Showing posts with label Levman. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Levman. Show all posts

16 February 2024

History as Practiced by Philologists: A Response to Levman's Response to Drewes.

In 2017, David Drewes published an article that is now famous or infamous, depending on your viewpoint. Drewes argued for the thesis that we cannot connect the Buddha to any historical facts and concludes that historians should stop referring to "the historical Buddha". His article has no abstract, so let me cite a passage from his introduction that seems to sum up his argument:

On one hand, the Buddha is universally agreed to have lived; but, on the other, more than two centuries of scholarship have failed to establish anything about him. We are thus left with the rather strange proposition that Buddhism was founded by a historical figure who has not been linked to any historical facts, an idea that would seem decidedly unempirical, and only dubiously coherent. Stuck in this awkward situation, scholars have rarely been able to avoid the temptation to offer some suggestion as to what was likely, or ‘must’ have been, true about him. By the time they get done, we end up with a flesh and blood person – widely considered to be one of the greatest human beings ever to have lived – conjured up from little more than fancy. (2017: 1)

When Drewes says that "the Buddha is not linked to any historical facts", he means that there is no contemporary documentation of the Buddha. There are no eyewitness accounts of the Buddha, and there are no contemporary coins, inscriptions, or documents of any kind. There was no writing anywhere in India prior to the mid-third century BCE. This is indisputable. However, Drewes' article has engendered much disputation, of which Bryan Levman's (2019) response in the Canadian Journal of Buddhist Studies is a prominent example.

In this essay, I will review Levman's (2019) response to Drewes. I will let Levman introduce his own argument. The abstract of his article says:

This article is a response to David Drewes’ hypothesis (2017: 1-25) that the Buddha was a mythic figure who did not necessarily exist as a historical fact. The article suggests that there are four criteria by which the Buddha’s historicity can be established, none of which were discussed by Drewes: 1) the historical facts presented in the Buddhist canon which are corroborated by non-canonical sources, 2) the fact that there is no plausible alternative explanation for the provenance of the teachings 3) the humanness of the Buddha as presented in the canon belies the purported mythologization which Drewes asserts and 4) a core biography of the Founder can be discerned in the Buddhist canon, once later interpolations are removed.

Bryan Levman is an expert philologist who has specialised in the history of language in India. He has quite a chequered past, however, we are concerned here with his writing as a Buddhologist. 

One of the notable features of Levman's vehement disagreement with Stefan Karpik over what language the Buddha spoke was that, amidst deploying abstruse arguments and accusing each other of incompetence, neither of them expressed any doubt whatsoever about the Buddha as a historical character. They both took the historicity of the Buddha for granted.  

Both Drewes and Levman reference "historical facts" but in retrospect it's clear that they are using this phrase very differently from each other. Indeed, I would say that they are operating in quite distinct epistemes. So my first task is to define a "historical fact". I will take a historian's view of this issue. 


Historical Facts

Historians argue about methods and aims a great deal but they all broadly agree that history is the study of people and societies through documents. As historian, John Vincent (2006: 9), puts it:

"Historical study requires verbal evidence, with marginal exceptions. And this verbal evidence, with all respect to the fascination of oral history, is nearly all written evidence."

Documents are defined as broadly as possible. Any form of written evidence can be considered, including coins and inscriptions. Vincent (2006: 10), again, says: "History is about literate societies, and strongly tilted, at very least, towards literate people in literate societies".  Richard J. Evans (1997: 75) cites Sir Geoffrey Elton's definition:

A historical fact was something that happened in the past, which had left traces in documents which could be used by historians to reconstruct it in the present. 

Evans (1997: 76) notes that this view was expressed in direct contrast to E. H. Carr's view that "a past event did not become a historical fact until it was accepted as such by historians." Carr's view turns out to be untenable since he confuses "fact" with "evidence". This gives us a useful distinction: a fact is something that happened, and evidence is an attempt to use that fact to argue for a particular view of history. Evans (1997: 80) again:

What is at issue, therefore, is how historians use documents not to establish discreet facts, but as evidence for establishing the larger patterns that connect them. 

A "historical fact", then, is a documented fact. To be a historical fact about a particular time requires that the document be authored by someone who lived at that time. In effect, historical facts are eyewitness accounts preserved in documents. Determining the veracity or trustworthiness of such accounts is bread and butter for historians. 

Alexander Wynne (2019: 100) suggests that "Good evidence for the Buddha would perhaps be his mention in a non-Buddhist document from the fifth century BC." This is an example of someone confusing "facts" and "evidence". To provide us with facts about the Buddha, presuming he lived in the fifth century CE, a document must be from the fifth century BCE. Wynne admits that no such documents exist. If he were a historian he would admit that the absence of documents of any kind means that we cannot write a history of India in the fifth century. We have to step aside and let archaeologists and anthropologist do their work. Wynne continues to argue sans any relevant facts for another fifty pages. 

NB: Historians don't typically refer to facts or evidence as "good" or "bad". A fact may be true or false, but not "good" or "bad". Similarly a fact may constitute "salient" or "relevant" evidence for a particular argument or not. 

Importantly for this discussion, an inference is not a fact. At best an inference is an interpretation based on a fact or facts. Moreover, logical inferences are validated or invalidated against sets of axioms. It's all too obvious that for Levman, Karpik, and Wynne, the existence of the historical Buddha is axiomatic. Each of their projects is tendentiously seeking to prove what they take on faith. And each erroneously takes their own inferences, validated against their article of faith, to be "historical facts". 

Long before Drewes joined the fray, historian Jonathan S, Walters (1999: 248) wrote:

I think it fair to say that among contemporary historians of the Theravāda, there has been a marked shift from attempting to say much of anything at all about "early Buddhism". Whereas earlier scholars tended to ignore post-Aśokan Buddhist history as corrupt, more recent scholars have tended to regard early Buddhism as unknowable.

The Buddha lived in a pre-literate society and thus in a prehistoric society. A history of a pre-literate society or person is a contradiction in terms. In the context of history as a field or discipline, what Drewes says is entirely uncontroversial and in keeping with the theory and methods of modern historiography. (Note: I take historiography to mean "the act of, and methods used in, writing of history")

It is surprising that anyone who knows anything at all about historiography would take issue with this. It turns out that those who disagree with Drewes don't seem to know about historiography. In my conclusion, I will offer a possible explanation of why philologists and linguists, in particular, might disagree with historians' definition of "historical facts". However, we have first to address Levman's attempts to prove Drewes wrong.


Levman's Arguments Against Drewes.

1. Corroboration.

Levman's first objection is "the historical facts presented in the Buddhist canon which are corroborated by non-canonical sources". Leaving aside, for the moment, the problem of what, if any "historical facts" are presented in the Buddhist canon (and when they refer to), let's look at Levman's examples of corroboration:

"The Asokan rock edicts for example, contain numerous references to the Buddha, the earliest going back to shortly after his coronation in 268 BCE." (28).

However, even if the Asokan corpus does refer to the Buddha, it was composed after 268 BCE. Most scholars guess that the Buddha died around the year 400 BCE (see Norman 2008: 50-52) but this is far from certain and in conflict with all the existing Buddhist traditions which place his death at 486 CE or earlier. The Asokan documents reflect a view from a least 170 years after the putative lifetime of the Buddha (possibly considerably more). This is not an eyewitness account or even a second-hand account. Something that no one seems to have remarked on is that, by the time the edicts were composed, Asoka was a Buddhist convert who appeared to have a certain amount of convert zeal

The Asokan edicts are not evidence of the historicity of the Buddha. At best, they reflect beliefs about the Buddha from a later period, as expressed by a latter-day Buddhist convert, who dedicated his early life to brutal wars of conquest and had a lot of bad karma to make up for.

This is a clear example of Levman making a hypothetical inference based on the Asokan corpus and treating his inference as a "historical fact" based on his pre-existing belief in the historicity of the Buddha. By the way, no one argues against the idea of a community of Buddhists existing in the third century BCE. This is a historical fact. Levman's (2019: 29) next argument is:

The presumed historical existence of the Buddha is reflected in many of the early suttas where the Buddha is situated in actual historical places alongside real historical figures.

Note the phrase "presumed historical existence of the Buddha". This is Levman's presumption, not mine. As an example, he continues:

"We know, for example, from other sources, that the kings (Ajātasattu, Bimbisāra, Pasenadi) the Buddha meets with were real historical figures."

