground the elective affinities between the terms of the binaries discussed in this essay. 4 McPherson 1974: 1. 5 Dilthey 2002. 6 McPherson 1974: 2. 7 Ibid.: 2. 8 Raina 2006. 9 Brooke 1996: 764. Some observations on the historiography of the conflict model of science and religion is warranted. The trial of Galileo in the 17th century and the controversy over evolutionary theory since the 19th are interpreted as exemplars of the antagonism between science and religion. Recent scholarship has

Prolegomenon to the study of science and religion  203 scrupulously examined the inevitability claim that surrounds these ‘conflict stories’ (Dixon 2008: 2). And while there are scientists who see their scientific work complementing their religious faith, the conflict stories are difficult to eschew. Nevertheless, a more complex understanding of the relationship deserves attention. One version substitutes the ‘overarching image of conflict’ with a picture that suggests interaction between science and religion manifests differently in time, place and local contexts. Consequently, the response of religious communities is distributed across a spectrum with alacrity at one end, hostility at the other, and a modicum of suspicion thrown in between (ibid.: 9). The complexity narrative serves as one frame that unpacks both science and religion not as homogenous, unitary entities but exhibiting variations in context. Another frame retells the story by probing behind the scene and staging the conflict as a political one – a proxy war between different social groups struggling for influence (ibid.: 9–10). 10 McPherson 1974: 103. 11 Ibid. 12 Midgley 1992. 13 Bunge 1967. 14 Pels 2003. 15 McPherson 1974: 104. 16 Ibid.: 109–110. 17 Ibid.: 110–111. 18 Radhakrishnan 1932/1962. 19 Radhakrishnan 1931: 12. 20 Ibid. 21 Ibid.: 13. 22 Ibid. 23 Weingart 1993. 24 Hobsbawm 1973; Bernal 1954. 25 Thackray 1979; Fuller 1997. 26 Burke 2000; Collins 2000. 27 Ravetz 1988. 28 Kopf 1969; Gosling 1976. 29 Koyré 1973; Redondi 1987; Westfall 1990; Weingart 1993. 30 Tarnas 1991. 31 Sobel 1999; Westfall 1973, 1983. 32 Jacob 1981, 1988; Burke 2000. 33 Ziadat 1986; Raina and Habib 1996. 34 Gosling 2007. 35 Wooton 2016. 36 Nowotny et al. 2001. 37 Weingart 1998. 38 More recently it has been argued that as scientific effort enters a phase of diminishing returns ‘scientists become self-conscious and doubtful’, and science too might possibly begin to tread the path of literature, art, music, and philosophy (Horgan 1997: 227).

References Bernal, J. D. 1954. Science in History, Vol. 2: The Scientific and Industrial Revolutions. London: C.A. Watts & Co. Ltd. Brooke, John Hedley. 1996. ‘Science and Religion’, in R. C. Colby, G. N. Cantor, J. R. R. Christie, and M. J. S. Hodge (eds.), Companion to the History of Modern Science, 763–782. London: Routledge.

204  Dhruv Raina Bunge, Mario. 1967. Scientific Research I: The Search for System. Berlin: Springer. Burke, Peter. 2000. A Social History of Knowledge: From Gutenberg to Diderot. Oxford: Polity Press. Collins, Randall. 2000. The Sociology of Philosophies: A Global Theory of Intellectual Change. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Dilthey, Wilhelm. 2002. Selected Works, Vol. 3: The Formation of the Historical World in the Human Sciences. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Dixon, Thomas. 2008. Science and Religion: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Fuller, Steve. 1997. Science: Concepts in the Social Sciences. Milton Keynes: Open University Press. Gosling, David. 1976. Science and Religion in India. Madras: The Christian Literary Society. ———. 2007. Science and the Indian Tradition: When Einstein Met Tagore. New York: Routledge. Hobsbawm, Eric J. 1973. The Age of Revolutions: 1789–1848. London: Cardinal. Horgan, John. 1997. The End of Science: Facing the Limits of Knowledge in the Twilight of the Scientific Age. New York: Broadway Books. Jacob, Margaret C. 1981. The Radical Enlightenment: Pantheists, Freemasons and Republicans. London: Allen and Unwin. ———. 1988. The Cultural Meaning of the Scientific Revolution. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University. Kopf, D. 1969. British Orientalism and the Bengal Renaissance. Berkeley: University of California Press. Koyré, Alexandre. 1973. The Astronomical Revolution. London: Metheun. McPherson, Thomas. 1974. Philosophy and Religious Belief. London: Hutchinson University Library. Midgley, Mary. 1992. Science as Salvation: A Modern Myth and Its Meaning. London: Routledge. Nowotny, Helga, Peter Scott, and Michael Gibbons. 2001. Re-Thinking Science: Knowledge and the Public in an Age of Uncertainty. Cambridge: Polity Press. Pels, Dick. 2003. Unhastening Science: Autonomy and Reflexivity in the Social Theory of Knowledge. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press. Radhakrishnan, Sarvapalli. 1962 (1932). An Idealist View of Life. London: Unwin Books. Raina, Dhruv. 2006. ‘How to Go to Heaven or How the Heavens Go? Contemporary Perspectives on a Galilean Dilemma’, in Job Kozhamthadam (ed.), Modern Science, Religion and the Quest for Unity, ASSR Series vol. 4, 53–81. Raina, Dhruv, and S. Irfan Habib. 1996. ‘The Moral Legitimation of Modern Science: Bhadralok Reflections on Theories of Evolution’, Social Studies of Scienc 26(1): 9–42. Ravetz, Jerry. 1988. ‘A New Social Contract for Science’, Bulletin of Science, Technology & Society 8: 20–30. Redondi, Pietro. 1987. Galileo, Heretic, transl. by Raymond Rosenthal. London: Allen Lane, Penguin Books. Sobel, Dava. 1999. Galileo’s Daughter: A Historical Memoir of Science, Faith and Love. Oxford: Bloomsbury Publishing. Tarnas, Richard. 1991. The Passion of the Western Mind: Understanding the Ideas That Have Shaped Our World View. New York: Ballantine.

Prolegomenon to the study of science and religion  205 Thackray, Arnold. 1979. ‘Natural Knowledge in Cultural Context: The Manchester Model’, American Historical Review LXXIX. Weingart, Peter. 1993. ‘Science Abused? Challenging a Legend’, Science in Contex VI(2): 555–567. ———. 1998. ‘Science and the Media’, Research Policy 27(8): 869–879. Westfall, Richard S. 1973. Science and Religion in Seventeenth Century England. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. ———. 1983. Never at Rest: A Biography of Isaac Newton. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 1990. Essays on the Trial of Galileo. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Wooton, David. 2016. The Invention of Science: A New History of the Scientific Revolution. London: Penguin Books. Ziadat, Adel A. 1986. Western Science in the Arab World: The Impact of Darwinism, 1860–1930. New York: Palgrave Macmillan.

12 Technoscientification and the oblivion of the social dimension of knowledge1 Gabriele Sorgo

Western industrialised societies give utmost importance to scientific knowledge. Political as well as economic decisions rely on scientific reports and studies. Public discourses on innovation and education are based on the assumption that the constant growth and influence of scientific knowledge should be supported by all means. Such an attitude, however, ignores the fact that scientific knowledge predominantly refers to coded and conceptual process knowledge. Sociologist Nico Stehr (who is frequently referred to in German-language discourses on knowledge) understands scientific knowledge mainly in terms of technological knowledge. For Stehr, scientific knowledge means ‘the ability to act’ (Stehr 2002a: 20). This one-sided definition denies the value of individually and collectively generated experiences as requirements for specific research processes, and it negates the contribution of non-scientific forms of knowledge – e.g., the knowledge about abstention from acting – to the collective good. This chapter asks which concepts of knowledge are being devalued through processes of scientification. In order to answer this question, I will begin with a brief historic overview of the knowledge society, before outlining the results of selected studies in philosophy, sociology and anthropology concerning the multitude of ways of knowing. I argue that the technoscientific production of a single form of knowledge – as it is currently promoted on a global scale – obstructs the unhindered development of humanity since it endangers social cohesion by the abrasion of its fundaments.

Market economy and the birth of knowledge societies The substantial growth of the market economy since the end of the Second World War led to the development of new institutions that could regulate the global movements of capital, goods and labour. These new institutions were provided by the United Nations, including the World Bank, the International Monetary Fund (IMF), the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT) and the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation (UNESCO). At the same time the idea of a knowledge society began to dominate management discourses (Drucker 1969). It was Daniel

Technoscientification/oblivion  207 Bell’s description of post-industrial societies in 1973 that announced the beginning of the era of the knowledge-based economy. Starting with Nico Stehr and Gernot Böhme’s ‘The Knowledge Society’, published in 1986, German-language publications on the importance of knowledge and knowledge production in post-modern societies quickly increased. In their theory of reflexive modernisation Ulrich Beck et al. (1996) point to a reflexive scientification, meaning the increase of the functional spectrum of scientific knowledge. For modern society, this functional knowledge describes what Michel Foucault (1973, 1977) termed technologies of standardisation and punishment. In comparison, late-modern citizens employ functional knowledge as a resource for their own voluntary self-management in order to advance their careers. Media continuously distribute results of scientific research in a way that reminds states as well as private individuals to improve themselves in order to stay competitive in a global market. In regard to states, Kerstin Martens (2007) refers to this as ‘governance by comparison’ based on permanent ranking. International organisations such as the OECD run comparisons in various fields of economy and education, while at the same time deciding on the parameters for comparison. After the rise in the price of oil in the 1970s, corporations began to relocate their production to low-wage countries. New technologies in communication and data saving made it easier for multinational corporations to operate. Most European countries responded to these developments by increasing secondary and tertiary education programmes, particularly for the service industry (Hadjar and Becker 2006). Information and knowledge rather than physical strength are the new requirements for well-paid jobs. The so-called knowledge society therefore is a version of industrial society that relies on educated labour. However, education in the sense of personal development takes second place to scientific knowledge geared to advance economic growth. The development of universities during the 20th century therefore predominantly focused on the natural sciences, since scientific research outcomes could be utilised more easily by corporations than findings delivered by the humanities. The UNESCO World Report of the 2005 World Summit on the Information Society was significantly entitled ‘Towards Knowledge Societies’. The UNESCO Communication and Information Sector’s programme has three principal objectives: promoting the free flow of ideas and universal access to information, promoting the expression of pluralism and cultural diversity in the media and world information networks and promoting access for all to information and communication technologies. However, these principles exist in stark contrast to global efforts to unify education programmes according to OECD standards oriented towards economic goals (Meyer and Ramirez 2005; Meyer et al. 1979). Yet, many forms of knowledge cannot be easily standardised or utilised for economic ends. The educationalist Marcel Parreira do Amaral (2011) therefore fears that other UNESCO principles – freedom of speech, education for all and free access to knowledge – will similarly be realised only in regard to knowledge that can be utilised in the

208  Gabriele Sorgo market economy. Nico Stehr (2002b) states that knowledge societies can be recognised by the irrefutable infiltration of modern science and technology into all social spaces and institutions. For Stehr, knowledge must necessarily lead to emancipation. Yet, the acquisition of technological knowledge is not synonymous to a well-rounded education. The pressure for an increase in tertiary education does not necessarily lead to critique within the European Union, because of rigid and tightly packed curricula alongside high levels of unemployment. In addition, higher qualifications support the circumvention of responsibilities. Because of modularised production processes, teams only work on project elements (Volmerg 1999). Yet, this kind of fragmented knowledge has little potential for emancipation.

Disembedded knowledge Systems theorist Helmut Willke (2002: 147) defines knowledge as the integration of data and information by particular individuals in social processes of reciprocity. Willke believes that social practice will become more important than new technologies over the next decades. Knowledge develops, according to Willke, when individuals assess information in social situations, connect new experiences to previous ones and estimate their value based on their own cultural background. In this sense, social scientists regard knowledge as a ‘total social fact’ (Fried and Süßmann 2001: 7). Anthropologist Marcel Mauss (1968: 17) coined the term in regard to the ceremonial gift. Knowledge can likewise be regarded as a ‘total social fact’ as all sociocultural dimensions are reflected in knowledge – its generation, dissemination, canonisation and processing. Most importantly, this perspective shifts the focus to participation in knowledge, something that has become contested with the economisation of knowledge. Indeed, how can knowledge remain a ‘total social fact’ and perpetuate participatory processes that are important to sustain social cohesion if it is transformed into a commodity, a commodity that is only available to an exclusive group of people in exchange for money? While not all forms of knowledge are necessary for social cohesion, knowledge societies do follow an agenda that evaluates all concepts of knowledge according to economic standards in order to promote those concepts that promise a profit at the cost of all other forms of knowledge. André Gorz argues against this dystopian view, stating that all knowledge is intrinsically participatory because it is not diminished when passed on. It is only the enclosure and patenting of knowledge that, according to Gorz (2005), transforms living knowledge into dead knowledge. The term ‘living knowledge’ derives from his differentiation between human and non-human knowledge stores (Gorz 2005: 21). Like Willke, Gorz states that innovation, communication, and the constant improvisation of self-organisation all depend solely on living knowledge. Living knowledge work produces nothing material. Particularly in the network economy living knowledge work is the labour of the subject producing itself as activity (Gorz 2005:

Technoscientification/oblivion  209 21). Dead knowledge is knowledge that is offered for sale as a commodity without context, as formula or technical know-how. Knowledge work transforms it back again into living knowledge. Dead knowledge is socially inactive. Knowledge from previous eras that is manifest in, for example, cave paintings or buildings, remains inactive because modern people do not share the same socio-cultural context in which the knowledge was originally embedded (Bell 1973). Technoscientification, however, undoubtedly emphasises dead and socially sterile knowledge. Living knowledge that is connected to the person is in fact essential to give value to dead knowledge. Yet, within the concepts of knowledge societies, it is only recognised insofar as it can be exploited (Sorgo 2017).

Non-trade market and non-trade knowledge Physical anthropology has proven that non-verbal communication is fundamental to the human being, for mental health and the ability to work (Brumlik 2014). Many forms of knowledge that are essential for human well-being neither exist independently from the person and his/her lifeworld nor from the knowledge subject (Knoblauch 2004: 276). Well-educated and adaptable employees labouring to produce profit need to be socialised within their lifeworlds first. It is not possible to acquire knowledge through education systems without the necessary tacit knowledge – embodied knowledge that remains largely embedded in everyday practices. Tribal peoples hold indigenous knowledge that has been accumulated perhaps over thousands of years as collective and locally bounded knowledge, generally generated entirely outside the market and passed on in face-to-face encounters (Sillitoe 2016). While organisational consultants do speak of tacit knowledge (Böhle and Porschen 2012), a term coined by the chemist and philosopher Michael Polanyi (1974), they assume that market-relevant knowledge can be made explicit or at least – with the right kind of management – can be utilised within the organisation and foster innovations. Economic historian Karl Polanyi (1977: 78f.), brother of Michael Polanyi, coined the term ‘nonmarket trade’ in regard to non-profit-oriented forms of exchange in ancient cultures. More recently, theorists of the gift like André Caillé (2007) have merged Karl Polanyi’s concept with Marcel Mauss’ theory of the gift in order to make visible the non-marketable usefulness of the so-called silent knowledge (Kraus et al. 2017). Silent knowledge goes beyond tacit knowledge by including the whole performative dimension of human communication. It is the basis of human interaction, as well as the prerequisite for trust and stable social relationships. Drawing on Karl Polanyi, silent knowledge can be referred to as ‘non-market knowledge’ – knowledge that serves mainly participatory processes of non-profit-orientation. Gift theorists believe that such stocks of living knowledge refuse to be utilised by the market. However, non-market knowledge may be depleted within a context of heightened orientation towards efficiency (Caillé 2007: 123). Since the 1960s new

210  Gabriele Sorgo communication technologies in industrial societies were able to increase efficiency at the cost of stocks of silent knowledge (UNESCO 2018). According to Peter Weingart (1989), technology is primarily a social process. Hence capturing a total social fact like knowledge with technology particularly affects social cohesion. Today, technoscientific selection processes dictate the production of knowledge. Computerised knowledge leads to the informatisation of communication processes, relationships and ways of thinking (Degele 2000). In the history of mankind technologies used as mnemonic devices always have provoked these processes of ‘grammatisation’ (Stiegler 2009: 74–83). In addition to the Third World, a ‘Fourth World’ has been developing for several decades now, created from what cannot be obtained and utilised by informatisation. Manuel Castells (2001–3: 73–174) uses this term exclusively for materially marginalised groups within wealthy countries. Nonetheless, other groups might be regarded as well – those whose lifestyles and knowledge of plants and animals has been utilised and computerised by corporations without compensation (Flórez Alonso 2008). The Fourth World then encompasses those people whose lifestyles and economies belong to the non-marked trade – indigenous peoples as well as organic farmers in Europe and people whose knowledge is based on experience that cannot be translated into techno-scientific codes, such as midwives, artisans, horticulturists and naturopaths.

Forms and layers of knowledge Philologist Bruno Snell (1924) analyses six words of pre-Platonic philosophy – sophia, gnōmē, synesis, historia, mathēma, episteme – describing different ways of knowing within their sociocultural contexts. Sophia refers to intellectual knowledge as well as technical skills (téchne) and could be translated as art or virtuosity. Gnōmē describes recognition that is the insight into the recognised as the basis for co-production. Historia means the observation of the visible surroundings by looking. Synesis relates to hearing that leads to comprehension and subsequent intellectual awareness. Mathēma refers to subjects that can be studied and deliver reliable results independently from person or empirical context, such as mathematics. Epistēmē, finally, means knowledge in its entirety. Téchne, on the other hand, does not refer to knowledge but to method – in the sense of the correct handling of knowledge (Löbl 1997: 10). Indeed, pre-Socratic philosophers used the term epistēmē not just in order to refer to knowledge of a specific fact but to refer to the connection between the fact and an overarching theoretical knowledge. This would provide certainty – the knowledge of knowledge. Foucault (1970) translates epistēmē for late-modernity as knowledge systems. Using a number of examples from the early modern age he describes it as an ephemeral creation of humanity. For Plato, however, epistēmē means the outcome of anamnesis – the return to an eternal cosmic order that no longer has a place in contemporary sciences today. Snell emphasises that the pre-Socratic

Technoscientification/oblivion  211 philosophers did not yet distinguish the subject from the object. Instead they considered both to be embedded and therefore connected within a cosmic order. Epistēmē, in pre-modern age, did therefore not facilitate the domination of the cosmos. It rather enabled the accurate inclusion of knowledge within a larger framework. Accordingly, until the scientification of technical professions during the 19th century, the knowledge of skilled workers was bound to the person to a large extent. Experience was paramount and was meant to be applied according to local circumstances (Wengenroth 1997; Renzl 2005). At the beginning of the 20th century, philosopher Max Scheler (1960) attempted to systematically determine the relation between concepts of knowledge and the societies that bring them about. He formulates three categories according to the target-orientation of each form of knowledge: first, educational knowledge supporting the development of a person; second, knowledge of redemption seeking awareness of the world and third, knowledge as an instrument of authority and power used for domination and the reshaping of the world. In addition, Scheler analyses to what degree the production of knowledge is affected by the sociocultural background, such as dominant religion or mentality. In order to do so he analyses the social embeddedness of knowledge concepts, not according to their objectives but in regard to how the dominant worldview in any society either supports or hampers these concepts (Scheler 1960: 205). Based on this analysis Scheler identifies seven types of knowledge categorised according to their distance to the natural state or level of artificiality. Scheler lists them in ascending order, beginning with the – according to Scheler – least artificial concept: myth and legend, popular speech including tacit knowledge, religious knowledge, mystic knowledge, philosophical-metaphysical knowledge, positivist knowledge of natural sciences and humanities and technological knowledge. Combining Scheler’s three categories of target-oriented forms of knowledge with his seven types of authentic or inauthentic forms of knowledge, it becomes possible to draw a diagram for any society. A diagram of Western industrialised society would demonstrate how the highly valued technological knowledge sustains knowledge as an instrument of authority and power, rather than educational knowledge and knowledge of deliverance. However, Scheler’s attempt to categorise all forms of knowledge with the help of his system has been criticised by anthropologists, as knowledge is too diverse.

