Hidden worlds within our own

 You’ve almost certainly heard about the flat earth theory — the evidence-denying belief that the world isn’t (mostly) round but, in fact, flat. But have you ever heard of the hollow earth theory? This is the idea that the earth is either entirely hollow or contains a large interior space that is capable of hosting life and, in some iterations of the theory, is home to species longthought extinct by us ignorant surface-dwellers and perhaps some species that we have never encountered at all. While many mythologies speak of a world inside our world, the ‘modern’ version of this theory can be traced to astronomer Edmond Halley (of Halley’s Comet fame) who first suggested this possibility. One early believer was American businessman John Symmes who built on the theory by suggesting that this inner world could be reached through giant holes in the earth’s polar regions, and even proposed sending expeditions to find these access points.

Others went even further by declaring that this Hollow Earth world was dominated by intelligent reptilian (and possibly alien) races and giants who are (in some iterations of the tale) the secret masters of humanity, pulling our strings from the unseen depths. While this may sound far-fetched I, for one, would be relieved to learn that someone is running this absolute mess on the surface. Unfortunately, this rather lovely theory has been conclusively debunked, and the only mentions you’ll now find of the Hollow Earth are relegated to pseudoscience and science fiction. But the earth still holds many mysteries, as Chinese spelunkers discovered earlier this year when they came across a 630-metre-deep sinkhole in south China. At the base of the pit, the explorers found a massive and “well-preserved primitive forest” with ‘prehistoric’ looking trees that grew to heights of over 30m.

Essentially, they found a unique and isolated ecosystem that had survived and thrived untouched by human hands for millennia, and researchers are interested in seeing if it is home to animal and insect species that cannot be found anywhere else on earth. Given that the sinkhole is also home to several cave entrances, a more thorough exploration may result in even more discoveries similar to the ones made in other lightless cave systems which were once considered to be too sulphureous to be home to any kind of life. But when such caves, such as the Frassasi Caves in Italy or those in Tabasco, Mexico, were explored, they were found to host a variety of creatures uniquely adapted to life in this hidden world. This is possible thanks to extremophiles, organisms known affectionately as ‘snottites’ or ‘snotticles’ because the massive colonies they form on the walls and roofs of these cave structures look exactly like … snot.

Apart from looking pretty, these snottites feed on sulphur and in turn provide sustenance for a variety of spiders, midges, gastropods and even large colonies of blind fish that feed on the snottites. Then there’s the cave of crystals in the Mexican Naica Mines, where the lowest temperature is about 47 degrees Celsius and the humidity reaches close to 100 per cent. Impossible to explore without protective gear, the cave, as the name suggests, is home to giant crystals (google it and be amazed!) which, in turn, contain pockets of fluid that are home to dormant microbes that may be 50,000 years old. The deeper you go, the crazier it gets: while we have yet to find any reptilian aliens, scientists have speculated that the pressure in the depths of the earth is so immense (roughly 200,000 times what we experience on the surface) that it creates minerals and substances that cannot exist on the surface of the earth, and which would melt if they were brought to the surface. That’s not as far-fetched as it may seem as deep-sea fish found some 7.5 kilometres below the ocean’s surface in the depths of the Atacama Trench are so perfectly adapted to the high-pressure depths that when they are brought to the surface by nosy researchers, they simply … melt.

Are there minerals with similar properties? Until recently, scientists had only informed speculation and lab experiments to go by; in one such experiment scientists simulated the conditions that exist in the earth’s mantle and synthesised a mineral they dubbed ‘davemaoite’. But then, just last year, mineralogist Oliver Tschauner and his colleagues were going through samples of volcanoejected diamonds (essentially diamonds ejected from the earth’s mantle via volcanos) and found that deep within the diamond was an actual, naturally occurring sample of this very mineral — formed about 645 km under the Earth’s crust — and kept from melting thanks to being encased in the diamond. Today, we are transfixed by images of distant galaxies coming to us via the James Webb telescope but tomorrow, perhaps we will have the capability to further explore the hidden worlds within our own.

