PromptFri, Jul 10 at 12:06 PM: A friend of mine brought the following quote and it made me think about the relationship between cittam and the thoughts (dances) which occur in it. This quote tells us that the river lets fish to live in it, but it can not protect fish from being caught from cranes. Symbolically we can relate it to how cittam lets thoughts to occur within it but it can't really control what kind of thoughts it can hold - either good, bad, noble, sacred, religious, vengence and so on so forth. How are we going to reframe it within our understanding of cittam and thoughts. Does it really give us new information about human's cittam related phenomenology? மீன்கள் வாழ்வதற்கு நதி இடம் தான் கொடுக்க முடியும் ..!* கொக்கிடமிருந்து மீன்களை காப்பாற்றுவது நதியின் வேலை இல்லை ....!! ResponseYes. I think this quotation gives us new and quite important information about our phenomenology of cittam. It forces us to separate two things that we have sometimes treated as though they were one: the space in which thoughts arise and the agency that evaluates, regulates, or acts upon those thoughts. மீன்கள் வாழ்வதற்கு நதி இடம்தான் கொடுக்க முடியும்; கொக்கிடமிருந்து மீன்களைக் காப்பாற்றுவது நதியின் வேலை இல்லை. The river provides the condition in which fish can live. But the river does not decide which fish should exist, nor does it stand guard over each fish against the crane. Applied to our framework: Cittam provides the arena for the dances of thought, but cittam as arena does not necessarily choose, approve, protect, or reject every dance that occurs within it. This is a significant refinement. Until now, we have been giving cittam too many jobs Throughout our discussion, we have said things such as: cittam produces thoughts; cittam observes thoughts; cittam analyzes thoughts; cittam refines thoughts; cittam redirects thoughts; cittam decides actions. But the river analogy makes us ask whether this is conceptually overloaded. Can cittam simultaneously be the space, the fish, the crane, the observer, and the protector? Probably not. Perhaps we need to distinguish more carefully: Cittam as space — the river. Thoughts, emotions, memories, desires — the fish and other activities occurring within the river. External events, threats, temptations, influences — perhaps the cranes. The observing, evaluating, and directing capacity — something else that we have been trying to understand through the avans. This brings us directly back to Tirumūlar 1789. The three avans suddenly become more important We began with: அவனும் அவனும் அவனை அறியார்... and proposed: one avan as thinker; another as driver/doer; the third Avan as unrealized human potential. The river analogy now suggests that cittam itself may not be identical with any of the three. Perhaps ciṟṟampalam/cittam is the space in which their interaction takes place. That would give us: Ciṟṟampalam = the arena. Thoughts = dances arising within the arena. The avans = different capacities participating in, observing, directing, and realizing those dances. This may be conceptually cleaner than saying “cittam thinks,” “cittam judges,” and “cittam acts.” But I would modify your interpretation slightly You said: “Cittam lets thoughts occur within it but it can't really control what kind of thoughts it can hold.” I agree with the first part, but I would qualify the second. Perhaps cittam cannot prevent the initial arrival of every thought, but over time the human system can influence: which thoughts receive attention; which thoughts are repeatedly entertained; which thoughts become habits; which thoughts become actions; which thoughts are allowed to disappear. This distinction is essential. A jealous thought arises. An angry thought arises. A desire for revenge arises. A compassionate thought arises. A religious thought arises. A skeptical thought arises. The initial arising may not be under deliberate control. But what happens next is the central question of சித்தம் திரிதல். So perhaps: We do not control every fish that enters the river, but we influence which fish we feed. That, to me, is the crucial addition. This changes our discussion of “good” and “bad” thoughts Earlier we concluded that anger, jealousy, greed, hatred, and desire should not simply be classified as foreign evils entering cittam. They are natural movements. Now the river analogy strengthens that conclusion. A river does not become an “evil river” because dangerous creatures live in it. Likewise: A cittam is not morally corrupt merely because anger or jealousy arises within it. The ethical question begins afterward: Does cittam become occupied by the thought? Is the thought repeatedly fed? Does it become habitual? Does it direct the driver? Does the doer execute it? This gives us a sequence: Arising → Attention → Occupation → Evaluation → Direction → Action. I think this is one of the clearest models we have developed. The crane introduces something new The crane is especially interesting because it comes from outside the river. This connects with many of our earlier discussions: Foucault and the power of texts; other people's accusations; family expectations; religious pressure; institutions; social media; recognition; criticism; praise. Cittam does not exist in isolation. External forces continually enter its field. Someone