A Scientific Hypothesis About Religion

Generating a Scientific Hypothesis about Religion
A Preliminary Attempt
S.N. Balagangadhara
Universiteit Gent
Belgium
Balu@UGent.be
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Criticizing a Post-Colonial Saga
Consider the claim that most would give their assent to: Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, etc.,
are the religions of India. Postcolonial intellectuals would probably add two or three
qualifications to this claim. They would probably say that it is not possible to speak of one
Hinduism, one Buddhism, one Jainism; instead, one should speak about many ‘Hinduisms’,
many ‘Buddhisms’, many ‘Jainisms’, etc. Secondly, they would also raise questions about
who could speak about these religions. Thirdly, they are likely to add that the British ‘created’
or ‘constructed’ these religions in India during the colonial period. The first two qualifications
are either misguided or cognitively uninteresting. For instance, it is both linguistically and
logically impossible to speak about the plurality of any religion without referring to it in the
singular: ‘tigers’ are animals because ‘tiger’ names a kind; ‘trees’ makes no sense if there is
no ‘tree’ to speak of, etc. Such usage is misguided, unless, of course, one maintains that
‘Hinduisms’ is not a plural of the singular noun ‘Hinduism’. No one has maintained this
position. In any case, we could simply accept that ‘Hinduism’, ‘Buddhism’, ‘Jainism’ etc., do
not name a unitary phenomenon but that they pick out a superset that includes many different
sets of practices and beliefs. One can after all assume that, in principle, it is possible to
construct such a super set even if one is unable to practically do so at any given moment. The
second qualification is uninteresting because we are not after ‘canonical’ descriptions of these
phenomena. In this sense, it matters very little who speaks ‘about’ these religions. By far, the
most interesting qualification is the third one. Let us look at it closely.
During the colonial period, the British created many things: an education system, the
legal system, a bureaucracy, roads and railways. None of these existed in these forms before
the British colonized India. Were religions like ‘Hinduism’ etc., also created in this way?
Some postcolonial thinkers are inclined to answer this question in the positive: the British
created Hinduism as a religion in India, the way they created the Indian Civil Service (ICS).
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In that case, it follows that there is nothing fundamentally wrong with the Orientalist writings
on Hinduism. Some of them might have made false claims, but we can correct them as more
accurate information accumulates. The contemporary writings on Hinduism, etc., whether
from the field of Indology or of Religious Studies, would remain continuous with the
Orientalist writings on the subject. That is to say, the ‘facts’ that the Orientalists provide
become the point of departure for the writings in social sciences. The latter either add to these
facts or explain them. In fact, this is also the status of the field today: the writings in the
humanities and social sciences maintain an unbroken line of continuity with the Orientalist
writings on these ‘religions’ in India.
In such a case, one can hardly understand what the excitement is about either
‘Orientalism’ or ‘postcolonial studies’. Of course, if one adds other items to this creation
story, one can blame western culture as a‘big bad wolf’: the British created ‘Sati’, the ‘dowry
system’, ‘the caste system’, and anything else one feels like. This exercise in apportioning
blame uninteresting because it transforms the Indians into a bunch of idiots bereft of all
reason. The British could do what they wanted to with the Indian culture, introduce and create
whatever took their fancy, while their subjects stood around without stopping sucking on their
thumbs. To put it in the language of the postcolonial thinkers: such a story deprives the
colonial subjects of their agency. The postcolonial writers who tell such stories indeed deprive
the colonial subjects of their agency in the name of giving it back, or they discover an
expression of ‘resistance’ to colonialism in a vigorous sucking of thumbs. Homi Bhabha, for
instance, has made a lucrative business of telling such stories.
A Different Creation Story
There is, however, another way of looking at the claim of creating these religions in India.
Despite the limitations, drawing an analogy could make it more perspicuous. Imagine that an
extraterrestrial came to earth and noticed the following phenomena: grass is green, milk turns
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sour, birds fly, and some flowers put out a fragrant smell. He is convinced that these
phenomena are related to each other and sees hipkapi in them. The presence of hipkapi
explains not only the above phenomena but also how they relate to each other. To those who
doubt the existence of hipkapi, he draws their attention to its visible manifestations: the tigers
eating the gazelle, dogs chasing the cats, and the massive size of the elephants. Each of these
is a fact, as everyone can see it. However, they do not tell us anything about hipkapi. When
more extraterrestrials come to earth and reiterate the presence of hipkapi, if other conditions
permit, hipkapi not only becomes a synonym for these phenomena but also turns out to be
their explanation. Thereafter, to ask what hipkapi is, or even how it explains, is an expression
of one’s idiocy: does not everyone see hipkapi, this self-explanatory thing? In this analogy,
the extraterrestrial visitor has ‘constructed’ the hipkapi. To him, it is an experiential entity. He
talks, as his fellow-beings do, about this experiential entity in a systematic way.
That is what the Europeans did. The puja in the temples, the sandhyavandanam of the
Brahmins, the sahasranamams, etc., became organic parts of the Indian religion.
Purushasukta was the cosmogony of the caste system, and ‘untouchability’ its outward
manifestation. Dharma and Adharma were the Sanskrit words for ‘good’ and ‘evil’, and the
Indian ‘deities’ were much like their Greek counterparts. To the missionaries, Indians were
idolaters; to the contemporary liberal, ‘polytheism’ has to do with the conception of ‘the
deity’. In terms of the analogy, these visitors ‘construct’ a hipkapi. To them, it is an
experiential entity. They talk about this experiential entity in a systematic way.
This analogy entails suggesting that Europeans created ‘Hinduism’ etc., as their
experiential entities. Under this construal, the Orientalists did not describe what exists in the
Indian culture. Instead, they created a hipkapi, constructed a pattern and structure that lent
coherence to their cultural experience of India. In such a case, claims about Hinduism become
somewhat akin to claims about having visions of Mother Mary in the Lourdes. Only
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‘somewhat’, because such a vision might be a hallucination, whereas one cannot say that the
West has been ‘hallucinating’ about the Indian religions.
When the Europeans came to India and wrote down their experiences, they were not
hallucinating. They did not write about their dreams nor did they compose stories. Whether of
a merchant, a missionary or a bureaucrat, the reports had some structure. Reflections about
such reports at second remove, or reflections on experiences at a later stage or in a distant
way, led to finding a pattern or structure in these experiences. That structure is the Orient and
the discourse about it is the Orientalist discourse.
The previous sentence is not a description of how the pattern or structure was found. It
is not as though any one person pored over these reports (though many did), trying out one
inductive hypothesis after another (even though a few were formulated), until a satisfactory
pattern finally emerged. These reports lent structure to what the Europeans saw. At the same
time, they filtered out phenomena that could not be structured in this fashion. Thus, these
reports contributed to structuring a European way of seeing and describing phenomena in
India. Such texts, which embodied an explanatory structuring of the European experiences,
ended up becoming the ‘ethnological data’ or the ‘anthropological fieldwork’ that the social
theories would later try to explain.
‘Orientalism’ is how western culture came to terms with the reality that the East is.
That is, ‘Orientalism’ refers not only to the discourse about experience but also to the way of
reflecting about and structuring this experience. In this sense, even though Orientalism is a
discourse about western cultural experience, it is oblique. It is oblique because it appears to
be about other cultures. It is also oblique because it is not direct and has not been an object of
reflection. It is western in the sense that it refers to the experiences of the members from a
particular culture. Orientalism is the western way of thinking about its experience of non-
western cultures. However, it takes the form of an apparent discourse about the Orient.
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It means to suggest that the West did two things: (a) created ‘Hinduism’ and
‘Buddhism’, etc. as coherent and structured units and (b) did so as religions. The issue is not
whether western culture created a monolithic religion instead of recognizing the multiplicity
of theories and practices that go under the label ‘Hinduism’. It is not even whether they
experienced ‘Hinduism’ as a monolithic entity. Instead, it lies in the fact that ‘Hinduism’, as a
concept and as an experiential entity, provided the Westerners with a coherent experience. To
the extent it is a concept, like all other concepts, it is a human construct. It is also a construct
because, as an experiential entity, it unifies the Western experience. However, this concept
has no reference in the world, i.e., there is no ‘Hinduism’ (whether as a religion, or as a
multiplicity of religions) in the Indian culture. As a result, one could argue that the Saidian
double qualification of makes sense: ‘Hinduism’ is both a false description of the Indian
reality and it is an imaginary. It is false not because the West gave a false description of the
reality (‘Hinduism’ in this case) but because they falsely assumed that their experiential entity
was also a real entity in the world. It is imaginary in the sense that it does not have an
existence outside the experience of western culture. The same considerations apply to the
caste system. The notion of such a system unified the British experience of India; they
implemented certain political and economic policies based on their experience. However, this
experience was not of the caste system. In fact, this experience was of no particular object but
constituted the basis of their going-about with the Indians. By creating such a ‘system’ the
British lent stability, coherence and unity to their cultural experience. Both the caste system
and the Indian religions are constructs in this specific sense.