It is simply not true that Ajātasattu, Bimbisāra, and Pasenadi are historical figures. As with the Buddha, there are no contemporary documents connected with any of these names. As kings, they left no trace of historical evidence, because there was no writing in India at that time. Given this, Levman's attempts to back up his assertion are surprisingly half-hearted. For example, Levman casually mentions references to Bimbisāra and Ajātasattu in "Jain texts" (without any citation). However, this is to completely ignore the history of Jain literature. Johannes Bronkhorst (2020) comments:

Our most important sources of information regarding early Jainism are found in the canon preserved by the Śvetāmbara Jains. Unfortunately, this canon was given its definitive form at a late date, some 980 years after Mahāvīra according to a Jain tradition, that is, 454 or 514 CE.

The Jains themselves tell us that all of their early literature was lost and then later reconstructed. Jain literature is all considerably younger than, and owes a difficult-to-quantify debt to, Buddhist literature. Bronkhorst (2020) again:

We have already seen that the Sūtrakṛtāṅga Sūtra is one of the oldest texts contained in the Śvetāmbara canon. However, the contents of even this relatively old text date from long after Mahāvīra. This is clear from the following: the Sūtrakṛtāṅga Sūtra shows acquaintance with the innovations that had taken place in northwestern Buddhism in the 2nd century BCE. 

Jain literature can tell us nothing at all about the putative lifetime of the Buddha because, although it mentions events in the past, it was written down much later even than Buddhist literature. Moreover, the references Jain literature makes to the Buddha are vague. As Bollée (1974: 27) says:

It is only in the post-canonical period, and especially when the Jains begin to write in Sanskrit, that in our sources the railings at undefined opponents with more or less ambiguous statements about their views make way for more concrete philosophical arguing with different schools, among whom the Buddhists gradually come to the front to such an extent that śākyādayaḥ as a comprehensive expression for various heretics becomes dominating.

Similarly, Levman cites "Sanskrit genealogies... [in] Purāṇas, and so forth." Levman does not give an example from or even the name of a Purāṇa text, so it's difficult to know what he is referring to here. As far as the Purāṇa literature goes, it is impossible to accurately date the composition of any given Purāṇa text. The most plausible dating scenarios suggest they were composed well into the Common Era. 

So Levman's examples "corroborated facts" are not factual and are not corroborated. And the whole article follows this pattern. 

Levman goes on to discuss stories from various suttas as though they were evidence of historicity, but we've already seen that historians have long considered this to be folly. The suttas are not documents from the fifth century BCE. At best they reflect beliefs from the late first century BCE, but more likely even later. That idea the suttas reflect an earlier time is not a fact, it is an inference. Inferences about the past are not historical facts. 

There is another caveat here. The oldest extant Pāli document of any kind is a partial manuscript from the fifth century CE (Stargardt 1995). The next oldest is a fragment from the ninth century. There are no Pāli manuscripts from the first century, though there are Gāndhārī texts from that period. 

The idea that the Pāli texts were written down in the first century is based on uncorroborated claims made in the Dīpavaṃsa and Mahāvāṃsa, which are relatively late texts composed in Sri Lanka. The Mahāvaṃsa (33.100) states that the canon and its commentaries were committed to writing in the reign of King Vaṭṭagāmiṇi (29-17 BCE) at the Alu-vihāra in Sri Lanka.

The authors of the Mahāvaṃsa lived thousands of miles and hundreds of years distant from the events they purport to describe. Moreover, as Jonathan Walters (2000) has pointed out:

Scholars who have treated the Vaṃsas as history have ignored the indications that they were written within (and should be understood within) a temporal and causal framework different from that which we know in the modern West.

In other words, Levman is guilty of the fallacy of presentism since he apparently assumes his own, modern, linear sense of time and causality applies to this ancient religious text. Similarly, Kristin Scheible (2016) has cast doubt on the naive use of the Mahāvaṃsa as a historical source. The clear trend in scholarship on the Vaṃsa literature is towards dehistoricizing it. The majority of modern historians don't consider the Mahāvāṃsa to be a straightforward record of history anymore. To some extent, Levman anticipates this objection and his response is telling:

The alternative, that somehow a pseudo-historical figure was fabricated out of whole cloth or evolved on its own does not make rational sense. (Emphasis added)

This is an example of the informal fallacy of argument from incredulity. Wynne (2019) and others are similarly incredulous. We don't even learn why Levman thinks that it "does not make rational sense". Presumably, this is because the historicity of the Buddha is a given in his view. It's not irrational to believe that human storytellers might have invented a heroic figure to be the protagonist of their stories. Since this is exactly what storytellers do, it would be more surprising if Buddhists did not do it (as I will argue below, we see them doing exactly this at every stage of Buddhist literature). That such stories might have evolved as they were repeated orally for centuries, is exactly what I expect.  

Levman finally finds some purchase on historical facts seven pages into his article when he introduces the issue of how accurately the Pāli stories present geographical information, and accurately reflect the flora and fauna of the Ganges Valley. This strategy is also employed by Wynne (2019). However, the fact that Sāvatthī, for example, was a real city is not evidence that the Buddha was a real person. Rather, it is evidence that the Pāli authors knew Sāvatthī from first-hand experience or got reliable second-hand descriptions. 


2. Aetiology

Levman's second argument is to ask: "If the Buddha is indeed a mythic figure, how did his teachings arise?" He argues that if we say his explanation is not the explanation then we are bound to offer an alternative explanation. This is not the case.

The drift of Drewes's argument is to say that in the absence of historical facts (i.e. contemporary documentation) there is nothing that we can interpret to create a historical narrative. The absence of historical facts means that historians have to accept that they are ignorant and stop talking. Moreover, the old Roman legal principle applies:

Onus probandi incumbit ei qui dicit, non ei qui negat.
The burden of proof lies with the one who asserts, not the one who denies

Levman is making assertions, so the burden of proof lies with him. We've already seen that the standard of the "evidence" Levman cites is insufficient to make his case. Indeed, although he repeatedly mentions "historical facts", Levman has presented none. Rather he presents his speculations about what the facts might have been, validated against his axiomatic belief in the historical Buddha, and treats this mess as "facts". There is no documentation from the time he wishes to historicise. Historians don't engage in the reconstruction of facts. They use facts as evidence to construct a story about the past. 

In making the observation that there are no contemporary documents from which to construct a history of that period, Drewes has done his job as a historian. Explaining prehistory is not the job of historians; it is the job of archaeologists and anthropologists. For example, there are interesting archaeological accounts of the second urbanisation based on the distribution of pot-making technology, which gives us the "two cultures hypothesis" (see e.g. Samuel  2008: 48 ff.). Neither Levman nor Karpik mentions this hypothesis. 

Levman (36) continues

Over the twenty-five centuries since the Buddha lived and taught, billions of people have responded to his teachings of relief from suffering through the realization of selflessness; the four-fold saṅgha of upāsakas and upāsikās, bhikkhus and bhikkhunis has lasted in an uninterrupted continuum from then to the present day. Are we to say that these teachings were simply invented or evolved? Is that even possible?

It's apparent here, again, that for Levman the historicity of the Buddha is not in question. It is something that he takes for granted. He's not making an argument from facts, he is stating a belief about what the facts might have been. And there are at least two other fallacies involved here. 

"Billions" is probably an exaggeration. The fact that a million people believe a myth is not a reason to consider it historical. This appeal to the authority of the masses is called the bandwagon fallacy. Moreover, millions of people (more often than not, the very same millions of people) have also believed that the Buddha performed miracles. Levman does not consider this other testimony from the same source to be a "historical fact". If the bandwagon fallacy applies, then Levman should be arguing that the historical Buddha did miracles as a matter of historical fact. 

In "Is it even possible?" we also have another argument from incredulity. Levman has twice now asked his readers, "Could the teachings have been invented and then evolved?" So let's look at how we might answer him. 

From Buddhist literature, we know that Buddhist teachings evolved constantly while there was life in Indian Buddhism (and also that it continued to evolve outside of India). Even within the Pāli texts, we see clear evidence of the evolution of Buddhist doctrines, from archaic formulations later refined or abandoned, to the emergence of abhidharma-style lists. This evolution is frequently used as evidence for the antiquity and authenticity of the Pāli suttas. In fact, every documented Buddhist sect in history eventually abandoned Buddhavacana in favour of new doctrines.