Deep knowledge Anthropologists like Karen Gloy (2007), Clifford Geertz (1974), Malcolm R. Crick (1982), Roy Dilley (1999) and Mark Harris (2005) demonstrate that – depending on the subject and place of study – knowledge has to be defined according to the context. Gloy (2005) develops a genealogy and typology of concepts of knowledge, specifically focusing on forms of knowledge that, until now, have been devalued by Euro-Atlantic sciences.

212  Gabriele Sorgo For example, shamanic knowledge that shamans derive from dreams, divination or a sensitivity towards natural phenomena is not recognised (Duerr 1985) because the subject and object of knowledge cannot be separated. Gloy therefore suggests a different perspective on knowledge. According to her, the investigating subject has to deal with three levels of knowledge: a topmost conceptual level where scientific findings are transformed into theoretical knowledge, an action-oriented intermediate level that generates practical knowledge and a base level where intuitive knowledge is developed. In a technoscientific system scientists tend to believe that their work is solely situated within the topmost conceptual level. While the two lower levels constitute the basis of conceptual knowledge, their importance is underestimated. At best scientists recognise them as important for people who are the objects of their studies. While the Greek word sophia simultaneously refers to manual skills of any kind as well as artistic inspiration and intuition, proper scientific conduct today demands that scientists cover up the traces of their own lifeworlds and instincts. Yet these incorporated forms of subjective knowledge continuously contribute to the generation of explicit knowledge. For a century, the findings of Sigmund Freud and Carl Gustav Jung have questioned modern Western science’s claim to objectivity (Böhle 1997: 155). With the discovery of the unconscious it has become clear that scientists, like all people, tend to suppress the true motives of their actions. According to Gloy it was the disembedding of knowledge from its subjective experience since the 17th century that encouraged European scientists to overestimate their own capabilities as they lost sight of the overall structure and therefore the limits of what was possible. Similarly, Jean Gebser (1978) analyses individuation processes specific to particular periods. Gebser designed a history of consciousness that is rooted in the artefacts of specific periods. His concept places five levels of consciousness in chronological order: from archaic, to magical, to mythical, to mental, to integral consciousness. Gebser’s history of consciousness is not a linear history of modern progress but instead demonstrates the interaction of all levels of human consciousness and its associated layers of knowledge. The suppression of one level results in that level influencing – in negative form – the dominant level of consciousness with its specific forms of knowledge. Gebser (1978: 161) warns against the tyranny of an inflated rational-conceptual consciousness. It bestows too much importance on a technocratic perspective of the world at the expense of other levels of consciousness. Gebser’s integral consciousness corresponds with a deep knowledge that leads to the integration of all levels of consciousness in cognitive processes. According to Gebser the exaltation of one level of consciousness and its associated layer of knowledge at the cost of all other levels and layers will lead to a state of unconscious ignorance. Drawing on Gebser’s model, digitalised scientific knowledge is disembedded knowledge where it ignores the rootedness of human lifeworlds in space, time and culture through social practice and symbolic worlds. If knowledge

Technoscientification/oblivion  213 is the basic element in human society and the prerequisite to opportunities of human development, then the exhaustion of knowledge stocks – and the fragmentation of spaces of coexistence that people create from living knowledge in exchange with nature – are highly endangered by the current processes of technoscientification.

Note 1 This chapter is a revised and shortened version of a chapter published as ‘Babylon wächst’ in: Franz Gmainer-Pranzl and Angela Schottenhammer (eds.). 2016. Wissenschaft und globales Denken, 369–390. Frankfurt am Main, Berlin and Bern: Peter Lang Edition.

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Technoscientification/oblivion  215 Meseth, and Matthias Proske (eds.), Öffentliche Erziehung – Revisited. Erziehung, Politik und Gesellschaft im Diskurs, 195–224. Wiesbaden: Springer VS. Polanyi, Karl. 1977. The Livelihood of Man. New York, San Francisco and London: Academic Press. Polanyi, Michael. 1974. Personal Knowledge: Towards a Post-Critical Philosophy. A Chemist and Philosopher Attempt to Bridge the Gap Between Fact and Value, Science and Humanity. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Renzl, Birgit. 2005. ‘Zentrale Aspekte des Wissensbegriffs – Kernelemente der Organisation von Wissen’, in Boris Wyssusek (ed.), Wissensmanagement komplex: Perspektiven und soziale Praxis, 27–42. Berlin: Erich Schmidt. Scheler, Max. 1960. Die Wissensformen und die Gesellschaft. Bern: Francke. Sillitoe, Paul. 2016. ‘The Knowing in Indigenous Knowledge’, in Peter Meusburger, Tim Freitag, and Laura Suarsana (eds.), Ethnic and Cultural Dimensions of Knowledge, 129–163. Cham, Heidelberg and New York: Springer. Snell, Bruno. 1924. Die Ausdrücke für den Begriff des Wissens in der vorplatonischen Philosophie. Berlin: Weidmann. Sorgo, Gabriele. 2017. ‘Gabenökonomie auf dem Wissensmarkt. Eine historischanthropologische Analyse der Netzwerktheorien’, in Johannes Bilstein and Jörg Zirfas (eds.), Das Geben und das Nehmen. Pädagogisch-anthropologische Zugänge zur Sozialökonomie, 141–155. Weinheim: Beltz Juventa. Stehr, Nico. 2002a. ‘Wissen’, in Christoph Engel, Jost Halfmann, and Martin Schulte (eds.), Wissen, Nichtwissen – unsicheres Wissen, 17–34. Baden-Baden: Nomos. Stehr, Nico. 2002b. ‘Moderne Wissensgesellschaften’, in Aus Politik und Zeitgeschichte B36. www.bpb.de/apuz/26052/moderne-wissensgesellschaften?p=all (accessed 29 November 2017). Stiegler, Bernard. 2009. ‘Biomacht, Psychomacht und Grammatisierung’, in Bernard Stiegler (ed.), Von der Biopolitik zur Psychomacht, 43–84. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp Verlag. UNESCO. 2018. ‘Communication and Information’. www.unesco.org/new/en/­ communication-and-information/about-us/ (accessed 28 September 2018). Volmerg, Birgit. 1999. ‘Die Macht der Technik und die Moral der einzelnen. Sozialpsychologische Überlegungen und Forschungserfahrungen aus der Ingenieurwelt’, in Thomas Leithäuser, Elfriede Löchel, and Klaus Schütt (eds.), Lust und Unbehagen an der Technik, 173–196. Gießen: Nexus. Weingart, Peter (ed.). 1989. Technik als sozialer Prozess. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp Verlag. Wengenroth, Ulrich. 1997. ‘Zur Differenz von Wissenschaft und Technik’, in Daniel Bieber (ed.), Technikentwicklung und Industriearbeit. Industrielle Produktionstechnik zwischen Eigendynamik und Nutzerinteressen, 141–152. Frankfurt am Main and New York: Campus. Willke, Helmut. 2002. Dystopia: Studien zur Krisis des Wissens in der modernen Gesellschaft. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp Verlag.

13 Science cannot do it alone Habits, environment, and the enchantment of beauty Mariagrazia Portera

Naturalisms The popularity of labels such as ‘naturalistic’ or ‘naturalised’ attached to philosophical disciplines (naturalistic or naturalised aesthetics, naturalistic ethics, naturalistic epistemology) has grown steadily over the last few decades. Per se, ‘naturalism’ and ‘naturalisation’ are polysemous concepts, the meaning of which changes depending on the context in which they are used. Scholars usually distinguish between (I) an ontological, (II) a methodological, and (III) an epistemological naturalism (each of them with their weaker and stronger variants), which argue respectively that (I) only natural things (i.e., things whose existence is granted by the natural sciences) exist, (II) philosophy and the natural sciences are in methodological continuity with each other, and (III) the only justified form of knowledge is empirical/experimental knowledge, i.e., the knowledge of natural entities and properties (cf. De Caro and MacArthur 2004). It hardly needs to be said that the adoption of any of the earlier-mentioned naturalisms in its stronger version jeopardises the ontological, methodological, and epistemological autonomy and legitimacy of philosophy and the humanities in general, and I shall not touch upon this aspect here. The main purpose of the present chapter is, in fact, to argue that a scientistic strategy – that is, as I understand it here, the adoption of whichever version of naturalism in its stronger variant along with the devaluation of any other form of knowledge and methodological approach – is harmful to both the humanities and to the natural sciences (cf. Dupré 2001), all the more so when the natural sciences are called upon to analyse, monitor, and provide solutions to highly complex topics such as today’s environmental issues (climate change, accelerated extinction rates, soil erosion, water and air pollution, etc.). Indeed, to approach subjects such as today’s environmental issues through a scientistic lens prevents researchers from finding effective solutions to the problems they face and struggle with.

Welcome to the Anthropocene In January 2016 a multi-authored paper reviewing the geological signatures of the human pervasive activity on Earth over the past decades (Waters

Science cannot do it alone  217 et al. 2016) seemed to provide further support to the Anthropocene thesis put forward in the 1980s by the American biologist Eugene Stoermer and popularised by the Dutch geochemist Paul Crutzen. Humanity lives today in a post-Holocene era (the ‘Anthropocene’), beginning sometime in the mid 20th century and characterised by the massive human-caused alteration of natural environments, which has gradually given rise to a new geological epoch that is stratigraphically distinct from the Holocene (cf. Trischler 2013; Emmett and Lekan 2016; Davies 2018). Surely humans didn’t start to alter their environments one hundred or so years ago, and our planet was far from being stable and unchanging before the industrial revolution or the diffusion of capitalistic modes of production (Davies 2018). The notion of ‘Anthropocene’ has, however, the merit of emphasising the exceptionally accelerated rate of modifications in the last decades and – moreover – the magnitude of their detrimental effects: biodiversity loss, soil erosion, water and air pollution, and melting glaciers. The coining of the term thirty years ago was at one and the same time a call to action. Now, this is the point that interests me the most here: although scientists – geologists, biologists, physicists, chemists – have been documenting, monitoring, and measuring the changes occurring in the Anthropocene since at least the 80s, more and more it is widely recognised today (Sörlin 2012; Holm et al. 2015) that pure ‘environmental information’ – scientific facts, statistics, data about the current state of the environment – is not enough per se to shift human environmental attitudes and behaviours: ‘our belief that science alone could deliver us from the planetary quagmire is long dead’ (Sörlin 2012: 788). We humans know the facts about the environmental ­crisis, but this ‘intellectual’ awareness fails to effect change (Rose et al. 2012; Holm et al. 2015).

Environmental humanities The recently established, multidisciplinary matrix known as ‘Environmental Humanities’ has among its major inspirations the ‘need to reframe global environmental change issues fundamentally as social and human challenges, rather than just environmental issues’ (Neimanis et al. 2015: 69). Scholars indeed recognise that ‘at the heart of global change in the 21st century’ there is much more than what the natural sciences, with their argumentative strategies, epistemologies, and methodologies, can track and measure: there are ‘human choices and actions – questions of human behaviour, habits, motivation that are embedded in individual practices and actions, in institutional and cultural pathways, and in political strategies’ (Holm et al. 2015). In this sense, as it has been pointed out (Wilke 2013: 67), ‘if humanity is indeed the force behind the changes on our planet, then the humanities are called to explore the new directions ahead of us’ and not only or not exclusively the natural sciences. In what follows, my aim is to focus specifically on ‘questions of human behaviour’, ‘habits’, and habituation processes (Holm et al. 2015) and on their relevance to contemporary environmental issues (broadly understood).

218  Mariagrazia Portera There is much evidence that habituation processes, habits, and habitual behaviour – partially automatic, not always or not completely conscious, embodied, and context-dependent – pervade our social and mental lives to a significant extent (see Bargh 1997, Bargh and Chartrand 1999): ‘during much of our waking lives, we act according to our habits, from the time we rise and go through our morning routines until we fall asleep’ (Graybiel 2008: 360). This centrality of habits to the human individual and social life was notoriously a key point in William James’ theory of human behaviour: according to the father of modern psychology, ‘when we look at living creatures from an outward point of view, one of the first things that strikes us is that they are bundles of habits’ (James 1890: 104). In the 20th century, both John Dewey – particularly in his book Human Nature and Conduct – and Pierre Bourdieu, with his sociological investigations on the concept of habitus, arrived at the same conclusions (albeit by following two very different paths). Habits matter and there are virtually no aspects of the human individual and social life in which habits are not involved.

Habit and habitus The notions of ‘habit’, ‘habitus’, and the processes of habit formation and transmission have recently received renewed attention from scholars, particularly in the English-speaking academic world (Carlisle 2014; Dunham and Romdenh-Romluc forthcoming). ‘Habit’ and ‘habitus’ – I shall explain later in this paragraph the differences between the two terms – have been key concepts within the humanities and social sciences since at least Aristotle (particularly his Nicomachean Ethics), cutting across virtually all schools and theoretical traditions until the present day, from French spiritualism (with Félix Ravaisson) to pragmatism (William James and John Dewey), from Husserlian phenomenology to Merleau-Ponty, and from Marcel Mauss’ anthropology to Pierre Bourdieu’s sociological investigations, where the term ‘habitus’ is used as a practical, unconscious, and purposive disposition in opposition to ‘habit’, which is understood as a merely mechanical and repetitive behaviour (Bourdieu 2002: 30). This contrast between ‘habitus’ and ‘habit’, however and the idea, put forward by Bourdieu, that habits are nothing more than mechanical and blind routines, is far from unanimously accepted by scholars. In fact, as has been argued (Carlisle 2014), habit is per se a concept with a dual nature, which over the centuries has been interpreted, on the one hand, as a blind tendency to repetition (by Bourdieu, as mentioned, but also by Spinoza and Kant before him, to restrict myself to a few references) and on the other hand by Aristotle, Hume, Dewey, and many others as a creative disposition indispensable for life. Bourdieu’s notion of ‘habitus’ is, in fact, not too distant from the much more positively connoted idea of ‘habit’ suggested by John Dewey, as a flexible, dynamic disposition resulting from

Science cannot do it alone  219 the interactions between the individual organism and its environment (cf. Crossley 2013: 156–157; cf. Shusterman 1999; Krais and Gebauer 2002). For the sake of my argument, in what follows I shall dwell almost exclusively on Bourdieu’s and Dewey’s theories of habit(us) as two of the most significant theoretical elaborations of this notion in the 20th century.

Dual nature Habitus is defined by Bourdieu as ‘a system of durable, transposable dispositions, structured structures predisposed to function as structuring structures, that is, as principles which generate and organise practices and representations’ (Bourdieu 1990: 53). Human beings are creatures of habituses: they take on habit(use)s and are shaped and moulded by them. Bourdieu’s habitus is a product of history largely operating beneath the level of consciousness; it is the embodiment in the individual actor of sociocultural norms and economic conditions that shape and influence, though without determining, her perception, thought, and action. Criticisms have been raised against Bourdieu’s use of the term ‘habitus’ particularly in his earlier work, in the framework of a supposedly conservative and static idea of society (see Waterson 2002; Silva 2016a, 2016b) in which the concept seems to serve the French sociologist to explain the persistence of the status quo. But habitus is not in itself a reactionary or conservative notion. Bourdieu’s aim, with this concept, is to build ‘a dispositional theory of action suited to reintroducing time and the inventive capacity of agents within structuralist anthropology’ (Wacquant 2016: 74), overcoming the opposition between objective structures and the individual agent, between mechanism and freedom. In his work Bourdieu describes habitus as a disposition resistant to change (particularly those habituses acquired by individuals in the early stages of their life and that constitute a deep-rooted, somehow refractory frame through which any new information, experiences, and ideas have to pass) but that can nevertheless undergo some form of modification or transformation in changing circumstances. ‘Any dimension of habitus is very difficult to change but it may be changed through [a] process of awareness and of pedagogic effort’ (Bourdieu 2002: 29). John Dewey, although obviously moving from a very different background and different theoretical assumptions, shares (or would have shared) Bourdieu’s contention that ruptures and shifts can occur in the system of habits. As he writes in his Human Nature and Conduct, ‘All habits are affections [. . .] all have projectile power. [. . .] All habits are demands for certain kinds of activity. [. . .] They rule our thoughts, determining which shall appear and be strong and which shall pass from light into obscurity’ (Dewey 1921: 25). He distinguishes between authentic habits and mere mechanical repetitions but admits that habits would be impossible without a certain degree of mechanism: ‘we walk and read aloud, we get off and on street cars, we dress and undress, and do a thousand useful acts

220  Mariagrazia Portera without thinking of them. We know something, namely, how to do them’ (Dewey 1921: 177–178). It is, in fact, because of this ‘mechanisation’ or this mechanical component of our habits that humans can confidently live their lives, since ‘if each act has to be consciously searched for at the moment and intentionally performed, execution is painful and the product is clumsy and halting’ (Dewey 1921: 70–71). In this sense, Dewey’s main purpose with his theory of habits, in line with the anti-dualistic and anti-dogmatic stance of his philosophy as a whole, is to show how the notion positions itself beyond any philosophical dichotomy (of spirit and matter, of body and mind, of thought and practice). According to Dewey, habits are not an acquisition of the individual as a single agent but the result of the interaction between the individual and its environment; they cannot be considered or understood apart from the context in which they occur. As a consequence, ‘we cannot change habit directly. [. . .] But we can change it indirectly by modifying conditions, by an intelligent selecting and weighting of the objects which engage attention and which influence the fulfilment of desires’ (Dewey 1921: 20). To put it differently, to act on the external conditions that influence habit formation is the only way to modify (indirectly) ours and other people’s habits. Although aware of the resistance and degree of ‘inertia’ that characterise habits, Dewey sees in their indirect amelioration and in the preservation and improvement of the environment that makes habits possible and that contributes to their transmission one of the most important duties of humans: ‘the best that we can accomplish for posterity is to transmit unimpaired and with some increment of meaning the environment that makes it possible to maintain the habits of decent and refined life’ (Dewey 1921: 21). It is worth underlining here how the question of the role of habits in human experience and the question of the environment (of its protection and preservation for future generations) intertwine and overlap with each other in Dewey’s work, suggesting an ecological interpretation of the concept. The ‘dual nature’ of habit, its ‘double law’ (in the words of Joseph Butler, the 18th-century English theologian and philosopher and, later on, of Felix Ravaisson, the 19th-century French philosopher) is confirmed, albeit to a different extent, both by Dewey’s and by Bourdieu’s views on the concept. Habit(us) is resistant and durable as well as plastic and mutable. As pointed out by Carlisle (2013: 31 but more extensively in Carlisle 2014), if our environment, our own actions, or the actions performed by the people around us could not ‘leave a mark’ on us, thanks to our plastic receptivity, then we would not develop any kind of habit. But if we were not at the same and, at least to some extent, resistant to these ‘impressions’, we would be transformed continually: ‘we would not repeat ourselves, as we do through our habits. The fact that we [. . .] are creatures of habit at once explains why it can be hard to change and indicates that it is always possible to do things differently’.