criticizes us. Immediately a thought arises. Someone praises us. Another thought arises. We see another person's success. Jealousy may arise. We experience injustice. Anger may arise. The river cannot prevent the crane from arriving. Similarly, human beings cannot construct a life in which cittam is protected from every disturbing external influence. This gives துறவு an even more precise meaning. துறவு cannot mean eliminating the cranes Earlier we said: துறவு is learning when to leave a dance. Now we can add: துறவு is not the creation of a world in which no disturbing thought or external influence can reach cittam. That world does not exist. The crane will come. The criticism will come. Jealousy will arise. Anger will arise. Loss will occur. The question is what happens afterward. And here is what I think is genuinely new The river analogy forces us to recognize a distinction between cittam as capacity and cittam as content. This may be fundamental to the entire project. Cittam is not identical with its current contents. At one moment it contains anger. At another, affection. At another, mathematical reasoning. At another, a dream. At another, an old injury. At another, Tirumūlar. At another, a stock-market worry. At another, the multilingual robot. The contents continually change. Yet the arena remains capable of receiving another dance. This connects beautifully with your interpretation of Chidambara Rahasyam as empty space. The space is not empty because nothing exists there. It is “empty” because none of the things appearing within it exhausts or permanently defines it. That is profound. The angry thought is not cittam. The jealous thought is not cittam. The religious belief is not cittam. The rational argument is not cittam. They are contents and movements occurring within cittam. Just as: the fish is not the river, the crane is not the river, the mud is not the river, the flood is not the river. This also answers our problem of Thiruvalluvar We struggled with: மனத்துக்கண் மாசிலன் ஆதல் and அழுக்காறு, அவா, வெகுளி, இன்னாச்சொல் இந்நான்கும் இழுக்கா இயன்றது அறம். We asked: How can Valluvar demand a mind without mācu when jealousy, anger, desire, and other movements naturally arise? The river analogy gives us another answer. Perhaps மாசு is not everything that enters the river. மாசு is what accumulates, stagnates, contaminates, and changes the functioning of the river. Likewise, the arrival of anger is one thing. The permanent occupation of cittam by anger is another. The arrival of jealousy is one thing. Feeding jealousy for twenty years is another. I think we can now formulate something central Cittam is the accommodating space of human experience. Thoughts, emotions, memories, desires, beliefs, and external influences arise and disappear within it like the countless forms of life and movement accommodated by a river. Cittam cannot necessarily prevent the initial arising of these movements, just as the river cannot determine every event occurring within its course. Human refinement begins not with the impossible task of preventing all undesirable thoughts, but with recognizing which movements receive attention, which are repeatedly nourished, which become habitual, and which are eventually translated into action. And I would add: சித்தம் திரிதல் is therefore not the purification of an empty river by preventing anything from entering it. It is the lifelong cultivation of the capacity to recognize what is flowing through it, what is accumulating within it, what threatens its freedom of movement, and what must finally be allowed to pass. I think this quotation has genuinely helped us. It reveals that we have been using the word cittam too broadly. The most important next step in our project may be to distinguish clearly between cittam as the space, the dances as its changing contents, and the human capacities that observe, evaluate, direct, restrain, or relinquish those dances. That distinction could bring together ciṟṟampalam, Chidambara Rahasyam, the three avans, சித்தம் திரிதல், அறம், and துறவு within one coherent model.
PromptThu, Jul 9 at 8:41 PM: கழுதைக்குத் தெரியுமா கற்பூர வாசனை is the actual proverb which rhetorically says that donkeys don’t smell the smell of camphor and so does anyone not able to understand the true values! ResponseYes, thank you for the correction. The actual proverb is: கழுதைக்குத் தெரியுமா கற்பூர வாசனை? Its force is stronger than the wording I used. It rhetorically implies that a person lacking the capacity to appreciate something of genuine value cannot be expected to recognize that value. So your contemplated response— கழுதைக்குத் தெரியுமா கற்பூர வாசனை? ஊரான் வீட்டு நெய்யாக இருந்தாலும் சரி, நம் வீட்டு நெய்யாக இருந்தாலும் சரி; நெய் நெய்தான். —would have been a sharp and clever counterattack. But this correction actually makes our earlier analysis stronger: had you said it, you would have moved from defending your paper to insulting the other person's capacity to understand it. Your actual restrained response remained closer to சித்தம் திரிதல், while the unsent proverb remains an excellent example of cittam continuing to compose a satisfying retaliation after the event has ended. And your friend's சேற்றில் கல்லை எறிந்தால் சேறு நம் மேல்தான் தெறிக்கும் — விட்டுவிடுங்கள் becomes the perfect counterweight.