We also know that ancient Buddhists invented new buddhas. We know, for example, that Buddhists invented the "buddhas of the past" to compete with the Jains and their lists of tīrthaṅkaras. And this happened early enough to become canonical. We also know that, before the Common Era, Buddhists were busy inventing new buddhas ex nihilo, e.g. Amitābha, Akṣobhya, and Bhaiṣyajagūru. In addition, they invented a whole new class of ahistorical awakened beings, i.e. bodhisatvas such as Mañjuśrī and Avalokitasvara (later Avalokiteśvara).

Since the invention of both doctrines and buddhas are observed at every point in documented Buddhist history, it makes no sense to argue that such processes were unknown before the advent of writing. Here we see how Levman's a priori beliefs skew his arguments towards tendentious conclusions. If later mentions of the Buddha are "evidence", the later inventions of buddhas are also "evidence" in the same way. Levman considers the former to be factual and does not consider the latter at all. 

Interestingly, Roy Norman (2008: 47), notes that the words buddha and jina are common to both Buddhism and Jainism, meaning that "there were buddhas and there were jinas before the beginning of both Buddhism and Jainism". If buddhas predate Buddhism then it is entirely possible, for example, that the protagonist of the Pāli suttas is a composite of numerous buddhas. This might explain variations in terminology. 

In answer to Levman's question—Is that even possible?—then, I would answer, that it is not only possible that Buddhists invented doctrines and that those doctrines evolved; it was the norm. The invention of buddhas was also normative. The Buddha and his doctrines could easily have been "fabricated out of whole cloth" and this would have been entirely in keeping with trends we see everywhere in Buddhism and in other world mythologies. So Levman's incredulity is not probative; it's just an expression of his ignorance. 

Levman finishes this section by recapitulating his assertion that the bandwagon fallacy applies. This tells us that his invocation of this fallacy was not a mistake. He appears to genuinely think that the bandwagon fallacy is a valid historical method.


3. The Humanness of the Buddha

Levman's third argument is that amongst all the many supernatural features of the protagonist of the Buddhist suttas, are some human details. These details he draws from Pāli texts that were not written down until some 400-500 years after the events that they purport to describe. Detailing all of the fallacies that this argument involves would be tedious, however, there is one informal fallacy here that it is worth focussing on since it also cropped up earlier. 

On any given page of the Pāli canon, we are likely to encounter both human details and superhuman details attributed to the Buddha by the author(s). By "superhuman" here, I mean qualities that involve magic or the supernatural, such as miracles, psychic powers, visiting god realms, and so on; anything that breaks the laws of physics as we know them.

From this body of literature, Levman cites examples of one type of detail and not the other, and the only examples he cites are those that support his view. But he does not tell us why or how he made this distinction and doesn't admit that there are a huge number of passages that don't support his view. In using selected examples that are not representative of the whole literature, he appears to believe that what fits his presuppositions is positive evidence for his conclusions and what does not fit is not evidence at all. This is called the cherry-picking fallacy.

In fact, the Pāli authors almost always included both kinds of details and there is little or no sign that they made the kind of distinction that Levman takes to be a given. The authors apparently didn't think in terms of "historical facts" and "extraneous magical thinking that can safely be ignored". As far as the authors of the Pāli Canon were concerned, it's all undifferentiated buddhavacana, including the miracles and magic. Levman seeks to impose his modernist distinctions on an ancient literature that definitely did not make that distinction. So this is also an example of the presentism fallacy.

All stories contain human details, even when they are about non-humans because this is how stories work. Drewes (2017: 19) notes that many other mythic figures are fleshed out by storytellers:

There may similarly have been an actual person behind the mythical Agamemnon, Homer, or King Arthur; Vyāsa, Vālmīki, Kṛṣṇa, or Rāma, but this does not make it possible to identify them as historical.

After many pages of fallacious argument in this style, we find Levman asserting:

If the Buddha were indeed a mythic character, surely this kind of human material, where the Founder is portrayed as old and weak, would be the first to go (44).

In Christian hermeneutics, unflattering details about Jesus—such as being betrayed to his death by his own followers—are given extra significance because of the principle of embarrassment (c.f. Meier's Historicity Criteria). Stories about real people would be expected not to include unflattering details unless they were true, so such details can be taken to be more likely to be factual. This is not a criterion that can be applied in isolation and we would want to see documentary corroboration from another source but, still, the inclusion of negative qualities makes a protagonist seem more real, not less. 

Compare some examples from Greek mythology. I think of the myth of Prometheus—almost certainly not based on a real person—who creates humans and steals fire from Zeus for us. Zeus doesn't take fire away from us, but he does punish Prometheus for eternity and creates Pandora's box (which introduces evil into the world via women's curiosity about the world). Zeus himself was guilty of numerous rapes and other forms of brutality. I think also of Hephaestus who was born lame, rejected by his mother, fell hopelessly in love with Aphrodite, and experienced overwhelming jealousy towards Ares. Or think of  capricious Yahweh who, enraged by human conduct, wiped out humanity and started again from Noah and his family, but who apparently still applied the doctrine of original sin to justify oppressing humanity with difficulty and pain. 

Does myth-making always exclude the negative? By no means. The gods have all of humanity's foibles, often in extreme forms. Suppose the inventive storyteller wanted us to believe in the historicity of the Buddha. The little negative details are exactly the kind of qualities they would include, be it historical fact or pious fiction. Human details make fictional characters relatable and memorable. 

So there is no reason to assume that human details attributed to the Buddha reflect historical facts. 


4. Biographical

Finally, Levman argues "But discoverable in the canon is evidence of an early, core biography preserving the authentic history of a real person in an unembellished state. Is this also invented?" (26).

Note again the incredulity. We have already established that the only documented history can be "authentic" and the documents that Levman cites are from at least 400 years after the period he wishes to historicise (and probably much longer). Levman's method here is no more than the interpretation of scripture, a procedure already long discredited amongst historians when Drewes wrote his article. Much of what Levman writes in this section takes the form of "hand waving", e.g.

This may or may not represent something close to the actual words of the historical Buddha; the simplicity and candor of the statement do seem to reflect a “certain genuineness” on the part of the speaker (47).

The idea of "a certain genuineness" is vague and subjective and Levman's use of scare quotes here suggests that he was aware of this. It's all too apparent that Levman finds passages to be "genuine" when they confirm his belief and when he does not find that confirmation he does not discuss them at all (cherry-picking fallacy). 

More importantly, how would anyone know if any words from any source reflected the "actual words" of the "historical" Buddha? Given the lack of contemporary documentation, what is the yardstick here? No one disputes that the Buddha was a non-literate person living in a non-literate society. There are no possible corroborating sources from the fifth century BCE. 

Identifying common elements in versions of a story does not make them truer, if anything it just makes them seem older. How old, we have no idea. The idea that older = truer is a fallacy known as appealing to tradition. The "simplicity" of an idea has never been a criterion for its historicity.

The problem here is that the further back in time we go, the more partial and fragmentary are our witnesses to history. Fewer and fewer sources may well give the illusion of increasing simplicity, when in fact it's just a paucity of sources. There is no a priori reason that the past should be any less complex than the present (at least in historical terms). As Graeber and Wengrow (2021) have amply demonstrated in their first two chapters, those people the Europeans described as "simple" and even "savage" were usually anything but. Arguably the indigenous Americans encountered by Europeans were far more socially and politically sophisticated than their European counterparts. Notably, it was Europeans who adopted American ideas—like individual liberty—rather than the other way around.

How does Levman know that any statement in Pāli is "candid"? He claims to be concerned with rational conclusions, but what rational criteria can he possibly apply to arrive at this "insight"? This is all just confirmation bias. This section finishes with a flourish of hand-waving

Of his true roots we know very little, beyond the few snippets which are buried in the canon, or can be reasonably surmised based on the evidence. All of the material I have been able to find is summarized in my 2013 article. But though his background has been mythologized, this does not make him a mythological character, just someone whose true roots have been obscured and excised for purposes of social and political acceptance.

This is what Drewes was referring to at the outset when he said, "scholars have rarely been able to avoid the temptation to offer some suggestion as to what was likely, or ‘must’ have been, true about him."

In point of fact, of the Buddha's "true roots", we know nothing. The snippets that conform to Levman's views are dwarfed by an avalanche of passages that do not. Levman systematically ignores the vast bulk of the Pāli canon because it doesn't support his argument. There are literally no documentary facts upon which any reasonable surmise might be based. And Levman has not introduced any new facts and inferences are not facts. 

Levman sums up by repeating the numerous fallacies already listed. It is difficult to avoid the conclusion that Levman doesn't understand the theories and methods of modern historiography. He completely misses the significance and importance of Drewes's argument. 


