Śaṅkara: Philosopher or Theologian?
At the Indian Philosophy Blog, Jonathan Edelmann argues in his post, “Philosophy and Theology—let’s be clearer,” that we should think of the great Advaita Vedāntin, Śaṅkara, as a theologian, rather than a philosopher (my response follows):
“[I want] to raise an issue that has bothered me since
the very first time I read Śaṅkara in a second year undergraduate Sanskrit course at
the University of California in Santa Barbara, and about which I wrote an
article for the Journal of the American Academy of Religion.
I think Indologists, philosophers and theologians who
examine Indian texts, and religious studies scholars could more carefully
distinguish philosophy from theology, even if the two are not
mutually exclusive and have considerable overlap. This is especially true in a
‘Hindu’ context (I acknowledge the difficulty of that word). The differences
between philosophy and theology are generally well known and respected in the
larger worlds of Christian theology and Western philosophy, yet such
distinctions are less frequently known and respected among those who work on
Indian texts.
In brief, philosophy uses anumāna and tarka alone in the course of
argumentation, whereas theology engages and interprets śabda-pramāṇa
(conceived of as a revealed source of knowledge) in the course of
argumentation.
Philosophers like Udayana, Gaṅgeśa or the early Yogasūtra commentator Vyāsa,
use anumāna and tarka as the primary methods for
establishing their point. Śabda,
conceived as an unauthored or a divinely authored śāstra, is quoted only after a position
was argued for by means of anumāna or
tarka, if at all. Scripture may
motivate their reasoning, but it does not form the basis of their reasoning. On
the other hand theologians like Śaṅkara, Rāmānuja, Kumārilabhaṭṭa, etc. see their roles as interpreting a revealed śāstra. Anumāna and tarka serve the purpose of illuminating
a fault-free śāstra’s meaning, and
using śabda to establish an
interpretation of śabda is considered
reasonable.
Whereas philosophy proceeds rationally, theology does
so exegetically. In the West too (for at least 500 years), the word philosopher
refers to people who use reason to think about epistemology, metaphysics, etc.
and not to people who see their primary roles as that of a scriptural exegete.
The words theology and theologian were reserved for that. These two very
different approaches to the use of reason are often conflated by scholars work
on Indian texts, and at great cost.
A disregard for the difference can mislead. While
pursuing a BA in (Western) Philosophy I took Sanskrit as well. Śaṅkara had been discussed as one of the most important
Hindu philosophers. I felt like I had a pretty good idea of what
philosophers did, having taken specialized courses on Plato, Aristotle, Hume,
Kant and Quine. When I started reading Śaṅkara, however, it clearly was not philosophy
and he was clearly not a philosopher. If Śaṅkara was a philosopher, he was unlike every
philosopher I had studied. The text we read was, I believe, from his
Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad Bhāṣya.
Śaṅkara was trying to illuminate the meaning of the root
text in light of his Advaitavāda. None of the philosophers I read spent any time
carefully interpreting Biblical texts. It wasn’t until later when I read that
Śaṅkara was a theologian – a scholar who accepts apauruṣeya-śabda
as pramāṇa – that
his project began to make sense.
If we don’t adequately distinguish the philosophers
from the theologians we run the risk of confusing newcomers to the subject who
already know about Western intellectual history.”