Science cannot do it alone  221

Environmental habits The concept of habit seems to be, all in all, a tricky one: habits usually operate unconsciously but can nevertheless be brought back to consciousness, although with much dedication and effort; they are largely independent of deliberation and attention, but this does not mean that they are devoid of any intelligence (in the end, we have a sense of ‘very well knowing what we are doing’ when we stop thinking about it and just do it, as a habitual action); each of us has his own deep-rooted idiosyncratic habits and routines, but collective sociocultural habits (habituses or customs) are also an important part of our life; habits can be changed, ameliorated, improved, but it is, however, beyond dispute that the habits an individual takes up during his early years can be a serious obstacle to the adoption of new modes of behaviour; habits can be active (i.e., dispositions to act in a certain way) or passive; our mind has an amazing power to adapt and adjust itself to new conditions, i.e., to habituate itself and to form new habits, but this mental ability can also lead, in some cases, to passive acceptance of the status quo and to the loss of critical sense. Habits, habituation processes, and habitual lifestyle choices play a role in the human relationship to nature and the environment: how we relate in our daily life to the environment that surrounds us (broadly understood) and how and in what terms we see ourselves as part of this environment are, for the most part, a matter of habits. A growing body of recent literature has addressed the question as to how climate change and the current environmental crisis can be mitigated through personal actions (Gardner and Stern 2008; Girod et al. 2014; Wynes and Nicholas 2017). It is worth noticing that, when asked which of their habitual actions and lifestyles most harmfully affect the environment and consequently which new modes of behaviour might be the most effective to take up, people show a poor understanding of the real impact of their habits and habituses on the environment (Attari et al. 2010). Do you usually turn off the tap while brushing your teeth in the morning, or do you have a (bad) habit of leaving it turned on as if the water was an infinite resource? Do you usually use your car, instead of walking, even when you have to travel very short distances? Do you always end up buying much more food than you need, or don’t you? These might sound like trivial questions, but indeed there is no complete gap between our habitual gestures, bodily actions and routines, and collectively shared assumptions – such as the tendency, in our Western world, to conceive of ourselves as ontologically separated from the environment and the other living beings around us. Bourdieu’s notion of habitus casts light precisely on how sociocultural norms, epistemologies, and economic conditions get internalised into our bodies and silently express themselves through gestures, postures, actions, habits of thinking, and feeling. ‘Fraught with nature/culture, human/nonhuman, man/woman, East/West, North/South, and ecology/economy binary opposition’, the (Western) Anthropocenic

222  Mariagrazia Portera binary epistemology ‘is the driving force behind economic growth, political strategies, and technological development, with all their detrimental consequences on our Earth’s fragile equilibrium’ (Oppermann and Iovino 2017: 4). There is, moreover, a further aspect to be considered: why is it so difficult to persuade people – even those who say they are sincerely worried about climate change – to modify their habits and lifestyles (flying less and eating less meat, for instance)? We have been told for years now by environmental scientists that arctic glaciers are melting and sea temperatures are rising, but since only very few of us can have first-hand experience of these changes, we quite easily get ‘used’ to this information and move on. Our minds, indeed, have an amazing power to ‘neutralise’ the change, to turn the new into something habitual, and to resist transformations, and this is true (although for different reasons) both for those things with which we have no direct experience and for those to which we are frequently and repeatedly exposed (and to which we get rapidly accustomed). This tendency to form new habits and habitual routines can be considered one of the multiple facets of the organism’s crucial ability to maintain homeostasis, i.e., a relatively stable internal (psychological and/or physiological) environment by adjusting to changing external conditions. Habits and habituation processes matter all the more so when our environmental behaviour and our role in nature are at stake. Today ‘there is an urgent need for a robust theory of consumption that addresses how habits form, how they change and how policy can contribute to the formation of new habits that are less environmentally intrusive’ (Wilhite 2015: 100). But given that ‘to acknowledge the power of habits and [. . .] to find ways to influence and move them’ (ibid., 108) are two very different things – as we have seen, people usually have a poor understanding on the impact of their habits on the environment – the question as to how people may become aware of their (environmental) habits is the first question to be asked. The aesthetic and the arts seem to have much to say in this respect.

Aesthetic roots Building on Bourdieu’s and Dewey’s accounts of habit(us), we have seen how habit – like Janus Bifrons, the two-faced Roman god – has two sides, resistance and malleability. Habit is an embodied disposition that, on the one hand, makes our experience authentically human and, on the other hand, hinders (or can hinder) reflection and freedom with its stubborn tendency towards repetition. It is both active and passive, a blessing and a curse (Carlisle 2014). The next step to take in developing my argument is to show how all habits, including those ‘environmental habits’ that constitute the main topic of this chapter (our everyday, habitual, practical dispositions towards nature and the environment), have to some extent an aesthetic basis, in the etymological sense of ‘aisthesis’, sensation or perception. Habits are rooted in our body and ‘incorporated’ in our mind, senses, and perceptions.

Science cannot do it alone  223 Recently, much research has been conducted on the notion of habit by scholars working in the cognitive sciences. The emergence of the new paradigm of 4E cognition (embodied, embedded, extended, and enactive), along with a growing dissatisfaction with the computational theory of the mind, have led to a reassessment of the notion of habit as one of the cornerstones of a new conception of the human mind. As Alva Nöe writes: ‘Human beings are creatures of habit. Habits are central to human nature. [. . .] Only a being with habits could have a mind like ours’ (Noë 2009: 97–98). Our daily lives as individuals largely rely on embodied, implicit, habitual knowledge (see Bargh 1997). Habits, insofar as they arise from the embodiment of routines, gestures, and abilities, which become incorporated to such an extent that they can be performed without even explicitly thinking of them, unshackle cognitive and emotional resources to be employed for new, creative tasks. Our minds, as human beings, are creative because they pick up habits; in this sense, artistic creativity is a matter of habits. Now, if we turn from the individual to the sociocultural level of human groups and communities, the centrality of habits and habitual knowledge to human social life is further confirmed. I draw here on the extensive research conducted over more than thirty years by Christoph Wulf and colleagues in the fields of historical anthropology and anthropological pedagogy at the Free University of Berlin, Germany. As argued by Wulf in several works (Gebauer and Wulf 1995; Wulf 2010, 2013, 2014, 2020), cultural communities constitute themselves not only or not merely through a collectively shared symbolic knowledge but also and to an even greater extent through cultural action (practices, rituals, ceremonies, and collective performances). Mimetic learning – that is, learning by imitation, not in the sense of mere imitation or copying but rather as a productive, creative ‘process by which the act of relating to other persons and worlds in a mimetic way leads to an enhancement of one’s own worldview, action, and behaviour’ (Wulf 2008: 56; cf. Gebauer and Wulf 1993) – is the way in which schemes of action, gestural patterns and movements needed to perform cultural actions are learned by the members of the group. Mimesis, to put it differently, is how cultural competence – that practical, tacit, embodied, largely implicit knowledge required in order for a man or a woman to fully integrate within a cultural group – is acquired. Habitual behaviour (including our environmental habits) is a fundamental component of this mimetically learned cultural competence. In this sense, insofar as all mimetic processes are inherently aesthetic – this is one of the main theses of Wulf’s cultural-historical anthropology – i.e., rooted in our affective, sensual, perceptual body and expressed in bodily arrangements, habitual processes as well, learned and expressed mimetically, are rooted in aesthesis. It should be noted that, without taking this aesthetic dimension into account, through the lens of which the limits of a merely functionalist view of culture emerges, cultural practices, cultural competence, and habitual knowledge are almost unintelligible, as Christoph Wulf remarks.

224  Mariagrazia Portera Habits are deep-rooted in the aesthetic layer of our experience: this is the reason why – here’s the next step of my argument – aesthetic and artistic experiences can ‘grasp’ our habits and gently bring them back to consciousness.

Becoming aware through the arts and the aesthetic Changing habits is a hard and painful process, which requires time and dedication and depends on one’s ability to let (his/her own) habits emerge from the sphere of the unconscious. However, this process of ‘becoming aware’ should not ‘be understood in intellectualist terms, for no act of cognition is going to change one’s embodiment’. Rather, ‘awareness of habit has to be cultivated at the level of sensations, feelings, and involuntary thoughts. [. . .] Developing the faculty of awareness of passive phenomena . . .] can gradually enable a person to discriminate between habits in order to choose which to maintain and which to resist’ (Carlisle in Sparrow and Hutchinson 2013: 171). It is in this sense that, I argue, we should turn to the aesthetic experience and the arts: they are an effective – probably the most effective – way to ‘grasp’ our habits, to become actively aware of passive phenomena such as routines, ‘sensations, feelings, and involuntary thoughts’ and, eventually, to choose which of them should be maintained and which resisted. As pointed out by Alva Noë (2015), the arts and aesthetic experiences are second-order or reorganisational practices, which make ‘manifest something about ourselves that is hidden from view because it is the spontaneous structure of our engaged activity’ (ibid.: 25). In Nöe’s view, art’s task is ‘to afford us a sort of opportunity to catch ourselves in the act of encountering the world’ (ibid.: 90); although each form of art is different from any other (‘as painting is from music, or writing poetry from making sculpture’), ‘they all do basically the same job: they expose the concealed ways we are organised by the things we do’ (ibid.: 27). Tackling this point in any detail would lead me beyond the scope of this chapter, but let us try to understand what this statement properly means. Whenever we experience something as beautiful or, I should say, as aesthetically relevant, our everyday attitude to this ‘something’ is bracketed on the one hand and on the other hand is fulfilled, improved, or refined (Dewey 1934). Fully engaged in an aesthetic experience, our exploration of the environment changes (Schaeffer 2015a): instead of a convergent attentional exploration, our attention goes through the object in a distributed, polycentric, horizontal, divergent way (Schaeffer 2015b). Instead of trying to reduce ad unum the sensorial and symbolic complexity of the object or to channel it into a single pattern, the aesthetically inflected attention indulges in and dwells on this complexity, while our habitual cognitive dynamics and perceptual routines are brought to the fore. There is a paradoxical intertwining of ‘passivity/activity’ at work in the aesthetic experience, as brilliantly shown for instance by Maurice Merleau-Ponty in his Phenomenology of

Science cannot do it alone  225 Perception (1945) and The Visible and the Invisible (1964). Whenever we engage in an artistic and/or aesthetic experience, we actively experience the strength, power, and resistance of a passive element in us (as Alva Nöe points out) and outside us. As argued by Christoph Wulf, the aesthetic experience and the arts represent, in view of their mimetic aspects, an opportunity to become ‘similar’ to and to create links to the environment around us; through them, we open ourselves to the experience of the Other, including the otherness of the natural world (cf. Wulf 2016). Mimesis can lead to an extension of the subject into the surrounding world and forge a link to the outside world and to new learning experiences. [. . .] The mimetic process is not about forming or changing the world. Rather, it is about development and education resulting from the encounter with the world. (Wulf 2011: 98) Through the arts and the aesthetic experience, people are encouraged ‘to be present in the moment; to embody the ‘‘other’’; to act and react with the mind, body, and spirit; and to develop connections with the land and with themselves beyond taken-for-granted experiences or assumptions’ (Lane 2012: 409). One might ask what is the most powerful or most effective art form (if any) to help people to develop awareness of their own habits, habitual processes, and habitual knowledge. In the last few years our conceptions of art and of human aesthetic and artistic experience have been deeply reshaped by the novelty introduced by virtual reality (VR), digital technologies, and immersive and interactive virtual environments (Diodato 2012; cf. Pinotti 2017, pointing out that virtual immersive environments call into question the iconic, representationalist paradigm of Western aesthetics). The impact of virtual reality spreads, of course, well beyond aesthetics: for instance, positive technology is today an emerging research field that studies how new advanced simulation technologies, virtual reality, immersive environments, and digital media can positively affect well-being and the mental health of individuals (see Gaggioli et al. 2016; Yaden et al. 2018). We have seen, with Alva Noë (2015: 25), that art makes ‘manifest something about ourselves that is hidden from view because it is the spontaneous structure of our engaged activity’; immersive environments and art installations of VR, with their capacity to position themselves between (or beyond) the subject/ object, active/passive, external/internal, art production/art fruition dichotomies (Diodato 2012) and to bring our perceptual, cognitive, motor routines to the fore, appear to be intriguingly well-equipped to help us gently ‘grasp’ our habits. As has been pointed out, ‘human technology enjoys a somewhat ambivalent reputation within the environmental humanities’, framed either as (more commonly) ‘a hindrance to harmonious human nature relationships’ or ‘as a mediator, enabling and often defining our experience of

226  Mariagrazia Portera environments near and remote, familiar and strange, actual and virtual’ (Weik von Mossner 2017: 337). The potential of VR for bringing both the dark and bright sides of our habitual experience to awareness and, possibly, for favouring the emergence of environment-friendly habitual behaviours and more sustainable lifestyles (see Bailey et al. 2015; Ahn et al. 2016) awaits to be explored.

Conclusions: the natural sciences and the humanities The role of science in monitoring, analysing, and predicting climate change and the environmental crisis is crucial; its power, however, seems to stop when it comes to mobilising individuals, shifting behaviours, and promoting a more respectful and insightful approach to the environment and nature. In our daily life, including our everyday relationship to nature and the environment, we rely to such an extent on tacit, implicit, practical, habitual knowledge that the first step to take in the attempt to change our habits/ habituses and to develop more respectful approaches towards nature is to become aware of them. I have argued throughout this chapter that aesthetics and the arts can contribute in the most effective way to this acquisition of awareness. However, it would be simplistic to frame the debate exclusively in terms of replacing ‘bad’ aesthetic environmental habits with ‘better’ ones, as if we had already at hand a global solution for the environmental crisis as a whole. Climate change, biodiversity loss, and environmental degradation are transforming the Earth’s geography in ways that challenge our experience of the world, with consequences that we cannot fully predict today (and, as a result, with no one strategy that could work in every context): they expose us to the unknown (cf. Lane 2011). Bringing our deep-rooted, embodied, personal, and collective habits back to consciousness; acquiring a critical distance from them by realising that they are not immutable (in the way they are); and becoming aware of the multiple factors (social, cultural, biological, psychological) that can influence them might be a promising starting point and might pave the way for the emergence of better ways of approaching and understanding nature and the environment. Science cannot do it alone: confronted with today’s environmental crisis, with biodiversity loss, deforestation, climate change, with accelerated rates of extinction, and exposed to the trickiest, most difficult but also the most powerful and effective component of our own experience, i.e., our habits, we need the humanities and social sciences – including aesthetics and the arts – to deal effectively with the current environmental crisis.

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14 Knowledge and science in the art of living Jörg Zirfas

Our discussion will be adequate if it has as much clearness as the subjectmatter admits of, for precision is not to be sought for alike in all discussions, any more than in all the products of the crafts. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics

Introduction Science can be understood as the embodiment of human knowledge. In this sense, science refers to knowledge that is organised according to principles, an ordered association of true or objective conclusions, plausible hypotheses, and possible consequences regarding reality or subsections of it. Science and scientific knowledge are generally distinguished from other types of knowledge – such as experiential knowledge – by seeking not only to reveal the ‘what’ but also to pose questions concerning the ‘why’, ‘what for’, and ‘how’. Science defined in this sense is not found in all ages and in all places on Earth. In the Occident, ancient Greece is considered the site of the discovery of science as an independent cultural framework distinguished from other cultural frameworks such as politics, economy, law, aesthetics, or education. If the classical canons of knowledge from ancient times are brought together – the (linguistic) trivium of grammar, rhetoric, and logic and the (mathematical) quadrivium of arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, and music theory – it is apparent that Western science has its origins in mathematicalquantitative and linguistic-qualitative ways of thinking. At its core, the concept of the art of living can be understood as a philosophical school of thought that raises issues surrounding the design and construction of a beautiful life. More recent variations on this term, which was first employed by Friedrich Schlegel in 1798 (in German: Lebenskunst), recall ancient Greek and Roman models and focus on the extent to which human beings can realise a good, successful, and beautiful life. The art of life is thus centred on questions of self-knowledge, self-control, and selfformation – in short, on care for oneself as an individual. How can and should humans care for themselves in such a way as to be able not only to conceptualise their idea of a happy life but also to convert that idea into

Knowledge and science in the art of living  231 reality? This of course signifies more than the mere fact of always looking out for oneself or caring about one’s own interests. In this respect, the art of living is an ambitious undertaking because, in addition to being both a rather extensive hermeneutic of oneself – one that encompasses not only self-understanding but also self-interpretation – and an action-based praxis oriented towards specific aesthetic categories that is thoroughly bound up in patience, concentration, practice, and discipline, it also goes hand in hand with an aesthetic style that corresponds in turn to aesthetic criteria (cf. Brenner and Zirfas 2002). The ancient Greeks employed the terms theoria, praxis, and poiesis to characterise these spheres. This chapter seeks in the first place to demonstrate that in Western thought the art of living represents a form of knowledge that is both every day and scientific – which generally means embracing philosophical knowledge (but also knowledge from other sciences, such as medicine or therapeutic knowledge). In the second place, it attempts to make clear that both quantitative and economic perspectives on the art of living as well as both qualitative and evaluative descriptions of its specific condition continue to be relevant today. Accordingly, the ‘art’ in the art of living consists precisely of forming a connection between its sometimes quite sophisticated philosophical programs and the often rather banal reality of daily life as well as between a calculable amount of happiness and a successful ‘aesthetic existence’ (Foucault).

Forms of knowledge In a 1929 essay on ‘Theory and Practice in Education’, Erich Weniger created a three-tiered model of the theory-practice relationship that, in its lucid representation, holds significance as well for the link being explored here between a practical, experience-based philosophy of living and scientific knowledge (Weniger 1952). Weniger initially posits a first-level theory of intuition-saturated, unconscious, internalised (pedagogical) concepts. This everyday knowledge is based on typification; it is concrete, oriented towards practice, and above all flexible, since it can quickly incorporate new elements based on similarity without first examining criteria or challenging definitions and relationships. It consists of a mix of empirical and normative components; it offers experiencebased knowledge and beliefs about goals, norms, and decision criteria; it offers security for everyday actions (i.e., the actors need not reflect for long when a problem appears but can instead refer to this knowledge); ultimately, its acquisition comes not through systematic coursework, classes, etc., but by means of socialisation, daily interactions, and generally accessible media; such knowledge reaches its limit when it is no longer sufficient to resolve problems. This may be distinguished from a second-level theory focused on the practitioner’s usage-based knowledge contained in pre-conscious and explicit

232  Jörg Zirfas rules. What is meant here is routine or professionalised knowledge that is necessary and sufficient to work competently in a (pedagogical) calling; above all, it functions to afford certainty of action even in difficult and problematic professional situations. On the one hand, this professionalised knowledge relates centrally to goals and the associated legitimation of actions, wherein the goals are frequently set based on their realisation in practice. Interestingly, however, it is not essential to consider the individual steps leading to these goals. No plan is needed to accomplish something (cf. Polanyi 1961). And, on the other hand, this knowledge relates to a set of practices: in this sense, it consists of individual knowledge (scientifically proven information about the field of action, knowledge of interrelationships in the field of action), knowledge of rules (knowledge regarding the appropriate and usual strategies for resolving problems in the professional field of action), and capacity to judge (ability to assess problems accurately based on criteria of professional relevance). And it contains both cognitive and normative components that are linked to each other in their capacity to resolve problematic professional situations and are ‘sorted’ accordingly. This professional knowledge is acquired by means of scientific training and through learning the customary work routines of interpretative models and patterns of action. These two levels are differentiated from a third-level theory providing a scientific explanation of the theory-practice relationship. This theory has two functions: the analytical function of ‘explaining the facts’ and the practical function arising fully from the practitioner’s work: ‘it reinforces practice and is valid solely in its usefulness to practice, only to the extent that the practitioner can begin to do something with its conclusions’ (Weniger 1952: 19f.). Scientific (epistemological) knowledge pursues objectivity and truth, the best possible (inter-subjective) substantiation, and it is acquired, debated, and explicitly passed on through defined rules, techniques, and rituals. Scientific knowledge relies on internal consistency, classification, and freedom from contradiction; it produces and is organised into theoretical contexts, and it meticulously and rigidly divides the empirical from the normative in a way that precludes the emergence of an absolute, ‘scientifically proved’ proposal for practice. The art of living is seen as an especially good example of the mutual permeation of everyday knowledge, routine knowledge, and scientific knowledge (cf. Gödde and Zirfas 2016). A ‘professional life artist’ who virtually turns the art of living into a ‘career’ is able to reconcile the different kinds of knowledge, each having its own logic, processes, laws, and objectives. Moreover, it can be noted that certain forms of knowledge (in the art of living) – everyday, professional, scientific knowledge – can be distinguished that cut across the previously observed differentiation: implicit, practical, usage-based knowledge on the one hand and an explicitly theoreticalabstract knowledge on the other (cf. Kraus et al. 2017).