Summing up

At this point, I would characterise Levman's article as an example of what historiographer Carl R. Trueman (2010: 45) calls the aesthetic fallacy: “if it looks scholarly, then, agree or disagree with it, it is scholarly and must be taken seriously and allowed a place at the scholarly table”. Levman's article looks scholarly, but his methods are not scholarly. At least not from the point of view of a historian. 

History is the study of documents. There are no Indian documents before Asoka because writing was not used in India until he created his famous edicts. Attempting to write a history of a preliterate society is a contradiction in terms, at least as far as historians are concerned. This is the historian's episteme. This is how historians try to ensure the validity of their use of historical facts as evidence for reconstructing knowledge of the past. The epistemology of history is still a live topic and the impact of postmodernist critiques of the use of texts is still being felt. Still, the centrality of contemporary documentation has never been problematised. 

Levman appears to fundamentally miss Drewes' point and makes a series of irrelevant arguments. For example, Levman appears to be convinced that certain presumptions and subjective judgements about stories recorded in Pāli amount to historical facts about the Buddha. Or that his inferences about the past amount to historical facts. In his arguments, Levman relies heavily on unexamined assumptions, skimps on citations, makes factually incorrect statements, and employs numerous informal fallacies including, presentismargument from incredulitycherry-picking, the bandwagon fallacy, and confirmation bias.

Fallacies and biases aside, it's clear that Levman, Karpik, and Wynne are all doing something similar when they argue for the historicity of the Buddha. And I think I can shed some light on this. 


Two Epistemes

Most Buddhist Studies scholars are educated in the theories and methods of philology and/or historical linguistics; not in the theories and methods of history and historiography. Philologers routinely reconstruct lost ur-texts from surviving witnesses and historical linguists routinely reconstruct long lost proto-languages. My thesis is that, given these prominent activities it might seem natural for philologists and historical linguists to use similar methods to attempt to reconstruct historical facts via inferences. 

Nineteenth-century linguists, especially in Germany, were able to analyse the way that phonology changes over time and observe that only certain changes and certain types of changes occur. This allows philologists to define descriptive "laws" which limit how any Indo-European language is permitted to change. So we get Bartholomae's Law, Grimm's Law and so on. Since phonological change follows regular patterns that apply across locations and times, we can apply descriptive laws prescriptively and retroactively to reconstruct a universal mother tongue for all of the Indo-European family of languages. Given modern languages and a set of rules, the sounds of ancient languages can be retrospectively reconstructed with considerable confidence. The reconstruction of Proto-Indo-European is an awesome achievement. 

The practice of textual criticism has its roots in the interpretation of legal and religious documents. Formalised methods of recreating the ur-text of the author developed over centuries. Whether they know it or not, modern scholars rely on the method of Karl Lachmann (1793-1851), especially as expressed by his student Paul Maas (1927). As manuscripts are repeatedly copied, errors and amendments build up. By carefully comparing witnesses using Lachmann's method, the textual critic may restore the "original text" even though none of the surviving documents reflects that text. 

In both cases, scholars can infer reliable knowledge of the past based on extant documents. This should sound familiar because it also describes the method of Levman, Karpik, and Wynne (other biases and fallacious arguments aside). They are all making inferences about the past and treating these as historical facts. However, this is not a sound methodology for historiography. 

In contrast to the situation in which we have complete descriptions of dozens of modern languages and extensive descriptions of ancient languages, the Pāli texts don't constitute anything like a complete description of a culture or society. They are normative religious texts that are, for the most part, mythological in character, and only look "historical" after some very restrictive cherry-picking. There is no historical analogue of the lawful changes in phonology (or grammar). 

Historians have long acknowledged that history is not governed by laws analogous to those that govern phonological change. It is a truism that those who fail to learn the lessons of history are doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past. However, it is also a truism that knowledge of the past does not enable one to predict the future. Indeed, in history knowledge of the present does not allow us to predict the past either. If it did then we could simply observe Buddhists in the present, formulate some laws that govern change, and infer facts about the past. This method does not work for history. 

It's notable that in the absence of any general laws, Levman appears to substitute "common sense". I point, for example, to his repeated argument from incredulity and his use of subjective terms like "candour" or "genuineness". Even though Drewes pre-warns him that this is not a credible method, Levman goes ahead and does it anyway.

In effect, historians and philologists have different views on epistemology based on different methods applied to different bodies of knowledge. In this view, philologists appear to believe that the kinds of methods that allow them to reconstruct a proto-language or an ur-text can be applied mutatis mutandis to historical facts. Levman repeatedly treats his inferences as facts. 

While the philological approach to history fails, and fails badly, in terms of historiography, at least this explanation of Levman's method as rooted in philology and historical linguistics rather than history and historiography makes a certain kind of sense. I'm not sure this is correct, but this is the most charitable interpretation of Levman's method that I have been able to come up with. 

This view may also help to explain the (undeniable) controversy that Drewes' article caused amongst Buddhist Studies scholars and religieux. Perhaps Drewes's invocation of historical methods, while obvious to any professional historian, was a bit too casual for an audience of philologists and linguists with no background in historiography. Philologists confidently resurrect lost texts and linguists resurrect dead languages all the time, so resurrecting the Buddha may well seem straightforward to them, more especially if his historicity is axiomatic for them. Historians in their turn expect facts to emerge from documents of that time. They are puzzled that the evidence presented is all 500 years too late and of very mixed provenance and doubtful veracity. One side is shouting "What about the facts?" and the other is shouting back "What facts?". As far as I know, no one has previously observed that the two sides define the word "fact" in different ways. 


Conclusions

In the arena of academic historiography, Drewes is right to say "my argument is really a minor one" (19). In the context of modern historiographical methods, there is no such thing as "the historical Buddha" because there are no documents from that time. Drewes is absolutely right that historians should stop using this phrase. 

I think it's fair to say that the dispute over the historicity of the Buddha has been framed in ideological terms, i.e. as a conflict between traditionalists and modernists. This is unfortunate because ideological disputes are extremely resistant to resolution. Ideologues don't change their minds. The dispute is better framed as a dispute over methodology and epistemology. 

This is to say, the dispute hinges on the ability of different methods to give us reliable information about the past. Historians, who specialise in explaining the past, universally agree that history begins with contemporary documents, with the broadest possible meaning of document as any form of writing. A historical fact is a documented fact. 

The problem is that Levman is not a historian. Levman does apply a historian's methodology and does not cite any authorities on the theories or methods of historians. Rather, where Levman is not relying on some fallacy or other, he relies almost entirely on treating inferences as historical facts (analogous to PIE or some ur-text). The raw materials for his inferences are documents from a much later period, after writing began to be used. The validation of such inferences seems to rest on his axiomatic belief in the historicity of the Buddha (the same can be said of Karpik and Wynne) and appeals to incredulity, common sense, and so. 

As compelling as the rhetoric of a "middle way" might be at this point in trying to resolve a dispute, it's clear that historians have already established a "middle way". This is to restrict themselves to contemporary documents. This means that historiography is necessarily limited in scope and reach. 

In fact, the method of treating inferences as facts, as adopted by philologists like Levman, is not a reliable way to get information about the past. It works in the case of proto-languages and ur-texts, but it does not work in historiography. That Levman's attempt to apply this method is plagued by fallacious reasoning and bias should not distract from the problem that his method is fundamentally unsound. 

This is also an answer to the philosopher/philologer colleague who accused me and Drewes of practising "positivism" because we refuse to accept the philological method of treating inferences as facts. We are not "positivists" demanding scientific facts, we are historians using generally accepted methods in historiography to assess the salience and veracity of facts in documents. 

That said, I do not think the idea of a founder of Buddhism is impossible or unreasonable (as I understand Drewes he thinks the same). It actually seems quite plausible that the mythology of Buddhism might be based on a real religious leader. The problem here is that history is not about what we surmise or guess to be true. Inferences are not facts. 

History deals with documented facts and prioritises facts that can be corroborated. As such history is extremely limited in scope. As John Vincent (quoted above) says, "history leans towards literate individuals in literate societies". The Buddha is not a historical figure by any definition of "historical" used by historians precisely because he is not a literate figure and was not from a literate society. In attempting to historicise the mythical Buddha using other methods and without reference to the long history of historiography, Levman ignores the accumulated wisdom of historians. 

Notwithstanding the possibility of his being based on a real person, the Buddha as presented in Buddhist documents is clearly a mythological figure, who has human traits, but also does miracles and has supernatural powers. The term mythological is not intended to have any pejorative connotation. Myths are how preliterate societies encoded their views about the world and their values before the advent of writing. 

