In today's formal education, creativity is a primary virtue. The initial rote learning, compliance and discipline that students are subject to, are eventually meant to make them creative "self actualising" individuals.
Creativity takes on various forms. It could be in the form of creating a piece of technology, or creating artistic expressions.
But regardless of the nature of creativity, in order to be creative, we need to get into a frame of mind, or "paradigm" that promotes creativity. We need to "see the world differently" or imagine possibilities, and so on, in order to become creative.
Oftentimes, we are not even aware of the paradigm that drives our thinking and it takes a lot of introspection to discover how our thoughts are structured, and what other paradigms could there be.
Creativity, as a paradigm, has specific characteristics. In order to get into a mindset of creating something that is not there, we need to be fundamentally unhappy or dissatisfied with what we have! Indeed there are schools of thought, that believe that creativity stems from suffering, and in order to be truly creative, we need to suffer!
Given that creativity is a virtue, and a virtue is something we need to advocate to the world at large, we are in effect-- in our institutions and homes, encouraging everyone to suffer-- so that they may become creative!
Creativity is also fundamentally minimalist as a paradigm. Creation is goal-oriented, where at each step, we evaluate and optimise our resources and efforts towards the end goal. Anything that is not helpful towards the end goal of creation, are useless, and are discarded. Hence for instance, if our end goal is to create a mango orchard, anything that does not contribute to this end goal, becomes extra baggage and needs to be weeded out. For instance, suppose our mango orchard in the making, has a number of tomato plants. In this paradigm, unless these plants can be shown to be useful to achieve the end goal of producing more mangoes, they are useless, and are weeded out. In this paradigm, suppose we need to use a fertiliser that maximises our mango yield, but which would be harmful to the tomato plants, we would go ahead with it, because mango is our fundamental goal-- not tomatoes. The fact that tomato is a legitimate plant in itself has no bearing in our goal-oriented approach.
One who has internalised the creativity paradigm tends to become elitist, and view society in terms of "higher" and "lower" classes. Even in the Maslow "hierarchy" creativity or actualisation comes at the "top". In an internalised paradigm of creativity-- creativity itself is the goal, and the objective of our lives is to work towards achieving this goal. Clerical activities that "merely" support creativity are considered lower in the hierarchy than creativity. The character of Sheldon Cooper from the TV series "The Big Bang Theory" where he grants a "high honour" to his friends by getting them to drive him to work, portrays this stereotype well.
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Traditional Indian culture based on the concept of dharma or "sustainability," has a fundamentally different paradigm. Here, creativity or self-actualisation is not an end in itself. All forms of pursuits-- be they creative or service or clerical activity-- are rooted in a paradigm of sustainability.
Sustainability as a paradigm is fundamentally different from creativity. Sustainability aims to preserve or sustain what is there, rather than create what is not there.
Sustainability, by its very definition is not "goal-oriented" approach. It is a "state maintenance" approach. State maintenance has no end goal. We need to maintain a desired state (of life, society, etc.) for as long as possible-- knowing fully well that, nothing can sustain eternally.
The pursuit of sustainability may need us to become creative, and invent stuff that. is not there. But creativity is not a goal in itself. It is an element of a larger pursuit towards sustainability. Similarly, creativity is not "higher" in some pecking order than other forms of non-creative, clerical activities. Sometimes, clerical bookkeeping may be more critical towards sustainability, than creative outputs.
Sustainability or preservation is also fundamentally "maximalist" in nature. The very definition of preservation urges the sustainability paradigm to aim to preserve everything-- unless there are specific reasons not to do so. Sometimes, preserving something may adversely affect the sustainability of everything else in its vicinity, in which case, it makes sense to let it go, to maximise sustainability.
For someone who has internalised the sustainability paradigm, efforts like "save the tiger" makes no sense. Sustainability does not focus on a single entity in an ecosystem. Sustainability aims to "preserve the forest" rather than "save" a specific species. Sustainability also doesn't agree with the concept of "keystone" species-- where one species (typically a predator) is considered to be the keystone, that keeps the entire ecosystem running. The idea of a keystone represents a hierarchical or linear relationship between species, which is not the case. The dharmic mind knows that a forest comprising of all prey (like deers) and no predators (like tigers) can sustain, but a forest comprising of all predators and no prey, cannot sustain.