Knowledge and science in the art of living  233 As seen earlier, theoretical knowledge strives for optimal substantiation and the highest possible degree of systematisation, and it is acquired, discussed, and precisely passed on to others. Practical knowledge, on the other hand, works with many ad hoc assumptions and mitigating circumstances that must apply to each respective situation and be based on experience in dealing with similar situations. It is organised according to perspective and context, practice-oriented, and, above all, extremely flexible. Practical knowledge is understood to be an intuitive-improvisational approach to action that is, in the long run, more than the application of knowledge. It is imparted not by explicit scientific communication but instead by trial and error, mimetic learning, or model-based learning. In this sense, a ‘professional art of living’ is not simply the ‘application’ of theories, and its result is dependent much less on applied technology than on professional ‘knowhow’. But what does scientific knowledge contribute to the practice of the art of living? First, it provides elucidation, which primarily means complexity in most instances. Scientific approaches make realities eclectic, dynamic, transitory, and contingent (structurally open). They may be viewed from different vantage points (historical, empirical, institutional, etc.) as well as from the trained perspective of a variety of disciplines (such as psychology or sociology). Through scientific knowledge, it becomes possible to ‘see’, ‘think’, and ‘act’ in more and other ways. We must also realise, however, that every scientific approach can only selectively observe and analyse reality. In this process, every actor is always confronted with a theory’s blind spots. Science must remain at a certain distance from practice to allow the observer reflexive access to it, illuminating and interpreting it. To do this, science must develop forms of observation and procedure that are suitable to reality, comprehensible, and in keeping with specific qualitative standards. It is essential, however, that it remain abstract, since generalisable concepts, theories, and models can only be achieved through scientific distance. Thus, whilst on one hand the abstract nature of scientific theories is due to the desire to seek universal propositions, it is on the other hand a practical advantage, since theories can only assist and guide practice (the art of living) if they are abstract. Let us recall once again that theories are general, exemplary representations of reality, neither directly operational nor correct per se but instead abstract and provisional. They offer no specific, on-point assistance to practice, no sample solutions, no best practices. Scientific findings cannot be put into practice without adaptation. And it is important to realise that theories and models cannot in fact be provided for all possible situations and their optimal solutions. Scientific knowledge can offer guidance and assistance to practice only when it draws abstract conclusions from individual cases and puts general aspects ‘into play’. For the professional, these perspectives show not only the complexity of the situation but also other possibilities for action – and in multiple ways: theories equip

234  Jörg Zirfas the professional life artist to understand and analyse actions more effectively and to compare them to other perspectives and situations; they also assist the artist in more firmly structuring these actions and in better justifying them, both to him-/herself and to others. And, not least, they facilitate expounding and discussing situations, leading to the creation and mastery of patterns of action. Simply put, there is nothing better for practice than a good scientific theory.

Classical approaches to the art of living In antiquity, the healing arts were a good example of such a scientific theory in service of the art of living. Ancient dietetics, along with medical treatment (pharmaceutics) and manual treatment (surgery), were the three pillars of ancient healing arts. These constituted the point of departure for the art of living. Health was deemed to involve not only the proper mix of humours (the fluids of blood, phlegm, yellow, and black bile) but also balanced harmony amongst body, soul, and mind in addition to external and internal balance. Through these concepts, the healing arts dictated maxims on living not only for life artists in antiquity but also throughout the Middle Ages and even into the early modern period: maxims having to do with appropriate measure and a balance of quantity and quality. The ancient Greek doctrine of mesótēs (middle, mean) refers to the proper proportion of bodily fluids and bodily energies; diseases are deemed the result of too little or too much fluid or energy. Health is viewed as the symmetry of energies, the harmonious combination of bodily humours, the mean between two extremes. Medical standards for the art of living, unlike norms found in the religious arts and in teachings on the art of living, advance no strict dichotomies between right and wrong, good and evil, beauty and ugliness, etc., proposing instead gradual ethics involving ‘more’ or ‘less’, ‘as well as’, or better or worse relations. The ancient (and medieval and early modern) arts of living are ethics of moderation and equilibrium (cf. Nussbaum 1994). In their prescriptions on diet, both Plato’s doctrine on virtue, which refers to the ‘justice’ or ‘symmetry’ of mind, body, and soul and above all the Aristotelian teaching on moderation and mean, combine a vision of body and soul that involves philosophy as an art of living and medicine as an art of healing. It is primarily Aristotle who incorporates this medicinal model of moderation into his reflections on ethics, in which virtues are associated with appropriate, restrained demeanour. Of significance to this doctrine is the Aristotelian concept of telos (purpose) in which the ‘proper combination’ or ‘proper amount’ is a condition for a human being to satisfy the true purpose of living a thoughtful life. Achievement of purpose (entelechy) requires the alignment of bodily humours and moral energies. Against this background, the art of living can be defined as a professionalised and real-life-oriented form of conducting one’s life that seeks to achieve a quantitative and qualitative balance of forces in their proper

Knowledge and science in the art of living  235 proportions. The centrepiece of these exercises is the concept that a happy life only becomes possible through persistent formation of true and reasonable attitudes, since passions and perceptions must be transformed to ensure that life is sufficiently ordered and stable. Such transformational exercises include: • literary exercises to concentrate attentiveness to specific tenets; to this end, some schools of philosophy promoted the practice of memorising passages from important philosophers; • dialogical exercises consisting of mutual conversations (frequently between/amongst friends or in schools) regarding goals, contents, and execution of a successful life; • monological exercises involving conversations with oneself, self-­ examinations and self-critical sentiments; important educational objectives in this regard included self-accusation, self-relativization, and self-distancing; • imaging exercises played a role, as learners attempted to gain sway over attitudes, emotions, and dreams by evoking certain mental pictures, thus apparently causing feelings to predominate that ‘it would be possible to mitigate impending evil through imaginary anticipation. By preparing oneself mentally for the possibility of unfavourable events, one minimises the element of surprise and consequently the feeling of helplessness, should the evil in fact materialise’ (Horn 1988: 38). This perspective primarily relates to the anticipation of disease and death as well as the elimination of annoyances and unpleasant experiences; • physical exercises, most of which involve inurement against cold and heat, enduring hunger and thirst, simplification of dietary practices, sleep reduction, renunciation of pleasures, and tolerance of pain. The primary objective of the art of living from ancient to modern times concerns making dietetic, medicinal, psychological, religious, and not least philosophical recommendations of measures for behavioural self-control. These involve mental healing of emotions, living in the present and overcoming the fear of death, gaining independence from external circumstances, and achieving awareness and reflection (cf. Horn 1988: 31ff., 40; cf. Hadot 1981: 13–47). These behavioural measures exist on different levels. Three of these forms appear to have had special relevance: a hermeneutical-reflective form of self-care that was intended to produce an understanding and selfcritical attitude towards oneself and others but also towards the (perhaps political but in Christian circles secular) world (theoria), specific exercises and interactions involving ‘pleasures’ and passions (praxis), and, finally, the design of a beautiful, restrained life that can also serve as an exemplar (poesis). Once again bearing in mind the ancient philosophy of moderation or the mean, this is above all a matter of avoiding extremes: in this way, we

236  Jörg Zirfas find prudence positioned between licentiousness and emotional hebetude, equity between wrongdoing and the suffering of injustice, and even courage between foolhardiness and cowardice. The starting point for these (primarily Aristotelian) reflections is a pair of extreme opposites between which a middle ground or mean is sought. How this moderation is obtained en detail and how it is subsequently translated into practical living must be casuistically determined on a case-by-case basis. The (medicinal) ethics of moderation provide a scientifically general and regulative context only for those cases where the person acts in accordance with the rules of experience and wisdom. The art of living offers a very comprehensive concept of moderation regarding coherence, constancy, consequence, and concentration in lifestyles and life activities to ensure oversight and security in all life situations.

Modern approaches to the art of living In antiquity, philosophy made less of an impression in theoretical doctrines and arguments (λόγοι, logoi) than it did in individual actions and activities (έργα, erga) and in lifestyle and behaviour (βίος, bios) (cf. Sellars 2003: 32). As a rule, philosophical exercises were performed systematically and under supervision; the art of living was a way of life that was grounded in askese (exercise) and melete (care) and ultimately directed towards a life of contentment or one that was distinguished by well-being and happiness (ibid.: 168). The art of living was therefore focused less on theoretical (έπιστήμη, episteme) than on practical knowledge (φρόνησις, phronesis; σοφία, sophia). Only in the Middle Ages did an increasingly stark contrast develop between theoretical and practical philosophy – a contrast that is now receding under reflexive modern or post-modern trends. And even in the present day, the issue of moderation in the art of living remains present in many situations: whenever models involve economic aspects, questions concerning a restrained lifestyle come immediately to the fore. The discussion then turns to aspects of ‘too much’ and ‘too little’, of ‘overstatement’ and ‘understatement’, of ‘excessive’ and ‘insufficient’. These aspects are virulent in their perceptions and interpretations but also in their evaluations and, lastly, in patterns of action. There appears to be an implicit bias in favour of a balanced art of living (cf. Gödde and Zirfas 2016: 672ff.). Nevertheless, in modernism we find logical bases of the art of living not only in moderation but also in growth. Utilitarianism offers perhaps the most prominent example of this. In the first chapter of his An Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation (1781), Jeremy Bentham explains the central utilitarian tenet as follows: By the principle of utility is meant that principle which approves or disapproves of every action whatsoever. According to the tendency, it appears to have to augment or diminish the happiness of the party whose interest is in question: or, what is the same thing in other words,

Knowledge and science in the art of living  237 to promote or to oppose that happiness. [. . .] By utility is meant that property in any object, whereby it tends to produce benefit, advantage, pleasure, good, or happiness, (all this in the present case comes to the same thing) or (what comes again to the same thing) to prevent the happening of mischief, pain, evil, or unhappiness to the party whose interest is considered. (Bentham 1823: 2) Amongst the criteria to be used in calculating an action’s overall utility, Bentham initially identifies the duration, intensity, and likelihood of happiness or unhappiness. Whilst quantity was solely decisive for Bentham in the art of living, his student Mill advanced the thesis that consideration of the quality of cultural, intellectual, and spiritual elements was also essential. Where Bentham (1825: 206) stated: ‘The game of push-pin is of equal value with the arts and science of music and poetry. If the game of push-pin furnish more pleasure, it is more valuable than either’, Mill maintains: It is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied. And if the fool or the pig think otherwise, that is because they know only their own side of the question. The other party to the comparison knows both sides. (Mill 2001: 13) Several problems are bound up with utilitarianism: one must determine whether general well-being relates more powerfully to the quantity or the quality of the utility, whether it is more effectively explained through reference to individual actions or operational rules, and whether it is more firmly based on hedonism than on theoretical preference; and then the question is raised to what extent the happiness found in the art of living can be calculated in the light of the requisites for happiness; the problem of the uneven distribution of happiness and misery in society of course exists, and yet it is possible to achieve a greater balance of social happiness by magnifying the uneven distribution of income. Finally, one may ask to what extent the hedonic calculus can lead to an endlessly augmentable balance of happiness. However, the art of living can be described in economic terms not only using utilitarian categories but also based on perspectives on the balance of happiness, as we find again in the concepts of satisfaction vs. well-being, encompassing both the present state as well as biographical development. Whilst well-being focuses more strongly on the emotional dimension of the experience of generally comprehensive conditions and developments of happiness, the notion of satisfaction is inclined in the direction of a cognitive factor of well-being in which the balance rests at the midpoint where aspirational and achieved goals meet. Thus, one generally speaks on the one hand of happiness in life as a sustained feeling of well-being and on the other of

238  Jörg Zirfas satisfaction in life as the rational reflection on this feeling. In this discourse, an important role is played both by short-term, intensive, positive emotions arising from the experience of happiness and by longer-term experiences developed throughout one’s life and biographical patterns of well-being (cf. Zirfas 2011). Achievement of happiness in the art of living, whether viewed as well-being or satisfaction, depends on the (more or less) continuous fulfilment of one’s own life plan, individual goals, desires, and expectations. Traditionally – in other words, since the philosophy of Stoicism – two ways of dealing with this issue have emerged: one stressing augmentation of the number of achieved goals, the other focused on reducing the quantity of desires and expectations. It is the latter approach, as represented especially by Stoicism but also by Epicureanism, that has come to predominate in Western ideals and social history. And quantitative and qualitative elements can be recognised even in the concept of the happy and beautiful life or the life that is worthy of affirmation. As the main learning objective of the art of living, the capacity for self-determination (self-fulfilment, self-actualisation) appears as the possibility of undertaking important schemes or the opportunity to devote one’s life to activities for their own purpose and the related affirmation of a life that, by achieving a certain number of goals, leads to a positive balance of happiness. As a result, those who have broadly (quantitatively) and freely (qualitatively) achieved their self-determined desires are seen to have lived a beautiful and happy life. Put another way: those who lead such a life are those who have frequently made the right life choices. In this light, the question at the centre of the art of living concerns one’s decision to make such a life possible (Schmid 1999: 188ff.). The practice of the art of living provokes questions regarding the possibilities and realities surrounding that decision, the assessment of substantive alternatives, the resetting of other goals of one’s own, and options for self-affirmation and self-projection. It appears significant that the self-determined choice to pursue happiness and beauty is centrally decisive in controlling one’s possibilities for living and growing (cf. Zirfas 2007). Factors that must be considered include overriding connections amongst options, the provenance of these options, the context of their rationales, and their perspectives. In addition, the question of what sort of life one wishes to lead is linked to the question of what sort of person one wishes to become. Interwoven with these are questions regarding freedom and the selection of criteria, objectives, evaluations, approaches, etc. Seen from modern perspectives on the art of living, the individual is faced with a constantly recurring set of options in a game of necessity – whether a decision is needed at all without being able to appeal to a categorical model for living – and simultaneously in a game of possibilities – to be able to decide on a specific way of life in which various alternative roles are available. The central questions in the art of living include: how can I lead my life, how are connections formed that make life

Knowledge and science in the art of living  239 worth living, what choices do I have, who am I, what is my understanding of life, what specifically can I do? In essence, according to Schmid, individual happiness in life, the experience of one’s own purpose and well-being, does not result from being temporarily ‘happy’ – i.e., randomly achieving superficial benefits. Life’s happiness is only attainable through recognition of one’s actual possibilities and through making an autonomous and wise choice. For these reasons, Schmid borrows several notions from classical treatises on the art of living, rendering his own art of living very sophisticated in both a theoretical and practical sense: in this way, he describes consideration of power structures as the ‘sophistic element’ of the art of living, a dialogical approach as its ‘Socratic-Platonic element’, sensitive and reflective choice as its ‘Aristotelian element’. The broadest possible access to oneself and one’s own life in the sense of self-empowerment (autarchy) and consequently one’s necessary work to change and consolidate oneself (ascesis) represent the cynic element in the reflective art of living, leading to modern thinking on autonomy. (ibid.: 52) And other elements therefore appear as options in a reflective art of living, including the ‘Epicurean element’ characterised by the calculation and selection of pleasures, the ‘essayistic element’ derived from Montaigne’s experimental endeavours, and the ‘sceptical element’ questioning supposedly correct knowledge and actions. Against this backdrop, Schmid (1995: 530) distinguishes a series of dimensions of self-care: self-receptive, self-reflexive, ascetic, parrhesiastic, mutative, prospective, presentive, political, and educational; taken together, these serve once more to underscore the complexity of the art of living. These aspects lead ultimately to consideration of the ‘fulfilled life’ (Schmid 1999: 94). A ‘quantitative substantialism’ (Fellmann 2009: 141) is implied here that may be understood as the economic sum of pleasure-oriented moments, the function of which is to give life an immanent purpose. In exaggeration, it may be stated thusly: whoever succeeds in fashioning life’s moments into a permanent chain of pleasurable events has achieved a fulfilled life. But even here, questions must be raised: what criteria should ultimately guide the decisions of life? To what extent must the art of living take the flexibility of other new perspectives on living or the coherence and continuity of one’s own life course into consideration? And finally: can life be understood merely as a container of human moments, or does it not also hold true that its different time horizons and time structures must also be given consideration?

Human life Even modern times – or exactly these – require an art of living (cf. Gödde and Zirfas 2014). In fact, such a practice is in great demand when life

240  Jörg Zirfas becomes decreasingly self-evident, when traditions, conventions and norms lose their persuasiveness and individuals begin to fend for themselves. The art of living has at its core a practical purpose: it is ultimately not a matter of constructing a grand theory of magna moralia but rather of promoting the modest practice of an ars vivendi that also focuses – and precisely so – on everyday human life. The art of living is epistemologically complex, combining theoretical and practical reflections, quantitative and qualitative thinking, intentional and intuitive knowledge. It is theoria, praxis, and poiesis. The art of living is necessarily complex because human life is itself complex, dealing with questions of self-determination and heteronomy, of contrasts and contradictions, of vulnerability and finality (cf. Wulf and Zirfas 2008). It is through experiences that have to do with human self-determination, inconsistency, and finality that the art of living acquires significance. To achieve this, however, more is needed than just scientific findings, practical exercises, and aesthetically pleasing life forms. Also required is belief in one’s own convictions and choices. And one additionally needs the courage to run the risk of living a life that can also result in disappointment and pain.

References Aristotle. 1999. Nicomachean Ethics, transl. by W. D. Ross. Kitchener: Batoche Books. Bentham, Jeremy. 1823. Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation. Oxford: Clarendon Press. ———. 1825. The Rationale of Reward. London: C.H. Reynell. Brenner, Andreas, and Jörg Zirfas. 2002. Lexikon der Lebenskunst. Leipzig: Reclam. Fellmann, Ferdinand. 2009. Philosophie der Lebenskunst. Zur Einführung. Hamburg: Junius. Gödde, Günter, and Jörg Zirfas (eds.). 2014. Lebenskunst im 20. Jahrhundert. Stimmen von Philosophen, Künstlern und Therapeuten. Munich: Fink. ———. 2016. Therapeutik und Lebenskunst. Eine psychologisch-philosophische Grundlegung. Gießen: Psychosozial Verlag. Hadot, Pierre. 1981. Philosophie als Lebensform. Antike und moderne Exerzitien der Weisheit. Frankfurt am Main: Fischer Taschenbuch Verlag. Horn, Christoph. 1988. Antike Lebenskunst. Glück und Moral von Sokrates bis zu den Neuplatonikern. Munich: Beck. Kraus, Anja, Budde Jürgen, Maud Hietzge, and Christoph Wulf (eds.). 2017. Handbuch Schweigendes Wissen. Weinheim and Basel: Beltz Juventa. Mill, John Stuart. 2001 (1863). Utilitarianism. Kitchener: Batoche Books. Nussbaum, Martha. 1994. The Therapy of Desire: Theory and Practice in Hellenistic Ethics. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Polanyi, Michael. 1961. The Tacit Dimension. New York: Garden City. Schmid, Wilhelm. 1995. ‘Art. Selbstsorge’, in J. Ritter and K. Gründer (eds.), Historisches Wörterbuch der Philosophie, vol. 9, 528–535. Basel: Schwabe. ———. 1999. Philosophie der Lebenskunst. Eine Grundlegung. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp Verlag.