~~oOo~~


Bibliography

Allen, Charles. (2012). Ashoka: The Search for India's Lost Emperor. London: Abacus.

Bollée, W. B. (1974). "Buddhists and Buddhism in the Earlier Literature of the Śvetâmbara Jains." In Buddhist Studies in Honour of I.B. Horner, edited by L. Cousins, A. Kunst, K. R. Norman, 27-39. Dordrecht: Springer.

Bronkhorst, Johannes. (2020) "The Formative Period of Jainism (c. 500 BCE – 200 CE)" In Brill's Encyclopedia of Jainism Online. doi:10.1163/2590-2768_BEJO_COM_047082.

Drewes, David. (2017). "The Ideal of the Historical Buddha." Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies 40: 1-15.

Evans, Richard J. (1997). In Defence of History. London: Granta Books.

Levman, Bryan. (2019). "The Historical Buddha: Response to Drewes" Canadian Journal of Buddhist Studies 14: 25-56.

Maas, Paul. 1927. Textkritik. Leipzig: Teubner. 

Norman, K. R. (2008). A Philological Approach to Buddhism: The Bukkyō Denō Kyōkai Lectures 1994. Oxford: Pali Text Society. 

Olivelle, Patrick. (2023). Ashoka: Portrait of a Philosopher King. Yale University Press

Samuel, Geoffrey. (2008). The Origins of Yoga and Tantra: Indian Religions to the Thirteenth Century. Cambridge University Press.

Scheible, Kristin (2016). Reading the Mahāvamsa: The Literary Aims of a Theravada Buddhist History. New York:  Columbia University Press. 

Schopen, Gregory. (1996). "Two Problems in the History of Indian Buddhism: The Layman/Monk Distinction and the Doctrines of the Transference of Merit." In Bones, Stones, and Buddhist Monks: Collected Papers on the Archaeology, Epigraphy, and Texts of Monastic Buddhism in India. University of Hawaii Press. 

Stargardt, Janice. (1995). “The Oldest Known Pali Texts, 5–6th century: Results of the Cambridge Symposium on the Pyu Golden Pali Text from Śrī Kṣetra, 18–19 April 1995.” The Journal of the Pali Text Society 21: 199-213.

Trueman, Carl R. (2010). Histories and Fallacies: Problems Faced in the Writing of History. Wheaton, Ill: Crossway.

Vincent, John. (2006). An Intelligent Person's Guide to History. London: Duckworth Overlook. (first published 1995).

Walters, Jonathan. S. (1999) "Suttas as History: Four Approaches to the Sermon on the Noble Quest (Ariyapariyesana Sutta)." History of Religions 38.3: 247-8.

———. (2000). "Buddhist History: The Sri Lankan Pāli Vaṃsas and their Commentaries". In Querying the Medieval: Texts and the History of Practice in South Asia, 99-164. Oxford University Press. https://doi.org/10.1093/oso/9780195124309.003.0003

Wynne, Alexander. (2019). "Did the Buddha Exist?" Journal of the Oxford Centre for Buddhist Studies 16: 98–48.


05 January 2024

We Will Never Know What Language the Buddha Spoke

“What can be said at all can be said clearly, and whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.”
Ludwig Wittgenstein. Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus.

Stefan Karpik (2023) has proposed that “serious attention be given to the Theravada tradition that the Buddha spoke Pali” (2023: 41). Both this and an earlier paper (Karpik 2019) make linguistic arguments about the Pāli language, arriving at conclusions that question the existing paradigm on the history of Pāli and its relation to other Prakrits. Karpik then argues that these new conclusions tell that the Buddha spoke Pāli. In this essay, I will review these papers and some related material. In this first section I'll outline a broad response to the claim that we can know what language the Buddha spoke, in the context of some responses to Karpik and a resume of the milieu that he has emerged from. I'll identify some unexamined assumptions that Karpik makes (in common with others in his milieu). In the next section, I'll consider the historicity of the Buddha, then the issue of historicity itself. Finally, I will make some remarks about historical facts that can be gleaned from Pāli texts and then conclude with a summary.

My first response to Karpik (2019a, 2023) is that, while the philological methods that Karpik employs allow him to make interesting and even compelling conjectures about the history of Pāli, these methods do not allow him to infer anything at all about what language the Buddha spoke without relying on some major assumptions that I don't find interesting, let alone compelling. Something I will reiterate below is that the issue of what language the Buddha spoke is entirely extrinsic to the issues of the history of Pāli. Karpik's conclusions are compatible with literally any position on the historicity of the Buddha. However, the historicity of the Buddha is the hill that he has chosen to die on.

The reasons for rejecting his conclusions are obvious. Karpik accepts the modern consensus that the Buddha lived in the fifth century BCE. There is simply no evidence related to the Buddha from this period or within about 500 years of this date. All that we think we know comes from Buddhist scripture composed in a later period and how we interpret scripture depends on which assumptions we make and/or do not make. And such assumptions are not explored in Karpik's articles. The date itself is based on a series of assumptions and speculative interpretations of Buddhist scripture. Moveover, there is no evidence of any language other than Sanskrit and a Northwestern Prakrit being spoken at that time (this evidence comes from the Sanskrit Grammarians Yāska and Pāṇini). It's interesting to see Karpik relying on a consensus on dates, when his project is to undermine another consensus amongst virtually the same small group of scholars. 

The simple fact is that there is no evidence from that time period on which we can base a history of the Buddha. This is not to say that the myth of the Buddha as found in Buddhist texts is not important. Nor do I argue that the Buddha did not exist. We cannot base an argument for the historicity of the Buddha on the evidence we have, since it all comes from religious texts composed long after the time in question, and then only according to particular, biased, readings of those texts. We simply don't know. 

There has been little response to Karpik (2019a) from academics working in the field already. The notable exception is from Bryan Levman. Levman has been actively publishing on the history of Pāli for some years (2008, 2010a, 2010b, 2016, 2019, 2020a, 2020b, 2021, 2022, 2023). Levman's (2019) critique of Karpik (2019a) on philological grounds is the most extensive response and strongly argues against Karpik and for the utility of the current consensus.

Karpik seems to have been given a "right of reply" to Levman since his rebuttal appears in the same issue of JOCBS. Karpik (2019b) repudiates all of Levman's points and criticises him quite severely for ignoring facts, using faulty methods, and even misunderstanding linguistic technical terms. Note that these are serious accusations in an academic context: Karpik implies that Levman is incompetent.

While I don't entirely follow (or care about) the linguistic arguments, the idea that someone as well versed in this topic as Levman got everything wrong and effectively doesn't understand his area of expertise seems far-fetched. On the other hand, my research on the Heart Sutra shows that such situations in which the "experts" in Buddhist Studies are flatly wrong about everything are certainly possible. So I'm not a priori against the idea, but the proposition that Levman is substantially wrong on the facts is prima facie unlikely. Edward Conze was a charlatan of the first order, but Levman seems on the level to me.

Other responses have been cursory. Mark Allon (2021) mentions Karpik (2019a) in passing, grouping him with Richard Gombrich and others who believe, without evidence, that the Buddha spoke Pāli. Allon, a leading expert on Middle Indic, certainly does not seem to take Karpik's argument seriously. Similarly, Roderick Bucknell (2022), another expert on Middle Indic, mentions Karpik (2019) but only in passing. He seems unpersuaded as well. 

In the end, I don't know enough about linguistics to adjudicate on the linguistic issues. I think Karpik could be right. I found his articles persuasive. I also found Levman persuasive and he could be right as well. That said, I think I do understand the historical points that Karpik seeks to make and I note that Levman shares many of Karpik's presuppositions on this matter. It is this historical aspect of Karpik's articles that I will be addressing.

Karpik's contributions have emerged from a particular milieu based in Oxford, UK. Richard Gombrich founded the Oxford Centre for Buddhist Studies (OCBS)—until recently associated with Oxford University—in 2004 to promote the study of Buddhism. Gombrich was also instrumental in founding the Numata chair in Buddhist Studies at Oxford, now held by Kate Crosby.