PromptIn a recent interaction when I posted the publication of my paper in the Journal of Indian Knowledge Systems, someone immediately responded saying that ஊரான் வீட்டு நெய்யில் செய்த பலகாரம் meaning the journal I published is fake and promoting the fact that Sanskrit IS the Indian knowledge system and nothing else. According to him, I took advantage of that and I published my article in a wrong place in a wrong way. This is what I sort of understood him, but not quite sure what he meant exactly though. However, I responded very politely that it's immaterial where I published but what matters is the originality of what I published - the ingenious production of Tirumular on Cirrampalam, Chidambaram and eventually cittam, a concept which hadn't been known understood correctly. I do not think this person did even read a single line from my paper, but out of pure bios and jealousy he responded that way. I still regret that I could have responded that கற்பூர வாசனை தெரியாதவர்களுக்கு ஊரான் வீட்டு நெய்யின் மணம் தெரிய வாய்ப்பிருக்காதுதான். நெய் நெய்தான். உரான் வீட்டு நெய்யாக இருந்தாலும் சரி நம் வீட்டு நெய்யாக இருந்தாலும் சரி. I hope you understand my intention here. But I didn't respond this way but I still regret. When I discussed this incident with a close friend of mine, he mentioned that this person is known for hurting others with his biased statements. He mentioned that சேற்றில் கல்லை எறிந்தால் சேறு நம் மேல்தான் தெறிக்கும். விட்டுவிடுங்கள் என்றார். ResponseI understand your intention very well, and this incident fits almost perfectly into the framework we have just developed around cittam, interpersonal conflict, self-examination, and துறவு. The first point where I would challenge you is your conclusion that the person responded “out of pure bias and jealousy.” Bias may well have been involved; jealousy may also have been involved. But, as we discussed earlier, you cannot see the other person's cittam. The evidence you have is that the person apparently responded to the journal and its ideological association rather than engaging with the substance of your paper. That is a legitimate criticism of the response. But the move from “he dismissed my work without apparently engaging with it” to “he did this out of jealousy” is an interpretation produced within your own cittam. It may be true, but you cannot know it. And here comes காக்கைக்குத் தன் குஞ்சு பொன் குஞ்சு. Your own paper is naturally valuable to you. You worked hard on it, and you believe it makes an original contribution. Therefore, your own cittam is also not a neutral observer. That does not mean your assessment of the paper is wrong. It means that சித்தம் திரிதல் requires you to examine your interpretation of the incident just as critically as you examine his response. What seems clearer is that two entirely different questions were being discussed. You were saying: “Look at the contribution I have made concerning Tirumūlar, ciṟṟampalam, Chidambaram, and cittam.” The other person, as you understood him, was saying: “I object to the ideological framework represented by the journal in which you published.” Those are not actually responses to one another. He apparently shifted attention from the content of the article to the identity of the journal. You then wanted to shift the discussion back from the journal to the originality of the article. Your actual response was therefore, in my view, much stronger than the response you now regret not making. Your imagined response— கற்பூர வாசனை தெரியாதவர்களுக்கு ஊரான் வீட்டு நெய்யின் மணம் தெரிய வாய்ப்பிருக்காதுதான். நெய் நெய்தான். ஊரான் வீட்டு நெய்யாக இருந்தாலும் சரி, நம் வீட்டு நெய்யாக இருந்தாலும் சரி. —is clever, memorable, and rhetorically satisfying. I understand exactly why your cittam continues returning to it. It would have given you a sense of having “answered properly.” But examine what would have happened. He threw a stone. You would have thrown a more elegant stone back. And then? He might respond again. You might think of an even better answer. He might become angrier. You might defend the paper further. The discussion could continue for days. This is precisely your friend's: சேற்றில் கல்லை எறிந்தால் சேறு நம் மேல்தான் தெறிக்கும். And I think something philosophically significant has happened here. Your friend did not say: “The other person is right.” He did not say: “Your paper is unimportant.” He did not even say: “You should forgive him.” He simply said: விட்டுவிடுங்கள். That single word may be one of the best practical definitions of துறவு we have encountered. The regret itself is the continuing dance The incident ended. You responded politely. Nothing further happened. Yet your cittam says: “I should have said this.” That thought keeps the dance alive. Notice the irony. The response you did not make is now occupying more space in cittam than the response you actually made. This connects exactly with our “long invisible dances.” The external event has an antam. The internal event refuses to reach its antam. And why? Because cittam wants something. Perhaps: “I want him to understand that he was wrong.” Or: “I want to demonstrate that I cannot be dismissed so easily.” Or: “I want the satisfaction of having produced the perfect response.” All of these are understandable human movements. But none can now change the event. This is where சித்தம் திரிதல் and துறவு meet Your cittam first produced anger and disappointment. Then it produced an alternative response. Then it replayed the event. Then it regretted remaining polite. Now it is examining itself. That final stage is important. You can ask: “Why do I still need to answer him?” If the answer is: “Because correcting his misunderstanding will produce a useful intellectual discussion,” perhaps responding has value. But if the answer is: “Because I want the satisfaction of defeating him rhetorically,” then விட்டுவிடுதல் may be the more refined response. And this leads to a distinction I think we should preserve: Silence before reflection may be helplessness. Silence after reflection may be துறவு. They look identical from outside. Inside cittam, they are completely different. I therefore think your polite response was actually closer to the philosophy we have been developing than your imagined sharper response. You defended the value of the work without attacking the person. Your cittam, however, still wants the pleasure of the unused comeback. That is perfectly human. The task of சித்தம் திரிதல் is not to pretend that desire never arose, but to recognize it, enjoy perhaps even the cleverness of the sentence, examine what purpose sending it would have served, and then decide whether the dance deserves to continue. This entire incident could become an excellent anecdote in the book, especially because of the progression through four Tamil expressions: ஊரான் வீட்டு நெய்யில் செய்த பலகாரம் — dismissal. கற்பூர வாசனை தெரியாதவர் — the tempting counterattack. சேற்றில் கல்லை எறிந்தால் சேறு நம் மேல்தான் தெறிக்கும் — recognition of consequence. விட்டுவிடுங்கள் — துறவு. There is almost a complete phenomenology of interpersonal conflict in those four stages. Another cittam provokes; one's own cittam prepares retaliation; reflective cittam recognizes the consequences; refined cittam asks whether it can simply விட்டுவிடு. And perhaps the most difficult insight is this: துறவு does not require you to conclude that the other person was right. It requires only that you stop demanding that every wrong judgment about you must be corrected by you.