Knowledge and science in the art of living  241 Sellars, John. 2003. The Art of Living: The Stoics on the Nature and Function of Philosophy. Aldershot and Burlington: Ashgate. Weniger, Erich. 1952. ‘Theorie und Praxis in der Erziehung’, in Ders.: Die Eigenständigkeit der Erziehung in Theorie und Praxis, 7–22. Weinheim: Beltz. Wulf, Christoph, and Jörg Zirfas (eds.). 2008. Paragrana. Internationale Zeitschrift für Historische Anthropologie. vol. 17 (Book 2): Das menschliche Leben. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Zirfas, Jörg. 2007. ‘In Schönheit leben und sterben. Ästhetische Bildung der Lebenskunst’, in E. Liebauand and J. Zirfas (eds.), Schönheit. Traum – Kunst – Bildung, 236–268. Bielefeld: Transcript Verlag. ———. 2011. ‘Zur Pädagogik der Glücksgefühle. Ein Beitrag zum Pursuit of Happiness’, Zeitschrift für Erziehungswissenschaft 14(Book 2): 223–240.

15 Transforming knowledge into cognitive basis of policies A cosmopolitan from below approach* Vando Borghi Introduction The chapter aims at focusing on the process of transformation of knowledge – something intrinsically heterogeneous, ranging from its specific embeddedness in situated experiences to a more abstract and universal nature – into what Amartya Sen defines as ‘informational basis for judgment and justice’, that is, the informational basis that policies and public action are based on. This is a crucial process, since it strongly contributes to frame the territory over which policies are going to intervene, establishing how the borders of this territory have to be drawn, what has to be included and what can be dropped off into the area of legitimate social, political and bureaucratic indifference. Such a process has to be historically and sociologically situated, in order to fully understand the way actors’ capacities are implied in it. In the first part, we contextualise the way knowledge interplays with the world-making processes analysing the so-called epistemological trap of trajectorism. This latter in fact characterises the field of tension configured by the capitalist mode of translating the space of possibility opened by modernity, leading towards a mechanical – according to Anna Tsing’s words (2012), a ‘scalability’ – conception of this interplay and the way informational basis is extracted from knowledge. Looking for alternative strategies, an approach inspired from a cosmopolitanism from below is then explored, according to which citizens’ capacities – in terms of capacity to aspire – can be actively involved in the process of transformation of knowledge into informational basis. A redefinition of the knowledge production process in terms of human right to research seems to be the direction to be addressed in order to empower this relationship between capacity and knowledge. Social sciences can find a promising challenge of revitalisation in reframing themselves in this direction.

Knowledge and modernity: the trap of trajectorism Any exploration of such huge issues – as it is the relationship between knowledge and human capacity – has of course to be contextualised and located in space and time. The context in which the relationship between

Transforming knowledge  243 knowledge and capacity has to be placed is the long history of modernity and of the way the space of possibilities (concerning individualisation, freedom, autonomy, self-determination, etc.) that modernity opened was and today still is ‘translated’ by capitalism. We are here referring to the perspective according to which the continuous process of ‘establishment of market relations where hitherto there were none’ (Streeck 2012: 6) is always a process of translation ‘of diverse life-worlds and conceptual horizons about being human’ (Chakrabarty 2000: 71) in the dominant material and immaterial interpretation of that horizon of possibility. Modernity has indeed to be assumed as ‘a situation, self-created by human beings committed to the modern ideas of autonomy and mastery, in which a certain interpretation of these ideas prevails over others’ (Wagner 2001: 24). Modernity and capitalism draw a field of tension (Borghi and Mezzadra 2011) in which our common life is constitutively submerged. In such a field, the ‘trap of trajectorism’ (Appadurai 2013: Chapter 11), is always in ambush. Trajectorism is strictly interwoven with Western ways of thinking, being and doing. It works as a deep ‘epistemological and ontological habit’, according to which the world’s becoming always has a direction, and it goes from here to there according to a cumulative evolution. Trajectorism is the idea that time’s arrow inevitably has a telos, and in that telos are to be found all the significant patterns of change, process and history. Modern social science inherits this telos and turns it into a method for the study of humanity. This evolutionary perspective takes the form of the post-Renaissance European idea of modernity, ‘which requires complete global expansion for its own inner logic to be revealed and justified’ (idem 225). The destination of this trajectory is clearly fixed from the beginning, written in the image with which the European and Western world self-portrayed. In this perspective, knowledge is rooted in a vision of progressive expansion and naturalisation of ‘scalability’1 (Tsing 2012) as a historically dominant conceiving, knowing and world-making. According to the scalability mode of linking knowledge and transformation of the world, the key aspect of that mode is ‘the ability to expand – and expand and expand – without rethinking basic elements’ (ibid. 505): scalable projects ‘are those that can expand without changing. [. . .] Scalability projects banish meaningful diversity, which is to say, diversity that might change things’ (ibid. 507). The possibility to conceive the relationship between knowledge and worldmaking in order to give space and role to this ‘meaningful diversity’ is the issue at stake in the exploration of this chapter.

Knowledge in the many histories of modernity and capitalism: looking for cosmopolitanism from below However, next and woven into this linear, universal and homogenous historical space, what Dipesh Chakrabarty (2000) identifies as History 1, there always exist other histories (‘History 2’) that ‘inhere in capital and

244  Vando Borghi yet interrupt and punctuate the run of capital’s own logic’ (ibid. 64). In this sense, for instance, a specific labourer embodies simultaneously both History 1 (as daily reproducing the logic of capital acting as abstract labour) and History 2 (as a historically, socially and culturally concrete person who can ‘enact other ways of being in the world – other than, that is, being the bearer of the labor power’). So, the idea of History 2 ‘gives us a ground on which to situate our thoughts about multiple ways of being human and their relationship to the global logic of capital’ (ibid. 67). This approach to the historical process2 enables us to recognise the constitutive plurality of modernity, to conceive this latter as structurally a field of a struggle about the meaning of being modern and to understand modernity ‘not that much as an “unfinished project”, but rather [. . .] as a contested field’ (Mezzadra 2011: 153). Moreover, this perspective points out a space of possibilities (Santos 2007) that changes throughout the time but that is always and everywhere present. In this sense, History 1 and History 2, considered together, destroy the usual topological distinction of the outside and the inside that marks debates about whether or not the whole world can be properly said to have fallen under the sway of capital. Nor is it something subsumed into capital. It lives in intimate and plural relationships to capital, ranging from opposition to neutrality. (Chakrabarty 2000: 65–66) On the one side, this interpretation of the historical process leads to the need of reflexive effort in order to de-colonise the analytical tools through which we define and research our own experience and meaning of the social world (Connell 2006; Rodriguez et al. 2010). On the other side, it enables another intellectual strategy as well, going in a different direction. Whereas the first one emphasises critical resources for escaping the trap of trajectorism coming from outside the Western experience, this second strategy aims at pointing out critical potentialities that, even if forgotten or marginalised by the capitalist translation of modernity, are (have been) internal to Western experience or in its tradition, that we have wrest away ‘from the conformism that is working to overpower it’ (Benjamin [1940] 2006: 391). As Boaventura de Sousa Santos stressed (2009: 106), many of the problems confronting the world today result not only from the waste of experience that the West imposed upon the world by force but also from the waste of experience that it imposed upon itself to sustain its own imposing upon the others. Thus, according to this perspective, the alternative epistemological path about the relationship between knowledge and world-making is not something already existing and structured, somewhere out there in the world, possibly far from the centre and the Northern point of view, such as in an

Transforming knowledge  245 imaginary unified theory from the global South.3 As Connell says (2006: 262) with regard to the specific field of the sociological knowledge, one of the problems about northern theory is its characteristic idea that theory must be monological, declaring the one truth in one voice. It seems to me that a genuinely global sociology must be, at the level of theory as well as empirical research and practical application, more like a conversation among many voices. Beyond any specific disciplinary field, the direction in which we are invited to look is that one of cosmopolitanism, in which this ‘conversation among many voices’ aiming at avoiding the trap of trajectorism and the imperialistic epistemology of scalability could be fully developed. However, as already stressed, any definition of the relationship between knowledge and worldmaking has to be situated in the socio-historical field of tension produced by the continuous translation of modernity into capitalist form of life. In this situation, knowledge and knowledge-making are not universally and equally accessible. On the one hand, there are inequalities to access the already existing and codified knowledge; on the other hand, there are huge social differences concerning the process of transformation of different forms of knowledge, mainly resulting from the experiences that also the most poor and deprived social actors do of their own problems, into an informational basis. More generally, our self-claiming ‘knowledge societies’ (Innerarity 2013) are experiencing relevant problems of democratically articulating the relationship between knowledge and policy. Moreover, due to the intense ‘datafication’ of everyday activities, a dramatic problem ‘is the factual asymmetry regarding access to, and processing capabilities of, such data’ (Adolf and Stehr 2018: 8, 10; Fourcade and Healy 2013). We will better explore this point later in this chapter; however, it should be stressed that this dramatic inequality concerning the transformation of knowledge (what and of whom?) into pertinent and relevant information for the policymaking process pushes to more precisely qualify the cosmopolitanism we are looking for. The cosmopolitanism needed in this condition of inequality is what Arjun Appadurai (2013: 212) defines as cosmopolitanism from below: a form of ‘deep democracy’ aiming at transforming the ‘constitutional bourgeois ideals into daily forms of consciousness and behavior, in which debate can be respectfully conducted; in which the voices of the weak, the very poor, and particularly women are accorded full regard’ and in which these voices can fully take part in the social production of knowledge and information framing the policymaking mechanisms.

Informational basis as a field for cosmopolitanism from below Following the direction we are sketching here, we identify in the cognitive dimension – that is, the transformation of knowledge into usable information4 – of the policy-making process a crucial terrain for pursuing

246  Vando Borghi a cosmopolitanism from below. The relationship between the cognitive dimension and policies in their broad sense is indeed systematic and pervasive. At the same time, it is a crucial relationship, as it encapsulates (intentionally or not) fundamental evaluations concerning social justice that have effects in many different spheres of social and individual experience. Policies, public action, social measures and programs, in other words what is at stake in the public realm and in the public debate, are based on cognitive bases remaining implicit and obscure. The political nature of these cognitive bases is naturalised framing and presenting them as mere technical matters. Those decisions and actions (policies, public actions, programs, socioeconomic plans, etc.) are legitimated in a context of common knowledge – that is a socio-historical product – in which specific unquestioned cognitive bases are assumed: quantitative, standardised, abstract, performance referred knowledge, in the shape of statistics, indexes, benchmarking and other formalised and quantified devices of governance, are strongly hegemonic. But, and here lies the need of a research program, focusing on the conventions5 – i.e., structures of meaning through which a situation or a condition can be defined, classified, categorised and also calculated – on which (also) these quantitative devices are based remain outside of the public realm. The issues here introduced have been already authoritatively discussed. Dealing with them, Amartya Sen underlines that collectively relevant decisions and actions always incorporate and use informational basis of judgement for justice (IBJJ): A fundamental concept in this analysis is that of the ‘informational foundation’ of an evaluative system. In each evaluative structure, some types of factual matters are taken to be important in themselves, others not so. The former variables, which reflect the basic ends in that specific evaluative system, constitute the ‘informational basis’ of evaluative judgements in that system. (Sen 1991: 16) In this sense, the IBJJ is at the very core of any process of evaluation, be it exercised about issues of social policy, labour policy or others. What does it count as information when specific social policies have to be designed and delivered, a measure of labour policy is planned, labour forces have to be mobilised and their work must be organised, the quality and the safeness of a working environment has to be evaluated, a urban square or street has to be restructured, etc.? And what does not count, that is what does the dominant mode of policymaking/delivering consider marginal or irrelevant information; what kind of cognitive holes and of ignorance are politically and bureaucratically transformed in legitimated areas of indifference? Returning again to Sen’s (1999: 56–57) words: [e]ach evaluative approach can, to a great extent, be characterized by its informational basis: the information that is needed for making judgments

Transforming knowledge  247 using that approach and – no less important – the information that is ‘excluded’ from a direct evaluative role in that approach. Informational exclusions are important constituents of an evaluative approach. The excluded information is not permitted to have any direct influence on evaluative judgments, and while this is usually done in an implicit way, the character of the approach may be strongly influenced by insensitivity to the excluded information. [. . .] In fact, the real ‘bite’ of a theory of justice can, to a great extent, be understood from its informational base: what information is – or is not – taken to be directly relevant. A cosmopolitan from below approach to these issues should focus both on the general process according to which some knowledge is transformed into information and some not and the many ways the results of this transformation, objectified and embodied in a growing plurality of technobureaucratic devices (codes, indexes, benchmarks, standards and so on and so forth) affect our daily social life (Lampland et al. 2009; Timmermans and Epstein 2010; Beer 2017). Our common daily life is indeed increasingly conditioned by the diverse experiences of the ‘governance by numbers’ (Supiot 2015) and by the growing neo-liberal bureaucratisation of our daily working activities (Hibou 2012). In this sense, the cognitive dimension is more and more absorbed in a process of privatisation, since the many devices in which it is incorporated (standards, codes, technical procedures) are produced and circulated by private organisations and agencies (Singer 1996; Brunsson and Jacobsson 2000; Ong and Collier 2005; Fourcade 2017; Beer 2016). More in general, we can observe an intense transformation of knowledge into formatted (objectified, technical) information, efficiently concurring to a ‘managerial mode of domination’, that ‘consists in continually altering the contours of reality as if to inscribe the world in it, as a site of constant change’ (Boltanski 2011: 123, 127; Fourcade and Healy 2017).

Human right to research and (sociological) knowledge The relationship between the perspective addressing the informational basis and the role of knowledge (production and accessing) for the more excluded, marginal, subaltern voices and experiences is rather direct and it should be immediately at the centre of any approach inspired by a cosmopolitanism from below. As it is for Sen’s focus on the informational basis, the concept of capacity too plays a crucial role in many efforts for reframing, in a cosmopolitan from below perspective, not a rhetorical meaning of ‘knowledge societies’. With regard to this latter aspect, at stake is the relationship between culture – as a specific capability, the ‘capacity to aspire’ according to which culture has a pragmatic nature and an orientation to the future, to the more or less open horizon of possibility – and voice, defined as ‘the capacity to debate, contest, inquire, and participate critically’ (Appadurai 2013: 189). Developing the cultural capacity of people, in terms of enhancing people’s ‘capacity to aspire’, means reframing individuals’ (in particular, the poorest and more excluded)

248  Vando Borghi range of possibilities for action, escaping the destiny and refusing the apparently ‘natural’ moral or political orders their social condition seems to condemn them to. The worth of Appadurai’s research about ‘capacity to aspire’, with regards to our perspective on IBJJ, consists in showing how capacity to aspire and voice intertwine and reinforce each other (Bifulco 2013: 183). This reinforcement produces a qualitative concrete transformation of knowledge and of informational basis concerning the issues on which capacity to aspire and voice are exercised. It makes space for a ‘politics of need interpretation’ (Fraser 1989), in order to enable poor, marginal, excluded citizens to elaborate their own strategies for defining and representing problematic realities, bonds and possibilities, to actively enter the public sphere, to change the terms of recognition and, in this way, to reframe IBJJ itself. According to such a perspective and in the context of self-claiming ‘knowledge societies’, the relationship between research, citizens’ knowledge and the ways knowledge is processed (or not) in order to become the informational basis of policies should be strongly reconceived. In a cosmopolitan-frombelow-inspired reframing of this relationship, it should be addressed in terms of human right to research (Appadurai 2013). This right pertains both to the researchers and their publics as a shared, collective and public responsibility. It is in this arena, in this space of collective building and pursuing of the human right to research, that the ‘public sociology’ – that takes place everywhere there is a ‘process of mutual education’ between sociologists and their publics (Burawoy 2005: 8) – can be concretely pursued and realised. More generally, regarding the issues we are discussing here, the central role of social sciences (in pragmatist6 interpretation) and of sociology in particular are particularly evident, as they ‘are called to produce the informational basis required by the permanent process of reconstruction of the public sphere’ (Zimmerman 2006: 481). Reframed in terms of cosmopolitanism from below, research ‘is not only the production of original ideas and new knowledge (as it is normally defined in academia and other knowledge-based institutions)’ but it consists also in ‘the capacity to systematically increase the horizons of one’s current knowledge, in relation to some task, goal, or aspiration’ (Appadurai 2013: 282). So, a human right to research concerns ‘the right to the tools through which any citizen can systematically increase that stock of knowledge which they consider most vital to their survival as human beings and to their claims as citizens’ (ibid. 270). The relationship between citizens’ capacity to aspire and knowledge is then very evident, as without aspiration ‘there is no pressure to know more. And without systematic tools for gaining relevant new knowledge, aspiration degenerates into fantasy or despair’ (ibid. 283).

Sociology, critique and cosmopolitanism from below The cosmopolitanism from below here explored still represents a minority way of combining Northern and Southern thought and experience (Rao and

Transforming knowledge  249 Woolcock 2007). However, it promises to be a very effective perspective for renewing the ‘interpretative space’ introduced by modernity (Wagner 2001) and for a critique of the dominant capitalist mode of translating autonomy and mastery, without substituting it with an already structured monological7 theoretical system. Experiences of social injustices are many and heterogeneous, including not only the sociologically well ‘codified’ cases of exploitation linked to working conditions but also people not having access to wage labour and ‘those who face land expulsions, water privatization, and more broadly, degradation of the environment’ (Burawoy 2008: 384). What kind of knowledge do these peoples elaborate of their own experience? How can research contribute to the capacity to aspire of these individuals? In which way could their voices and their knowledge be transformed into cognitive basis for the policy-making processes? Here lies a huge and challenging field of work for a sociology that doesn’t renounce its critical nature, considering that whatever the relationship between sociology and critique is, it ‘should be about pertinent questions and not about correct answers’ (Schuurman 2009: 841). Recalling again Burawoy’s searching for unifying different vocabularies of social injustice, any uncertain and troubled attempts of looking for a common language – in order to unify the many and disparate experiences of social injustices of those facing the last wave of commodification – certainly ask for a sociological (beyond other social sciences) intervention. Here is the terrain for exploring the possibilities for that dialogue among many voices, beyond any epistemological (more than geographical) divide between any type of North and any type of South, in which consists a real ‘world sociology’ (Connell 2010). Sociologists can play a relevant role, putting under their critical lens the process through which (some) knowledge becomes (or not) a cognitive basis and developing the right to research. In this role, using Bauman’s terms (as Burawoy himself does, 2008: 385), sociologists should act more as sensitive interpreter than as omniscient legislator, a sensitive interpreter interested in the co-evolution between her/ his own scientific vocabulary and the heterogeneous knowledge resulting from social actors’ experience of different issues. Deepening the relationship between sociology and critique, Luc Boltanski (2011) draws a seminal map of the possible sociological posture of observation. His map presents some possible configurations of the ways the relationship between sociology and critique can be structured, shedding light as well on the terrain concerning the issues – reframing the transformation of knowledge into informational basis and the role the human right to research plays at this regard – here discussed. Briefly said, Boltanski (2011: 75–76) identifies two possibilities for dealing with the social reality as (critical) researcher. The first one consists of describing ‘a social world already there’. It is a model working as a cartography of structures, in which any individual is thrown, structuring and conditioning actors’ behaviour at their shoulders, in this way to what Chakrabarty describes in terms of a historical narrative (History 1) resulting from the unfolding of the abstract logic of capitalist development: a history

250  Vando Borghi already made, in which all places and persons are ‘exchangeable with one another’ (Chakrabarty 2000: 71). Here, descriptions are drawn from the top, ‘more or less bracketing human persons envisaged insofar as they act (as actors)’ (Boltanski 2011: 43–44). A second configuration results in a description according to which reality is ‘a social world in the process of being made’. Taking seriously into account the ways individuals enact and perform their reality, pointing out their ‘moral economy’ (Thompson 1974; Fourcade 2017), a pragmatic sociology will enlighten individuals’ interactive and interpretive competences, and History 2 ‘beckons us to more affective narratives of human belonging’, in which life forms cannot be exhaustively subsumed in the abstract categories of History 1. Descriptions are carried ‘from below’, and their privileged objects are situations, prioritising ‘actors’ interactive and interpretative competence’ (Boltanski 2011: 44). Whereas the first strategy of description corresponds to a traditional critical sociological perspective, the second one corresponds to a sociology of critical capacities, as it is developed in particular by the French pragmatic approach to sociology (Boltanski and Thévenot 2006). Beyond their own limits and strengths, we need to combine both the critical sociology’s program and the pragmatic sociology’s program. However, a third further possibility can be added to these two, based on what Burawoy (2005: 264) defines as ‘organic public sociology’. This latter represents, of course, a rather different approach to the issues we are exploring here. According to an ‘organic public sociology’ perspective, the sociologist works in close connection with a visible, thick, active, local and often counter-public. The bulk of public sociology is indeed of an organic kind – sociologists working with a labor movement, neighborhood associations, communities of faith, immigrant rights groups, human rights organizations. Between the organic public sociologist and a public is a dialogue, a process of mutual education. [. . .] The project of such public sociologies is to make visible the invisible, to make the private public, to validate these organic connections as part of our sociological life. (Burawoy, 2005: 7–8) More than the traditional picture of the ‘engaged intellectual’, what we could remind here, considering issues of relationship between researcher and field of research, is the feature of a ‘reflexive practitioner’ (Schön 1983). Inspired by the feature of that professional, we can conceive the sociologist as a researcher engaged in (inter)action, who refuses to confine her/his role into a technical problem-solution (even if ‘engaged’) sociological expertise8 and who is involved in all the phases a public goes through when facing a problematic situation, from the problem-setting to the problem-solution ones: an involvement in which she/he has to combine her/his specific competence that ranges from the description ‘from the top’ and that one ‘from

Transforming knowledge  251 Table 15.1  Sociology and informational basis framework

social world definition

researchers’ practice

critical sociology

narrative of a world already made

sociology of critical capacities

narrative of a world in the process of being made

cosmopolitanism from below

enacting a world of co-evolving (scholars/ publics) practices (possible worlds)

a description, from the top, of objective social structures; critique as expertise a description, from below, of actors’ (critical) competences; critique as structural part of social life a mutual education (scholars/publics) aiming at possible world-making

Source: our elaboration, based on Boltanski 2011; Burawoy 2005.

below’ to a third kind of (critical) effort that is the ‘reflection-in-action’, developing and growing through, in Burawoy’s words, a ‘process of mutual education’ between the sociologist and their public. Thus, summarising possible strategies of (critical) sociological approach to the relationship between knowledge and informational basis, we cannot deny that the social world has an objective nature, that is, in a way, already made and that is necessary to point out its rules and mechanisms (let’s say, a narrative of History/Sociology 1). However, we can also work in order to point out social actors’ critical capacities (a narrative of History/Sociology 2) and to develop a ‘public sociology’ through which scholars (scientific communities and languages) and their publics (bearing their own critical capacities, competences, interpretations, etc.) mutually change themselves. The exploration towards a ‘cognitive justice’ (Meneses et al. 2007) is still a long one, however travelled through the (tentative, uncertain) maps inspired by a cosmopolitanism from below, it promises to be as challenging as it is exciting.

