A pot-bellied, ambiguously European man marches into the room, a lanky wisp of a professor trailing behind him, carrying armfuls of tiny water bottles and lecture notes. The chair groans quietly under his formidable weight as he settles in and regards us all with a distinct air of superiority and intellectual prowess. The quiet conversation quickly dies down, and after a moment, he begins with a flourish…
By my very rough estimation, each department holds roughly a dozen seminars, guest talks and colloquiums annually, hosting the world’s leading intellectuals in their field. With about 20 departments, that’s roughly 250 events.
250 events that I have, regrettably, missed.
The email always seems to get lost in my inbox, I can never keep the date-time-location straight, I’m just so swamped with readings – a mouthful of defenses and excuses leap to mind.
But, nevermind that, the past is the past and, this year, I’ve resolved to attend at least one talk a month. And so, when the email inviting students to a talk held by the Philosophy and Sanskrit departments was sent out, I lept at the chance to work towards my yearly quota.
The email helpfully included a preamble to the talk, which I will briefly reproduce here:
‘This talk is on “apoha-theory”, an interesting topic within the epistemological school of Buddhist philosophical tradition, namely its philosophy of language. Proposed by Dignāga in his Pramāṇasamuccaya, and developed by the Buddhist philosophers Dharmakīrti, Dharmottara, and others, apoha-theory maintains an idea of reference as indirect, by the exclusion of other referents.’
Sounds like fun, right?
…He begins with a flourish, his plump arms fanning out in a massive sweeping gesture.
And already, I’m lost. I know, Buddhist philosophy has never really been my thing, so I wasn’t expecting to follow everything, nor dare to offer any questions in the Q&A section, but I really thought I’d last longer. After about a minute, I realize, surely, this must be a joke. He’s just putting random words in random order. He’s playing a prank on us, or maybe it’s a social experiment… yeah, yeah, yeah, a social experiment, he’s trying to test how long we’re going to let him get away with his nonsensical sermon. I wait expectantly for the punch-line, the ‘gotcha!,’ the triumphant laughter, the researchers walking in with white lab coats and clipboards.
I look around, expecting to find similarly bemused expressions plastered on the faces of my fellow research subjects, but to my absolute horror, everyone else is nodding along thoughtfully, or scribbling down notes, pausing only to worry their lips or rest their head against their palms in thoughtful contemplation.
I should’ve known I was way in over my head when he began the talk with the phrase, “Of course, as we all know…” That was the first red flag. That was the sign to throw in the towel. Because, evidently, no, we don’t all know.
The professor says something that I gather must be a joke as everyone else laughs appreciatively.
I’m desperately straining for some semblance of understanding, unceremoniously scribbling down what little phrases I am able to make out, wringing out as much meaning as possible from the seemingly nonsensical tirade.
Apoha is exclusion by inclusion…or was it inclusion by exclusion?
Did he just say ‘Dharmakīrti’ or ‘Dharmottara’? I can’t keep these terms straight.
What does ‘inclusion by exclusion’ even mean?
After about 15 minutes of trying, and failing, to follow the Professor, as he gesticulates animatedly, I reluctantly resign myself to defeat and divert my energies into waiting out the clock.
At one point he is explaining a cow is not in fact a cow but rather not not a cow. While I am trying to work out the double negative he helpfully includes the chair I’m sitting on is not a chair. Or was that, not not a chair? Or was that, not a chair but a table?
I busy myself with the careful study of the other attendees to make the time pass quicker. I am painfully aware that they all look older than I do, and more at ease. There’s a woman reclining in her chair (which the professor cheerfully explains does not exist) with the most impressive butterfly earrings. I swallow an incredulous groan as I overhear her anticipate the professor’s next words, excitedly whispering to her colleague, “You know, critics of apoha-theory…” Moments later, the professor launches into the criticisms of apoha-theory, echoing her.
The Q&A stretches on and on, and all I can do is concentrate on stifling the yawn building in my chest. I sink back into my chair (which may or may not exist, or is and isn’t not a chair) and watch as they go back and forth, the professor meets each of their arguments with a counter-argument, they offer questions and suggestions in return. I am reminded of a tennis match and, despite myself, I can’t help but be impressed.
After 1 hour and 36 minutes, the talk graciously comes to an end. I peel myself off the chair, shaking my head ever so slightly, trying to dislodge the fog of confusion that has settled behind my eyes. I don’t want to throw in the towel, and I am going to make an effort to make it to more of these talks, but perhaps I should steer clear of Buddhist philosophy.