My
response (I tried to post this as a
comment at the Indian Philosophy Blog but was unsuccessful):
I don’t think it’s accurate to call Śaṅkara a “theologian,” at least insofar as (nirguṇa) Brahman
is not “God” in the theistic sense of the Abrahamic traditions. And why need our
understanding of philosophy remain utterly dependent on the notion of philosophy
as it developed in the West? Why cannot we modify our conception to embrace
those like Śaṅkara and Rāmānuja, or Confucius, or Daoists
(collectively, as represented for instance in the Daodejing, or individuals like Zhuangzi)
as religious or spiritual philosophers, much in the manner that Plato might
strike one as a spiritual philosopher (at the very least, his ‘metaphysics’ is
rather different than the contemporary articulations of same). The significance
of the distinction between theology and philosophy follows largely the modern
professionalization of these intellectual enterprises and thus is not always
essential to figures of Eastern provenance or even in the pre-modern West: is
not the “therapy of desire” (after Nussbaum) of the Hellenistic philosophers
closer to the soteriological and spiritual (emancipatory, therapeutic,
developmental) aims of religious worldviews than the avowed subject matter of
most contemporary professional philosophers? When eudaimonistic concerns and
questions of human fulfillment provide the primary orientation of ancient Greek
philosophers (after John M. Cooper), this strikes one as closer to the
motivations of religious philosophers and theologians than what motivates the
wide array of specialized topics found in “analytic” and “continental”
traditions of philosophy (and to a lesser degree and in a different sense in the
latter). In these cases we find ample reason to soften any hard and fast
distinctions between “philosophy” and “theology.” The “spiritual exercises” of
these philosophers resemble religious ascetic practices and is utterly foreign
to contemporary professional philosophy. The relief of suffering, the change of
heart, or transformation of one’s overall mental attitude or psyche is closer to
religion and spiritual praxis than philosophy proper, yet we christen these
remarkable thinkers—from Epictetus to Gaius Musonius Rufus among the Stoics
for example—philosophers.
Consider too, Islamic philosophy: it certainly has a
religious or spiritual framework or accepts premises pivotal to classical
Islamicate culture. Islamic philosophers, with varying degrees of success,
endeavored to reconcile Greek philosophy with traditional Islamic sciences. Ibn
Rushd (Averroës), for example,
distinguished between philosophy and theology (kalam) yet saw these as compatible and
different routes to the same truth(s). He viewed philosophy as beyond the reach
of the common man and thus the prerogative of an epistemic elite in possession
of that rare combination of virtue and wisdom. And then we have Abu Hamid
al-Ghazali, a theologian who argued against the views of the Islamic
philosophers yet defended Aristotelian logic for such purposes. Indeed, and
further, Oliver Leaman states that “his arguments against philosophy are
themselves philosophical.” While it is true that kalam and falsafa developed, as they did in the
West generally, fairly independent of each other, periods of fertile conflict
and constructive engagement might find value in looking beyond the distinctions
between philosophy and theology. For instance, Mu῾tazilah, the first truly
doctrinal school of theology in Islam, is invariably defined as based on reason
and rational thought!
In the case of
Śaṅkara, and with Ram-Prasad, we could grant the primary
role religious motivation plays in his writings while analyzing the
sophisticated philosophizing which permits us to see how this monastic
philosopher “place[d] Advaita on the map of Indian thought” and how, in fact,
“philosophical inquiry plays a role in Advaita from the beginning.” The “urge”
or motivation to do philosophy may not be among the sorts found among
contemporary professional philosophers, but it is no less philosophy for all
that. We may need to be acquainted with the “soteriological imperative of
Advaita” in terms, say of cosmogony or metaphysics, so as to make sense of the
philosophical arguments, but they’re no less philosophical arguments for being
wedded to soteriological or emancipatory ends. I therefore find no compelling
reason to label Śaṅkara a “theologian” as opposed to a philosopher:
sometimes it helps to understand his preoccupation with spiritual aims, but this
need not crowd out or trump our characterization of him (for several purposes)
as a philosopher. The fact that you learned Śaṅkara was not a philosopher on the model of your
training in Western philosophy speaks rather to the contingent and somewhat
arbitrary circumscription of what “counts” as philosophy according to that
tradition. An encounter with a wider world might prompt us to widen our criteria
for what counts as philosophy, might compel us to embrace a more generous
conception of philosophy, one that does justice to the range, depth, and
creative contributions to “philosophy” from outside the canonical tradition of
the West, a tradition that in any case itself does not always neatly demarcate
the lines between philosophy and theology. I think it’s well worth the
provisional risk of confusion among “newcomers to the subject who already know
about Western intellectual history.”