The sustainability paradigm requires us to think "holistically". We cannot focus on one entity and its sustenance. We need to promote sustainability of everything.
In the sustainability mindset, "growth" is not an end in itself either. The dharmic mind knows that nothing can grow forever. Growth saturates and is subject to diminishing value of returns. Like creativity, promoting growth is important-- but not as an end in itself.
Indian philosophy-- regardless of which school of philosophy we are talking about-- distinguish between two forms of reality. The existential reality of names and forms, including information constructs like knowledge, belief, etc. form what we generally know as reality. This is called Prakriti in the Samkhya philosophy and Maya in different other schools of thought.
But in addition to the existential reality in which we all dwell in, almost all schools of thought posit a deeper substratum that transcends all of existence and beyond. This "transcendental" reality, variously called Purusha, Brahman, or "that which is", etc. is postulated as the only entity there is.
Most philosophical writings are about how to realise this transcendental reality as a fact, and not as a postulate or an assertion, or as a matter of faith or belief. There are several techniques and paradigms (called marga or pathways) that are proposed, that systematically take the inquirer from their current moorings in existential reality, to a state where they realise that all of existence is just "that which is."
The jnana marga or the paradigm of knowledge takes the inquirer on a journey of logic and epistemology, to ultimately lead to a state where one realises that reality needs to necessarily lie beyond the system of logic and knowledge-- and that logic can only communicate truth, and not discover it.
In addition to the paradigm of knowledge, there are several other paradigms that are proposed-- including karma (action), Yoga (the discipline of joining or harmonising), bhakti (devotion), etc. All of these paradigms have a core objective-- that of systematically taking the seeker from the existential realm, to realise the transcendental realm.
But in all these, there is a fundamental question that lies unanswered, which has been at the core of several breakaway philosophical schools. This is the question about existential reality or Maya itself. If the transcendental reality is all that there is, why then does existence exist at all? Just because existential reality of physics and knowledge is not complete, does it mean it is not important to study existence at all?
This debate lies at the core of the vast body of literature that have argued about the non-dual and dual nature of reality. This can be broadly classified as the Advaita and Dvaita schools of thought.
Advaita or non-dualism argues that Maya is just an illusion that obscures our realisation of the substratum. Maya is said to have two kinds of properties-- the avarana shakti or the property of veiling or occlusion, that prevents us from seeing reality as it is, and the vikshepa shakti or the property of projection, where the Maya of our minds project some properties onto reality based on our own experiences.
To explain this, several analogies are provided. Imagine a pond at the base of which, is a precious, shining gem. We can see the gem when the water is clear, but when the water is muddy, it occludes the gem from our vision, and we may often mistake the gem for something else like a fish, or some creature. In order to see the gem for what it is, we need to clear the water from all the mud. Maya is like the muddiness of the water, that occludes our vision of the gem, and the muddiness in our minds, mistakes the gem for something else.
In another argument, we are asked to think of a clay pot, made completely of clay. And then we are asked, is there anything to the pot other than clay? In the universe of the pot, the clay is all there is. The "potness" of the clay is ephemeral and is soon lost if the pot is broken-- but the clay remains, even when its "potness" is gone.
However, the dualists or the Dvaita philosophers take exception to this. The "potness" or the idea of a pot is independent of the clay, they argue. To substantiate this, consider a fancy pot like in the picture below:
The "potness" of this pot has specific characteristics-- there are two handles, there is a big mouth with a lid of a specific shape, etc. The "potness" of this pot existed in the mind of the pot maker, independent of the clay. The pot maker may well have manifested this same "potness"-- that is a pot with the same shape and characteristics-- using say, plastic, or metal. The existential reality of the idea of the pot existed independent of the substance that made the pot (which is the clay).
According to the dualists, the Maya of the "potness" is not "occluding" our glimpse of the clay. We need not "remove" Maya or the "potness" to get a glimpse of the underlying reality (the clay). We need not "remove" a wave on the sea, to see the underlying water. And just because there is no other substance to the pot other than the clay, it does not mean that the "potness" or the idea of the pot is unimportant. If we want the clay to hold water or tea, we need to cast the clay in the form of a pot.