It is not as though colonialism brought ‘Hinduism’ and ‘the caste system’ into
existence. The Europeans spoke about these entities as though they existed. They acted as
though these entities were real. However, neither before nor after colonialism do such entities
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or phenomena exist. They are hipkapis. These entities merely lend structure and stability to
the European experience.
Here is the thesis I want to put across: except for Christianity, Islam and Judaism,
there are no other religions in India. Entities like ‘Buddhism’, ‘Hinduism’, ‘Jainism’,
‘Sikhism’, etc which are called the ‘religions of India’, exist, it is true, but they do so only in
the western universities. These ‘religions’ are the ‘imaginative’ creations of the western
savants and of the culture to which they belong.
In that case, all the books and articles, all the PhD’s and all the commonsense talk
about these religions tell you as much about India as other ‘relevant’ books, articles and
interviews tell you about the length of the Unicorn’s horn – a creature which only virgins can
see. Or about the relation between the upper and lower torso of a satyr or about the need for a
curriculum reform at Harry Potter’s magical school, the Hogwarts.
A Newtonian Anecdote
As soon as such a thesis is put across, huge questions appear on the horizon. Here are some:
are we to say that nearly four centuries of western intellectuals and nearly two centuries of
English-speaking Indians (and others) were hallucinating? If they were not, what made them
speak of Indian religions? If they were, why were they hallucinating, whereas I claim I am
not?
It is no part of my theory to suggest that the earlier generations were hallucinating. Of
course, by the simple privilege of being born after them, from my vantage point and looking
back, I do suggest that they were wrong. However, I do not merely record that they are wrong
and claim that I have found ‘the truth’. What I do is something different altogether.
What I argue is the following: thanks to their mistakes, we have the possibilities of
correcting some of them today. To us, these mistakes take the form of cognitive problems that
our theories have to solve. The very same theories should also explain (without adding any
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additional and ad hoc hypotheses) why thinkers from the earlier generations had to commit
the mistakes they did commit. This cognitive requirement is important enough for us to think
through a bit.
Let me recount a charming anecdote that circulates in intellectual circles that makes
the epistemological point I want to make. It appears that Sir Isaac Newton, one of the greatest
geniuses we have known, was once congratulated as “a genius who towered over both his
predecessors and his contemporaries”. The alleged reply of Newton goes as follows: “Even
the shortest of the pygmies sees farther than the tallest of men, when he stands on their
shoulders. And I, Sir, am standing on the shoulders of giants”.
Quite apart from expressing the truly enviable intellectual humility, Newton’s reply
does something more: it tells us something about the growth of scientific knowledge itself.
Amongst other things, it tells us that Newton’s breakthrough was possible only because he
built upon other, earlier theories. In exactly the same way, we can hope to create new theories
today by building upon the theories of earlier generations. Thus, Orientalist description of
India becomes the foundation for building theories about India. Today is possible only
because of yesterday.
Consequently, it is not sufficient to say, as the post-colonials do, that the Orientalist
writings about India are wrong. In the process of providing alternate descriptions, we have to
show why and how we would have committed the same mistakes were we to be placed in their
situation. Here, the post-colonial writers fail abysmally: all they can say is that the Orientalist
writers were misguided by their ‘racist’, ‘imperialist’, ‘sexist’ and ‘colonial’ motives.
Obviously, only the post-colonial writers of today are the ‘truly enlightened’; all others before
them were either bigots or unconscious servants of the ‘exigencies’ of the colonial
administration.
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Not only do I argue that the West ‘imaginatively’ created Hinduism but also explain
why it was compelled to do so. Its compulsion is rooted in the nature of religion, and I
advance a hypothesis about religion that accounts for this compulsion (see further).
Consequently, my story emerges as an alternative; it is a competitor theory to those in the
marketplace about what religion is. This hypothesis breaks the ‘structural unity’ that
Orientalism has constructed. ‘Hinduism’, ‘Buddhism’, etc., become hipkapis. Consequently, it
is possible to investigate which of the ‘facts’ that went into constructing the hipkapi belong
together, which do not, and how. One can start probing deeper into one’s own culture,
because one’s experience is accessible for reflection. ‘What is Hinduism? What is
Buddhism?’ do not become definitional questions. Instead, they translate themselves as tasks,
which require an alternative explanation of those facts that lend credibility to the existence of
the hipkapi.
Such an explanation also takes care of Lorenzen’s objection, which is quite fatal to
those theories that speak of the ‘colonial construction’ of Hinduism, when they have only the
British colonialism in mind. Even though Lorenzen focuses upon the occurrence of the word
‘Hinduism’ in India before the advent of British colonialism, there is a larger question to be
raised. Why did Islam identify the presence of alternative and competing religions in India
centuries before the British did? Even here, how do we understand the fact that both Islam and
Christianity identified more or less same phenomenon as the native religion of India? My
hypothesis answers these questions by arguing that those who come from a religious culture
are forced to identify religions in other cultures as well and construct them, where they do not
exist. There is logic to such constructions, the logic of the religions to which the observers
belong. This explanation takes care of two issues: why both Islam and Christianity spoke of
religions in India and why, this is more important, they identified (more or less) the same
phenomenon as the native religion of India. Their construction followed analogous lines
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because of the shared heritage of the Semitic religions. In this sense, identification of
‘Hinduism’ by the Muslims before the advent of the British does not testify to the existence of
that religion in India; instead, it shows that there are deep lines of continuity between Islam
and Christianity.
In that case, what about generations of Indian intellectuals? Why do they see religions
in their own culture? The answer has to be located in what colonialism is and what it does to a
people: among other things, it generates what I call ‘colonial consciousness’ in its subjects. It
is generated through violence, reproduced through asymmetries in power and sustained by an
ideology. Even though I cannot expand on this theme here, let me draw attention to one aspect
of such a consciousness. Because the Indian culture does not have ‘native’ religions, its
intellectuals are blind to the existence of religions in their midst. Even where they look at the
Semitic religions in India, they think that these are variants of what exist in India, namely,
traditions. Consequently, either they simply mimic the western thinkers while talking about
religions or, where they do not, try to re-describe Islam and Christianity as variants of Indian
traditions. Hence the reason why many Indian intellectuals call the Muslims to ‘reform’ the
Koran or ‘rewrite’ the Bible, so that they might become better suited to the Indian culture.
In this sense, I cannot dream of suggesting that all our intellectual predecessors and all
the contemporary English-speaking Indians were/are hallucinating. Instead, I suggest that the
theoretical frameworks and the existing methodologies in the domain of religious studies are
secularized variants of Christian theology. That is to say, what we call ‘secular’ religious
studies is embedded in a Christian theological framework. There is nothing secular or
scientific about the domain of religious studies today.
Some Additional Theses
Immediately, the next questions force themselves upon us. Why are all the theories from the
domain of religious studies, Christian-theological in nature? How can one make a claim as the
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one I am making, if we take the diversities in the theories and methods into consideration?
After all, we know for a fact that not all those who study Indian religions are believers much
less Christians. So, how could these people accept a theological framework to study the so-
called Indian religions? I answer these questions and give more body to my earlier
explanation by formulating the following hypothesis: I suggest that religion (in general) and
Christianity (in particular) is characterized by a double dynamic of proselytization and
secularization. I call this as the process of universalization of religion. Universalization wins
converts in two ways: one through the process of conversion, where someone is inducted into
a religious community; the other through the process of generating secular variants of its
theology which also wins adherents. Let me explain.
Not many would challenge the claim that Christianity has been highly influential in
the development of western culture. We need to take this statement utterly seriously. It means
that many things we take for granted, whether in the West or in India, are influenced by
Christianity. As I said, I claim that Christianity expands in two ways. Both of these have been
present ever since the inception of Christianity and have mutually reinforced each other. The
first is familiar to all of us: direct conversion. People from other religions convert to
Christianity and this is how the community of Christian believers grows. This is the surface or
explicit expansion of Christianity.
In a manner of speaking, the second way in which Christianity expands is also familiar
to us: the so-called process of secularization. I claim that Christianity secularizes itself, as it
were, in the form of ‘de-Christianized Christianity’. Among other things, what this means is
that typically Christian doctrines spread wide and deep beyond the confines of the community
of Christian believers dressed up in ‘secular’ (that is, not in recognizably Christian) clothes.