A new god

 The increased frequency with which comments on gods have resulted in hurting religious sensibilities makes one wonder about the exact nature of the attachment that human society has with the idea of divinity in a human-like form. Any speculation on when in prehistory and how precisely the idea of god emerged would be futile since we do not have any definite details about the underlying social or psychological processes. For instance, we do not know if the Neanderthal man or the Homo erectus had any idea of gods and whether they were identical or different. In the case of Homo sapiens, the idea may have emerged at a much later stage in their advent towards forming civilisations. What is known is that other animal species do not have prayer practices, neither do they worship icons. It is perhaps likely that gods got conceptualised after humans chose to cover their bodies, not just for protection from the cold but also out of a sense of shame. The emergence of what psychology describes as ‘alterity’ — a sense of ‘Otherness’ — is associated with the sense of shame experienced by individuals. It is the same instinctive alterity that makes one conceptualise a far more powerful Other who controls the world.

Acquisition of language some 70 million years ago helped humans articulate the imagination of a larger energy or being. This initial form of realisation of a larger power acquired the rudimentary form of collective offerings or prayers only when humans started forming society, each such social formation differing distinctly from other social formations. In short, the idea of god required a social identity that was not only accepted by its members but also a society that collectively accepted to place the responsibility of creation on an agency that was larger than and prior to humans. Since none had known in immediate experience what that unnamed agency was, it was imagined to be beyond birth and, possibly, beyond death. It got described as being created by itself — ‘omnipotent’ and ‘omnipresent’. Additionally, since it was not bound by material laws, it was also seen as entirely transcendental.

The ‘all pervading, all present, all creating’ idea of such an agency, shared by a large number of individuals in a given prehistoric or ancient society, became ‘god’. By then, humans had moved quite a long way from their pre-human, animal-like condition. They had figured out how to acquire clothing, dwelling and survival ability. They had already gathered a substantial experience of material things — what we call today the ‘laws of physics’. Their imagination of ‘god’, therefore, took the form of a craving for a domain of being/existence that was entirely free of the material, mortal world of humans. All earliest descriptions of god or gods invariably invoked the non-material aspects of their being. The transcendental was free of the constraints of the real or what Immanuel Kant termed the ‘phenomenal’. Human societies have moved ahead in history over the last few millennia trying to accommodate in their mental transactions the phenomenal as well as the transcendental as two aspects of their being and becoming. The sects that emerged over time, the godheads that came to be worshipped, the prophets claiming to represent divinity who founded various religions, have attempted to build bridges between the two world-views despite their differences.

Over the last few centuries, the advancement of thought, often propelled by the contradiction between the clergy and the ideation of the ‘omniscient’ principle, has brought humans close to proposing and generating a third kind of reality. At this juncture, we call it the virtual reality. In the domain of the virtual, space and time do not hinder movements of its inhabitant. The laws of motion and matter applicable in the phenomenal world pose no constraints to possibilities unfolded by the virtual world. Just as in the past eras the conceptualisation of the transcendental attracted societies to attempt entering the transcendental through intuition, imagination, aspiration or, at worst, through blind ritualistic imitation, in the present era, humans are attracted to the idea of entering the virtual. No individual, no field of knowledge, no society, no area of action and no State has remained untouched by the mesmerising attraction for the virtual. In the past, any degree of closeness to the transcendental was interpreted as ethically desirable. In our century, any degree of inwardness to the virtual is seen as a new mix of knowledge and power. If the invention of language and its advancement to a new order of complexity were the foundations of the transcendental, in the future the invention of a new and a complex order of silence — call it aphasia — is expected to provide the foundation for the virtual. Memory chips and digits are its building blocks and cyborgs its inhabitants. It shall not occupy any space of the phenomenal world. It shall not work within the laws of temporality surrounding human life, thought and action. Yet, it is not just another version of the transcendental. The transcendental was believed to know ‘all’, including its beginning and its end, although humans were not privy to that knowledge. The memory chips by themselves shall not know how or from where they came.