Maya, according to the dualists, acts more like a mould that "casts" reality into different forms with different characteristics-- rather than as a "cloak" that occludes or covers reality with its illusion.
When we study algorithms we study a paradigm of problem-solving called "divide and conquer". This approach to problem-solving involves breaking down a complex problem into simpler components and solving each of them separately, and then combining the solutions. Divide and conquer as an algorithmic technique is widely popular, and is easily amenable to parallelisation.
Deeply rooted in Indian history however, I have a mental block-- some kind of a cultural aversion-- against the concept of divide and conquer, because of what this strategy has done to us when we were at the receiving end. Whenever anyone extolls the joy of divide and conquer-- even in a purely algorithmic context-- I find myself cringing uncomfortably.
But regardless of my personal views about this paradigm, divide and conquer as a strategy is also based on a simplifying assumption that the combining of individual solutions to get the overall solution is a trivial problem. This need not always be the case. In fact, combining individual solutions to form the global response may sometimes make the global problem worse.
The class of "sustainability" problems are good examples of such a dilemma. Consider a population of car owners who use fossil-fuel cars to commute daily. Due to some global crisis, fossil fuel becomes costlier, and the government wishes to reduce fuel usage. It then adopts a divide and conquer strategy, where in order to improve reduce overall fuel usage, it mandates that all individual cars need to become fuel efficient and use less fuel for the same tasks. Let us say it succeeds in this endeavour and individual cars improve their mileage. A car that used to once give 10 kms to a litre of petrol would now give, say 30 kms to a litre. So, does this mean that the government has succeeded in reducing its reliance on fossil fuel? No! Since mileage of individual cars have increased, individual car owners would now be more likely, rather than less, to use their cars even in cases where they preferred not to use them before. Increased usage of cars increases demand for more cars, and eventually, fuel usage goes up, rather than down!
In most cases, what works for the individual cannot be directly scaled to the collective as a solution. The problem of scaling from the individual to the collective, is not at all trivial, and requires new paradigms of problem-solving. I'm generally calling this as the "unite and prosper" paradigm of problem-solving.
A number of distributed algorithms fall in this category. Algorithms that explain the spontaneous emergence of synchrony in coupled oscillators are an example of the "unite and prosper" paradigm. Similarly, distributed constraint optimisation, global snapshot computation, resilient distributed consensus, etc. all address problems of combining fragmented knowledge to find a global solution, and can be thought of as examples of the "unite and prosper" paradigm. Unite and prosper, looks for solutions where both individuals and the collective, have solved the problem sufficiently well.
I am of the strong opinion that we need to study this paradigm of problem-solving as a separate topic of study in its own, which may reveal a number of deep insights into complex network interactions.
Let me end this post, with a "unite and prosper" puzzle for the reader:
There are n people in a group, each having a piece of knowledge. Whenever two persons interact, they share everything that they know with the other. Given this, answer the following: (a). What is the minimum number of interactions for everyone to know everything? and (b). What is the minimum number of interactions for everyone to know that everyone knows everything?
One of the most recurring frustrations I have faced while growing up in my cultural network, has been the pervasive emphasis on faith and submission (bhakti as it is called), and de-emphasis on asking difficult questions or critical inquiry. We were told to "just do" what is told and that "one day, you will understand everything."
In addition to this, there is also a pervasive sense of smug conviction and contempt towards those who ask questions or those who try to explain their thoughts. It is quite the norm in this network, for people to laugh at others behind their backs-- especially if the other person has opened up in the hopes of gaining clarity. An adolescent experiencing unfamiliar emotions of a heartbreak for instance, will be rewarded with laughter and stern judgment from immediate family, rather than validation of their emotions. It is quite common to see younger generation enjoy life, take risks and embrace failure when they alone-- but not in front of their families.
How did these self-defeating cultural practices come about? It is fashionable to blame British colonial administration for the all pervasive "slave mentality" in our society today. But despite 70 years of independence, these self-defeating practices remain, and the fault lines are as strong as ever.