The enlightenment period, which is identified as ‘the Age of Reason’, is alleged to be
the apotheosis of the so-called process of ‘secularization’. What people normally mean by
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‘secularization’ here is the following: the enlightenment thinkers successfully fought against
the dominance that religion (especially, Christianity) had exercised over social, political, and
economic life. From then on, so goes the standard text book story, humankind began to look
to ‘reason’ instead of ‘religion’ in matters social, civic, political etc. The spirit of scientific
thinking, which dominated that age, has continued to gain ascendancy in our own day and
time. As heirs to this period, which put an end to all forms of irrational subservience, we are
proud citizens of the modern day world. We are against all forms of despotism and believers
in democracy; we believe in the role of reason in social life; we recognize the value of human
rights; and we should understand that religion is not a matter for state intervention, but a
‘private’ and personal affair of the individual in question, etc. As I say, this is the standard
textbook story. The problem with this story is this: the enlightenment thinkers have built their
formidable reputation (as opponents of ‘all organized religions’ or even ‘religion’ tout court)
by selling ideas from Protestant Christianity as though they are ‘neutral’ and ‘rational’.
As an example, consider the claim that ‘religion’ is not a matter for state intervention
and that it is a ‘private’ affair of the individual in question. If we look historically, we
discover that the contrast between the ‘secular’ realm and the ‘religious’ realm (often
formulated also as a contrast between the ‘temporal’ and the ‘spiritual’), and the debates about
the relationship between these two realms (or ‘spheres’) characterise the history of
Christianity for the last two thousand years. This debate was primarily a theological one. It
revolved around the question of who the Vicar of Christ was. With the Gregorian revolution
and the emergence of Canon Law (about a thousand years ago), the Catholic Church settled
this issue in one particular way. This theological debate was an answer to the question of the
relationship between the King (the emperor) and the Pope. The issue in the debate was about
the relationship between the Church as a ‘spiritual’ entity and its relationship to ‘secular’
authorities: was the King subordinate to the Church or the other way round? Did they both
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have different spheres of influence, viz., the spiritual and the temporal? What was the
relationship between these two spheres? Etc.
With the Protestant reformation, this theological debate became more generalized,
especially in Continental Europe. It now involved every single Christian: could the laws and
institutions of men (the secular structures and their injunctions) in any way restrain the
revelations of God? Could an institution like the Catholic Church, which was seen as a human
institution by the Protestants, add anything to the word of God? Much like the earlier debate,
this was also theological and political. Theologically at stake was the nature of Catholic
Church and its theology; politically, it involved the relationship between ‘religion’ and ‘state’.
Protestant theologies make the following claim: nothing can come between an
individual and God except God’s revelation. No human law or organization can dictate how a
man worships or what he worships. Neither the Catholic Church nor the secular authorities
could interfere in the affairs of religion, which involves the relationship between the
individual and God. Any such incursion in the worship of God is the corrupting influence of
the Devil. Being a Christian believer is a matter between the Maker (i.e. God) and the
Individual. It was ‘God’ (i.e. the Christian God), who judged man; and men could not judge
each other in matters of faith.
The theories of state neutrality we have (the so-called Liberal theories) secularize this
Protestant theological claim. The separation of state from religion (to put it crudely) is a
theological doctrine of Protestant Christianity. Over the centuries, intellectuals and political
thinkers in Europe have been ceaselessly selling Protestant theology (albeit dressed in secular
clothes) as the summum of human civilization. The triumph of Protestantism in Europe has led
even the Catholic Christians to accept a watered-down version of this theological claim as a
political doctrine.
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This claim makes sense only in relationship to what religion is (i.e. ‘in what form is
Christianity a religion?’) and how religion draws a line between the ‘secular’ and the ‘sacred’.
The lines of distinction between the ‘religious’ and the ‘secular’ spheres are drawn within a
religion. Historically speaking, this demarcation is the work of Christian theology and our
political theories are Christian theologies in disguise. The enlightenment thinkers repeated
this Protestant story and this has become our ‘secularism’.
The so-called ‘religious and secular divide’ is a distinction drawn within a religion and
is internal to it. No possibility exists of conceptualizing such a distinction outside of some or
another theological framework; no ‘neutral’ or ‘scientific’ description of such a divide will
ever be forthcoming. Those who moan about the process of ‘secularization’ as a
‘disappearance of religion’ are ignorant of what they are talking about: ‘secularization’ is one
of the ways in which a religion spreads in society.
To begin appreciating the plausibility (if not the truth) of my claim, ask yourselves the
following question: why are the so-called ‘social sciences’ different from the natural
sciences? I mean to say, why have the social sciences not developed the way natural sciences
have? There must have been many geniuses in the field of social sciences; the mathematical
and logical sophistication in some of the social sciences is simply mind-bending; we have
computers that can simulate almost anything. It is not even as though the social sciences are
totally starved of funding or personnel. Despite these, the social sciences are not progressing.
Why is this? There are many answers provided in the history of philosophy and many of you
may have your own favourite explanation. Here is my answer: you cannot build a scientific
theory based on theological assumptions. What you get then is not a scientific theory, but an
embroidering of theology. I put to you that this is what has happened. Most of our so-called
social sciences are not ‘sciences’ in any sense of the term: they are merely secularized
Christian theologies.
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These secular variants of Christian theology include our theories of human rights as
natural rights, our theories about the state and politics, our theories about the growth and
development of human psychologies, our theories about human ethics and moralities, our
constitutions that erect the wall of separation between religion and politics... This list is both
varied and huge. Theories in multiple domains about human beings and their endeavours
build on secularized versions of Christian theological assumptions. As such, what they tell us
about our nature and the nature of our interactions with fellow human beings is also what
Christianity tells us.
The secularized-theological framework is absorbed in multiple ways by the western
intellectuals. To such people, there is only one mode of being-in-the-world: the western mode.
Therefore, for example, I suggest that when people do research into the evolutionary and
natural origins of religions in human communities, they are doing theology even though they
proclaim to the world at large that they are doing ‘science’. Is there any wonder that they set
out to naturalize this mode of being by chattering incessantly about the evolutionary and
biological origins of religion?
One might plausibly assent to what I have said so far and to one of its implications:
The western intellectuals were mistaken and continue to be mistaken in seeing religions in
India because they make use of ‘theological frameworks’ to study other peoples and cultures.
This theology is primarily Christian in its nature and Semitic in its origin. This framework
compels them to ‘discover’ religions in every culture; in fact, the belief that all cultures have
some or another native religion is itself theological in nature. In this sense, western
intellectuals mistakenly see religion in all cultures because of the compulsion exerted by the
religious framework in which they are situated.
Let me summarize what I have said so far very sharply. Christianity spreads in two
ways: through conversion and secularization. The modern day social sciences embody the
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assumptions of Christian theology, albeit in a ‘secularized’ form. It is an insidious process, the
process of secularization of Christian ideas.
Christianity, in my story, has also brought forth western culture. In this sense, a
particular religion, namely Christianity, has brought forth a ‘secular’ phenomenon, namely,
western culture. This thesis is consistent with my claim that the secular is generated by the
religious and that the secular remains within the boundaries of the religious. This western
culture is, therefore, religiously secular: it is a secular world within the ambit of a religious
world and is created by the latter.
Why has this movement of secularizing the religious come about? I claim that we
should seek the answers in what makes Christianity into a religion; that is to say, we should
locate the causes in those properties that make something into a religion.
Religion: A Characterization
The presence of which properties transform some phenomenon into a religion? What makes
the Semitic religions into religions at all? Why do I argue that Indian culture does not have
‘native’ religions? Even though I cannot give detailed answers to these questions in the course
of this paper, let me provide the outlines of my answer. My characterization of religion is that
it is an explanatory intelligible account of both the Cosmos and itself. The reason why the
Semitic religions are ‘religions’ and not something else has to do with the fact that each
possesses this property. Let me use an analogy to elucidate this point.
Consider a non-smoker who objects to others smoking in the same room where he is
present. Let us say that we need to account for this objecting behaviour: Why does he object if
others smoke in his presence? Let us now consider the two kinds of accounts, an explanatory
and an intelligible one, which answer the above question.
One could make the objection of the non-smoker intelligible by appealing to the
(reasonable and justifiable) beliefs held by him: he believes that smoking is injurious to
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health; and that passive smoking is also a form of smoking; and that he does not desire to
injure his health... etc. Hence, we can understand his behaviour by appealing to his belief-
states (or intentional states). That is to say, by looking at this behaviour as an intentional act.