Caught in the tripartite visions of ‘reality’ — the phenomenal, the transcendental and the virtual — human societies are in a tangle that has no precedence in the entire history of man’s evolution. The inexorable and speedy drift of all in the direction of the virtual, irrespective of economic class, gender, ethnicity, language, theological affiliation and nationality, has posed a vastly profound challenge to both the transcendental view of reality as well as the phenomenal view of reality. The heightened sensitivity to gods and god-related matters is a symptom of that stress. It has also placed a tremendous stress on the phenomenal view of reality. The rather surprising eruption of ultra-sensitive nationalism at the beginning of a century initially lauded as the ‘knowledge century’ is a symptom of the stress. In the process of evolution, the formations and features that are at the end of their utility have been known in the past to have briefly bounced back with ferocity and rage before they were discarded. If one were to think, without losing one’s temper, and with a philosophical inwardness, it appears that the ideas of hyper-nationalism as well as hyper-sensitive attachment to any religion are doomed to be submerged in the avalanche of the virtual that is rapidly taking over the human world. The idea of a Hindu nation or an Islamic State has one thing in common: they cannot survive for long given the new turn that the human vision of reality has taken.

G.N. Devy is Chair, The People’s Linguistic Survey of India

Source: The Telegraph, 14/07/22

The true meaning of Tantra

 There was an exhibition in town called “Tantra on Edge”. It has now moved elsewhere, from Delhi to Mumbai and will move abroad thereafter. Ajit Mookerjee wrote a lot on Tantra and those interested in the subject will have read his book, Tantra Art. (There is a later book on Yoga Art too.) A lot has been written on Tantra, not always very well-informed. Tantra is not easy to pin down and there is a Tantra tradition outside India too.

The philosophy and practice naturally influenced traditional art, motifs and symbols – the bindu, triangle, lingam, yantra, mandala, chakra, bija. Every Indian will have encountered these images, in one form or the other, even if we don’t always notice them explicitly or understand their deep mystic symbolism. For instance, Indians were, and still are, fascinated by the Beatles and the Beatles were fond of cars. George Harrison possessed expensive and fancy cars but he also had a Mini Cooper and most Beatles fans will be familiar with its psychedelic art. It is featured in Magical Mystery Tour. Subsequently, it was repainted. The original car seems to have vanished but one can still form some idea of what it must have looked like from collectable miniatures. Plus, there are images and films. When Harrison originally purchased the car, it was metallic black. The subsequent repainting was on the basis of images from Mookerjee’s book.

Inevitably, the car will be described as being painted in psychedelic colours and even Indians will not always appreciate the Tantra symbolism. Etymologically, the use of the word psychedelic isn’t wrong. But the word is often associated with drugs and reminds us of the swinging Sixties, the Vietnam War, Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, transcendental meditation, Ravi Shankar, Allen Ginsberg and Woodstock. The West was attracted to the world of Tantra and our perceptions about Tantra are often shaped by what the West thought, and continues to think, about it. Therefore, a documentary film must show Kali smoking a cigarette.

As Ajit Mookerjee’s book documented, Tantra has always featured in traditional art. But following its discovery in the West, Indian artists, modern ones, started to incorporate Tantra into art forms. It was almost a new movement in modern Indian art. The exhibition I mentioned is a documentation of the work of 16 prominent Indian artists. Some incorporated elements of Tantra. Others were exclusively driven by Tantra. Some experimented, using creative licence. A few famous artists are not identified with Tantra. Nonetheless, the odd painting has been influenced by Tantra. If you have missed the exhibition, there is an accompanying book, curated by Madhu Khanna. There is a broader task of documenting our legacy, including the legacy of Tantra influencing art. Most of this is traditional. What I have mentioned is only the documentation of the work of 16 modern Indian artists. The larger task of documentation remains.