Recently, I was listening to this talk by Swami Sarvapriyananda on the differences between Advaita and Dvaita philosophies. Some of the explanations he gave about these two philosophical schools, suddenly brought a lot of clarity. In this talk, he not only explains the philosophical differences, but also the methodologies used by the respective camps and the resultant cultures they created.
Both Advaita Vedanta propounded by Adi Shankara in the 9th century CE, as well as the Dvaita Vedanta propounded by Madhvacharya in the 16th century CE, are commentaries on the Upanishadic texts called the Brahma Sutras. The Upanishads are one of the earliest and most comprehensive texts (which are themselves just a part of the Vedas), that address topics like consciousness and the nature of reality. The Upanishads comprises of several texts that were written over different time periods ranging from 4000 to 2500 years ago. The German philosopher Schopenhauer was known for his advocacy of the Upanishads, whose writings in turn, went on to influence a number of Western philosophers and scientists. The American philosopher William Irwin Thompson is said to have stated that the Upanishads have had such a profound influence on human thought, that we ought to divide historical eras into "Before Upanishads" and "After Upanishads" eras, rather than the current common era.
As with all influential texts, their influence waxes and wanes over time. Starting from around the 3rd century BCE, by the 9th century CE, Vedic cultures in the Indian subcontinent had already fragmented into several schools-- the orthodox astikas like the Vaishnavas, the sceptics or the nastikas like the Caravakas, the empiricists or the Sramanics like Buddhists, Jains, etc. These times were also witness to vibrant debates between the different schools, and the development of an elaborate science of argumentation, called VadaVidya.
In this context, came Adi Shankara from present-day Kerala, who wrote great commentaries on the Brahma Sutras, to develop a school of thought, called the Advaita Vedanta. Advaita Vedanta posits a "non-dual" nature of reality by saying that everything in this universe is just the only thing there is-- which is called the universal consciousness or Brahman. What we experience in the physical universe is called Maya, that "veils" our experience of Brahman-- while Maya is itself nothing but Brahman! The existential reality of physical names and forms created by Maya, can "reflect" the universal consciousness to different extents. Some "well polished" elements of existence can reflect Brahman much better than other not so well-polished elements. Yet, all the while, reality is just Brahman looking at itself-- somewhat like the illustration below.
Advaita says that the only barrier to us realising this universal reality, is Avidya-- which is often translated as "ignorance," but more accurately means "delusion." It is when we are deluded by existence and its names and forms, and believe that to be real, we are occluded from the ultimate reality. Advaita also proposes several techniques by which, we can systematically detach ourselves from existential reality to experience ourselves as the entire universe-- which then again includes all of existence and all that we were attached to! The Advaitic technique first develops a mechanism for "Asangha" which means detachment from our thoughts, emotions, objects, etc, and ends with "Dvaitavarjita" or experience of oneness of everything including all the objects that we had detached from. The result of such a realisation in a human, Advaita says, is the emergence of Nishkama karma, or dispassionate actions without vested interests or desires.
Advaita had a radical and profound influence on thinkers of those times-- much like quantum mechanics or the theory of relativity were to do in later times. Advaita inspired several innovations in different walks of life including science, administration, medicine and well-being, etc. Even today for instance, in our lab, we are inspired by Advaita for proposing new models of ethics in AI, and understanding sustainable development.
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By the time Madhvacharya was born in the 16th century CE in present day Karnataka, it was already 700 years since Adi Shankara, and Advaita still was still the most widely discussed and adopted philosophy! But much had changed in the socio-political reality of India by that time.
The northern parts of India were reeling from immense bloodshed and genocides from foreign invaders. The biggest university in the world-- Nalanda-- had been completely destroyed. Countless cities and monuments were destroyed. People were killed by the hundreds of thousands in single days! The medieval genocide of Hindus remains one of the bloodiest eras in world history, that is still actively downplayed for various reasons.
These times also saw the emergence of one more social movement called the Bhakti movement. Bhakti is a concept from Vedic thought, which means devotion or commitment to an idea. Bhakti is seen as a means of spiritual realisation, by enabling us to discover ourselves through our lifelong commitment to an idea. Bhakti movement in these times, that were practiced syncretically across multiple religions, went beyond advocating dispassionate commitment to an idea, to advocating passionate surrender and submission to the divine.