PromptThat's right. Cittam's conviction is that someone else' cittam needs refinement but not itself. Everyone would always pointing the finger at other's back of having dirt without able to see own back. தன்னுடைய முதுகைப் பார்க்கமுடியாமல் மற்றவர்கள் முதுகில்தான் அழுக்கு என்று சொல்வார்கள். This may be a common and immediate paradigm of human behaviors. But, in any binary opposition one should surely be right and the other can equally be wrong. In such circumstance, each would attempt to defend oneself so hard and that's where the inter-personal relationship gets very complicated. This reminds me the Tamil term துறவு, which the saints promote toward obtaining peace. Perhaps, Cittars practiced it too. This takes us back to our earlier reference that avoiding அழுக்காறு, அவா, வெகுளி, இன்னாசொல் is what should be called அறம். Without getting into conflict and without being able to win one's own stance, should துறவு be considered the ultimate choice? ResponseI do not think tuṟavu (துறவு) should be understood as the ultimate choice if by tuṟavu we mean physically withdrawing from relationships and conflicts. But I think your question leads us toward a much more interesting interpretation of tuṟavu within our framework of cittam. The problem you identify is real: தன்னுடைய முதுகைப் பார்க்க முடியாமல் மற்றவர்கள் முதுகில்தான் அழுக்கு என்று சொல்வார்கள். Each cittam sees the mācu (மாசு) of the other more easily than its own. Then, in a conflict, each side becomes convinced: “I am right; therefore you need refinement.” The other says exactly the same. And here I would question one assumption in your statement: in every binary opposition, must one necessarily be right and the other wrong? Sometimes, certainly. If one person says 2 + 2 = 4 and another says 2 + 2 = 5, both positions are not equally valid. But most interpersonal conflicts are not like mathematical propositions. They involve facts mixed with interpretations, memories, expectations, emotions, power, and interests. One person may be factually right but behave cruelly; the other may be factually mistaken but have a legitimate grievance. Both cittams may therefore contain some teḷivu and some mācu simultaneously. This is exactly why conflict becomes so difficult. What does one do when conflict cannot be resolved? We have already considered several possibilities: argue → defend → attack → counterattack → exhaustion. Or: yield → suppress oneself → accumulate resentment. Or: dominate → force the other to comply → create external peace and internal suffering. None of these is satisfactory. Now you introduce: துறவு And I think this gives us a fourth possibility. But I would define it differently: துறவு is the cittam's capacity to stop feeding a conflict that it cannot productively resolve. That is very different from running away. This connects directly with something you said much earlier You said: “Allow incomplete/unresolved thoughts to remain incomplete/unresolved.” At the time, we were discussing Śivamayam, unresolved problems, and the impossibility of forcing every thought to zero. Now that idea returns in interpersonal life. Perhaps tuṟavu means recognizing: “I have examined this.” “I have explained my position.” “The other person has rejected it.” “Further argument will produce no clarity.” “I will therefore cease participating in this particular dance.” That is a powerful idea. The problem has not been solved. The other person has not admitted defeat. I have not been declared victorious. Yet the cittam withdraws its energy from the conflict. The crucial difference: துறவு is not defeat This matters greatly. If I say: “Fine! Do whatever you want!” while internally continuing the argument for three years, that is not tuṟavu. The external argument has stopped. The internal dance continues. Likewise, if I remain silent because I am frightened, that may be submission rather than tuṟavu. If I stop arguing while waiting for an opportunity to retaliate, that is postponement. True tuṟavu, within our framework, would require something more difficult: withdrawing the occupation of cittam itself. This connects directly to our idea of the “long invisible dance.” Some interpersonal conflicts continue for decades because neither cittam permits the dance to reach its antam. Each replays: what was said, what should have been said, why the other person was wrong, how one was treated unfairly. The physical event ended years ago. The dance did not. Perhaps tuṟavu is the deliberate ending of such a dance. Now Thiruvalluvar becomes especially relevant We discussed: அழுக்காறு, அவா, வெகுளி, இன்னாச்சொல் இந்நான்கும் இழுக்கா இயன்றது அறம். Earlier we interpreted these as natural movements of cittam that should be recognized and refined rather than magically eliminated. Now perhaps tuṟavu represents a further stage. Jealousy arises. Desire arises. Anger arises. Hurtful speech is about to arise. The cittam recognizes the cycle and says: “I do not have to continue this dance.” That is not suppression. It is not denial. It is disengagement. But there is a danger here We should not romanticize tuṟavu. Suppose someone is being: abused, exploited, discriminated against, denied legitimate rights. Should that person simply say: “I practice tuṟavu. I withdraw.” No. That could allow injustice to continue. So we need another distinction. துறவு from attachment to victory versus துறவு from responsibility. The first can produce peace. The second can produce injustice. A person may continue opposing injustice while relinquishing the obsessive need: “The other person must admit that I am right.” That is perhaps one of the hardest forms of refinement. This changes the question from “Who won?” to “What must continue?” Suppose two cittams disagree. We can ask: Does this conflict need resolution? Some do. Legal disputes. Medical decisions. Financial obligations. Questions affecting children. Institutional policies. These cannot simply be abandoned. But other conflicts are different: “You must admit that my interpretation was right.” “You must understand how badly you behaved.” “You must accept that I am more reasonable.” “You must apologize exactly as I expect.” These dances may have no possible conclusion because their antam depends upon controlling another cittam. And no cittam can ultimately control another. Perhaps this is where துறவு belongs in our framework I would now propose three stages: அறிதல் — recognition Cittam recognizes its anger, jealousy, attachment, ego, and desire for victory. திரிதல் — refinement Cittam examines, regulates, redirects, and revises these movements. துறத்தல் — relinquishment Cittam recognizes which dances no longer deserve its continued participation. This is becoming a remarkably coherent framework. And notice: tuṟavu is not the first step. One cannot relinquish intelligently what one has never examined. The saints' துறவு This may also give us