When Gombrich retired as director of the Oxford Centre for Buddhist Studies (OCBS) in 2020, Wynne was anointed his successor (I gather from Gombrich that he was the only candidate). They co-edited the OCBS journal (JOCBS) in 2019 and then Wynne took over in 2020. Wynne (2006) had already contributed to the "debate" on the Buddha's language, concluding:

"I therefore agree with Rhys Davids, and disagree with sceptics such as Sénart, Kern and Schopen, that the internal evidence of early Buddhist literature proves its historical authenticity." (65)

Wynne (2006: 66) ends on a characteristically pugnacious note: "The claim that we cannot know anything about early Indian Buddhism because all the manuscripts are late is vacuous, and made, I assume, by those who have not studied the textual material thoroughly." Like Karpik, then, Wynne sees the people whose interpretation of scripture conflicts with his as not merely wrong, but as incompetent. He apparently believes that no one could read the same scriptures as he has and come to a different conclusion. Which would be a first in the history of interpreting religious scripture if it were true. 

In a more recent JOCBS article, Wynne (2019a: abstract) states that "early Buddhist discourses are largely authentic, and can be regarded as a reasonably accurate historical witness." Wynne certainly proves that this is his belief, but his conclusions are based on a reading of Buddhist texts that assumes their authenticity and the historicity of the Buddha. Wynne (2019b) has also weighed in, via a JOCBS editorial, on the specific topic of the language the Buddha spoke. Again the assumption throughout is that the Buddha is historical and that the Pāli suttas are a "reasonably accurate historical witness".

Also emerging from the Oxford milieu are two notable longer works. An extensive apologetic tract by Therāvadin bhikkhus Sujato and Brahmali (2013), published as a supplement to JOCBS 5, which again assumes the historicity of the Buddha and the authenticity of the the Pāli Canon and then presents evidence that "proves" the authenticity of the Pāli texts.*

* Sujato has recently stated that he is "not Theravādin", though he still uses his Theravāda ordination name, still wears Theravāda robes, and still allows people to refer to him using Theravādin honorifics like "Bhante" and "Venerable". Given that he was kicked out of the lineage that ordained him, one wonders why he persists in the fiction that he is a bhikkhu at all.

And Gombrich's (2018) own contribution, which also supports the idea that the Buddha was probably historical and that Pāli was probably the language he spoke. Gombrich, a good Popperian, leaves room for doubt.

To date, all of Karpik's publications have been in JOCBS under Wynne's editorship.

I will happily stipulate that Karpik (2019a) makes an interesting and persuasive argument for Pāli being the ur-language of the Pāli canon. Similarly for his argument that Pāli was a single language with natural variations rather than a koine or argot; that it need not reflect an artificial language or a mashup of dialects, and that at least some suttas were probably composed in Pāli. I am persuaded of the possibility of a community of Buddhists in India using Pāli in daily life and recording their ideas about Buddhism in that language. The idea that texts were composed in some other language and translated into Pāli does look questionable. Karpik (2023) extends this argument to include the Asoka inscriptions under the heading of Pāli.

What puzzles me is why Karpik, Gombrich, Wynne, and even Levman, all think that their conclusions about the history of Pāli, or even conclusions of this general type, have any bearing at all on the problem of what language the Buddha spoke. Knowing what language the Pāli texts were composed in or knowing the relationship between that language and the language of the Asokan edicts tells us nothing at all about the Buddha. I can’t see that one has any bearing on the other, except when we assume a priori that it does. As Karpik explains, in criticising Levman, when the assumption leads the conclusion:

This is a circular argument known as "begging the question" or petitio principii, where one assumes what one wishes to prove in order to prove it.

Karpik accuses Levman of relying on this informal fallacy. It is obvious, however, that this same fallacy is central to Karpik's historical arguments about "the Buddha". The unexamined assumptions that Karpik appears to rely on include:

(1) that the historicity of the Buddha, qua founder of Buddhism, is not in doubt

(2) that the Pāli literature faithfully records the utterances of the “historical Buddha”

(3) that the Pāli literature can be taken literally 

(4) that the Asoka inscription have some clear relation to spoken language in different parts of India at the time.

Let us try to see, then, the role these assumptions play in Karpik's articles. 


On the Historicity of the Buddha

As already noted, Karpik’s method leans heavily on the assumed historicity of the Buddha. For example, “The Buddha would have known of the precise transmission of the Vedic texts” (2019: 17). I’m not sure how Karpik knows this and he doesn’t say. My impression is that Brahmins learned the Vedas in private and that their mnemonic methods were not used by Buddhists because they did not know about them. There is no mention of such techniques in the Pāli texts to my knowledge (and as it happens I have comprehensively studied references to Brahmanical religious belief and practice in the four Nikāyas for an unpublished article).

A few pages later: “The evidence suggests a single, intentionally fluid, oral transmission from the Buddha.” (19). I agree that he has made a case for oral transmission, but “from the Buddha” is not a conclusion that he draws from the evidence presented. Rather, “from the Buddha” relies on a background assumption about the Buddha and his role in founding Buddhism. The evidence presented does not speak to this issue at all.

Stories about the kings mentioned in the Pāli are discussed as though they, too, are historical. We see statements like, "In the Buddha’s day, king Pasenadi of Kosala and king Ajātasattu of Magadha had each defeated the other in battle (J II.237)" (Karpik 2019a: 21). Just as for the Buddha, there is no evidence that either Pasenadi or Ajātasattu is historical, and no evidence for battles between them other than stories in scripture.

Note that the source Karpik cites here is a Jātaka story. The Jātaka and Avadāna literature is explicitly allegorical and/or mythological in character and predicated on (the supernatural) idea of the Buddha "remembering his past lives". And yet Karpik's interpretation of this literature is presented as an equally reliable and valid source of historical information as, say, the suttas. Karpik seems to accord this special status to every text that he cites in support of his thesis. And at this point his brutal methodological criticism of Levman starts to look disingenuous, since Karpik himself appears to be unclear on what kind of inferences his own methods can validate.

Another example occurs in Karpik's (2019b) rebuttal of Levman (2019):

In common with MOTT (Multiple Oral Transmission Theory) advocates, Levman gives no account of why the underlying layer was discarded and lost, despite repeated injunctions in the suttas to memorise them to the letter (Karpik 2019: 14-15). (Emphasis added)

Here again, Karpik is interpreting scripture rather than putting forward an argument based on evidence. His argument is that certain religious texts say it should not happen, therefore it cannot have happened. But this reasoning is clearly faulty, even at a common sense level.

Gregory Schopen has noted that where we have archaeological evidence for early monasticism, it almost invariably contradicts the texts. Wynne (2006) argued that Schopen's scepticism—he always sides with archaeology over texts—is "extreme" and takes the opposite view, that the texts are usually trustworthy. At best the conflict between text and archaeology leaves us with unresolveable uncertainty. Note that the scholars who seem loathe to acknowledge this uncertainty are all practising Theravādins or Theravāda-adjacent. Note also that the disagreement seems to take the form of denunciation. The suggestion is always that those who argue that we don't know and cannot know are somehow disingenuous, "extremist", and/or incompetent. While it seldom rises to the level of an ad hominem fallacy, the language used is not consistent with academic standards of discourse.

Karpik's (2019a) discussion then turns to the subject of where the Buddha lived and taught, as though the Pāli texts straightforwardly describe his actual life. Karpik provides four pages of charts of locations attributed to suttas, and simply treats these as factual records of where the Buddha visited. He even notes Schopen’s (2004) article outlining his discovery of a Buddhist Vinaya text that shows that locations were allowed to be made up when they were missing. And, of course, they were/are missing in very many cases.

It is, of course, true that the Buddha is popularly believed to be an historical figure. No one denies this. Interestingly, Bryan Levman shares Karpik's belief on this score. However, as David Drewes (2017) has pointed out, academic historiography has a rather higher bar for historicity than religious or popular belief and, all things considered, the Buddha does not meet this bar.

We are thus left with the rather strange proposition that Buddhism was founded by a historical figure who has not been linked to any historical facts, an idea that would seem decidedly unempirical, and only dubiously coherent. Stuck in this awkward situation, scholars have rarely been able to avoid the temptation to offer some suggestion as to what was likely, or ‘must’ have been, true about him. By the time they get done, we end up with a flesh and blood person – widely considered to be one of the greatest human beings ever to have lived – conjured up from little more than fancy (Drewes 2017: 1).