Bhakti was also widely popular among administrators and thought leaders who sought to bring peace from bloodshed. Bhakti enables bringing about order in society, by enabling people to discover their favourite ideas, and commit themselves to realising themselves through their devotion, rather than give in to aggression over others.
Advaita by itself does not promote bhakti-- nor does it reject it, either. Bhakti is a good thing to have, according to Advaita, but it would not be of any use, if it is practiced with Avidya. Advaita advocates for pursuit of knowledge and elimination of Avidya first, to become aware of one's true nature, and anything else, including bhakti, next. This quote below, explains Advaita's stance about bhakti and other orthodox cultures:
Several thought leaders tried to combine bhakti with Advaita in different ways. For instance, Ramanujacharya in the 11th century CE, proposed a philosophy called Visishtadvaita, that proposed existence as a "distinguishable part of" reality-- much like the relationship between a finger and the rest of the body. Advaita simply says, "existence is reality" or reality is the only thing there is.
Madhvacharya in the 16th century CE, takes an even more intense stance, and develops a philosophy called Dvaita-- which posits a duality, or a clear barrier (called bheda) between existence and reality, which can be breached only in certain specific ways. This is much like how a wall separates the inside and outside of a house, but can be breached through the door.
One of the motivations for proposing this barrier was to bring the emphasis back on existential issues. When the northern parts of the country were reeling under immense bloodshed, thought leaders in the southern part still argued that existence is Maya or "illusion" or "unreal" and Brahman alone is real, and that all walls and barriers are meant to be broken.
Madhvacharya argued that Maya and its barriers is as real as Brahman. The reality of Brahman does not negate the reality of Maya, and it is important to recognise the reality of Maya, he argued. Barriers are meant to protect what is inside-- and not exclude what is outside, he argued. He also argued however, that while Maya is very much real, its existence is dependent on Brahman (called paratantra). Maya cannot exist on its own. Hence its existence depends on its being able to find the door and breach the barrier between itself and Brahman through Bhakti and Sadhana (sustained effort). And in contrast to dispassionate action (Nishkama karma), Dvaita advocated Sakama karma or passionate action towards protecting and preserving boundaries, so that interaction with Brahman happens only through specific channels.
Dvaita philosophy proposed the existence of five kinds of barriers (called panchabheda)-- between jiva and jagat (individual sentience and Brahman), jada and jagat (non-sentient existence and Brahman), jiva and jada, jiva and jiva; and jada and jada.
Essentially, it argued that each barrier we see in existence is real, and there is a reason why it is there. If boundaries are not important, why then it argued, do we stay in walled houses, why then do we need clothes to cover ourselves? The individuality of each individual, and the existence of each object and concept, is real and significant, it argued.
In this sense, Dvaita is somewhat similar to (but not the same as) Analytic Philosophy of the West, while Advaita is somewhat similar to (but not the same as) British Idealism from the 20th and 19th century CE, respectively.
In order to drive home the reality of existence, Dvaita proponents developed methods that are in some ways similar to evangelical Christianity. For instance, it argued for faith first and knowledge next (bhakti tatho jnanam), quite in contrast to Advaita, which argued for knowledge first and Bhakti next. Proponents of Dvaita argued for Dvaita not just as a darshana (perspective) but as the only correct interpretation!
This is very similar to how evangelical religions work. Except that Dvaita did not actively seek to proselytise and convert (or eliminate) "non-believers." It also had no notions of blasphemy or apostasy. Philosophical perspectives (darshanas) in ancient India thankfully were hardly ever pursued as violent ideologies. But even then, this intense stance taken by Dvaita (perhaps in response to the socio-political situation and increasing desperation of Hindus in those times), the culture that resulted from this philosophy seems to have become very acerbic in nature, with contempt, conviction, derision, scorn, smugness and a judgmental attitude occupying central positions in one's worldview.
I know I am probably going to get a lot of contempt, scorn and derision for saying the above. But I think it is important to understand the underlying philosophy and not hold on to the methodologies adopted that were perhaps relevant in one time, but not anymore.