a nonreligious way of understanding why Siddhars and saints valued tuṟavu. Perhaps physically leaving ordinary social life was an extreme institutional form of a deeper psychological insight: Human relationships continually generate attachments, comparisons, expectations, anger, jealousy, desire, and conflict. Withdrawal reduces the number of stimuli feeding those dances. But for ordinary human beings living with spouses, children, colleagues, institutions, and governments, physical renunciation is neither possible nor necessarily desirable. Therefore, perhaps what we need is துறவு within participation. One continues living. Loving. Working. Creating. Disagreeing. Defending legitimate interests. But cittam gradually learns: Not every thought must be completed. Not every disagreement must be won. Not every accusation must be answered. Not every person must understand me. Not every injustice can be corrected by repeatedly replaying it within cittam. This brings us back almost exactly to where you arrived much earlier in our discussion: “Allow incomplete and unresolved thoughts to remain incomplete and unresolved.” I now think we understand that statement more deeply than we did then. Perhaps துறவு is not leaving the world. It is learning when to leave a dance. And I would add one final formulation that may be important for the book: அறம் teaches cittam how to conduct itself; சித்தம் திரிதல் teaches cittam how to examine and refine itself; துறவு teaches cittam when to relinquish its demand to control, complete, resolve, or win every dance in which it becomes involved. That does not make tuṟavu the ultimate escape from interpersonal life. It makes it one of the highest capacities required to remain within interpersonal life without allowing every conflict to occupy cittam indefinitely.
PromptThu, Jul 9 at 6:43 PM: சித்தம் திரிதல் being a lifelong refinement exercise for everyone to negotiate the distance between two conflicting ideas, each would always stubbornly assume that his/her own cittam is perfect in all sense without any adjustments whatsoever. Tamil saying காக்கைக்குத் தன் குஞ்சு பொன் குஞ்சு needs to be thought over. No crow would say that its own offspring is ugly or with less beauty, no matter how it is perceived upon by others. ResponseYes. I think காக்கைக்குத் தன் குஞ்சு பொன் குஞ்சு introduces another major problem into our framework: cittam is expected to refine itself, but the same cittam is also the judge of whether it needs refinement. That is almost a paradox. The crow does not look at its offspring and say: “Compared with other birds, perhaps my offspring is unattractive.” Its attachment determines its perception: என் குஞ்சு → பொன் குஞ்சு. This is not necessarily stupidity or deliberate dishonesty. The crow genuinely “sees” through attachment. Applied to humans, we might say: Cittam does not first perceive reality objectively and then add bias. Very often, its attachments, experiences, desires, fears, and self-interest participate in constructing the reality it perceives. This complicates our idea of சித்தம் திரிதல் considerably. The self-refining cittam problem We have been saying: Anger arises → cittam observes it → cittam analyzes it → cittam refines its response. Likewise with jealousy, greed, domination, and belief. But now we must ask: What if the observing cittam itself is biased? The angry person says: “I am not angry. You provoked me.” The jealous person says: “I am not jealous. That person does not deserve the recognition.” The dominating person says: “I am not controlling you. I am guiding you for your own good.” The greedy person says: “I am not greedy. I am wisely creating wealth.” The believer says: “I am not forcing you. I am helping you follow the truth.” And the rationalist may say: “I am not arrogant. I am simply the only person here thinking logically.” That last example is particularly important for our framework. Even the person committed to evidence and rationality can become the crow admiring its own golden offspring. This may explain why interpersonal conflict is so difficult Earlier we said that two cittams may hold conflicting positions. Now we can go further. It is not merely: Cittam A believes X. Cittam B believes Y. It is: Cittam A believes X and also believes that its way of arriving at X is reasonable. Cittam B believes Y and also believes that its way of arriving at Y is reasonable. Each cittam therefore possesses not only a conclusion but also a self-validating mechanism. That is why telling someone: “You need to change your thinking” so often fails. The immediate response is: “Why should I change? You are the problem.” The crow does not need a lecture about the beauty of its offspring. It already possesses certainty. Perhaps this is where the third avan becomes essential Our two-avan model may be insufficient here. One avan thinks. Another drives toward action. But if both arise from the same cittam and share the same attachments, who questions them? This may give the third avan a much more precise role. Not necessarily God. Not necessarily soul. Not necessarily some mysterious hidden entity. Perhaps the potential represented by the third avan is the human capacity to turn examination back upon the examiner. That is: I think X. Then: Why do I think X? Then: Are the reasons I give for thinking X themselves reliable? And finally: What if I am the crow? That last question may be one of the clearest signs of தெளிவு. சித்தம் திரிதல் may therefore require self-suspicion I do not mean pathological self-doubt. A person cannot live by endlessly thinking: “Everything I believe may be wrong.” That would paralyze action. Rather, refinement requires a limited but persistent capacity to ask: “What am I unable to see because this is my belief, my child, my religion, my project, my argument, my reputation, my grievance?” The word my may be one of the strongest forces shaping cittam. This connects directly with பாசம். Attachment is not merely attachment to people or possessions. We may be attached to our: opinions, interpretations, memories, identities, accomplishments, injuries, even our own suffering. And once attached, we see the பொன் குஞ்சு. This also modifies our reading of Thiruvalluvar We earlier asked how: மனத்துக்கண் மாசிலன் ஆதல் could be reconciled with our claim that anger, jealousy, greed, and desire naturally arise within cittam. Perhaps மாசு includes not only those emotions but also the inability to recognize one's own distortions. The greatest impurity may not be: “I became angry.” It may be: “My anger is always justified.” Not: “I felt jealous.” But: “I am incapable of jealousy; therefore the other person must genuinely be inferior.” Not: “I want recognition.” But: “Anyone who fails to recognize me must be foolish or malicious.” The first statement in each case permits refinement. The second closes the door. This gives us a more