Notes * I already discussed differently some of the issues of this chapter at the International Social Theory Consortium 16th Annual Conference (Innsbruck, May 24–26, 2017), The Future between Progress and Regression: From Philosophy to Critical Social Science and Back and in Borghi 2018. 1 In general, ‘Scalability’ is the property of a system to manage a growing amount of elements maintaining its effectiveness. In this context (the relationship between knowledge and world-making) it has to do with combination of abstract and concrete dimensions the knowledge production proves and with the dominant role of the first one in the Western concept of the rationalised mastery of the worlds.

252  Vando Borghi 2 Beyond social sciences, narratives also can be very important for effectively grasping the concrete tensions, contradictions, struggles and violence that the relationship between History 1 and 2 produces; see for instance the wonderful book from Amitav Ghosh, Sea of Poppies (2008). Exchanges between Chakrabarty and Ghosh are directly testified by their correspondence: Ghosh and Chakrabarty 2002. 3 Northern and Southern are here assumed as epistemological and cognitive perspective, often going across the geographical correspondent coordinates. 4 In order to introduce a first distinction between knowledge and information, we can refer to Adolf and Steher (2018: 5), who shortly summarise that ‘knowledge in contrast to information refers to a process or input, while information refers to attributes of a product or output’. 5 For example, we decide who is to be served first in an enlarged family’s dinner on the basis of a (cultural) convention: women, the elders, or the children, etc. Conventions are social organisational criteria embodied in the common and daily behavior and play a role of social coordination. Information (mainly, formatted in quantitative data) is more and more affecting the nature of these conventions. 6 Pragmatism is a philosophical movement – the main reference here is to John Dewey – according to which the experience plays a key role in the process of knowledge production. 7 A theoretical system results monologically in the sense that it is based on a single point of view, which assumes itself as the centre, whereas all the other possible points of view result in this way peripherally. The cosmopolitan approach we argue for tries to combine the conventional effort to escape cultural parochialism of cosmopolitanism with an emphasis on the programmatic conversation among different voices, in particular the peripheral and weakest ones. 8 For arguments against the interpretation of the relationship between knowledge and citizens in terms of ‘expertise’, see for instance Levine 2007.

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16 The limits of science from the standpoint of philosophy Jacques Poulain

The contemporary Parousia of science and the limits of the experimentation of mankind The scientification of human life seems today to have no limits at all. It is indeed based on the transfer of scientific experimentalism in the social life. Because the pragmatics of science has taught to us that the experimentation of the visual world is allowing to us to confirm or falsify our scientific hypotheses, it convinced us that the experimentation of the consensus was able to experiment the truth or the untruth of our internal and social relations. It seems as if our social relations should have to be submitted by experimentation to the consensus to be able to express our internal nature as science ought to express and confirm the laws of the external nature of the visual world. The scientific experimentation has become a form of human life and it seems to bring human kind to itself, i.e., to a rationalisation and completion of itself by means of a democratic consensus. Thanks to the liberalist experimentation, the obedience to social consensus and to social truth would have become not only a law of social and economic progress, but it should only apply the dynamic law of scientific and technical progress to social life. As a form of life, it would have finally enabled the individuals to integrate this social and scientific progress in their personal life with regards to truth as the only human value that is guiding them. Liberalism would complete in such a way the process of rationalisation of mankind and of the world. It would lead mankind to its philosophical destination. The Parousia of science seems therefore limitless because it is bringing humanity to its last destination: to a complete harmonisation of humankind with the world and with itself. From the standpoint of philosophy, this unlimited science needs limitations nonetheless. The reason is simple: as an experimentation of humanity, it is as blind as the experimentation of the external world itself. By confirming the scientific hypotheses, the world answers to the scientists by judging their truth as a last instance, but there are as many confirmed worlds as human scientists can produce. Scientific pragmatics let the world speak in the place of the scientist himself. These scientific worlds are objective if they

256  Jacques Poulain are confirmed, but many sets of incompatible worlds can be produced in a single field of scientific research, and the scientists are unable to choose which is the real world among all these incompatible worlds. This unlimited pragmatics of science is putting the scientist in an agnosia: it is putting him in front of his inability to know what are the real facts that are constituting the real world. The transfer of science in democratic society has the same effect: science is thereby transformed in the universal human form of life, but the consensual collective assumption of social relations does not magically transform these relations into secured and happy relations. Our reciprocal consensus is affecting us as blindly as the scientific consensus with the confirmed scientific hypotheses. It is eroding totally the democratic culture that was sustaining the social institutions based on the respect of the reciprocal judgment of truth about the cultural conditions of human life. It is indeed eroding the culture of human rights that is allowing us to recognise among our mutual relations of actions those that are our real reciprocal conditions of life. As is well known, this context of a total experimentation of mankind is generating, too, as what we call ‘globalisation’, the disappearance of freedom and of human rights that this experimentation wishes to develop. The neutralisation of civic rights and the phenomenon of exclusion are happening today in the neo-liberal context of globalisation through the deprivation of economical rights that the welfare state once used as a way of compensating the social injustice caused by the development of private capitalism. As Sheldon Wolin has shown in his journal Democracy (Wolin 1982), this deprivation happened in a paradigmatic way in the development of American industrial society, but it is now global because it is nowadays characterising also the development of the other industrial societies and because it is imbedded in the capitalistic mind and in the total experimentation of mankind that is programmed by this mind. What H.P. Martin and H. Schumann called ‘The trap of globalisation: an attack against democracy and welfare state’ transforms this exclusion and this neutralisation of civic rights only by programming it as the best way of taking benefits from the contemporary scientific and technological progress (Martin and Schumann 1996). This deprivation of civic and financial rights is scandalous not only because it is preventing every redistribution of material goods between rich and poor and between rich and poor countries but also and before all because it is depriving the excluded people from human reason. But this tragic situation does not need to be, although it could look like a kind of destiny for the impoverished and excluded people. It is indeed based on a purely negative conception of freedom and of human rights and this social illness is derived from a philosophical error: from the belief that a human being ought to transform oneself directly into a perfectly moral animal of justice, which ought to master its own desires and interests by means of its moral consciousness.

The limits of science  257 The total experimentation of mankind, which is happening blindly through liberal capitalism, does not need to remain blind by letting speak only the voices of the economical market. This experimentation is indeed opening also a positive anthropological issue for the human being: because the anthropology of language is teaching us today that the dynamics of the human soul and of the institutions is communicative and that the use of language is involving us as speakers and addressees of ourselves towards our social partners, we have learnt that our thought and our use of language are based upon a verbal and mental pre-matching of ourselves with our human fellows, with the world and with ourselves, that is altogether affective (love oriented), cognitive, practical, and hedonistic. We have learnt too that we are not the enemies of our human fellows and that we have not to protect ourselves against them by means of a system of rights based on a purely negative conception of freedom. The philosophical contemporary anthropobiology of A. Gehlen, of F. Kainz and of A. Tomatis is teaching us too that this direct appropriation and transformation of ourselves by ourselves that we are trying to achieve by the liberal maximisation of our desires and interests and by a purely negative juridical and legal respect of the interests of the other people is indeed forbidden by the communicative structure of our mind and of our institutions (Gehlen 1939, 1957; Kainz 1960; Tomatis 1991). The transformation that we are intending to achieve by means of this total experimentation of ourselves can only occur indirectly, i.e., by using an objective judgment about ethical and political life, by means of a judgment that is as true as our scientific judgment may be. To be as conscious and lucid as it ought to be, this experimentation of ourselves needs indeed that we appreciate this use of judgment through a positive use and conception of human rights: as a collective and private development of this judgment and of its consequences in the public and private life. This use and this conception are already working by means of this experimentation and are expressing themselves because the social illness that is developing through globalisation is letting this faculty of judging be unviolated as a diagnosing and creative mental power. But this use and this consciousness need to be recognised as such and to be applied if we want to cure ourselves efficaciously from the will to power, which is deregulating the blind experimentation of mankind. To be able to open this philosophical recognition of this radical change that is needed in our conception of human rights, I shall proceed first to a short anamnesis of the paradigmatic neutralisation of civic rights in the American society, and I shall recall its consequences in the context of recent globalisation. As it is well known from the book of Martin and Schumann, neo-liberalism invented very recently, in September 1995, at the Fairmount Hotel, in San Francisco, not only the ways of justifying the growth of poverty among the disadvantaged and excluded people, but it was clever enough to invent a new way of programming the impoverishment of 80% of the world population by programming the distribution of work only to 20%

258  Jacques Poulain of this population. This pseudo-solution is only promoting one step further towards the neutralisation of the civic and human rights. This step also constitutes a radical challenge for philosophy, particularly for the philosophy of human rights. It requires from this philosophy that it will become able to criticise its own most well-rooted prejudices, namely those that inspired the formation of our occidental societies and that limited, from the beginning, their own ways of understanding themselves. These prejudices are expressed throughout the moral dualism inherited from Plato and Descartes, which conceived the mind, logos, and soul, on one side, as something that ought to master the human body and the desires and the interests that this body inspired to the soul, on the other side. This philosophical programming of a dualistic justice of the soul, by means of the subordination of the body, of the desires and of the interests – to the highest interests of the mind – is a false one and is based on a false description of the human being. It has generated a false conceptualisation of the juridical systems, of ethics and of politics because it tried to repress the necessary individual and collective use of judgment by programming a human being that would have to become a perfect animal of justice, an animal that could regulate perfectly, once and for all, its thoughts, actions, and speech and that neither ought to judge truth nor any objectivity whatever anymore. The injustice, caused by the repression of this judgment of truth and of objectivity in juridical, ethical, and political matters, became evident throughout our contemporary globalisation of impoverishment. Because this repression is only happening at the level of self-reflexion, in other words, at the conscious level, our actual use of our faculty of judging remains nonetheless unviolated and is enabling us always already to step outside the blind neoliberal consensus, which is used in this globalisation as a form of life: we can do it by judging this blind consensus as an impossible and false way of living for any human being. But to be able to assume a positive and philosophical use of our judgment collectively, we must foremost cure ourselves from our will to become these morally perfect beings that we are forever unable to be: we have, so to speak, to orientate this occidental will of power by means of philosophy. To cure us from this will of power, I must show how the recent deprivation of civic rights is deriving from a purely moral conception of justice that is indeed contradicting the culture of human rights.

The neutralisation of human rights in the context of globalisation and of experimentation of mankind This neutralisation happens today in the realm of the communicative experimentation that we are making of ourselves and of our addressees in our daily life as well as in our political life. Science and technology emerged from a total and unrestricted experimentation of the external world, involving our mathesis universalis. In the same way, our private and public lives are fields of an unrestricted experimentation of human beings, involving

The limits of science  259 our sapientia universalis, inherited from religions by our juridical, moral, and political systems since the 18th century. As C.S. Peirce taught us, it is throughout the experimentation of the visible world that scientists ask the visible world to confirm or to disconfirm their hypotheses by answering either ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to the question: ‘are our hypotheses true?’ In the same way, the daily and political experimentation with the field of human life involves the submission of ourselves to the consensus that can be obtained from our social partners. Communication is used here as an objective and sufficient test of our present and mutual hypotheses of life. By invoking the trans-subjective authority of social consensus in the same way as scientists invoke the consensus of the visible world with their hypotheses, we are seeking some objective authority, which could tell us what to do and what to desire. We trust in the infallibility of this consensual authority insofar as we come to understand that it has been no other than this social consensus, which always spoke through our words, thoughts, and institutions and which has thereby regulated our social and mental life. This social consensus thus seems to have the same authority and validity with respect to our ‘internal’ nature as the visible world has with respect to our knowledge of the ‘external’ world. But it also seems to be the only authority that could possess this absolute validity. Why? Because we must answer to every need of our human fellows by complying for their need of truth. Each of our utterances is presumed to express whatever ultimate truth our addressees might wish to know. We must therefore express a kind of god-like omniscience. But at the same time, we must necessarily experience personal guilt about our inability to express that ultimate truth. The only way to avoid this experience of guilt is to apply to our everyday and political life the social consensus that we obtain by means of communication and to find in the consensual successes of the capitalistic experimentation of the social market the cognitive experimentation of our secular salvation. The Weberian explanation of the logical dynamics of this capitalistic experimentation is well known but rarely understood. As the predestined Calvinists could be sure that they were elected by God for salvation, if they were successful in their earthly life, the liberal quest for individual and social happiness is measured by means of the successes of capitalistic enterprises. But it considers these successes as the only source of confirmation of the choice of the actions that determine the development of the liberal enterprises. The successes of life offered the certainty that Calvinists could be saved if and only if they were able to restrain themselves and to prevent themselves from enjoying immediately the fruits of their enterprises. In the same way, the capitalists ought to reinvest their benefits in their enterprises to be able to increase their certainty about their own social salvation, because it was the only means that enabled them to feel themselves as disinterested as they were meant to feel. The communicative transformation of liberalism that is operated by the substitution of shareholders to the private owners of enterprises does not change the capitalist dynamics but is

260  Jacques Poulain only reinforcing the programmed fate of the workers. Shareholders are willing to earn as much as possible by investing their money whilst the consumers want to buy their products as cheaply as possible: the fate of the worker consists in the dumping of their wages that does not even allow them to act as citizens in their society. This moral consciousness of the classic liberal as well as of the new liberals is nonetheless necessarily perverse because it is subordinating the will for happiness and social welfare of their social partners to an arbitrary and egoistic self-certification of their own personal will for bringing about a public salvation. In the name of the social consensus, they ask their social partners to work only to be sure that they enjoy the social happiness that the actions of these workers had brought about. In this way, they enjoyed exclusively their ability of subordinating the welfare of their partners to the satisfaction of their moral consciousness. The maximisation of the experimentation with human desires that is taking place today in the era of advanced capitalism and throughout the maximisation of the production of goods is therefore still exclusively oriented by this maximisation of their certainty to be saved. As is well known, impoverishment, unemployment, and exclusion of the poor are the prices that must be paid for this increase of capital, and they bring about, in the long run, a radical falsification of the liberal way of life. As Sheldon Wolin wrote in his journal Democracy, the deprivation of civic rights followed necessarily from this impoverishment and the neo-liberal disappearance of the welfare state. Although the liberal theory of rights enshrined these rights in the American Constitution itself, conceiving them as special forms of freedom and mutual protection that were to be beyond the ordinary reach of legislative and executive power and assumed to be ‘above’ politics, ‘what happened during the twentieth century is that the liberal practice of politics rapidly undermined the liberal conception of rights’ (Wolin 1982: 19). The protection of rights presupposed that government will be their defender, intervening to prevent interest groups from violating the rights of other groups and individuals. For this presupposition to work, government itself would have to withstand effectively the pressures generated by interest-groups politics, by the politics of factions, pressures that were guaranteed to be unrelenting by the system of elections, campaign contributions and lobbying. The presupposition collapsed because North-American politics were reduced to interest-groups, there was no general constituency to support government in its role of impartial defender of rights. Instead of playing the role of defender of rights, the government assumed a function more consistent with the politics of interest-groups, that of ‘balancing’ rights against certain overriding matters of State. (Ibid., 20)

The limits of science  261 It followed, wrote S. Wolin, that many limitations imposed on rights through legislative or administrative rulings have been inspired by minorities obsessed with single issues. The American society became slowly accustomed to the dangerous notion that rights, like crop subsidies or taxes, are part of the normal give-and-take of politics. (Ibid., 20–21) ‘This transvaluation of rights from a quasi-absolute to a contingent status, was vividly illustrated by the fate of the economic rights that liberals had vigorously promoted as the answer to socialism’. Liberals argued ‘that political rights were purely formal and ineffective if citizens did not have jobs, social security, unemployment compensation, the right to organize unions and to bargain collectively, access to high education and, in general, a decent standard of living’ (Ibid.: 22). Although economic rights did empower people and gave them a gain in dignity, autonomy and well-being, it made rights dependent upon contingent finite resources. Your right, by example, to medical care will necessarily utilize resources that cannot be allocated to satisfy my right to job-training. (ibid. 22) This translation of political rights into economic rights proved itself to be a catastrophe at the end of the 70s and at the beginning of the 80s. It produced indeed a generalised exclusion of the poor when with the onset of economic recession, stagflation and unemployment, the diverse effects of basing the value of citizenship upon economic benefits became apparent. Given a capitalist economy and an increasingly harsh conception of it by the dominant groups, all of the solutions to the deepening crisis involved cutting back social benefits and thereby creating or exacerbating cleavages among citizenry: racial, religious, class, ethnic and regional prejudices moved closer to the surface as groups competed for survival in a declining economy. (ibid. 22) The propagation of the same dynamics to the eastern bloc of state capitalism, to Europe and to the Third World during the 80s, transfigured itself in the Fairmount Hotel into this strange model of programming directly the impoverishment of 80% of the world population in September 1995. Why is this cognitively perverse moral consciousness unable to recognise itself as such? Simply because the social market of the world and the social consensus that is supposed to control it are invoked as god-like authorities,

262  Jacques Poulain which are answering always in a favourable way and cannot commit any error about social truth. They are supposed to incarnate an infallible mutual certification of mutual interests: they are always right because they seem to be mutual. These authorities are protected by an autistic prohibition, which forbids us to put their oracles into question, to criticise them. In the same way, it was forbidden by the religions of the sovereign gods and by the monotheistic religion to judge and to criticise the truth revealed by their gods. Because revelation came only from God Himself, it was true and required an unconditional faith from their believers. This prohibition constituted a safety mechanism of mutual protection. Because none of the believers could use the divine word, they were not allowed to condemn their fellow men in God’s name. This prohibition gave nonetheless an autistic dimension to this religious language-game because it did not allow the only authority that is working in religious communication as well as in the contemporary experimentation of human being to speak: it was prohibited to speak the judgment of truth that we are necessarily building as our own addressees about our utterances and thoughts as speakers. We are indeed necessarily building this judgment about the propositions asserted by our social partners as their addressees, but we have used it as well, as legislators of our own life and of the life of these partners when we are applying our experimental social consensus. By preventing us from judging this spontaneous and necessary judgment, the revelation of the divine social world market becomes nowadays as autistic as the earlier religious revelation. The answer given by the global neo-liberal market seems for us to be as necessary and natural as the answer of the visible world to the scientific experimentation. The contemporary impoverishment of whole countries and groups of workers, the generalised exclusion of the poor, and the economic deprivation of civic rights lead therefore to the disappearance of this shared common judgment of human beings that we are striving for and that we have the right to build about our objective social conditions of life. During the 18th century, the discovery of our democratic condition was not only the recognition of the right for everyone to contract relations of property and to sell his work force, it was the recognition of an equal status to all the citizens of this world, because above all they were presumed to have the same theoretical and practical human reason. The deprivation of standard conditions of life and of civic rights is scandalous and unacceptable because it is stealing today, from the excluded people, not only the goods that are necessary for them to survive and their right to vote but because it is a priori depriving them of their reason, of their faculty of judgment, which once allowed them to believe that they shared a common and universalised world of culture. This cultural scandal is therefore much deeper than a pure deprivation of material goods, and it is not enough anymore to ask the multi-national enterprises and the nation states to redistribute wealth, jobs, health, and home; it is above all necessary to secure the redistribution of this use of the

The limits of science  263 faculty of judgment by enabling people to judge this scandalous injustice as such and to begin talking with the dominant groups and persons to restate an equilibrium of richness and goods between them. The only right answer to this cultural scandal is a philosophical and cultural answer: it has altogether to recognise the right to use one’s faculty of judgment in social matters as the human right that is founding every other one and to ensure this use in the international democracy, which is building itself throughout this experimenting globalisation of the social market.