Traditional Indian society today, is marked by its lack of objectivity. The society is divided into different communities and religions, with communal or religious identity overriding individual opinions in almost all walks of life.
Even within Hinduism or the dharmic culture, there are so many subcultures and philosophies, each of which often live in entrenched clusters, sometimes to the exclusion of the other. Its adherents often argue and fight with one another-- at a personal level-- on things like how specific festivals are to be celebrated, what kinds of food to eat, which deity to pray, and so on.
This is this biggest irony of Indian society today. This is because, the core philosophy of Indian thought is based on observing the objective nature of our self to our experience. Right from the Vedas and the Upanishads and including Sramanic philosophies like Buddhism and Jainism, there is a fundamental acknowledgment about how our "Self" is different from everything that we experience or think or feel or believe. The different philosophies differ based on differences of opinion about the implications of this fundamental postulate.
In fact, the term used for "philosophy" in Indian thought is "darshana" which means "perspective". And if someone were to embody a philosophy and "religiously" practice it, they are said to be of that particular "mata" (मत), which means "opinion". The term used for "religion" in Indian languages is the same term used for "opinion" or "vote". Religion is viewed no more than an opinion, and philosophy is viewed no more than a perspective! Can it get any more liberal than this?
The true nature of our being is beyond opinions and perspectives. Philosophies only help in guiding us and give a framework of reasoning-- but then, as is stressed again and again in just about every philosophical treatise-- we are not our framework of reasoning, nor the opinions that we embody.
The Chandogya Upanishad for example, tells the story of "two golden birds perched on the self-same tree"-- our "Ego" and our "Self". The Ego is the experiencer-- it engages with the world and eats its bitter-sweet fruits, while the Self is the dispassionate witness. The Ego wishes to fly high and achieve things, but it is also tethered to the tree on which the Self resides. So, no matter how high it flies or what it achieves, it keeps coming back to the Self, which is but a dispassionate witness and its unchanging nature. The tree represents the "Universal Self" called the "Brahman" which is the only reality there is.
In its experience, the Ego may embody several opinions, and feel several emotions. It may even believe itself to be the Self. But all the while, it is only tethered to the dispassionate witness, who is not experiencing life, but witnessing it.
How is it that a culture whose fundamentals are based on understanding the objective nature of our experience, become fragmented into different ideologies-- so much so that it was neatly vulnerable to divide-and-conquer strategies from external adversaries? Even today, the fault lines are sharp and are subject to immense battery to dismember different darshanas from the core philosophy, and present it as "not a part of Hinduism" or something such. How is it that a culture that once called "religion" as "opinion" today be associated with caste system, patriarchy and segregation? A good study of history needs to be in the form of a sincere effort to answer this question.
In a previous post, we had seen how the concept of consciousness differs between Indian philosophy rooted in the Vedas, and modern Western scientific models. Specifically, while Western science models consciousness as an attribute of a being, Indian philosophy models consciousness as the fundamental substance of the universe. Beings are considered to reflect this universal consciousness to various degrees, and not have consciousness themselves.
To explain this, we had given the analogy of the space just outside of the Sun that appears dark, but which is full of light. We cannot see this light, unless there is something to reflect it.
Image source: Pinterest
In this post, we will delve into the notion of consciousness further. If all we do is reflect universal consciousness, then what makes us appear conscious, and say a stone, appear unconscious? What kind of beings reflect this universal consciousness, and what beings don't?
Indian philosophy has an answer to this too. Consider objects around us in broad daylight. All of them reflect sunlight-- much in the same way that all beings (living or non-living) reflect consciousness. However, on a few surfaces like glass, water, polished metal etc. we not only can see sunlight reflected off them, but also an image of the Sun itself-- the source of the light.
This metaphor helps to explain sentience and non-sentience in systems of being. Sentient beings not only reflect consciousness, they also can-- to different extents-- form an image of the universe itself!
By this model, when we consciously create something, we are actually channelizing or using the universal consciousness into some creation of ours-- somewhat like the image below. Our creation may collapse eventually, but the universal consciousness remains eternally.