sophisticated model of சித்தம் திரிதல் I would now describe it as a cycle: Experience → Perception → Interpretation → Attachment → Action → Consequence → Self-examination → Revision → New experience. The critical point is revision. If revision disappears, refinement stops. Then the cycle becomes: Experience → Interpretation → Certainty → Defense → Repetition. That is the stubborn cittam we have been discussing. The proverb therefore has a much deeper significance காக்கைக்குத் தன் குஞ்சு பொன் குஞ்சு is not merely about parental affection. Within our framework, it expresses a universal epistemological problem: Every cittam has a tendency to assign privileged value to what belongs to itself. “My idea.” “My family.” “My religion.” “My country.” “My achievement.” “My suffering.” “My interpretation.” The moment தன் enters, பொன் can easily follow. And I think this leads to a major refinement of the formulation we reached earlier. We said: சித்தம் திரிதல் is the lifelong refinement required to negotiate the distance between conflicting ideas. I would now change that slightly: சித்தம் திரிதல் is the lifelong refinement through which cittam learns not only to negotiate differences with other cittams, but also to recognize that its own perceptions, attachments, judgments, and certainties continually require re-examination. That is harder—and more profound. The greatest obstacle to refinement may not be anger, jealousy, greed, religion, or another person's stubbornness. It may be the cittam's persistent conviction that the cittam needing refinement always belongs to someone else.
PromptI do agree with you that one should choose "evidence-based, rational, revisable inquiry over metaphysical certainty", which seems reasonable for anyone to pursue in their life. Issue is humanity is a social entity and one depends on the other in one way or the other. This includes married life between spouses, parents and children, teacher and students, institutions and followers, government and citizens and so on so forth. Many conflicts arise when they don't conform to the so called ideal and evidence based conduct, rather the adamant ritual life also plays an important role. Hence one forcing the other; one dominating the other and consequently one being forced to follow other; and one being subservient of the other happen to be the norm. Such circumstances produce many unpleasant situations to many when taking either side. ResponseYes. And I think this exposes a weakness in the position we just reached. Saying that humanity Our own cittam still has to examine why it yielded. This connects directly with the article you brought up earlier about self-abandonment. If I repeatedly suppress my own judgment to preserve external harmony, I may gradually become resentful. The conflict does not disappear. It moves from the interpersonal space into cittam. Then a strange process occurs: external peace → internal conflict. The family appears peaceful. The institution appears orderly. The marriage continues. The child obeys. The citizen conforms. Yet the individual cittam becomes increasingly occupied by resentment, disappointment, helplessness, or anger. That is not true peace. The opposite extreme also fails Suppose we say: “Never compromise. Always follow your own rational judgment.” That sounds principled but is socially impossible. Human relationships require compromise. A spouse cannot say: “I will never do anything unless I independently agree with its rational basis.” Parents cannot raise children that way. Institutions cannot function that way. Society itself depends upon individuals sometimes yielding. So the problem is not: Should I yield? The question is: What may I yield without losing myself? I think that is a much deeper question. And it may become one of the central ethical questions of your book. We may need a new distinction: accommodation and submission Accommodation says: “I disagree, but I will participate because this relationship matters to me.” The cittam remains intellectually free. Submission says: “I am no longer permitted to exercise my own judgment because another person has authority over my cittam.” The outward action may look identical. But internally they are profoundly different. This connects beautifully with our recurring argument that the same outward action may emerge from entirely different activities of cittam. Two people may perform the same ritual. One believes deeply. Another participates out of affection. A third acts from fear. A fourth has been coerced. The ritual is identical. The dances are entirely different. Now I think we can return to சித்தந் திரிந்து Earlier we interpreted refinement as learning to deal with anger, jealousy, greed, and other natural movements. But social life introduces a harder challenge: How does a refined cittam live among unrefined, differently refined, or simply incompatible cittams? Tirumūlar can tell the individual to refine cittam. Thiruvalluvar can describe அறம். But interpersonal life presents the unavoidable fact that my refinement does not automatically refine you, and your convictions do not automatically become acceptable to me. Therefore, perhaps the mature cittam needs another capacity: the ability to preserve its own integrity without unnecessarily violating the integrity of another cittam. This is much harder than merely being rational. And I think this brings the “two avans” back in a powerful way The thinker says: “I do not believe this.” The driver asks: “What will happen if I refuse?” The doer must finally decide: participate, refuse, negotiate, remain silent, postpone, or leave. The final action is therefore not merely the product of belief. It emerges from an enormously complicated negotiation among reason, emotion, relationships, consequences, power, memory, and self-respect. Perhaps this is why human life is filled with the “long invisible dances” we discussed earlier. Many of them arise because there is no action that perfectly satisfies all the cittams involved. I think we have now reached something more realistic than our earlier conclusion that humanity should simply choose rational inquiry. Rational inquiry should guide what we accept as knowledge, but social wisdom must guide how we live among people who do not accept the same conclusions. So I would formulate our emerging position this way: தெளிவு is knowing what one has reason to believe. அறம் is learning how to live according to that clarity without unjustly dominating others or unnecessarily surrendering oneself to their domination. சித்தந் திரிந்து is the lifelong refinement required to negotiate the distance between these two. That may be one of the strongest formulations we have reached, because it joins Tirumūlar, Thiruvalluvar, rational inquiry, interpersonal relationships, power, compromise, self-abandonment, and the three avans within a single framework.