There are books galore on Tantra, popular and academic. Most — though not all — of the academic work has emanated from outside India and is also a function of whether one is writing of Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, or something else. Within Hinduism, there are Vaishnava, Shaiva and Shakti strands. Within the Shaiva and Shakti strands, there are texts and practices from Kashmir and texts and practices from Bengal (and Bihar). The word Tantra is itself capable of multiple meanings. Perhaps the most acceptable definition will be that of the warp and weft that exists within the universe and within every living being.

Relatively speaking, why is there limited research that emanates from within India? The answer has many layers. But partly, it has to do with another word, “Kaula”. This word has multiple meanings too. However, fundamentally, this word underlines the tradition of knowledge about practices being passed down through a family and a lineage, not meant for dissemination to outsiders. This proposition about parampara is true of many of our knowledge systems, but it is especially true of Tantra. I take diksha into the system and use Tantra in my everyday practice. The objective is not to do research and publish academic papers and books about Tantra. That’s the reason practitioners rarely speak, or write, about Tantra and texts seem to be mysterious and esoteric. Practices are not meant to be obvious and open to everyone.

This has a flip side. There are several books on Tantra, best described as “Tantra for Dummies”. They simplify and often give Tantra a bad time, especially when one has the left-handed path (vamachara) in mind. There are practitioners who give Tantra a bad name too, proclaiming to the gullible that they can use their powers of Tantra to malign and benign effect, the former naturally directed against adversaries. Birbhum district in West Bengal is known for its Tantra practices. Recently, I met an engineer who has turned into a sanyasi and Tantrik. It was eerie, chatting with him in the middle of the night near a cremation ground, with a fire burning in front. He sought my help on a simple matter.

Couldn’t something be done to prevent fraudulent practitioners from advertising their powers on print and electronic media and fleecing the gullible and the poor? As you will appreciate, this isn’t a question of the law alone (which exists), but its enforcement. So far, I haven’t been able to do much. Tantra has always been on the edge, not necessarily part of the mainstream. That’s also the reason it is rarely taught in courses on Hindu religion.

Written by Bibek Debroy 

Source: Indian Express, 14/07/22

Does god exist? There are several possible hypotheses

What I would recommend to you, dear reader, is my own philosophy of scepticism, which has stood me in good stead and which can be summed up in a simple dictum: Anything that is not logically impossible is possible.

Meeting my old friend, Michael Menezes, at the beautiful Pali Village Café in Mumbai recently, my mind drifted back to our college days in Delhi and another café.

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This was in early 1972, maybe March or April. Our three years in St Stephen’s College were drawing to a close, three magical years of fun and friendship. I did poorly in my final exam but that seemed like a small price to pay for all the joy of not studying. Mike and I decided it was time to do some good deed and our plan was to match one of our classmates, whose name will remain anonymous, to a very charming student of Miranda House, whose name, alas, I do not remember. So we devised a remarkable entrepreneurial scheme. We wrote a letter to her pretending to be him, professing to be in love with her and pleading her to come to the university Coffee House to meet him. And we wrote a letter to him pretending to be her, professing love and that he come to the Coffee House at the same time.

When that momentous day came, Mike and I headed off to the Coffee House to witness the fruits of our match-making. On the way, we had to make a phone call and stepped into one of those phone booths, so ubiquitous those days, where you insert coins to make a call. And there we struck gold, or, more precisely, a 10 rupee note, left behind by someone on the phone counter. There was no one to be seen nearby, and it was too small an amount to go searching for the owner. The thought struck us both that this was an occasion for free coffee. Mike, being a Catholic, wondered if we were about to commit a sin. I assured him of the flexibility of the Hindu gods. Further, somewhere in high school, I had ceased to believe in god. I saw no evidence of god and, in case he was there and had hid the evidence of his existence, he would surely be irritated by the dishonesty of the believers who claimed to see evidence.

In any case, we decided this was a good test of god’s existence. We would see whether or not he punished us for this sin. We walked over to the Coffee House and, soon, as expected, our classmate came in, looking tense. He sat alone in a far corner, an eye on the main entrance. Within minutes she came in, and walked unsurely to his corner. They began chatting. We could not hear the conversation but it was clear that it was running into heavy weather, each claiming the other had asked them to come. Then we saw them both pull out letters from their pockets and thrust them at each other, at which point, Mike and I decided it was time to leave the scene of crime.