Image source: Pinterest
Sentience is not seen as a binary attribute-- as in, it is either present or absent. Sentience is a continuum with beings like humans having several orders of magnitude more sentience than say, a rock. Hence, while both rock and human can reflect consciousness, humans can also sometimes offer a glimpse into the very source of this universal consciousness.
Beings are said to comprise of two kinds of "bodies"-- called the sthula sharira and the sookshma sharira translating roughly to "material body" and "subtle body". In my book called The Theory of Being. I had called this the two "realms" of existence of any being in this universe-- the material realm and the information realm.
The material body is our physical body that exists in the physical universe. The "subtle body" is variously (and in my opinion, incorrectly) equated with terms like "soul" or "spirit" represents all the information related processing that is part of who we are.
The subtle body in turn, is said to comprise of three components: pranamaya kosa, manomaya kosa, and vijnanamaya kosa. The pranamaya kosa represents all forms of information constructs that keep our material bodies alive. They contain our emotional dispositions, defence mechanisms, fight or flight responses, internal communication protocols for signalling danger, hunger, pain, etc. The manomaya kosa represents our "mind" that implements our "sense of self" and ego. This aspect of the subtle body encodes a representation of our self image, who we think we are, all the persona of ourselves that we project in social settings, what we desire, what we despise, etc. The vijnanamaya kosa represents our objective knowledge about the universe. It contains our models of reality around us, general knowledge constructs, episodic memory, etc.
Sentient beings that can reflect an image of consciousness, rather than just scatter consciousness, are said to have highly evolved subtle bodies. A subtle body is (in mechanistic terms) essentially a large body of software that can keep a material body alive, build models of the external world and manage knowledge about it, and have a "sense of self".
Of these, we already can build machines that can do the first two operations very well. We can build robots that are adaptive and self-configuring in order to keep themselves going. We also can build AI that can build semantic models based on data, which it can then use to perform a variety of intelligent tasks.
The only missing element in building a full-fledged subtle body for our machines, seems to be a "sense of self". Hmmm.. What does it mean for machines to have a sense of self? What exactly do we mean by a "sense of self"?
A few weeks ago, I had given a talk on this very question, which may be found here:
Indian thought has been greatly shaped by the philosophy of Vedas that are estimated to have developed over several millennia, beginning as early as 22000 BCE.
The Vedas presented a deep, abstract model of reality, that has in turn shaped collective worldview and notions of religion, ethics, morality and science. The civilisation formed under the influence of this philosophy (even those subcultures that rejected this philosophy) was vibrant and diverse, with different schools of interpretations appearing throughout history. There were also several periods of stagnation and degeneration, followed by rejuvenation of this philosophy by one or more social reformers, including Buddha, Mahavira, Adi Shankara, and so on.
In this post, we address one such issue that has created deep roots in Indian thought, and which is in dire need for reforms.
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The core inquiry of Vedic thought focuses on the nature of our self. The Upanishads, which are considered the essence of the Vedas, have several models and analogies to help us understand who is this "I" when we refer to ourselves.
We can see that we as the observer or the subject, is separate from the observed, or the object. And when we start observing ourselves, just about everything we thought represented us, becomes an object of our observation-- meaning that none of these define our "self." We can separate "us" from our thoughts, our emotions, our innate nature, our desires, our delusions, and so on. Our self is none of these. We are not our thoughts, we are not our emotions, we are not our innate nature, since we can observe all of them objectively.
The only entity we cannot observe is our "self" itself. This core entity which is our true self, is called the "witness" or Sakshi, who observes everything. We cannot observe our witness-- if we are observing our witness, then who is the witness witnessing it? We can only "become" our witness.
The sense of self that we normally project as part of our daily lives is known as the "jivatma" or "ahamkara", which is somewhat equivalent to the concept of ego in Freudian thought. The only way our self observes itself is by looking at its reflection, which is the ahamkara. It is somewhat like how the only way our eyes can see itself is by looking at its reflection in a mirror.
What is the medium that is giving this reflection? This is postulated as our mind. Our mind is the medium which hosts the reflection of our true selves, which appears in the form of our ego.