“Why does this non-smoker object to the others smoking in his presence?” “Because”, so the
intelligibility account goes on, “he believes that...” The ellipsis would get filled-in by these
above beliefs. It is important to note that his beliefs are connected to his actions by means of
principle(s) of sound reasoning.
Because I merely want to illustrate the difference between two kinds of account using
the same example, let me introduce myself into this picture as a possessor of some piece of
information. Let us suppose that I am his friend and that one day, in strict confidence, (which
I am, alas, breaking for the good of science) he informed me that he cannot withstand smoke.
(He has severe asthma and some other allergies that make him react physically to smoke.) He
does not believe that the smell is injurious to health and that, in fact, he likes it. Smirking
smugly, I now tell you that the cause of his objection has nothing to do with his `beliefs'.
“Because”, I say grinning from ear to ear, “he cannot withstand smoke...”
On the one hand, it appears impossible to speak of human actions without appealing to
desires and beliefs, but doing so reduces the predictive power (or the problem solving
capacity) of the accounts we may give. On the other hand, the search for the underlying
(contingent) causal laws governing human behaviour has not yielded fruits either. In any case,
we have two kinds of accounts, an explanatory account and an intelligibility one, each of
which appears to focus on different questions.
Consider now an account, which promises to give us both. It suggests or hints that
some sets of actions are intelligible because they instantiate some sets of beliefs. And that the
relationship between ‘intending’ and ‘acting’ is not only constant but that nothing else
interferes between the former and the latter to such an extent that they virtually become
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identical. To those from the outside, knowledge of these actions is sufficient to draw
inferences about the reasons for actions. There is only one proviso attached. Because the
observer’s knowledge of these actions is always framed in some description or the other, one
can only read-off the purposes of the actions exhaustively if the descriptions of these actions
are themselves exhaustive. That is to say, a complete and totally accurate description of the
actions is required before we can be said to have a complete knowledge of the reasons for the
actions.
Such an account, when it is forthcoming; of such sets of actions, if they are possible;
of such a being, if it exists; these, together, will give us an explanatory intelligible account of
that being and its actions. The reason for calling it thus must be obvious: the causes of the
action are also its reasons. Further, because each type of action instantiates one and only one
purpose, prediction becomes possible as well. The causal law will be general, its predictive
power is not reduced, and the causes are the intentions of such a being.
Suppose that we now have a doctrine which says the following: such a being exists,
such actions exist too, but we could never provide a complete description of the actions of
such a being nor possibly observe all the actions of that being. At best, we could have a very
fragmented and partial description of such actions. It adds further that this being has
communicated its purposes to us – the understandability of this message is again restricted by
the descriptive possibilities open to us. In such a case, we have two sources of knowledge:
some sets of actions that we try to understand; the message, which we try to make sense of.
Suppose further that this being is called ‘God’; His actions are the universe; His
message is precisely the above doctrine. We now have on our hands what we call a ‘religious
doctrine’. This doctrine makes the Cosmos into an explanatorily intelligible entity but not by
providing us with a detailed explanation of all events, happenings, and phenomena. It claims
that all there is, was, and shall be (the ‘Cosmos’, that is) are expressions of a will that
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constitutes the cementing bond of the Cosmos. However, this claim about the nature of the
Cosmos is not a bare and simple statement but is itself couched in the form of an account.
Which kind of an account? It is an account that not only says that the Cosmos is explanatorily
intelligible but also one which makes the Cosmos into such an entity. Among other things, the
latter involves that the ‘religion’ itself exemplifies explanatory intelligibility.
To get a better grasp on the issue, consider what religion does. First, it imparts
knowledge by saying that the world is the expression of the purposes of God. Because this is
what the world is, the knowledge of the world will be an explanatory intelligible account.
Since the religion in question is making a claim about the world, it is a knowledge-claim. It is
not just any knowledge-claim but one which brings reasons and causes together in an
extraordinary way. In so far as it makes this particular claim about the Cosmos, it must also
exemplify that property which makes the universe into a specific kind of a place. That is, a
religious account must itself be explanatorily intelligible.
Second, this knowledge of the world is also in the world. If the universe is
explanatorily intelligible, so is this knowledge about the world. Consequently, it is not enough
that the doctrine ‘says’ that the world expresses the Will of God, but it must also exhibit or
‘express’ the very same will of God as well. Religion makes both the Cosmos and itself
explanatorily intelligible. That is, it must not only tell us why God created the world and us
but also why He gave religion to humankind.
This, then, is what makes an explanation ‘religious’: it is knowledge of the Cosmos
which includes itself. It is the explanation of the universe which includes itself as an
explanandum. There would have been a logical problem here, the threat of circularity perhaps,
if this were to be the result of our (human) understanding or theory of the world. But this
problem does not arise, because God has revealed His purposes by speaking to us about them.
‘Revelation’, then, is the crucial component that breaks the possible circularity. As religious
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figures would put it perhaps, religion need not prove the existence of God at all; the existence
of religion is the proof for the existence of God. In this sense, as an explanatory intelligible
account, religion is God’s gift to mankind and not a human invention.
Religion and Meaning
To accept this account is to accept that everything in the universe has a purpose. As human
beings, we are born and die in the Cosmos. Consequently, both events have a purpose as well.
To be part of a religion – as a first approximation – is to believe that human life and death
have significance, a meaning, and a purpose. A religious doctrine need not specify the
purposes of any individual life or death; it is enough that it merely says that there is one. Con-
sequently to accept that life, including your life, has meaning and purpose is to accept this
doctrine. As an individual, you do not know what the purpose or meaning of your birth or
death is. But because you believe that your life itself is explanatorily intelligible, your actions
appear to you as constituting (or exemplifying) the meaning of your life.
One of the oft-heard claims about religion is that it helps human beings to find
meaning and purpose in their lives. Equally often heard claims suggest that one of the
problems in the secularized societies of ours is that individuals experience ‘anomie’ or
‘alienation’ by virtue of not finding such a meaning; finding that life is meaningless; or, used
often as a synonym in this context, absurd.
However, it is not always clear what this claim amounts to. Are the diverse religions
so many different attempts to find solutions to the question of meaning of one’s life and
death? Some would say ‘no’. Yet others would say ‘yes’. However, it is not evident that reli-
gion answers this question at all. What religions have done is to assert that life and death have
a meaning and purpose. I know of no religion that has been able to answer a specific
individual’s ‘existential question’.
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In fact, if you talk to people who do believe that they have found their meaning and
purpose in life, you get the following reply as an explication of the said meaning of their
lives: they describe what they are doing, and inform you that this description is the meaning
of their lives. That is, they merely reply that their lives have meaning and that the meaning of
their lives is the lives they are leading. To understand this better, let us consider the following
event and its account.
Suppose that you have a friend who attends parties or goes to dancing clubs very
regularly. Equally regularly, he chases after women on such occasions and, let us say, he
succeeds in picking them up – each time a different woman. Puzzled, you ask him one day
why he does this. His answer goes like this: “I always want a woman I cannot get – that is
why I go after women at the parties. As soon as I get them, I lose all interest, which is why I
drop them.” Even though what you have on your hands is a mere re-description of his action,
which you have observed, this account makes it intelligible. As Davidson (1963) formulates
it: “ (T)here is no denying that this is true: when we explain an action, by giving the reason,
we do redescribe the action; redescribing the action gives the action a place in a pattern, and
in this way the action is explained (in Davis, Ed., 1983: 64). That is, “a reason makes an
action intelligible by redescribing it” (ibid.: 67).
Those who have found meaning in their lives do precisely this: re-describe the lives
they are leading. “Where I can help people using my skills”, said a doctor to me once, “I do
so; this is what makes my life meaningful to me”. Neither you nor I are any the wiser for this
piece of knowledge; but we can see that it has the structure of an intelligibility account. Your
friend made his action of chasing after women intelligible not merely by describing the
pattern in his actions; by re-describing the pattern he also appears to place it in a bigger
pattern accessible to you. The description of a pattern in one's life also re-describes the pattern
in one's life; it also places it in a bigger pattern. To those from the outside, the bigger pattern
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appears absent, which is why this account of life does not appear intelligible. From the inside
though, i.e., to those to whom their own lives appear meaningful, a pattern appears to be pres-
ent. They feel that their lives are placed in a pattern and not merely that their lives have a pat-
tern.
They cannot tell you what that pattern is, any more than your friend can tell you about
the pattern where his women-chasing activity is placed. In this sense, it is not true to say that
one cannot communicate the meaning one has found to one’s life because it is some “in-
tensely personal thing” or because such a deep ‘personal’ thing is not communicable. No. In
fact, these people are able to communicate the meaning of their individual lives; from the
outside, to someone who listens to such accounts, the intelligibility appears missing because
the pattern where it requires to be placed is not known.