A straw man argument that we commonly see employed against Drewes, is that he argues that "the Buddha didn't exist". This fake argument was raised, for example, by leading Middle-Indic scholar, Oskar von Hinüber (2019: abstract):

David Drewes reviewed the opinions of a number of western Buddhologists on whether or not the Buddha was a historical person and in conclusion claimed that the Buddha never existed." (Emphasis added)

Actually this is not true. Drewes never makes this claim and what he does say is far more nuanced:

Although the idea that the Buddha cannot be considered a historical figure may seem radical, my argument is really a minor one. Though there has long been an industry devoted to the production of sensational claims about the Buddha, nothing about him has ever been established as fact, and the standard position in scholarship has long been that he is a figure about whom we know nothing. My only real suggestion is that we make the small shift from speaking of an unknown, contentless Buddha to accepting that we do not have grounds for speaking of a historical Buddha at all (2017: 19)

Drewes is writing for academic historians not for religious believers. However, this distinction is often blurred in Buddhist Studies because so many Buddhist Studies scholars are heavily invested in normative Buddhist traditions (e.g. Gombrich, Wynne, Sujato, Brahmali, and Karpik). Academic historians not having grounds to use the term "historical Buddha" is not the same thing as saying "the Buddha never existed". What Drewes says boils down to this: academic historians don't know and we should stop saying "we know".

The specific category error of mistaking an epistemic argument ("we don't know") for a metaphysical argument ("he doesn't exist") is so common in Buddhist thought and academic Buddhist Studies that it ought to have a name. This fallacy poisons all of Edward Conze's work, for example. And most of the commentary on the doctrine of anātman. Highlighting this fallacy and correcting it is central to my own revisionist history project on the Heart Sutra. I believe we would get closer to the truth of Buddhism by abandoning all metaphysical claims related to Buddhism and reframing them as epistemic or phenomenological observations. While this is still a minority view, there are some interesting academic contributions such as Hamilton (2000), Shulman (2008), Gombrich (2009), Heim & Ram-Prasad (2018), and Jones (2022).

Not only does von Hinüber (2019) misrepresent Drewes' conclusion, but his method of validating his own claims consists entirely of interpreting scripture. In one sense, then, von Hinüber's article ought to give Karpik heart, since it shows that even the most educated and highly regarded experts are capable of serious missteps. On the other hand, when we pay attention to what Drewes actually says, it clearly vitiates Karpik's claims to know anything at all about the Buddha. The only (potentially) valid inferences that Karpik draws concern the history of Pāli, but even then he makes a number of unexamined assumptions about when Pāli was spoken. We—i.e. people who write about Buddhist history in academic journals—still don't know if the Buddha was a real person or not. His historicity certainly fits certain religious presuppositions, but the arguments in favour of it all involve interpreting scripture.

Drewes is not arguing for one position over another here. He is arguing that we don't have enough information to take any position. As historians, we may choose to indulge in speculation when evidence is lacking, but this has to be clearly marked as such so as not to confuse readers. An inference drawn from interpreting evidence is significantly more meaningful than speculation based on interpreting scripture or speculation designed to mask a lack of evidence.

Drewes points out that that this distinction is seldom if ever drawn in Buddhist Studies. Certainly, Karpik does not make this distinction. At the very least, speculative conclusions must be hedged ("it appears...", "it seems...", "it may be the case..."). Notably, Gombrich (2018) does this. Karpik's choice of language suggests certainty, i.e. that this is a valid conclusion based on clear evidence. How can anyone be certain that their interpretation of scripture amounts to a fact? 

Similarly, Jonathan Walters (1999: 248) notes:

I think it is fair to say that among contemporary historians of the Theravāda there has been a marked shift away from attempting to say much of anything at all about “early Buddhism”… more recent scholars have tended to regard early Buddhism as unknowable.

Walters goes on to demonstrate the kinds of historical facts that can be obtained from studying suttas. They are records of something after all. The argument is over what they are records of and when. Long experience of dealing with religious texts tells us that the parsimonious approach is to take the texts as reflecting the beliefs of the community that wrote down the stories. For example, we could say with some confidence that the authors of the Pāli canon believed that the Buddha was an historical character. But then we have to put this in the context of their belief system, their worldview. Karpik appears to share that Iron Age worldview and treat it as self-evident and this blinds him.


On Historicity

There are numerous facts that can be stipulated for the sake of exploring this issue. There certainly was a period of Indian history, beginning in the seventh or sixth centuries BCE and extending over several centuries, known as the Second Urbanisation; the first urbanisation being the Indus Valley civilisation. The cities named in Pāli suttas correspond in many ways to archaeological sites associated with the Second Urbanisation (though most were only found with the help of the Chinese pilgrim Xuanzang's  seventh century travelogue).

All this tells us is that the stories in the suttas were composed after the second urbanisation was well underway, when all the named cities were well established and prosperous. That is to say, some time in the latter half of the first millennium BCE. Since they don't mention Asoka, we may infer (though we don't know) that the composition of new suttas in Pāli had ceased by the mid-third century BCE at the latest. Though composition of Buddhist texts per se in India continued apace while there was life in Buddhism. 

The archaeology of the Second Urbanisation has a striking feature that Karpik might have cited in support of his thesis but did not. This is the "two cultures" hypothesis. The exposition of this hypothesis in Geoffrey Samuel (2008) is useful and still the best I have read. Based largely on the distribution of ceramic technology, we see two distinct cultures in Northern India at this time: one in the west consistent with the Brahmin's home territory (the Kurukṣetra or Āryavarta), and one centred on the central Ganges Valley consistent with the cities of the second urbanisation. It seems to me that the relative uniformity of the material culture of the region is a sign that we might expect the kind of linguistic uniformity that Karpik proposes. Since this is evidence from the actual time he wishes to discuss, it is surprising that Karpik overlooks it. Still, none of this evidence supports Karpik's assumptions about the Buddha.

Similarly, the geography described in Pāli suttas, the fauna and flora, are all quite accurate where they pertain to the material world. Of course, the Pāli literature is a religious literature and as such it does not limit itself to describing the material world. Alongside descriptions that appear consistent with a modernist worldview, we can read in detail about places such as Brahmaloka, numerous Devalokas, and Niraya, the Buddhist hell. Brahmās, devas, and asuras are every bit as "real" as human beings in Pāli suttas. Our human world, which is incidentally flat, is said to be comprised of four continents arranged symmetrically around Mt Meru. Alongside descriptions of elephants and cattle, we read about nāga, yakkha, gandhabba, kiṃnāra, and many other supernatural species. 

While modern scholars, including Karpik, are apt to exploit this natural/supernatural distinction and interpret natural and supernatural descriptions on different criteria, it’s not clear from the texts themselves that the authors of the texts made this distinction. There is no shift in linguistic register, for example, when describing Sāvatthī or Brahmāloka; or between elephant and yakkha. If we look at the Buddhist traditions of Asia and Southeast Asia, living Buddhists tend not to make this distinction, either. 

The worldview of the Pāli authors, like other Iron Age societies we know about, was suffused with supernatural entities and magical forces. Part of the appeal of the figure of the Buddha was his "shamanic" ability to master the supernatural, to travel to a devaloka or brahmaloka and converse with the inhabitants. And so on. The Buddha of the Pāli canon regularly performs miracles and magical feats.

If the Pāli descriptions of the material world were truly "authentic", then we would have to accept the proposition that their descriptions of the supernatural world are also authentic, since the texts themselves don't make any distinction between them. 

Karpik and the others who argue for the historical authenticity of the Pāli suttas tacitly bracket out the Pāli texts and passages that don't conform to their view of history and pretend that they don't matter. They also pretend that making such distinctions is uncomplicated, mere common sense. They proceed as though the criteria by which they make this distinction need not even be stated, let alone justified. 

The idea that the Buddha is "historical" or that the texts are "authentic" requires a biased and motivated reading of the texts which eliminates anything "non-historical" or "non-authentic" (without ever offering, let alone discussing formal definitions); and the corollary is that whatever is left from this motivated winnowing is "reliably historical and authentic". That is to say, it is only by consciously exercising a modern bias that such scholars can make and sustain historical claims through interpreting this ancient literature. 

There are numerous problematic absences in the archaeological record. As already noted, no physical evidence from the relevant period has ever been associated with any person named in the Pāli suttas, let alone the Buddha. If there was ever a king of Magadha named Ajātasatthu, for example, he left no evidence behind: no artefacts, no architecture, no coins, no inscriptions, and he is not mentioned outside of Buddhist scripture. There is no external corroboration of his existence from non-Buddhist literature of the period. Nor of any other character mentioned in the suttas.

Arguments from absence are notoriously weak since "the absence of evidence is not evidence of absence". On the other hand, and this is David Drewes' point, the absence of evidence means we cannot draw any definite conclusions. As historians we must respect such epistemic limits. Where the historical record is silent we are left with uncertainty. Speculating to fill this gap is certainly fun, but taking our own speculations as facts is not consistent with good methodology. Karpik does not seem to understand this. 