The reflecting surface may be imperfect. A mirror may be stained, dusty or even broken. The reflecting surface affects the reflection. Our reflection in the mirror may appear dull or stained or broken-- but it is only our reflection. Our true self, which lies beyond the mirror is unaffected by all the thoughts, emotions and innate nature that shape the medium of our mind.
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A major debate among Vedic philosophers has been to model the association between our real self and the reflected self and its medium. Is our real self completely independent of our manifested self? Just like how we are completely independent of any mirror that reflects us? Or is there some "binding" that binds our real self to the mind/body medium that is reflecting us? Is there some reason why our real self is strongly associated with-- or even "trapped" in-- the mind-body complex that is reflecting it?
In the 10th century CE, Vedic thought went through one more round of major rejuvenation, by the works of Adi Shankara from present day Kerala. In his quest to revive Vedic philosophy, Adi Shankara wrote detailed commentaries on 10 Upanishads that are now called the "principal" Upanishads, and formulated his own school of thought called AdvaitaVedanta.
According to Advaita which literally means "non-dualism", everything in the universe is made of the universal consciousness that is called Brahman. That includes our witness, our mind, our ego, our body-- everything. There is hence no difference between us and the mirror. Imagine that our hands were to be a reflecting surface, and we put up our hands to get a reflection of ourselves. We may not be our reflection in our hand-- but we are very much the hand and the reflection as well!
Other philosophers like Madhvacharya disagreed with this interpretation by arguing that it seems to border on nihilism. If everything is the universal consciousness Brahman, and there is no semantics associated with our existential self, then why do we have notions like ethics, morality, duty, principles, and so on? A similar argument was also given more than 1500 years before Madhvacharya, by Siddharta Gautama (Buddha) who was disillusioned with a puritanical notion of "everything is Brahman" leading to nihilistic thought.
One of the theories that came about to explain the relationship between our true self and the existential self, is the concept of prarabdha karma. The term karma means "action" but thanks to this theory, karma has now come to mean "retribution" in popular thought.
The idea of prarabdhakarma is that our existential self goes through several cycles of births and deaths, and the karma (actions) it performs out of its own free will in one life, has consequences and gains some baggage, which becomes our prarabdha(starting)karma as we begin our next life.
The idea here had been to provide a sense of accountability for people acting out their worldly desires, by saying that their actions will have consequences and they will need to own up their actions. This is somewhat similar to the notion of judgement day in Abrahamic religions. But in contrast to being "judged" by a third party, we get to suffer or enjoy the consequences of our karma in our next life.
While this looks like a neat theory and strategy for bringing about accountability, this theory also has a dark side. The idea of prarabdhakarma and "next life" can also ironically make people very apathetic towards one another. If someone were to be born with some birth defect, then not only they have to live with their birth defect, but they are also insinuated by others, that they must have done something bad in their previous life, and so are suffering in this life! Not only do they not get support and empathy from others, they have to suffer an unknown guilt all their life!!
And of course, this leads to feudal hierarchies like "lower" births and "higher" births based on what one had done in their previous life.
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The above notion is in serious need of reform in today's world. Firstly, there is no evidence for any past life of any kind. Indeed, if we only go from life to life, then the total amount of living beings on earth needs to be constant! If everyone is born with a baggage from their previous life, how come we have more people today than there were a century ago?
In fact, we have a much better explanation for where our innate nature comes from. It comes from our genes!
If we have to understand our innate nature, we don't have to look for some non-existent "past life." We just have to look at our genetic ancestry. We know for a fact that, intense experiences like desperation and trauma encountered by one generation, makes its genetic imprint on the next generation. The next generation is innately equipped with defences and barriers to avoid what the previous generations went through.
Social accountability is an important question-- but that it should not be confounded with our innate genetic nature. There is no reason to equate our innate nature with some form of undesirable actions we are said to have performed in some fictitious past life.
It is time we replaced prarabdhakarma with prarabhdaguna (initial characteristics) and separate it from the actions we do in this life. I have written separately about karmaphala or the consequences of our actions. It is an profound theory in itself, that can be understood better when we understand the dynamics of complex systems. The consequences of our actions have nothing to do with our innate nature, which is just an accident of birth.