The limiting use of philosophical judgment in the culture of human rights To do this, one must, above all, recognise as false the philosophical image of a human being that is still in use throughout this neo-liberal impoverishment. This philosophical image depends upon the dualistic conception of a human being in which the reason, the mind, and a morally good will have to master body, desires, passions, and interests, ensuring thereby a just harmony in the human soul. The drive towards the liberal experimentation with mankind by means of the consensus and of universal valid contracts forces us to discover that we do not have to believe anymore that the human being is – as body, desires, passions, and interests – his own enemy as mind, soul, or good will. This drive towards an experimental blind consensus has forced us to recognise that the origins and the dynamics of thought and human reason were originating from the use of language as the power of emitting and receiving sounds and of linking them to our experience. The priority of human judgment towards humanity conditions the possibility of human life and must be respected in the communicative culture of our social conditions of life. Reason and thought are generated by our use of language: this means that our use of language obliges us indeed to see ourselves as our own addressees who ought to judge about the objectivity of our desires, interests, and ethical actions in order to be able to enjoy these experiences and to recognise them as our objective conditions of life. Because the human being is not a well-formed biological being but is born one year too early – if one compares it with mammals endowed with a similar complexity – it has only intraspecific drives (nutritional, sexual, and defensive) as L. Bolk discovered it. It needs too to invent its visual perceptions, physical actions, and consuming actions by projecting the harmony between its emitted and received sounds in its relations with the world, with its fellow men, and with itself. It is for this reason that primitive man and human child have: 1) to let speak animistically the world by means of using language as a kind of magical prosopopoeia as Vico and W. von Humboldt have remarked that it does: it is thanks to this that it is able to perceive it with their eyes, and

264  Jacques Poulain 2) to feel this word of the world as an answer of the world itself, which is invariably as favourable as the voice of their mother. This harmony, experienced in the use of sounds because of the inability of the child and of primitive man to perceive a difference between their own emitted sounds and their own received sounds, was the source of the sacred in human sensibility, i.e., the source of the sacred prosopopoeia of the religions. This harmony is giving its own law to the dynamics of imagination, thought, and desires in the following way: every hiatus and disharmony with the world, with one’s human fellows, and with oneself must be overcome by projecting a new form of pre-matching oneself with the world, with one’s fellow men, and with oneself. This is done according to the harmonised sound and dialogical model. As we spontaneously harmonise the sounds that we are uttering with the same sounds that we are receiving, we pre-match our perceptions, our actions, and our desires as the best favourable ways by means of which the world and our fellow men could answer to us. The cognitive and logical pre-matching, which is bearing the propositions by means of which we objectivise these perceptions, actions, thoughts, feelings, and desires, is always the same: we are unable to think a proposition, to produce it without thinking that this proposition is true, or, in the terms of C.S. Peirce: ‘every proposition affirms its own truth’. We must think of our propositions as true to be able to objectivise the visual fact, our physical action and our consuming action or desire to be able to produce the only relation to reality that we can obtain, for example, the visual perception of the visual fact or the realisation and the perception of our physical action. Therefore, our relations with the world, other human beings, and ourselves cannot be produced nor completed without judging whether these pre-matched linguistic relations that are shown in our propositions are these objective conditions of life that they are presumed to be to be able to come into existence. Our relations with ourselves are therefore necessarily indirect. We cannot judge and transform ourselves without judging the objectivity of our relations to the world nor without judging the objectivity of the speech or thought experience that ensures these relations and these experiences, i.e., without judging the truth of the propositions expressing a knowledge, our need for action, or our desires. This whole dynamic of the soul is resting itself upon the self-objectivation of our speech-acts and is made explicit by this one. It is submitted to the law of truth – in its creative moment as well as in its reflective moment – to the act of judging its actual truth by judging the objectivity of the represented experience. One must take seriously this truth dynamics of the soul, of the thought, and of the speech-acts. It means that we cannot accept the descriptions of the speech-acts that the so-called theoreticians of speech-acts like J.L. Austin, H.P. Grice, and J. Searle usually give of their characteristics, reducing them thereby to magical powers. They define indeed these speech-acts as

The limits of science  265 the only acts that it is sufficient to designate, to realise them, and to fulfil our intentions. But it means, to the contrary, that all these speech-acts are describable as affirmations in the following way: ‘I affirm that p is true’ means ‘p is as true as I say it and as the fact described in p exists’. But we can and must re-describe our promises, for example, in the same way if we want to make explicit the dynamics of truth and of objectivity, which is internal to them: ‘I promise that I shall come tomorrow’ means indeed: ‘it is as true that I shall come tomorrow as I say it and, by saying it, I judge that somebody has to come tomorrow and that I am the person who has to come tomorrow’. I don’t contract some obligation, as Searle affirms it, but my utterance registers my recognition of the objective necessity of doing such and such an action as well as the fact that I recognised that I ought to do this action by means of the true judgment that I am uttering. This speech-act is creating and registering actually three operations: 1) the recognition of the objectivity of an action as recognition of the objective need of doing it; 2) the true judgment by means of which the speaker identifies himself as the person who ought to do it; and 3) that it is as true that he will do it as it is true that he ought to say it and to express thereby that he will do what he claims to do. In this speechact – if these conditions are fulfilled – the fact that I will come tomorrow is affirmed and recognised philosophically as an ethical action. Declarations, orders, expressions of feelings ought to be re-described in a similar way. But the fact that I ought to express this speech-act means also that I cannot judge the truth of the propositions as a private and solipsist subject: I cannot reach a position that would enable me to judge this truth once and for all from the point of view of God. I need the approval of what I am saying by my social partners, and I need their positive and affirmative judgment as the only authority that could confirm or disconfirm the truth of this judgment. Because this common and spontaneous use of our judgment of truth remains unviolated despite our errors concerning our magical speech-acts faculty and our moral competence of mastering ourselves, this use is nevertheless always working although we are not necessarily conscious of this.

266  Jacques Poulain The reason is simple: as our own addressees, we are unable not to do it. This constitutes already a philosophical use of judgment, in which we are all of us already involved. What we are used to calling ‘philosophy’ is only the intellectual discipline, which ought to recognise this use of judgment as already working in our use of language. This discipline ought to help us to become really what we already are. We ought to realise and to fulfil – by our actions and by the execution of our duties – the objective modes of being that all of us ought to judge mutually that we are. We ought to reject and to forget all the other modes of being. This is a constitutive law of the formation of human beings and of their recognition of their cultures (an objective necessity, Müssen) from which it follows that we must share also our duties (our Sollen), a law that is recognised as such as common to all of us. Philosophy, understood as a discipline, has not only to describe the conditions of the recognition of ourselves in the use of this judgment by means of showing the biological, psychological, sociological, and linguistic facts, which are describing this judgment as the conditio sine qua non of our existence. Philosophy has also to show how we can be consciously obliged to do what we usually only feel forced to do unconsciously: this need for using our philosophical judgment can and must be given to us as the right to be what we ought to be. The anthropological issue that is here at stake is that this unconscious and conscious philosophical way of using our judgment of truth that makes us able to live is the only means that we have at our disposal to get completely harmonised with ourselves, with our world, and with our social partners. But how does this philosophical use of judgment already work in our life today and in this context of an unjust neo-liberal globalisation and experimentation of ourselves although we are not necessarily conscious of this and although this collective use of judgment is not yet completed in a theoretical and in a practical way, i.e., in its social application? I should like to finish my argument by giving only some examples, which are borrowed from our neo-liberal globalised context. This use of a philosophical judgment is already working in every bargaining between managers and workers where the redistribution of wages, goods, and social values is taking place in a critical and objective way to overcome the advanced capitalistic injustice and exclusion. But it is also occurring when we are judging the social injustice that is produced by this deprivation of civic rights and by the processes of exclusion, which are becoming increasingly threatening in our industrial societies. It occurs when we are judging the exploitation of the Third World by industrially advanced societies and when we are considering this exploitation as a way of stealing the raw materials and the working forces of these countries according to rentability principles. It is occurring also when we are judging the speculative attacks against financial values as efficient ways of stealing the nation states and all of us. The only thing that is changing when we see this condemnation as an effect of our individual and collective use of philosophical judgment is that we are

The limits of science  267 afterwards forced to see these scandalous actions as a situation that ought to disappear, because they are indeed actions in which we are unable to recognise ourselves. These facts are like other facts: they have no value and no existence by themselves; they are not speaking animistically to us as pragmatists who might still believe it. But they ought to be judged as our objective conditions of existence that are allowing us to be able to exist. In this scandalous situation where these facts are facts of a generalised injustice, of an unjust impoverishment, and of an exclusion, they ought to be judged and recognised as impossible social conditions of existence for all of us. The reason is simple in this case also: in the interactions that we are having with other social partners, we must be able to recognise the others as the ones who are making our lives possible because they act as these communicative and social partners who are answering in a favourable way to our needs, calls, and demands and who are answering as well as we are expecting it from them. They are expecting the same from us. The culture of human rights is the culture that is makes possible this objective and reciprocal recognition of ourselves and of the others in our feelings, in our knowledges, in our actions, and in our consuming actions. This culture is indeed as philosophical as our use of judgment already is in our use of language because it is only an explicit knowledge and recognition of our ‘internal’ nature, i.e., of our relations as addressees or ourselves and of the others (Poulain 2017). This anthropological constitutive use of philosophical judgment has indeed its own specific ethics and institutional consequences too. It involves by example a reform of our conceptualisation of the nation state and of its exemplification into nation states. Before these states can become the defenders of human rights and the only supporters of the power of using violence against violence, they need to be recognised as legitimate ways of sharing our collective use of judgment when it is already working and when it can be recognised as such. The false image of the human being as an ethical chaos of values may remain characteristic for the ‘polytheism of values’, once described by M. Weber as constitutive of liberal capitalism. It might still be the basis for a social life inside of which we are experiencing fights between factions, interest groups, multinational enterprises, and competitive political parties, but it must nevertheless be recognised as such and abandoned as such. If we see the elections only as collective means of projecting anticipative ways of life and as means of recognising their objectivity by adopting them, we become able to see that they allow the parties that are proposing them to find the best ways of sharing mutually their power of judgment. We are able as well to assume that the description of the objective value of these programs reveals what a human being ought to do in this nation state context and what he (or she) really is. It is by sharing the power of judging the objectivity of its program with the opposition that the party that has the executive power is itself controlled in the same way as the human mind is

268  Jacques Poulain generally controlled: by giving the power to all the addressees of the nation states, i.e., to all its members. The contemporary fight between incompatible values can only be avoided this way. But the fight between nation states and multinational enterprises has not to be conceived as the destiny of humanity because we would presume that it is something that could not be overcome. The international life is not condemned to be more conflictual than the internal life of a nation. At the international level, nation states can only be legitimised if their proposals and political decisions in this international level can be recognised by an international public opinion in terms of validating objective conditions of interaction between some nation states and others. My last example is our use of judgment in economic life. The laws of economics are not only laws securing coherence and consistency between contractual economic agreements and decisions that ought to be conducted according to the model of the syntactical and formal laws of language. The judgment of truth that is building our use of language ought to be recognised in order that one can become able to see the judgment of objectivity that is living in every thought, speech-act, and action: without this anthropological recognition of the truth as the internal dynamics of language and of human life, the language appears as a phenomenon that can only be reconstructed syntactically, semantically, or pragmatically. But its truth dimension is never seen by means of these reconstructions as constitutive of the dynamics of language, of communication, and of human life. In the same way economics is not only a science where we must apply formal and calculus of probabilities to recognise the specific laws of fuzzy logic that are animating the random existence of fluent tendencies of our exchanges of money. We are obliged to think about them as such if and only if we assume that the blind laws of the social market, such as the laws of supply and demand, are the only principles of economic movements because they would only infallibly express our mutual interests and the generalised consensus, which speaks throughout the results of the world market. But the economic judgment operating the translation of goods and of working processes into money and wages is as objective as the judgment that is taking place in thought and in language. It ought to be reconstructed and described as such: as animating economic human life insofar as it is human and cultivating human rights as conditions of life for everybody. Economic life itself has therefore to be recognised and reconstructed as a way of recognising and legitimating objective ways and processes of translating money into objective and necessary concrete conditions of life, the existence of which is conditioned by sharing our objective ethical judgment about the application of human rights. What is usually seen as a better stand of the economic conditions of the world ought to be evaluated and judged in contrast to the absurd blind criterion of the constant growth of benefits and investments. It ought to be itself judged as a real progress in our way of sharing this objective ethical and social judgment and not the reverse. It is

The limits of science  269 from this standpoint that the nation states may and must demand a wholly fulfilled transparency from the world banks to be able to regulate the origins of the most dangerous speculative attacks against the value of their money. If they want to be able to be recognised as the objective institutions that they are and that we need, they ought to program a necessary extension of the civil and civic rights for transparency at this level of our international and cosmopolitan democracy and to conceive the legal procedures enabling them to ensure the respect of this right for transparency. Their power is only legitimate if it is operating within the limits of their use of a judgment of truth that is limiting itself from inside the culture of human rights. This culture can indeed be considered as already limiting also the so-called unlimited use of science, i.e., the unlimited use of a pragmatic and blind consensus in the human life and what is today widespread as the ‘scientification’ of the humanities.

References Gehlen, Arnold. 1939. Der Mensch. Frankfurt am Main: Athenäum. ———. 1957. Urmensch und Spätkultur. Frankfurt am Main: Athenäum. Kainz, Friedrich. 1960–1975. Psychologie der Sprache, vol. 1–5. Stuttgart: Enke Verlag. Martin, Hans Peter, and Harald Schumann. 1996. Die Globalisierungsfalle. Der Angriff auf Democratie und Wohlstand. Hamburg: Rowohlt. Poulain, Jacques. 2017. Peut-on guérir de la mondialisation? Paris: Hermann. Tomatis, Alfred. 1991. L’oreille et le langage. Paris: Seuil. Wolin, Sheldon. 1982. ‘What Revolutionary Action Means Today’, Democracy 2(4): 19, New York.

Index

Note: page numbers in italic indicate figures and page numbers followed by ‘n’ indicate notes. ādyantau ṭakitau 19 aesthetic roots 222 – 224 Agarwala, V. S. 59 agnicayana 63 agrarian communities 110 agrarian environmentalism 91 Agrawala, V. S. 59 agricultural labour 114 agriculture: class and boundary crossing 116; in industrialising economy 114 – 125; mainstream 83; modern 84 – 85 agronomical pluralism 78 – 92 Ahammadu, Sirajuddeen 71 Alappuzha 123, 124 Albert, Hans 66 algebra 3 Alvares, Claude 86 Amaral, Marcel Parreira do 207 anaemia 100; factors of 107 – 109 analogical thinking 9 Ancient Indian Science and its Relevance to the Modern World 3 Anderson, Benedict 155, 156 Anees, Safina 75 Anglo-Saxon science 30 Anthropocene 133, 134, 136, 138, 216 – 217 ‘AnusAraka’ Language Resource Development project 44 anuvṛtti 46 Apel, Karl-Otto 67 Āpiśali 19 aporetics, axiomatic masks 186 – 191 Appadurai, Arjun 245 Appankuttan 122

Aquinas, Thomas 174 Aristotelianism 174 Aristotelian Species theory 185 Aristotle 65, 174 artificial intelligence 52 art of grammar 13 – 37 art of living 135; classical approaches 234 – 236; knowledge, forms of 231 – 234; knowledge and science in 230 – 240; medical standards for 234; modern approaches to 236 – 239; primary objective of 235 Aryan languages 168 ashwagandhadhichurnam 109 ‘Aśokan Prakrit’ inscriptions 20 Aṣṭādhyāyī 7, 14, 45 – 51; grammatical corpus of 51 ‘Aṣṭādhyāyī 2.0’ 45 Atharvaveda 13, 60 axiomatic-deductive science 64 axiomatisation 190 ayurveda 3, 97; apparatus for commoner 103 – 105; factors of anaemia 107 – 109; food 100 – 103; low weight and diabetes 108 – 109; macrocosm and microcosm 100 – 102; panchabhuta theory 100 – 102; and public health 105 – 107; tridosha theory 102 – 103 Bacis 14 balanced diet 99, 104 Balasubramanian, A.V. 122 Banarsidass, Motilal 59 Barber, Kenneth 175 – 177 Bareilly 71

Index  271 Barelvis 71 Batra, Dina Nath 58 Baudhāyana 65 Baudhāyanaśulvasūtra 64 Baudhāyana theorem 62 – 65 Beck, Ulrich 207 becoming aware process 224 Behera, Laxmidhar 48 Ben-Halim, Shaykh 74 Benjamin, Walter 140 Bentham, Jeremy 236, 237 Berlin Childhood around 1900 140 Bhandarkar, R. G. 23 Bhartṛhari 15, 18, 19, 22, 23, 26, 28 – 30, 33 Bhate, Saroja 47, 48 Bhattacharya, Ramkrishna 63, 64 bhavati 20 Bhojanakuthookalam 101 bhoti 20 Bible 129 bio-dynamite farming 81 Birth of Orientalism, The 162 bizarre theories 3 black magic (sihr) 69 Bloomfield, Leonard 35n6 Bodhisattva Avalokiteśvara 26 Böhme, Gernot 207 Boltanski, Luc 249 Bopp, Franz 19, 33, 165 Borghi, Vando 135 Bouchindhomme, Ch. 30 Bouchindhomme, Christian 36n14, 36n18 Boudry, Maarten 8 Bourdieu, Pierre 219 Brāhmaṇas 13 Briggs, Rick 6, 44 Britto 121 Bronkhorst, Johannes 16, 23, 47 Buddhist Hybrid Sanskrit 20 Burawoy, Michael 250, 251 Bürk, Albert 63 Caillé, André 209 Carlisle, Clare 220 Carson, Rachel 87 Cartesian modernity 186 Cārvāka4 63 Castells, Manuel 210 causality 9 Chakrabarty, Dipesh 243, 249 – 250 Charaka Samhita 100