More generally, the answer to the question of the meaning of life is not to be sought in
the answer. It is found in the belief that enables the formulation of such a question. Religion
enables one to raise such questions because it is the only framework where such queries can
arise. Religion was not invented to answer questions about the meaning and purpose of the
life of some or another specific individual. Such questions come into being within the
framework of religion. These problems do not antedate religion; instead, religion generates
them. Having done so, the religious framework tantalizingly hints that the problem is
solvable. Take religion away, you will also take these questions away.
By saying this, I do not imply that life is either meaningless or that it is absurd. No,
because, even this answer is given within a framework, which makes either meaning
attribution or its denial sensible with respect to individual or collective life. Rather, what I am
saying is that the questions about the meaning of life are internal to religion; they are religious
questions no matter what the answer is. They are not questions that a ‘primitive’ man raised
10,000 years ago; nor are they the questions of the ‘modern’ man but those of a religious man
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– a homo religiosus. Religion makes the world intelligible to us, promises also to relate us
intelligibly to the world.
Clearly, the difference among religions will revolve around the specification of these
purposes. What, then, makes them into rival religions is their characterization of this
explanatory intelligibility of human life and death (at a minimum). Their affirmation that the
Cosmos is an explanatorily intelligible entity makes them into religions. In a deep and
fundamental sense, to grow up within a religious tradition is to grow up with this fundamental
experience where the Cosmos has explanatory intelligibility. Equally, to have a religion is to
have this experience.
However, this does not imply that, in any particular religion, some or other statement
need occur to the effect that the Cosmos is an explanatorily intelligible entity. It makes the
world explanatorily intelligible by structuring experience accordingly. In doing so, it avoids a
crippling circularity by placing the origin of this account outside those who accept it. In
simple and simplified steps, both the problem and its solution can be described as follows:
step 1: Created by God, the Cosmos exhibits His purpose;
step 2: As human beings, we know this because God has revealed it;
step 3: God’s revelation consists precisely of both the above steps, including this step.
As an account, religion tells us what the Cosmos is like (step 1); makes itself into an
object by telling us how we could know that such is the case (step 2); characterizes both itself
as an account and the account of the Cosmos as true (step 3). What is paradoxical, perhaps
even impossible, when viewed from the standpoint of finite individuals with finite knowledge
and abilities, ceases being so when claimed to instantiate the infinite knowledge of some
‘totally other’ kind of being. The problem that we could have with respect to such knowledge
is not epistemic but hermeneutic in nature: our interpretative abilities are finite; therefore, the
sense that we could make of this knowledge is fallible unless, of course, this Divine Being
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would also help us out in this case. Candour requires me to add: rumour has it that this Being
is known to do precisely that, even if His criterion for selecting individuals remains rather
vague and mysterious.
Looked in terms of what human beings do and what they think, religion involves a
peculiar kind of reflexivity. It is its own justification, its own truth, founded on nothing that is
human. Given the nature of this object, we need not wonder anymore that we have to take re-
course to religious/theological vocabulary in order to explicate the concept of religion.
The creation of the world and all that is in it, the Bible tells us, is the Work of God. As
a Being with goals and purposes, He brought forth everything for some purpose or another.
The cosmic products and processes embody the Will of this God. What we human beings see
are the phenomena; but underlying them, and expressed in them, is the Will of God. The same
God, the Good Book further tells us, has manifested His Will to us in two ways: through
revelation, as expressed in the scriptures; and in His product, viz., Nature. We can study His
Works and through such a study learn inductively about His Will; and then, there is also the
Biblical revelation. In a deep and fundamental sense, the world is governed by the Will of The
Sovereign.
How can we know the will of an actor by studying his actions? From our experience in
the world, we do know that there is a hiatus between the actions we perform and our belief
states. Even such a ‘trivial’ action as my opening a door could not be said to instantiate some
or other belief unambiguously: perhaps, I feel that the room is stuffy or that it is too cold;
perhaps I want you to get out; or I sense an eavesdropper … You cannot, in other words, read-
off my intentions unambiguously by looking at my actions. You could also ask me the reasons
for my action: but I could deceive you by telling a plausible lie; or I forgot my own reasons;
or that I am not even sure that I have reasons... This being the case, how can we know (or
even hypothesize about) God’s Will by studying His actions?
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The answer must be obvious. God is perfectly good, perfectly consistent and that His
actions perfectly express His intentions... etc. The Sovereign's Will is not arbitrary but
perfectly constant. Because he is a Being who is perfectly trustworthy, His works do not
deceive us. The ascription of predicates of perfection to God, which many authors use as an
argument for the impossibility of His existence, I suggest, was a necessary condition for the
emergence of human knowledge about the natural world.
Consider, by contrast, the ‘gods’ of the so-called religions like those of the Greeks, the
Romans, or the Hindus. What is constant about these gods is their capriciousness or unpre-
dictability. They ceaselessly interfere with the affairs of mankind but in ways that are both
unpredictable and mysterious. Thus, it is only right and proper that the universe is not
governed by their will.
Let me reformulate the earlier paragraphs in the following way: the Bible inculcates an
experience of the Cosmos as a particular kind of order, and this order consists of the fact that
phenomena express a deep, underlying constancy. This constancy is the Will of The Sover-
eign. His Will governs the world.
Religion and Truth
In our daily activities in the world, we assume that many of our beliefs and theories are true.
One such candidate, for example, is that the earth revolves around the sun or that we do not
change shape while we sleep. Even though we do not know whether they are true, we have no
reason (as yet) to presume their falsity. The assumption about the truth of these beliefs is
strengthened by a whole number of other beliefs – from sending satellites to circle the earth to
biological theories and medical practices – and we do not really despair about the tentative
and hypothetical nature of our theories. Commendable and necessary though such attitudes
are, our indifference does not affect the epistemological point: any and all of our theories
could turn out to be false.
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Religion not only tells us the way the Cosmos is, but also makes itself explanatorily
intelligible. Based on human knowledge and human cognitive abilities, both of which are
finite, we could never arrive at an explanatory intelligible account, which includes itself as an
explanandum.
Furthermore, religion, which claims to be the truth about the world, is radically
independent of our prior theories about the world. Whether one believes in the existence of
witches, ancestors, or quantum particles; whether one can understand Gödel’s theorem or the
mechanism of gene-splicing; whether one can drive a car or not; one’s access to the ‘message’
of religion is not affected. Grasping the truth of the religious account does not depend on our
finite knowledge of the world and this truth, note well, is about the Cosmos. On our own, as
these religions have explained themselves, we could only arrive at a ‘vague’ conception of
God as the creator. But this notion does not make the world explanatorily intelligible. God has
to reveal himself and aid us in seeing the truth because this truth does not depend upon human
knowledge and what we, at any given moment, believe to be true.
What we have on our hands, then, is an account that has no parallels in the domain of
human knowledge. We know of partial explanatory accounts; we think that our folk-
psychology makes use of intelligibility accounts. Religion alone is both an explanatory and an
intelligibility account. Not of this or that individual phenomenon, but of the Cosmos and
itself.
Corresponding to this, the issue and the question of truth take a radical form. The
problem is not whether religion is true in the same way my belief about Brussels being the
capital city of Belgium is true. The latter’s truth depends on other beliefs being true as well.
Such is not the case for religion at all. If we use the predicate ‘true’ to describe religion, it
looks as though we cannot use it for anything else: what makes religion true cannot make
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anything else true. Religion is the truth in the specific sense of not being dependent on the
truth of any other belief we hold about the world.
Religion ‘Sui Generis’?
To the reader and to someone familiar with contemporary religious studies, two things must
be clear by now: (a) my characterization of religion attempts to make sense of the experience
of the believers. In contemporary jargon, I ‘privilege the insider perspective’ as against the
‘outsider perspective’. (b) In doing so, I seem to talk as though religion cannot be studied
using methods and theories from other sciences. In the words of McCutcheon, I seem to speak
of ‘religion as sui generis’. Because I cannot fully answer these objections in the course of
this article, let me make a few points in my defence, using a realist language.
What we have in human cultures are specific phenomena like Christianity, Islam,
Judaism and such like. If they are ‘religions’, then they are that by virtue of possessing some
property that makes them into religions. In this sense, ‘religion’ is a property of these specific
phenomena. The ‘insider’ and ‘outsider’ problem makes sense only with respect to specific
religions because they also have other properties than that of religion. However, with respect
to that property which makes them into religion (the explanatory intelligibility that I talk
about), there is no ‘outsider’ perspective available to us human beings. Only that entity
(‘God’, in our case) whose will is the causal force of the Cosmos has an ‘outsider’ perspective
with respect to the explanatory intelligible account that religion is. Consequently, we cannot
study religion as religion (or under the description of ‘religion’) from outside, ever.