A couple of other points: While it is true of course
that Śaṅkara
accepts apauruṣeya-śabda,
that is only one of six of its accepted
pramāṇas, it’s no
less revealing that this religious worldview recognizes the traditional system
of validating means of knowing or “knowledge-episodes.” The Advaita view on anirvacanīyakhyāti makes a philosophical
argument that the “object-form” in cases of sensory illusion demonstrates a
realm of objects neither existent nor non-existent, at least as a consequence of
Brahman-awareness (the metaphysical ‘non-realism’ that is distinct from idealism
on the one hand, and realism on the other, but appears to partake of epistemic
insights from—or makes concessions to—both sides of this philosophical divide,
although I agree with Matilal that the theory ‘in fact tends more toward realism
than phenomenalism or idealism’). Whatever the aim, we have here a philosophical
position that, in the words of Ram Prasad, “may be characterised as being
realist from an idealist point of view, idealist from a realist point of view,
and skeptical about both points of view.” Philosophically speaking, this is a
novel philosophical argument involving both epistemology and metaphysics: what
is gained in viewing this simply and solely as a piece of theology? So, while it
is true that philosophical arguments are essential to, in the end, the
philosophical goal of validating or proving the liberating role of apauruṣeya-śabda,
it is for that very reason that Ram-Prasad can “bracket” what he calls the
soteriology, believing Advaita philosophy to be therefore of “intrinsic”
philosophical interest. So too with Śaṅkara’s use of the dream-analogy: intriguing
philosophical arguments are crafted, albeit in keeping with the legitimacy of apauruṣeya-śabda
with regard to Advaita exegesis of
the Upaniṣadic
doctrine of liberation.
Let’s
approach the claimed importance of the need to keep in mind this
philosophy/theology distinction in Indian worldviews from another direction, one
outside Indian philosophy. I suspect a close examination of the thought of
Kierkegaard (or Pascal for that matter) would provide us with yet another
example of why we need not police the borders between philosophy and theology,
for in his case in particular it is often hard if not impossible (even if not
always intentional on Kierkegaard’s part) to disentangle the two modes of
thinking and believing (not to mention the consequences for how one lives one’s
life), leaving us with religious insight useful to philosophy and philosophical
arguments availing to the defense of (at least a certain kind of) religious
life. It might also be helpful to think about these issues in terms of the
cognitivity of religion (and one need not assume the primacy of belief in
religion to appreciate the following): fideistically inclined views of
neo-Wittgensteinians like D.Z. Phillips or Peter Winch extend and develop
Wittgenstein’s negative views on the place of evidence in religion (the latter
having argued that religious belief in some important sense is neither rational
nor irrational): they are philosophers using philosophical arguments in support
(if only by implication or indirectly) of their religious views. Strictly
speaking, they’re not doing theology, indeed, insofar as theology gives wide
berth to rationality as essential to religious belief, their enterprise is
wholly at odds with theology, but one might argue that it is no less
“religiously” motivated.