‘chemical’ farming (rāsa kṛṣi) 78 childhood rituals 147 Chomsky, Noam 17, 21, 45, 49, 50, 169 Chomskyan ‘cognitive’ approach 169 Chomskyan generative grammar 16 Chomskyan grammar 21 Christianity 129, 173, 174 Christian Science 5 Classical Scientific Papers – Chemistry, Second Series (1970) 27 Cohn, Bernard 155 colonial linguistics, beginnings 162 – 165 communication 259 communicative action theory 30 computational linguistics 42 computerised knowledge 134, 210 computer science 42 – 54 Comte, August 29, 36n16, 168 Condillac, Etienne Bonnot Abbé de 159, 160 congruity 184 Connell, Raewyn 245 consumption patterns 116 contemporary Parousia of science 255 – 258 cosmological compromise 200 cosmopolitan democracy 269 ‘Council of Science and Humanities’ (Wissenschaftsrat) 132 Cours de linguistique générale (1916) 169 creationism 9 Creation Science movement 129 Cribb, Joe 35n1 Crutzen, Paul 217 cultural continuity 4 cultural dynamism 141 cultural learning 140 – 142 culture-independent knowledge 10 dairy management 120 Dani, S. G. 60, 61 Darwinism 200 Darwin’s evolutionary theory 168 Dash, Vaidya Bhagwan 100 Dawkins, Richard 33 dead knowledge 209 deep knowledge 211 – 213 ‘Defending Secularism and Rational Inquiry’ 63 Dehlawi, Shah Waliullah 70 Democracy 256, 260

272 Index ‘demonic’ species 81 ‘demonic’ substances 81 ‘demonic’ technologies 82 Deobandi movement 70 Descartes, René 134, 173, 178, 180 – 182, 187 Deshpande, Madhav 60 Dewey, John 218 – 220 Dhātu-pāṭha (DhP) 14 dhātus 14 diabetes 108 – 109 diaspora communities 115, 116 Digital Corpus of Sanskrit (DCS) 43 Dilthey, Wilhelm. 131 Dionysius Thrax 18 disembedded knowledge 208 – 209 Disraeli, Benjamin 157 Donasia, Phil 117 dual nature 219 – 220 early mathematical sciences 183 ecology: folk knowledge on 109 – 110 economic life 268 Edmonds, B. 34 Einstein, Albert 140 eka-aluminium 27 eka-silicium 27 elephant-headed Hindu God Gaṇeśa, plastic surgery 3, 57 Elizabeth of Bohemia 180 embodied practical ritual knowledge 144 emotional stress 107 empiricism 158 – 159 environmental habits 221 – 222 environmental humanities 217 – 218 environmentalist zero-budget farming 4 Epicureanism 179, 238 epistemological turn, early (Cartesian) modernism 177 – 182 Erkenntnis und Interesse 30 Euclid 22, 64, 65 evangelicalism 129 exorcism clinic: birth of 71 – 73; controversial practices 70 – 71; hijama 73 – 76; jinn, Islam 69 – 70; ruqya clinic and 73 – 76 Ezhimayoor 114 Falk, Harry 35n1 five layer Palekar model 88 food: alternative theories of 96 – 111; ayurveda 100 – 103; caloric

conception of 99; counting 96 – 111; eating, rules 106 – 107; folk knowledge on 109 – 110; intake 96; as medicine 100; numerical value 97 – 105; physiological view of 105 – 106 Foucault, Michel 155 – 157, 170n4, 207, 210 Fowler, Murray 45 Frege, G. 169 Freud, Sigmund 212 Frontline 61 Fukuoka, Masanobu 87 Galilei, Galileo 23, 200 Gaṇapāṭha (GP) 14 Gandhāra 35n1 Gandhi, Mahatma 87 Gangadevi, P. 120 – 121 Gaukroger, Stephen 173, 178, 187 Gebser, Jean 212 Gehlen, A. 257 General and Rational Grammar of Port-Royal 158 Genesis Flood 129 Geometria 64 geometric-mathematical formalism 189 global change science 91 globalisation 256 – 263 Gloy, Karen 211, 212 GMT seeds 119 Gorz, André 208 Göttingen Register of Electronic Texts in Indian Languages (GRETIL) 42 Goyal, Pawan 48 Grammar of the Sanskrita Language (1808) 28 grammatical corpus, digital edition 45 Green Revolution 81, 83, 85, 90 Guano mania 85 Gulati Institute Report 123 Gupta, Akhil 90 Habermas, Jürgen 22, 28 – 33, 66 habit formation 218 – 219, 222 – 224 habitus 218 – 219 Hadith 69 Haradatta 19 Hawking, Stephen 6 Hebrew 161 Hefny, Ahmad 75 Hellenistic philosophy 174 Hellwig, Oliver 43

Index  273 Herder, Johann Gottfried 160 – 162 hereditary labour 115 hijama 5, 73 – 76 The Hindu 61 Hinüber, Oskar von 35n1 Hobsbawm, Eric 202 homo microbis 90 Hooke, Robert 184 Houben, Jan E. M. 7, 49 Howard, Albert 87 Huet, Gérard 43 humanities 226; central developments 131 – 133; forms of knowledge production 133 – 136 human life 239 – 240 Human Nature and Conduct 219 human rights: culture of 263 – 269; neutralisation 258 – 263 Humboldt, Wilhelm von 165 – 166, 263; typology, national character and race hierarchy 165 – 166 Hume, David 66 Huxley, Aldous 34 Hyman, Malcolm D. 48

jinn, Islam 69 – 71 jīvāmṛta 81 Jiwamrita 89 John, Shri Shibu Baby 114, 123 Jones, William 162 – 165 Joseph, M. P. 123 Joshi, S. D. 16 – 17 Joshi, S.D. 47, 49 Judeo-Christian languages 156 Jung, Carl Gustav 212

Il Saggiatore 23 Imagined Communities (1983) 155 implicit knowledge 31 incompatible foods 106 incongruity 184 Indian grammatical tradition 13, 22 ‘Indian’ knowledges 3 individual knowledge 232 Individuation and Identity in Early Modern Philosophy 175 Indo-European languages 14, 156 informational basis of judgement for justice (IBJJ) 246, 248 Ingalls, Daniel H. H. 23 intelligent design theory 9 international democracy 263 An Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation (1781) 236 intuitive essentialism 8 The Invention of Science 201 Islamic exorcism 5 Islamic psychotherapy 74

Kainz, F. 257 Kak, Subhash 47, 48 kārakas 16 kāraka-system 44 Kāśikā-vṛtti 15 Kaṭha-Upaniṣad 20 Kātyāyana 15 Kāvya-mīmāṁsā 35n3 Kepler 184 Kerala 114, 115, 125 Kerala Agricultural University (KAU) 85 Kerala Horticultural Development Programme (KHDP) 116 – 117 Kerala Muslims 71 Khalil, Mohamed 75 Khan, Ahmed Raza 71 Khan Sahib 71 Kiparsky, Paul 15 – 17, 21, 46, 54n25 Knight, David M. 27 knowledge: capitalism 243 – 245; cosmopolitanism 243 – 245, 248 – 251; forms and layers of 210 – 211; human right to research 247 – 248; informational basis, cosmopolitanism 245 – 247; and modernity 242 – 245; sociology and critique 248 – 251; trajectorism 242 – 243; transforming, cognitive basis of policies 242 – 252 ‘Knowledge Representation in Sanskrit and Artificial Intelligence’ 44 knowledge societies 206 – 208 ‘The Knowledge Society’ 207 Koran/Qur’an 69, 70, 76 Kulkarni, Amba 48 Kumar, Padmaja Sasi 124

James, William 218 Jayāditya 15 Jayasundar, Rama 104 Jeevani milk programme 109 Jesuit seminary 194

languages: ‘Natural Selection’ of 167 – 169; origin and historical development 159 – 160 legal pluralism 79 liberal capitalism 257

274 Index liberalism 255; communicative transformation of 259 Liebig, Justus von 81, 85 limits of science 255 – 269 liṅgānuśāsana 14 linguistic-cultural plurality 33 linguistic development 160 linguistic provinciality 32 linguistic thought history 13 Locke, John 158, 159 lohabhasmam 109 Macaulay, Thomas Barrington 62 Mahābhāṣya 16, 19, 26, 50 Mahābhāṣya-dīpikā 15 Maier, Anneliese 184, 185, 191n1 Malayalam 92n1 Mangoes 120 mankind, experimentation 258 – 263 manuscript-literacy 15 Manu’s laws 164 March for Science 8 market economy 206 – 208 Martens, Kerstin 207 Martin, H. P. 256, 257 material-historical process 155 mathematics 57 – 68 mathesis universalis 258 Mauss, Marcel 208, 209 McPherson, Thomas 195 – 198 “Meaning Statements” 16 medical knowledge 97 medical pluralism 79 medieval philosophia naturalis 173 – 177 medieval scholasticism 176, 177, 185, 188, 190 meme-concept 33 memetics 34 Mendeleev, Dmitri 27, 28, 36n12 mental development 160 Merleau-Ponty, Maurice 224 Michaels, Axel 64 Micrographia 184 Midgley, Mary 197 Mill, John Stuart 237 mimetic constellations 149 mimetic learning 140, 223; cultural learning as 140 – 142; first approximation social acts 142; rituals and social performances, embodiment 144 – 150; social action and practical knowledge 142 – 144 mimetic processes 151; see also mimetic learning

Mishra, Anand 7 modern agriculture: scientism, ecology and displaced knowledge 84 – 85 modern mechanical philosophy 173 – 177, 182, 190 modern science 9 Modi, Narendra 5, 6, 57 moral consciousness 256, 260 moral dualism 258 Morris, Henry 129 Mosaic ethnology 163, 170n23 Muenster, Daniel 4 Mukundan, Girija 107, 108 Müller, F. Max 164 Müller, Max 167 – 169 ‘Münchhausen’s trilemma’ 66 Muslim middle class 69 ‘Myths and reality: On “Vedic mathematics” ’ 61 Nanda, Meena 5, 9 Nanda, Meera 6 Narayan, D. S. 123 ‘National Conference on Knowledge Representation and Inference in Sanskrit’ 44 National Council of Educational Research (NCERT) 58, 60 National Socialism in Germany 130 natural farming 83, 88; soil ontologies in 85 – 89 naturalisms 216 Natural Language Processing (NLP) 6, 44 natural sciences 226 Nebrija, Anton de 154 Neoplatonism 179 Neslon, Deal 57 Newton’s Principia 188, 189 Nilambur workshop 81, 86 Nöe, Alva 223 – 225 non-economic factors 98 non-trade knowledge 209 – 210 non-trade market 209 – 210 Nowotny, Helga 201 nutrition 101, 102; anthropometric measures of 97, 98; caloric conception of 96 – 111; taste and 103 – 105 nutritionism 99 objectivity 10 Olender, Maurice 161, 162, 164, 168 ontological quality 79 Order of Things (1966) 157 Organic Chemistry and Its Application to Agriculture and Physiology (1840) 85

Index  275 organic farming 87, 116; organisational aspect in Kerala 116 – 124 ‘Orientalism’ 157 otherness 225 Otto Böhtlingk 28 Palakkad 114, 117, 121 Palekar, Subhash 4, 78 – 83, 86 – 92, 92n2 panchabhuta theory 100 – 102 Pāṇini 7, 10, 15 Pāṇinian rule 47 Pāṇini as a Variationist (1979) 15 Pāṇini’s Aphorisms 14 Pāṇini’s grammar 13 – 18, 20, 21, 23, 24, 26, 45, 49 – 52 Panofsky, Erwin 191n2 Patañjali 26 Peirce, C. S. 259, 264 periodic regularity 33 permaculture 87 Petersen, Wiebke 45 Pfleiderer, Beatrix 76n1 phenomenal individuation 175, 177 Phenomenology of Perception (1945) 224 – 225 philology 157 philosophical judgment: anthropological constitutive use of 267; limiting use 263 – 269 philosophical reasoning 159 philosophy, standpoint 255 – 269 Philosophy and Religious Belief 195 phiṭ-sūtras 14 physical anthropology 209 PISA-tests, education 139 Plato 66 Polanyi, Karl 150, 209 Polanyi, Michael 209 politicisation strategy: criticism of 7 – 11; scientification debate 5 – 7 Popper, Karl 66 Popperian philosophy 197 Port-Royal Grammar (1660) 157 prabhava 102 practical knowledge 135, 143, 144, 150, 233 Prakrit 18 prana 100 pratyāhāra-sūtras 14, 26, 27 presentism fallacy 4 principium individuationis (principle of individuation) 173 – 192; persisting discourse on 182 – 186 print-capitalism 156

prolegomenon 193 – 203 promiscuous teleology 9 Prophets Facing Backward. Postmodern Critiques of Science and Hindu Nationalism in India (2003) 6 Protestant churches 129 proto-science 65 – 67 pseudoscience 8, 9, 65 – 67 pseudoscientific theories 7 pure semantics 17 Pythagoras theorem 3, 57, 62 – 65 quantitative substantialism 239 quasi-republican anti-monarchical movements 199 Radhakrishnan, Sarvapalli 195 – 196, 198 – 199 radical natural farming movement 78 Rājaśekhara 35n3 Ramanujan, Srinivasa 60 rasa dhatu 101, 102 Rashtriya Sanskrit Vidyapeetha 3 rationalism 158 – 159 recuperation 85 – 89 Réflexions sur l’étude des langues asiatiques 13 regenerative ways, farming 79 religious nationalism 129 religious pluralism 179 religious truth 199 rituals 147 – 150; actions 149; of institution 145; of intensification 145; of interaction 145; knowledge 141, 145, 149; of rebellion 145; of transition 145 Roman Catholic Church 129 Roodbergen, J. A. F. 16 – 17, 47 rubber cultivation 116 rūpya 35n1 ruqya clinic 72, 73 – 76 rural suicides 82 Russell, B. 169 Ryle, Gilbert 150 Said, Edward 157 Saint-Simon, Henri 29 Salafists 70 Śalātura 35n1 saline taste 104 Samithis, farmers 119 samyoga 109 Sandhi rules 49 Sankaracharya of Govardhana Maṭha 59

276 Index Sanskrit 6, 17, 18, 42 – 54; phonemes of 25 Sanskrit Computational Linguistics 50 Sanskrit grammarians 22 Sanskrit grammatical tradition 22 Sanskrit Heritage Site 43 Sanskrit–Hindi Translator (SaHiT) 43 Sanskrit Library 43 SanskritTagger 43 Santos, Boaventura de Sousa 244 sapientia universalis 259 Saussure, F. de 169 Saussurean structuralism 169 Sax, William S. 5 Scharf, Peter 43, 48 Scharfe, Hartmut 50 Scheler, Max 211 Schlegel, August Wilhelm von 13, 22, 23 Schlegel, A. W. von 35n2 Schlegel, Friedrich 230 Schleiermacher, Friedrich 131 Schmid, Wilhelm 239 Schumann, H. 256, 257 Science-Darwinism 67 science of language 154 – 171; European context 155 – 156; language discourse 156 – 157; national languages, emergence 156 science question, alternative agricultures 78 – 92 Science-Religion Dialogue 193 science-religion distinction: philosophers on 195 – 199 Scientific Aspects of Yagna 4 scientific experimentalism 255 scientific Hinduism 6 scientific knowledge 136, 194, 206, 207, 232, 233; dominance of 138 – 151 scientific legitimacy 199 scientific pragmatics 255 scientific thinking 134 Scrinis, Gyorgy 99, 109 Search and Retrieval of Indic Texts (SARIT) 43 seasonal rituals 145 Seed Processing Plant 117 self-help groups, women 81 semantic information 16 semantic interpretation 21 Sen, Amartya 135, 242, 246 Shaban, Tamer 75

Shankar, Ravi 135 Sharma, R. K. 100 Shatrugna, Veena 99 shirkh 70 A Short History of the Twentieth Century 202 silent knowledge 209 Singh, Satyapal 5 Smil, Vaclavc 84 Snell, Bruno 210 Snow, C. P. 131 social economic change 111 social injustice 266 social stereotyping 8 sociological knowledge 247 – 248 speculative theories 5 speech-acts 265 Staal, Frits 10, 16, 21 – 23, 36n7, 36n10, 45 – 50 Stammbaum theory 165 State-Capital-Science nexus 92 Stehr, Nico 206 – 208 Steiner, Rudolf 118 Stoicism 179, 238 Subbanna, Sridhar 48 subsistence farming 115 suicide revolution 81 Sujathan, V. 5 Śulvasūtras 58, 62 – 65, 67 Sustainable Development Goals 136 Swamiji, Shivamurthy 44 – 45 Swami Vivekananda 6 symbolic gestures 146 Syntactic Structures 49 Syntactic Structures 17 ‘Syntactic structures’ 45 Tablighi Jamaat 70 tacit knowledge 138, 150 – 151 Tamil Nadu 117 Tapas 60 tawiz 70, 71 technical knowledge 134 technological expertise 194 Technology Development for Indian Languages (TDIL) Program 43 technoscientification 206 – 213; deep knowledge 211 – 213; disembedded knowledge 208 – 209; forms and layers of knowledge 210 – 211; market economy and knowledge societies 206 – 208; non-trade market and non-trade knowledge 209 – 210

Index  277 TEK 86 The Telegraph 57, 63 Tertullian 179 Thalgard, Paul 9 Thapar, Romila 7 theoretical knowledge 233 ‘Theory and Practice in Education’ 231 Theory of Communicative Action 28 Thesaurus Indogermanischer Text- und Sprachmaterialien (TITUS) 43 Thibaut, George 63 Thieme, Paul 17, 18 Thomas, Jacob 117 Tirthaji, Krishna 59, 60, 62 Tomatis, A. 257 total social fact 208 tridosha theory 102 – 103 Tsing, Anna 242 uṇādi-sūtras 14 United News of India 6 utilitarianism 236, 237 Vaishnava avatāra theory 5 Vākyapadīya 15, 29 Vāmana 15 Varakhedi, Shrinivasa 48 Vardhan, Harsh 5, 57, 62 varṇasamāmnāya 27 Vārttikas (Pāṇini-sūtra-vārttika) 15 Vedāṅgas 62 Vedic knowledge 4 Vedic mathematics 57 – 68; India’s gift to world 57 – 58 Vegetable and Fruit Promotion Council, Kerala (VFPCK) 117, 119

Venkiteswaran, C. S. 123 Vernant, Jean-Pierre 154 Versteegh, Kees 32 Vico 263 The Visible and the Invisible (1964) 225 Volk 160 – 162 volksgeist (folk spirit) 161 Vyākaraṇa-Mahābhāṣya 15 al-Wahhaab, Muhammad ibn Abd 70 Wayanad, Kerala 80 – 82, 89, 90; agrarian frontier 80 Weber, M. 267 Weingart, Peter 210 Weniger, Erich 231 Western conspiracy 79 Western Ghats 81 Whitcomb, John 129 Whitehead 65 wholesome diet 104 wholesome meal 105 Wilkins, Charles 28 Willke, Helmut 208 Wolin, Sheldon 256, 260, 261 Wooton, David 201 Wujastyk, Dominik 43 Wulf, Christoph 223, 225 XML 49 zero-budget farming 4 Zero Budget Natural Farming (ZBNF) 78 – 92; critique of science, confronting mainstream 80 – 84; Wayanad, Kerala 80 zero in mathematics 3