I am not speaking about what makes some phenomenon into Christianity but what
makes Christianity into religion. From the outside, without having any such account, I cannot
say what makes some account an explanatorily intelligible account of the Cosmos; why it
does this to some and not to the others; what does the explanatory intelligibility consist of;
etc. Maximally, one can do what I have done: take note of the fact that religion is an
27

explanatory intelligible account. To be sure, we can ask the believers to explain themselves.
In such a case, we will be studying what it means ‘to believe’ for these people; if and where
we can understand their answer to the ‘meaning’ of the Cosmos and life, we will have some
idea about what it means to be religious. But that is a different issue altogether.
In fact, my characterization of religion says as much. Religion exhibits reflexivity:
religion includes what it says about itself; religious language is both the object language and
its own meta-language. Consequently, the possibility of a ‘science of religion’ resides in our
willingness to accept theology as science.
However, this does not mean that one cannot study religion scientifically. If we study
religion as religion, only then are we forced to do theology. But religion can be studied at
different levels of description: (a) as religion; (b) as world view; (c) as a causal force in a
culture; (d) as specific religions, etc. In this sense, yes, we can study religion scientifically but
we must know the level at which we can provide a scientific description. In this sense, I am
not in the least suggesting that we cannot study religion using theories and methods from the
sciences.
But, it does mean the following. My characterization of religion enables us to come to
grips with authors like Schleiermacher and Otto, who have spoken of religious experience,
without accusing them of bad faith or imputing ‘apologetic motivations’ to them. Both argue
that having a religious experience presupposes that one belongs to a religion, and that the non-
rational elements are related to the rational. Indeed so. Religion is an account that involves
concepts. To accept it is to feel a part of the purposes of that Being and depend on Him. With-
out such an account, there is no question of experiencing the ‘absolute dependency’ that
Schleiermacher talks about; at best, all we can experience is a kind of relative dependency
upon each other. In such a case, the ‘other’ is not “The Totally Other” of Schleiermacher. To
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have the kind of experience that Schleiermacher talks about, we need to accept the
explanatorily intelligible account of the Cosmos, i.e., accept religion.
It is this property that makes not only Christianity but also Judaism and Islam into
religions. But that which makes them into religion also divides, and this dispute is unsolvable
because it has no solution. Each is a specific religion, that is, each is an explanatorily
intelligible account and each makes the Cosmos into an explanatorily intelligible entity to
those who accept this account. Some individual may, at any given moment of time, switch
from one to the other on the ground that one does it better than the other. But his ground is
that one succeeds better than the other in making the Cosmos explanatorily intelligible to him.
He may even believe – and, indeed, he has to – that this superiority arises from the fact that
one is better than the other. But he can only do so after the other account has made the
Cosmos explanatorily intelligible to him but not before. He can judge that one religion is bet-
ter than the other, only after trading places. A ‘formal’ conversion may (and often does) come
later, but the point is that there is no vantage point for the human being to judge the
superiority of one religion against the other. The reason is, of course, simple: religion must
make the Cosmos explanatorily intelligible to the individual in question.
Very often, believers make the claim that one cannot investigate the nature of religion,
unless one is a believer oneself. Brilliant and reputed thinkers have tried to argue for this point
of view. Equally often, such people have been accused by their opponents of bad faith,
dogmatism and suspected of harbouring apologetic motivations. Any phenomenon can be
scientifically studied, the opponents have maintained, including both religion and science.
Why should one believe in God in order to discuss His existence? One does not have to be a
stone to describe its fall, any more than one has to be a neurotic to discuss the nature of
neurosis. Therefore, why should one be religious to scientifically investigate religion?
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Consider what I just said above regarding how anyone could judge the superiority of
one religion against the other. One can only do so from within the framework of some specific
religion or another. The reason, as I have said, lies in the fact that they are all explanatorily
intelligible accounts. Only from within the framework of one religion can we judge the
‘adequacy’ of the other. In the starkest possible terms: to investigate religion – as an
explanatorily intelligible account of the Cosmos – we need to accept some or another
explanatorily intelligible account of the Cosmos. That is, religion can be investigated only by
being religious yourself; religion is an object of investigation from within some or another
religion. This position stands to reason because, as I have said, religion makes itself
explanatorily intelligible too. The believers are not, I submit, dogmatic when they say, as
Söderblom did, that the only science of religion could be theology.
Again, it is important to note what I am saying and what I am not. Any specific
doctrine within a specific religion – say, for example, the doctrine of trinity – is not immune
from criticism or beyond discussion. After all, those who do not accept it do criticize and
discuss this doctrine. In this sense, in all probability, every single doctrine of every religion
has been discussed and criticized either at one time or another. So, if a Jew can criticize the
doctrine of Trinity, why not someone else, who denies the existence of God? Belonging to a
religion is not equivalent to holding a party card.
Some Contemporary Criticisms
Quite apart from the above remarks, my attempt has also met with criticisms either directly or
indirectly. I should like to answer a few of them, beginning with those of Sweetman and
Pennigton. Both believe that my ‘definition’ of religion is flawed because I take Christianity
(especially, according to them, Protestant Christianity) as an exemplary instance of the
category of religion. Failing to appreciate what I do or even understand the difference
between a definition and a hypothesis, they come up with totally muddleheaded criticisms. In
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what follows, I shall not try to set right the manifold confusions in Sweetman’s thinking but,
instead, address myself to his ‘central’ criticism.
He detects the following form in my argument:
“First premise: Christianity is prototypically what religion is.
Second premise: Hinduism does not share all (or perhaps any) of the relevant properties of
Christianity.
Conclusion: Hinduism is not a religion.” (p.337)
To begin with, let me make three logical points about his ‘reconstruction’ of my argument. In
the first place, the ‘conclusion’ that Sweetman attributes to me is not derivable on the basis of
these two premises alone: we need more. No one can derive the conclusion (without adding
additional premises) that Sweetman attributes to me: ‘Hinduism is not a religion’. As a result,
second, as it stands now, the conclusion is invalid: the only possible conclusion that one can
draw from the above is the following: ‘Hinduism is not prototypically what a religion is’. (Of
course, this could imply that ‘Hinduism’ is a religion, even if it is not prototypically what a
religion is.) Third, he wants to take issue with the truth of the conclusion but he does so by
throwing doubts upon the truth of the premises. A freshman introduction to logic course
would have told him that he cannot do this. In deductive logics, truth is transmitted from the
premises to the conclusion but not their falsity. Falsity travels, again in deductive logics, the
other way round: falsity is transmitted from the conclusion to the premises. In other words,
there is an asymmetry in the transmission of truth and falsity in deductive logics. Thus, he
cannot contest the truth of the conclusion (that he attributes to me) on logical grounds by
challenging the truth-value of the premises. Yet, he does exactly that.
Let me take up the more substantive issues. My statement about the exemplary nature
of Christianity must, above everything else, be situated in the context of providing an
ostensive definition of the term ‘religion’. Such an ostensive gesture – though given in
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language instead of in physical gestures – does not make any claims about the nature of
religion except to point out that, in our language-use (in western languages), the word
‘religion’ refers at least to Christianity. Such an ostensive definition does not mean that
Christianity is the best religion or the most perfect one or the only one. In fact, it is easily
conceivable that Christianity is not even a religion and that our language-use is wrong.
However, it is sensible to say this only when we have a theory of religion and not before. In
other words, one’s view of Christianity – whether it is a ‘true’ religion or merely a false
consciousness – does not affect the definition I am putting forward. My definition registers a
fact about a language-use but makes no further assertions either about Christianity or about
religion.
I am not providing an explicit definition of the word ‘religion’; I am simply identifying
an example, a prototypical example, of the category ‘religion’. I am not making any
assumptions about what religion is, or what makes Christianity into one. My only argument
is: if Christianity is not an exemplary instance of ‘religion’, then we have no other examples
of religion. Therefore, I make no assumptions about the nature of religion or of Christianity in
beginning a study of religion. In fact, I do not even assume the existence of religion. Rather, I
merely point out the fact that unless we can show that our language-use refers to an entity that
does not exist in our world – in which case we need not study religion at all – we may not
reject our linguistic practice. If ‘religion’ refers to something at all, the history of our natural
language-use with respect to this word does suggest that it does, it must at least refer to
Christianity. Otherwise, it picks out a ‘fictitious entity’ – and this is a theoretical claim that
one cannot make at the preliminary stage of defining a word in a theory.