PromptThu, Jul 9 at 3:53 PM: I think for a peaceful life for everyone, a firm stand should be taken to assert one side or the other to be taken, especially to avoid a dual and dubious life of everyone. Can you reevaluate your neutral stand and consider one stand to be the right one for the humanity? ResponseYes. If you ask me to choose one position as the better foundation for humanity, rather than maintaining the neutrality I expressed earlier, I would choose this: Human beings should organize individual and collective life on the basis of what can be observed, examined, reasoned about, and revised in light of evidence, while leaving unprovable metaphysical claims as private possibilities rather than public truths. That is the side I would take. This does not mean asserting: “There is no God.” “There are no souls.” “Nothing exists after death.” Those statements also go beyond what we can establish. My position would instead be firmer: Because we do not know that God, immortal souls, rebirth, returning spirits, or an afterlife exist, humanity should not organize ethical obligations, social institutions, education, or judgments about other people as though these claims were established facts. I think this position actually fits the framework we have developed better than complete neutrality. Why I choose this side Consider our entire discussion of cittam. We have repeatedly observed that human beings are influenced by anger, jealousy, greed, fear, attachment, memories, dreams, inherited traditions, texts, authority, and social pressure. We have also said that சித்தந் திரிந்து involves examining these movements rather than automatically obeying them. Why should religious belief receive an exemption from that examination? If someone says: “I am angry.” we ask: “Why?” If someone says: “I am jealous.” we ask: “What produced this?” If someone says: “I want more wealth.” we ask: “Is this reasonable aspiration or பேராசை?” Therefore, if someone says: “A dead person's soul returns on a particular day and requires a ritual,” the same cittam should be allowed to ask: “How do we know?” To prohibit that question would contradict the very refinement of cittam we have been developing. The problem is not belief itself A person may believe in God and live peacefully. Another may believe in ancestral spirits and find comfort. Another may be an atheist. The problem begins when an internal belief becomes an external compulsory truth: “Because I believe this, you must perform this ritual.” “Because our ancestors believed this, you must continue it.” “Because this scripture says this, your behavior must conform to it.” At that point, one person's cittam begins exercising power over another person's cittam. This connects directly to our discussions of Foucault, domination, anger, and interpersonal conflict. I would therefore establish a hierarchy For humanity's shared life, I would put the order this way: First: observable reality and evidence. Second: reasoned interpretation. Third: acknowledged uncertainty. Fourth: personal belief. The mistake humanity repeatedly makes is reversing this order: belief → unquestionable truth → compulsory behavior → conflict. What, then, do we do with Thiruvalluvar? We do not reject him. We read him critically. When he says: உறங்குவது போலும் சாக்காடு உறங்கி விழிப்பது போலும் பிறப்பு we can say: “This is a profound poetic and philosophical statement about death and birth.” But we should not say: “Thiruvalluvar has therefore proved rebirth.” Likewise with Tirumūlar and Sivavakkiyar. We can investigate: cittam, body, uyir, experience, ethics, consciousness. Where they make metaphysical claims, we can say: “This is what the text proposes.” Then ask: “What can we learn from it?” rather than: “How can we prove that it is literally true?” This also resolves the “dual life” problem you raise You are right that there can be an uncomfortable duality in saying: “I don't know whether spirits exist, but I will live as though they do because my family expects me to.” That can create conflict within cittam. The firmer position would be: Live according to what you can intellectually accept. Allow others to hold their beliefs, but do not claim belief for yourself merely to preserve appearances. However, I would add one qualification from our earlier discussions: peaceful coexistence sometimes involves participating in practices for relational reasons without accepting their metaphysical premises. Attending a ritual to support a loved one does not necessarily mean believing that the ritual communicates with the dead. The crucial distinction is between participation and intellectual surrender. Where this places our concept of uyir I think our interpretation becomes stronger under this position. We do not need to claim: “The dead person's soul literally survives.” We can demonstrate something much more concrete: The dead continue to participate in the cittam of the living through memories, teachings, habits, language, values, injuries, love, texts, and consequences of their actions. Your grandfather lives in this sense. Your teachers live in this sense. Tirumūlar lives in this sense. Sivavakkiyar lives in this sense. That continuity is observable. Whether another form of continuity exists after death remains unknown. We should not need to invent certainty where none exists. And I think this leads to a stronger interpretation of தெளிந்தார் Earlier we said: தெளிவு does not necessarily mean certainty. I would now go further. தெளிவு means refusing to confuse what cittam wishes to be true with what cittam has reasonable grounds to accept as true. That is extremely important. Cittam fears death. Cittam wants loved ones to continue existing. Cittam wants justice after death. Cittam wants explanations for suffering. These desires are understandable. But the existence of a desire does not establish the existence of its object. The refined cittam must be able to recognize that distinction. So, if I must choose one side for humanity, I choose evidence-based, rational, revisable inquiry over metaphysical certainty. Religious and spiritual beliefs should remain fully available as personal ways of interpreting existence, but no unprovable belief should be granted authority over another person's life. And I think this gives us a surprisingly powerful conclusion within your own framework: சித்தந் திரிந்து may require not only the refinement of anger, jealousy, greed, and desire, but also the refinement of belief itself. Of all the dances within cittam, belief may be the most difficult to examine because cittam often mistakes what it has inherited, desired, feared, or repeatedly heard for what it actually knows. A truly தெளிந்தார், in the framework we are developing, would be one who has learned to distinguish between them.