Other
philosophical approaches emphasize the value of the cognitive or epistemic
dimension of religious faith and belief, indeed, stress what is rightly called
“religious knowledge.” These philosophers, like Plantinga or Hick (and earlier
Aquinas), enlist philosophy on behalf of religion, yet we call them
“philosophers of religion,” not theologians. Perhaps we should likewise call
Śaṅkara a philosopher of religion! James Kellenberger argues for a third
perspective in a manner not unlike that above wherein a way was found beyond
realism and idealism (or, say, could be found ‘beyond,’ perhaps by way of
Hegelian sublation, rationalism and empiricism): this third perspective places
“evidentiary” emphasis on what Kellenberger describes as
“realization-discoveries” (‘embodied in the reflections of certain though not
all mystics, in the sensibilities of the authors of various devotional works,
and pre-eminently in the Psalms’) that are neither irrational or non-rational on
the one hand, nor rational along the lines of the “enquiry-model” of rationality
found among well-known contemporary philosophers of (usually Christian)
religion. Kellenberger proffers the category of “discovery” as a way of looking
differently at the issues of religious rationality and evidence. Again, we have
a fairly sophisticated philosophical approach (availing itself of analytic
philosophical methods) to questions of the discovery of the reality or presence
of God or a relationship to the divine that amount (in the end if you will) to a
philosophical defense of soteriological aims. Yet we do not insist that this be
classified as theology, despite its clear theological-like motivation. The
remaining relevant difference with a Śaṅkara or Rāmānuja in this regard appears
to me to fall under the heading of a circumstantial ad hominem, invoking in other words,
their religious motivations and commitments as sufficient reason to exclude them
from the class of philosophers when in fact they not infrequently resort to
philosophical methods and make philosophical arguments like the best of
philosophers, East and West.
Incidentally,
and after S.A. Lloyd’s remarkable studies of Hobbes’s moral and political
thought, I’m reminded of how Hobbes spent a considerable amount of effort to
“rationalize [Christian] religion” rather than to attack it as fiction or
undermine belief in it. In Lloyd’s words, “He speaks throughout Leviathan as if he thought they [i.e.,
the basic doctrines of Judeo-Christian tradition] were true, and Aubrey provides
us with evidence that he was a Christian believer.” Hobbes appeared to
appreciate the fact that religion has been and could be a mechanism for social
order (in other words, it is not necessarily subversive of order, even if it was
in the time of Hobbes). He also knew the prevailing worldview among his reading
public, which was overwhelmingly Christian, so he had good rhetorical reasons to
rationalize their beliefs in the context of his larger argument. And yet Hobbes
proceeds in effect to argue for authoritarianism in religion rather than
tolerance, which suggests in the first instance at least a theological rather
than philosophical motivation. Hobbes in fact spends the bulk of the second half
of Leviathan concerned with the
details of Christianity, for he “thought scriptural exegesis [was] crucial to
his project” (Lloyd writes that it was ‘necessary’ to Hobbes’s task). In
addition,
“Hobbes
consistently presents the Laws of Nature, which he equates with ‘the true moral
philosophy,’ as articulating those of God’s requirements most certain to all of
us who have not enjoyed the benefit of a direct revelation from God Himself. The
pronouncements of revealed religion we take on hearsay evidence [one form of
testimony] or mere authority from those who claim that God spoke to them
immediately; but God’s natural law is discoverable by each of us immediately
through a mere exercise of our natural reason, allowing us to assure ourselves
of its claim on our obedience. By attempting to claim God’s imprimatur on the
conclusions of moral philosophy, Hobbes seeks to consolidate normative support
for the principles of social stability uncovered by political philosophy.
Political philosophy then completes the task of reconciliation by showing that
Scripture, properly interpreted, confirms the conclusions of moral
philosophy.”
Indeed, Hobbes writes that the Laws of Nature can be
captured by the Golden Rule formulation, “Do not that to another, which thou
wouldest not have done to thyself.” (This is a ‘negative’ formulation of the
Golden Rule, which goes back to Rabbi Hillel in the Judaic tradition, and is
sometimes called a ‘Silver Rule’ to contrast it by way of Jesus’ formulation in
the Gospels, which is found alongside the ‘double commandment of love’ with
regard to God and neighbor.) Much more could be said here (e.g., what Lloyd terms Hobbes’s ‘reciprocity theorem’ does not capture the Golden Rule inasmuch as the latter goes beyond strict reciprocity) but it should suffice
to make the point that I can’t recall anyone suggesting that the Leviathan might be considered a work
of theology or that we might entertain the thought of Hobbes as a theologian or even
both a philosopher and a theologian.
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