Suppose that we extend this argument further. The very same linguistic practice that I
talk about also refers to following entities: ‘Leprechauns’, ‘Cyclops’, ‘Satyrs’ and ‘Unicorns’.
Our linguistic practice not only assures us that these words refer to creatures in the world but
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also provides us with entertaining tales about the behaviour of such creatures. We can take
issue with the claims about the existence of such creatures (and, thus, whether these words
have any reference in the real word) only by accepting the theories in evolutionary biology
and not by talking about some or another philosophical claim about ‘meaning’ and
‘reference’. In this sense, if one wants to challenge the linguistic-use with respect to the word
‘religion’, it is advisable that one arms oneself adequately, i.e., one should have some or
another substantial theory about the relevant part of the world. A bare claim about ‘meaning’
and ‘reference’ will not do.
On the reference of the word ‘religion’
When we use the category ‘religion’, we minimally refer to Christianity. Why ‘minimally’?
What if someone refuses to recognize that Christianity is a prototypical instance of the
category ‘religion’? My answer is that this is the only option open to us, unless we make
epistemic assumptions about the object before having studied it.
Suppose that someone denies the prototypicality of Christianity as a religion. Then, he
has to (a) either deny that the concept ‘religion’ has any reference to any entity in the world;
(b) or claim that it has some other reference. If he argues the first position, he is running
counter to our linguistic practice where the word does have a reference. Of course, one is at
perfect liberty to counter the linguistic practice; but, then, he must also have some kind of a
theory about what ‘religion’ is and what it is not. Such a theory also has to explain why, for
more than two-thousand years, the word found a home in Christian theory and practice.
Let me linger on this point a bit longer because quite a few scholars argue today
(Jonathan Smith, Russell McCutcheon to name a few) that the word ‘religion’ has no
reference to anything in the world and that it is merely a part of scholars’ talk. In fact
Jonathan Smith even claims that “there is no data for religion”. How much is this argument
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worth? By building an analogical argument, let me identify the conditions under which such
an argument becomes admissible.
Let us suppose that I make the following claim: the words ‘gravity’ and ‘gravitational
force’ are mere words in the scholarly talk. They are parts of scholarly discourse. In the
absence of theories about gravity and gravitational force, what could we possibly conclude
about the reference of these words? Epistemically speaking, one cannot conclude anything
because we cannot know what the data sets for these words are. It is only a theory about these
phenomena that tells us that the free fall of objects, the ebb and tide in the sea and the
presence of atmosphere on earth, etc. have all to do with gravity and gravitational force. Such
a theory also postulates relations between these phenomena and gravitational force. Thus, it is
the theory of gravitation that tells us what ‘its’ facts are. Without such a theory, we might
notice some facts: that objects in free fall downwards or that there are ebbs and tides in the
sea etc. But our problem is: which theory should explain these facts? Should a theory in
geography or a theory from physics or a theory about the fairies and angels tell us about the
‘why’? Should one particular theory explain all the above facts, or are they discrete facts for
different theories? There is no way we can answer such questions in the absence of a theory
that effectively solves these problems. In the absence of such theories, it is meaningless to
make the claim that ‘there is no data for gravity’. Because none of the authors named above
have anything that remotely resembles a theory of religion or a theory of scholarly discourse
in the domain of religious studies, or a theory of theologies, their claim is unfounded. Worse,
it is meaningless.
However, it is meaningless only if treated as a philosophical objection. Actually,
though disguised as an ‘objective criticism’, it is actually ad hominem: they are directed
against certain authors (Scheleirmacher, Otto, Eliade and others), who are characterized as
harbouring ‘apologetic motivations’. Basically, the accusation is that some scholars attempt to
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prevent a ‘naturalistic’ study of religion by cordoning off religion from any such approach.
Apparently, they do this by suggesting that ‘religious experience’, ‘religiosity’, etc. are
‘unique’ to religion.
The problem with ad hominem attacks is that they embody fallacious reasoning. One
cannot either criticize or explain Schleirmacher’s theory about religion by suggesting that he
had apologetic motivations. Though meaningful in so far as speculations about motives are
concerned, such fallacious arguments have no place in an intellectual discussion. If taken as
philosophical criticisms, as I have said, they are meaningless.
On the other hand, one could meaningfully suggest that ‘gravity and gravitational
force’ do not refer to anything in the real world, when there is a theory of gravity and
gravitational force. This is a philosophical stance that some assume with respect to scientific
theories: one could consider such concepts as ‘fictions’, or as ‘theoretical terms’, or as
‘pragmatically useful’ concepts that help us predict etc. In other words, it is a sensible meta-
scientific standpoint that tries to account for scientific theories by denying reference to
theoretical terms. However, today, we are not in such a situation.
Regarding the second point, I can be briefer. Indeed, the concept could have other
references, but it minimally picks out Christianity. To argue that it refers to some other entity
without referring also to Christianity is to take an epistemic decision: after all, Christianity has
described itself as a religion, and the word has its home in the European languages. To go
against either of these two facts is to have a theory about both.
This linguistic practice itself is not neutral. After all, it is the practice of a community
that speaks this way and not that or another way. I do not deny this. This fact about the
linguistic practices of a community having a cultural history reflects a general point, viz., that
as socio-cultural entities, we function in a context. To be sure, it also underlines the fact that
scientific enquiries have a context too. But then, these are the general presuppositions of any
35

human enquiry – not merely of this one. Needless to say, that I am a human being and, conse-
quently, I am situated in a cultural and intellectual milieu is not quite the same as accepting
presuppositions either about religion or the relation of Christianity to religion.
Let us say that in some phenomenon this or that property, or even a group of them, is
absent; let us assume that these very same properties are present in Christianity. This situation
does not tell us a great deal: it could be that the former is merely less prototypical than
Christianity; or that the former is a ‘truer’ religion than Christianity; it could be that both have
all the properties of religion; etc.
Could we answer the question about the existence or nonexistence of religion by
simply looking at the properties of Christianity? That is, can we argue that because some
properties characteristic of Christianity are absent from traditions elsewhere, (say, in
‘Hinduism’ or ‘Buddhism’) the latter cannot possibly be religions? Such an argument is
possible only if one is able to show that the properties of Christianity which one has identified
are also the properties of religion. In the absence of such proof, all that one can do is to notice
that Christianity and some other tradition differ from each other. However, one cannot argue
that, because of these differences, some other tradition is not a religion.
This is so obvious a point that one wonders how Sweetman could possibly see me
arguing the opposite. Consider the distinction between Christianity as a historical movement
and Christianity as a religion. Today, the former owns buildings, land, telephones, television
studios, aircrafts, etc. These are the properties – in both the senses of possessions and
predicates – of Christianity. Is it any more or less of a religion because of that? The only way
we can answer this question either way is by postulating (or having a theory about) the
relation between Christianity and religion. One may want to argue that Christianity has
progressively become less of a religion because it is now more interested in earthly
possessions. Or the other way round. Notice, however, that this argument can work only if we
36

know what religion is. By looking at Christianity alone – as the exemplar of the concept of
religion – we can make no such claim.
One can think of many such examples. One such is the obverse of this argument.
Because some or another tradition appears to share some of the properties of Christianity,
people have argued, the former is also a religion. This is how the anthropologist Martin
Southwold, for instance, argues: because Buddhism shares many properties of Christianity,
the former is also a religion even if it does not believe in God. This argument is flawed for
exactly the same reason as well: the properties that Christianity has by virtue of being a
religion may or may not be identical to the properties that it has by virtue of being a historical
movement. If Southwold can argue anything at all on grounds of his polythetic attributes, he
would have to say: because Buddhism shares many properties of Christianity, the former is
also like Christianity minus its belief in God. But he does not say this, does he?
In more mundane terms: we are studying, let us say, a brown cat that limps, has one
eye, a tail, one ear, a few teeth, and eats rats. Question: Is limping, having one eye, a tail, one
ear, being brown, having a few teeth, eating rats, the properties of all cats or merely of this
specific cat? Answer: that depends on the knowledge we have of cats. Precisely.
The Argument Explained
Instead of focussing further on Sweetman and Pennigton, let me outline the way I formulate
the problem of studying religion.
As I have argued, if the word ‘religion’ picks out something, it refers at least to Chris-
tianity because the latter refers to itself as a religion (i.e., it uses the word with respect to
itself). This self-reference is not a few centuries old: it has been so used ever since the
inception of Christianity. If Christianity refers to itself as a religion and recognizes itself as
one, then the terms in which it does so gives us ‘its’ concept of religion. This concept not only
enabled Christianity to describe itself as a religion, but also helped it to recognize some of the
37

rivals it encountered as religious rivals. Therefore to study Christianity as a religion is to
study those properties by virtue of which not only did Christianity think of itself as a religion
but also confronted rival or competing religions. This is the first step of the argument. This
step merely allows us to establish the terms of description. These very same terms, however,
allow us to take the second step.