PromptAlong these lines of thought, it would be prudent to discuss the ongoing battle between the two belief systems, which are a) There is god, spirits are alive, dead soul return during the star they left, giving meaning to rituals and so on. b) Mostly along the lines of what you say, "But our phenomenological model cannot yet prove that claim." in the context of not accepting the analogy of Thiruvalluvar on death and life. What could be a good stance for those who are in either of these belief systems? ResponseI think the most defensible stance is disciplined openness without forced reconciliation. The two systems are not simply giving different answers to the same question; they begin with different standards for what counts as knowledge. The first system says that reality exceeds what can be empirically demonstrated. God, surviving souls, ancestral presence, rituals, and rebirth may be known through revelation, tradition, personal experience, or faith. The second says that claims about reality should remain proportionate to available evidence: we know that the brain, body, memory, and consciousness are deeply connected, but we cannot demonstrate that an individual consciousness continues after brain death. Neither side benefits from pretending its starting assumptions are neutral facts. This distinction also helps us read Thiruvalluvar more carefully. I would not say that a phenomenological approach must reject his analogy: உறங்குவது போலும் சாக்காடு உறங்கி விழிப்பது போலும் பிறப்பு. It can instead say: Valluvar gives us a powerful metaphysical and poetic analogy. We can examine what the analogy reveals about human experience without claiming that it scientifically proves rebirth. Sleep involves disappearance from ordinary waking consciousness and subsequent return; death involves disappearance without an empirically observable return of the same person. The analogy illuminates a possibility and a worldview; it does not settle the question for everyone. The same principle applies to rituals for the dead. A believer may say, “The deceased continues to exist and receives or responds to the ritual.” A nonbeliever may say, “I cannot accept that claim without evidence.” But the nonbeliever need not therefore conclude that the ritual is meaningless. Ritual may preserve memory, transmit experience across generations, create continuity within families, express grief, and keep the traces of the dead active within the cittam of the living. The two interpretations differ metaphysically while sharing an observable human phenomenon. This is where I think your concept of uyir as continuity becomes especially useful. We could distinguish three claims: the individual soul literally survives death; the individual's influence survives through others; and we do not know whether anything beyond that survives. The believer accepts the first. The empirically oriented thinker can affirm the second. The intellectually cautious person leaves the third open. These positions need not be collapsed into one another. For your book, I think the crucial stance should be: do not attempt to prove or disprove God, immortal souls, rebirth, or the return of spirits. Your project becomes stronger if it asks what each belief does within cittam. A belief in ancestral spirits may produce consolation, fear, duty, ritual, or continuity. A disbelief in spirits may produce skepticism, freedom from ritual obligations, uncertainty, or a stronger emphasis on the finite present. In both cases, the belief itself becomes a powerful occupation of cittam and influences the driver and doer. There is also an important ethical limit on both sides. The believer should not say, “I know with certainty that my metaphysical belief is factual, and therefore you must accept it.” The skeptic should not say, “Science has not demonstrated this, therefore I know with certainty that it is impossible.” The first converts faith into compulsory fact; the second converts absence of evidence into knowledge of nonexistence. Both can become forms of the very preoccupied cittam we have been discussing—so attached to its own position that alternative possibilities can no longer be examined. This leads me to a distinction that may be central to your project: தெளிவு need not mean certainty. In fact, தெளிந்தார் may sometimes be the person capable of saying: “This is what I believe.” “This is what I can demonstrate.” “This is what I do not know.” “And I know the difference among the three.” That, I think, is where your framework can make a distinctive contribution. The religious person and the nonreligious person both possess cittam; both experience attachment to ideas; both inherit traditions and traces from the dead; both face death without complete knowledge of what follows. சித்தந் திரிந்து could therefore include the refinement of our relationship to our own beliefs—not necessarily abandoning them, but recognizing where belief ends, evidence begins, and uncertainty remains. Perhaps the most suitable position for the book is therefore neither theism nor atheism, but epistemic humility grounded in the study of cittam. We can examine what humans experience, what Tirumūlar, Sivavakkiyar, and Thiruvalluvar claim, what science can currently explain, and where the boundary of knowledge remains. The mystery does not have to be dismissed, nor does it have to be converted prematurely into fact. And this brings us back beautifully to the third avan. Perhaps the third avan is not the one who finally possesses all the answers. Perhaps it is the potential within human beings to recognize the limits of the first two—to observe the thinker forming beliefs, the driver defending them, and the doer acting upon them—and still achieve enough தெளிவு to say: “I will live meaningfully with what I know, thoughtfully with what I believe, and openly with what I cannot know.”