As we walked out of the Coffee House, Mike got proof (in his case, a reminder) of god’s existence. He reached into his pocket and his wallet was mysteriously missing.

The salad days of college came to an end in June. I packed my bags from my residence in Stephen’s Rudra South, bid farewell to my dearest friends and left for a short vacation in Calcutta and then for the London School of Economics. (Luckily, LSE had given me admission before seeing my final-year performance in St Stephen’s.

Three years later, I was delighted when Mike, by then a chartered accountant, came come to LSE do a master’s degree. On a walk one afternoon, we stepped into one of those iconic, red phone-booths of London to make a call. And, yes, an abandoned five pound note was lying, at roughly the same place as the ten rupee note three years ago. There was no one in the vicinity who could be its rightful owner. We gasped at how uncannily similar the situation was. Was god testing us to see if we had learned our lesson? We, on our part, decided we had to check how consistent god was. So we picked up the money and set off to have coffee at Wimpy.

Like Alexander Fleming in his laboratory waiting to see if the bacteria would grow, we sat, drinking our coffee but with our minds transfixed on the experiment. Time ticked away. We finished our coffee, paid for it with our ill-gotten gain and walked out nervously, and back to our hostel. What happened then, was the following: Our wallets were not lost.

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Given nature’s different response to our picking up abandoned notes in Delhi and London, the question remained open: Does god exist? There are several possible hypotheses: There is no god, and the loss of the wallet in Delhi was a fluke; there is god but he believes in punishing people for drinking coffee using ill-gotten gains, but only when that is coupled with writing letters in other people’s names. However, when Mike revealed later that the experiment was not quite the same because this time, while having coffee, he had clutched on to his wallet, we realised there was a third hypothesis — there is god but he is not that powerful, and in particular, he cannot wrestle wallets out of clenched fists.

The upshot basically is that there is no firm answer. What I would recommend to you, dear reader, is my own philosophy of scepticism, which has stood me in good stead and which can be summed up in a simple dictum: Anything that is not logically impossible is possible.

Live by it and you will make better decisions in life.

Kaushik Basu

The writer is C Marks Professor at Cornell University and former Chief Economist and Senior Vice President, World Bank

Source: Indian Express, 7/03/2019

What is performativity in philosophy?

Performativity as a concept was first developed by the philosopher of language John L. Austin to define the capability of language as a mode of action and not just as a mode of description. It ran counter to the positivist view of speech as essentially comprising utterances that were either true or false. Marriage vows, promises of help, judicial verdicts, placing of bets are all instances of performative utterances that signify indulgence, and not any verifiable description.

Source: The Hindu, 4/02/2019

What is ‘wisdom of repugnance’ in Philosophy?

Also known as the yuck factor, this refers to the argument that any intuitive feeling of disgust that a human being might feel towards something is reason enough to consider the thing to be immoral in nature. Supporters of this idea believe that the emotional reaction towards something is simply an involuntary articulation of deeper wisdom within human beings that may not be easily comprehensible through reason. The term was coined by American scientist Leon R. Kass in 1997 to argue against the cloning of human beings. Critics of the idea believe that gut reaction against something can, in fact, lead people to do things that are deeply unethical in nature.

Source: The Hindu, 22/01/2019

What is moralistic fallacy in philosophy?

his refers to the fallacy of assuming that only what is morally good can be a part of nature. In other words, whatever is considered to be morally wrong is assumed to be unnatural by people committing the moralistic fallacy. For instance, it may be assumed that since violence is morally wrong, it is not a part of human nature. The moralistic fallacy is often considered to be the opposite of the naturalistic fallacy where people assume that whatever is prevalent in the natural world is also morally good by default. It is said to affect the acceptability of politically incorrect scientific research.

Source: The Hindu, 28/11/2018