Christianity is a historical movement. So are Judaism and Islam. The former has
construed the latter as rival religions. Whatever goals they were/are competing for, they
did/do so as religions. Judaism and Islam were not merely baptized as rival religions by
Christianity. These two also saw Christianity as a rival religion under the same description.
The second step establishes that the terms under which Christianity recognized itself
as religion are also the terms under which Islam and Judaism recognize themselves as
religions as well (using whatever word they use). That is to say, the concept used by Chris-
tianity to call itself a ‘religion’ is also the one which makes some (Judaism and Islam) who do
not call themselves as ‘religions’ into religions (because it is also their self-description).
Therefore, the ‘Christian’ concept is not just Christian. It cuts across the three Semitic
religions. This is not my concept or your concept, but self-descriptions of these religions. At
the same time, it suggests that the concept of religion is itself part of a religious framework
and vocabulary. This lends a greater probability to the claim that whether or not Judaism and
Islam use the word ‘religion’, they too are religions. That is, if Christianity is a religion, so are
Judaism and Christianity.
The third step picks out two salient facts. One: the terms under which Christianity
transformed Islam and Judaism are also those that make Judaism and Christianity rivals to
Islam, and Islam and Christianity rivals to Judaism. The possibility that Judaism and Islam
were merely reacting to the attacks of Christianity – and were, therefore, forced to accept the
terms of Christianity’s self-description – is ruled out by the second salient fact: all three
38

singled out exactly the same rivals under the same description elsewhere unerringly. Judaism
had singled out the Roman religio as its rival before Christianity was even born; Islam had
picked out precisely those Indian traditions as its rivals, which Christianity was also to
identify, centuries before the European Christians launched their major and massive
evangelizing activities.
The fourth step completes this argument by looking at the reaction of the rivals
identified by Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. These rivals, the Roman religio and the Indian
traditions, did not recognize themselves in the description provided by Christianity, Judaism
and Islam. Nor did they see the relationship between themselves and the latter as religious
rivalry. Incomprehension of the terms of description and indifference to the alleged rivalry
characterize the reactions of those belonging to the Roman religiones and the Indian
traditions. “There are different roads to heaven”, said the one shrugging its shoulders; “How
could only your religion be true and ours false?” asked the other uncomprehendingly. Even
under persecution, this tone did not change. The persecution of the Christians in the early
Roman Empire did not take place using those terms which Christianity would use to persecute
the pagans centuries later.
The third and the fourth step, together, establish the following case: the terms under
which Christianity recognized itself and identified rival religions were also those that
provided self-identity and rivals to Judaism and Islam. Precisely this description was incom-
prehensible to those in whose language the word ‘religion’ existed (the Roman ‘religio’) and
to those who had no such word (the Indians). Neither recognized itself in this description;
neither fought the others as rivals under this description.
These four steps constitute the historical constraints under which we must generate
our hypothesis about religion. On the one hand, our hypothesis must capture the self-
description of the Semitic religions; further, it must also explain why ‘Hinduism’,
39

‘Shintoism’, etc., also appear as ‘religions’ (even if they are ‘false religions’) to them. On the
other hand, the very same hypothesis must also explain why neither the Hindus nor the
Romans were able to recognize themselves as ‘religions’, whether true or false. Why this
double constraint and what does it do?
Quite apart from the issue that these are historical facts that any hypothesis on religion
has to explain, there is something more intriguing here. If one merely generates a
‘naturalistic’ hypothesis about religion that tells us why both the Semitic religions and the
Indian traditions (and the Roman religiones) are religions, then there is no reason to choose a
so-called ‘naturalistic’ hypothesis above a theological explanation: both explain the same
phenomenon in the same way, viz., they are all ‘religions’. Actually, the situation is far worse:
theological theories tell us more about the differences between, say, Hinduism on the one
hand and the Semitic religions on the other. That is, apart from noticing all kinds of detailed
differences between these two groups (which a ‘naturalistic’ hypothesis can also do),
theologies provide additional explanations of these differences: Hinduism is a ‘false’ religion
because it practices idolatry (for example). In other words, if one intends to be scientific, then
one has to choose a theological explanation above a ‘naturalistic’ hypothesis because the
former explains more facts than the latter can possibly do. This is one side of the coin.
The second side of the coin is this. If, on the other hand, we develop a ‘naturalistic’
hypothesis about religion that merely shows that ‘Hinduism’ etc are not ‘religions’ (because
there is no ‘religion’), then we merely side with the pagans and discount more than two
thousand years of human history. For all that matters, the Jews, the Christians and the
Muslims simply do not exist or do not form a part of human history. Only the arrogant or the
foolish would take this route taken by some of the ‘naturalist’ thinkers of today.
Consequently, the only reasonable and scientific avenue is to generate a hypothesis
that accounts for both sets of facts in the same move. The historical constraints that I have
40

identified vouch for a hypothesis generation under constraints, another description of
scientific theorizing.
In other words, we face two problems, which we need to solve. One appears as an
empirical problem and the other is a historical problem. The solutions to these will give us a
preliminary hypothesis about religion.
The problem which appears empirical is the following: what is Christianity’s concept
of religion, and how is it possible to show that its concept is also that of Judaism and Islam?
Let us appreciate this problem in its complexity, because doing so will enable us to realize
why we have to move beyond the ‘concept of religion’.
An obvious solution to this problem is not only a Herculean job, but also, in all
probability, an unsolvable one. This is an inductive task of trying to find out what Christians
have said about ‘religion’ over the course of the last two thousand years. Even a preliminary
survey, which involves the use of the word ‘religion’ – after all, that is the only way we can
begin – in extant writings will lead us to the conclusion that the word was used in a variety of
ways, that it disappeared for centuries, re-emerged much later in yet other ways, that its
meanings have changed according to the linguistic and historical contexts... etc. In fact, one
does not even have to do a survey to predict such a conclusion. As though this is not enough,
we have to do the same with respect to Judaism and Islam. Neither uses the word ‘religion’ –
unless in modern writings on the subject.
There is another solution. If one can generate a hypothesis of religion and show that
Christianity, Judaism and Islam recognize themselves in such a portrayal, then this problem is
solved. That is, by talking about the object that religion is; by arguing that the presence of
‘something’ makes Christianity, Judaism and Islam into religions; and showing that it
captures their self-descriptions; one can argue backwards to their ‘concept of religion’.
41

This generates the historical problem: such a hypothesis of religion has to solve two
further questions: (a) why do Semitic religions see religions everywhere (b) Why neither the
Roman religiones nor the Indian traditions recognize themselves in this description. Needless
to say, all of these would have to be done without appealing to ad hoc hypotheses. That is,
any hypothesis on religion will have to simultaneously solve both the empirical and the
historical problem in one move. That, precisely, is what my hypothesis does.
In other words, by virtue of the above mentioned constraints and my hypothesis about
religion, one can say that “there is data for religion”. And I have also said what that data is.
Conclusion
Let me bring this rather long article to its conclusion. In contradistinction to many
writers on the subject, I do argue that religion can be studied. However, I add that it could be
studied at multiple levels: studying religion as religion is to accept its self-description and, in
that case, being forced to do theology. The peculiar self-reflexivity of religion explains to us
how to understand authors like Schleirmacher, Otto and Söderblom without accusing them of
apologetic motivations. In a very specific sense, they were entirely right when they suggested
that one could study religion only by being a believer oneself. At this level of description, that
is, at the level of self-description of religion, it is simply impossible for us human beings to
have access to an ‘outsider perspective’. Our “data” are the experiences of the believers and
the properties of religion (‘faith’, ‘worship’ and such like). Jonathan Smith is totally wrong
when he says there is “no data” for religion. The word was historically not coined by ‘the
scholar’ during the enlightenment period: it was used in polemics and apologetics in Ancient
Greece and Rome. The believers took over the word ‘religio’ and gave it a different meaning
than the one it had in Classical Rome.
However, this does not mean that one cannot study religion scientifically: one can and
should do this, but at a different level of description. It is only at this level that we could hope
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to develop a scientific theory about religion and the role it plays in human societies and
cultures.
‘Religions’ were constructed in India as experiential entities by people who had a
religion. There is no ‘religion’ in India, nor has there been one, provided one does not take the
presence of Judaism, Christianity and Islam in India into account. In any case, entities like
‘Hinduism’, ‘Buddhism’, ‘Jainism’ are fictional entities the way ‘satyr’ and ‘unicorn’ are.
43

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