We can contrast this with the situation for Asoka. His dates are frequently cited as absolute and other events are dated relative to his dates. However, these dates are far from certain. The reconstruction of the names of Greco-Bactrian kings in Edict no. 14 is certainly plausible and even persuasive. Moreover, there are numerous inscriptions whose texts are plausibly attributed to Asoka. There are artefacts from the time period that correspond to a wealthy and powerful king. The pillar edicts must have been enormously expensive to make and suggest the kind of wealth that only an emperor could command. The consensus, based on this evidence, is that Asoka was an historical person who lived in the mid third century BCE (with some error bars). No such evidence for the historicity of the Buddha has ever been presented and Karpik certainly does not add to our knowledge in this respect. Rather, he assumes the historicity of the Buddha and proceeds as though his presupposition is a self-evident truth. 

When we look at Buddhist historiography, a lot of it is stuck in the Victorian Imperialist conceit known as the "great man of history fallacy". This the idea that history is a description of the lives of a series of so-called "great men" who shaped their times. This is how Victorian gentleman scholars saw themselves. Enriched by the British Empire (a vast and merciless pirate enterprise dedicated to robbing the world), they saw no value in women, people of colour, or the working classes; these classes of people were simply there to be manipulated and exploited by "great men". History is a canvas, our lives are the pigments, and great men the artists. 

In this fallacy, great men operate outside the usual constraints of society, rather in the manner of a Nietzschean übermensch (or its modern equivalent, the self-interested "Randian hero"). This fallacy is universally repudiated by modern historians outside of Buddhist Studies. However, in Buddhist Studies, many authors simply cannot imagine the history of Buddhism in any other paradigm except the great man fallacy. And those who are not focussed on the Buddha are almost invariably fixated on Nāgārjuna or some other magical figure who is imagined as having no connection to Indian history, generally. Buddhism is presented as the story of a series of influential men without any attempt to contextualise them (often because they are not really historical, either).

One result of this overall bias in Buddhist Studies is that differences great and small within Pāli texts, and between them and other early Buddhist texts, are routinely glossed over in favour of the idea of "an underlying unity". And, this "underlying unity", is then supposed to be evidence that points to historicity of the Buddha. I have never understood the "underlying unity" argument since, having read the suttas, it is apparent that no such unity exists. There is far too much pluralism and internal contradiction within the Pāli literature for this argument to be coherent. By contrast, the arguments for the earliness of the Suttanipāta seem rest on on the heterogeneity of the Pāli canon; i.e. because the Suttanipāta (or parts of it) is different, it must be early. So much for "underlying unity" if the past was actually more heterogeneous than the present.

While there are minimal attempts to see the great man, known as "the Buddha", in his social, political, and economic context, such attempts are inevitably in the service of asserting the Buddha's historicity. No attempt is made to consider social, political, or economic factors in the birth of Buddhism, and the fact is that very little such information exists. Karpik doesn't bother with archaeology, even when it would support his case. Indeed, Buddhist historians typically shy away from causal explanations entirely, preferring descriptive accounts that have no explanatory value. Very few Buddhist Studies scholars are interested in explaining Buddhism and its developments, or the relations between Buddhists and other sects. Several scholars (notably Gombrich and Bronkhorst) have discussed the relationship between so-called "early Buddhism" and the religion of the Late Vedic period, but even this often takes the form of speculating about the influence of Brahmanism on the Buddha (rather than on Buddhism). A work like Ronald Davidson's (2002) history of Tantra that discusses socio-political contributions to the emergence of Tantra in Indian religions is extremely rare and thus valuable. But then scholars of Pāli are unlikely to ever look at is, since its outside their silo. 


Pāli

Another unexamined assumption in Karpik (2019) is that Pāli is old enough to have existed at the putative time of the Buddha. Karpik accepts the consensus that emerged from the Bechert conference on the dates of the Buddha, which concluded that the Buddha died ca. 400 BCE and thus lived in the fifth century BCE. These dates are entirely based on interpreting normative Buddhist texts and there is no evidence whatever of Buddhism from the fifth century BCE. Evidence of Buddhism begins to appear around the time of Asoka, in the 3rd century BCE.

In fact, the oldest extant Pāli text is from the fifth or sixth century CE (Stargardt 1995), some 800-1000 years after the putative death of the Buddha (based on the Bechert consensus). Buddhaghosa composed his commentaries in Pāli, but he was also from the fifth century. The idea that Pāli existed prior to the fifth century CE is conjectural and largely based on normative Theravāda religious tradition. This is not to say that Pāli is not older, but that there is some uncertainty that must be acknowledged by those who chose to write on this topic. Even if we stipulate the historicity of the Buddha (for the sake of argument) the idea that Pāli goes back to the Buddha's time is still a matter of popularly accepted conjecture rather than a matter of established fact.

By comparison, the evidence for texts written in Gāndhārī is very much older, with some manuscripts and inscriptions dated to the second century BCE. The bulk of the Gāndhārī corpus, such as it is, dates from the early centuries of the Common Era (after which the use of Kharoṣṭhī script ceased in India). The Gāndhārī literature, as fragmentary as it is, is obviously much older and at the same time much more diverse, than the Theravāda canon, since it includes Mahāyāna texts.

For example, we have a partial and fragmented birchbark manuscript of the quintessential Mahāyāna text, Aṣṭasāhasrikā Prajñāpāramitā, written in Gāndhārī using Kharoṣṭhī script that is carbon-dated to ca 70 CE ± ~50 years (Falk & Karashima 2012, 2013). Moreover, there is a Chinese translation of this text dated to 179 CE. Again, this is considerably older than the first evidence for the use of Pāli. But this is still not evidence from the fifth century BCE.

The Chinese never received transmission of a coherent body of literature reflecting a Buddhist canon. A physical canon, in the sense of an actual collection of all the texts in the catalogues, didn't exist in China until after the eighth century CE and then it was a local creation based on centuries of bibliographic scholarship. During the first few centuries of the Common Era, texts arrived in China in piecemeal fashion, seemingly at random. As the trickle became a flood, resulting in thousands of translated texts, still no existing canon or sutrapiṭaka arrived whole. While the Chinese did receive the idea of a canon with traditional categories—sutra, vinaya, abhidharma, śāstra, etc—they did not receive an exemplar of such a thing. This is in stark contrast to the countries proselytised by Theravādins. Burma, Sri Lanka, Laos, and Thailand all received and preserved the same canon of texts.

In the end, the Chinese had to create their own canon, and this took several centuries to attain a satisfactory internal coherence. Tibetans also had to invent their own canon from scratch and received perhaps 10% of the extant Pāli suttapiṭaka and then as individual texts rather than as part of a canon. Notably the extant Gāndhārī manuscripts, copied in the centuries spanning the beginning of the Common Era, don't seem to form a canon either. Gāndhārī Āgama texts were not translated into Chinese until the fourth or fifth century and even then the different Āgama collections arrived and were translated separately. If there was a Pāli canon in India, it seems not to have been available to any Chinese pilgrims. These simple facts are inconsistent with the Theravāda version of history.

So why do scholars continue to cite the earlier existence of Pāli and the Pāli canon as an uncontested fact and (in the case of Wynne 2006) refer to dissenting opinions (like mine) as "vacuous"? As far as I can see this claim is based on interpreting the Mahāvaṃsa, a traditional Theravāda (i.e religious) history probably composed in the fifth century CE in Sri Lanka (i.e. hundreds of years and thousands of miles away from the time and place it purports to describe), but purporting to describe a history going back to the Buddha. As with canonical Pāli texts, there is no distinction between natural and supernatural in the Mahāvaṃsa. Modernist scholars tease out the aspects that don't overtly mention the supernatural and treat them as straightforwardly true. This is a methodological bias. It is anachronistic. to say the least, since it assumes that ancient authors made modern distinctions that are certainly not reflected in the Pāli literature.

As far as I can see, the dating of Pāli is not based on evidence; it is based on a biased interpretation of scripture. Again, this is not to say that Pāli was not spoken in the second urbanisation, only that this is not an argument from evidence. It is speculative and should be clearly marked as such. Such speculations seem more plausible to religieux than they do to historians, for obvious reasons.

Buddhists Studies seems to exist in a methodological vacuum (aka the "silo mentality"). Many scholars appear to think, for example, that Buddhist Studies is not part of Religious Studies and shares no methods or theory with the broader field. While it is true that early Buddhism specialists now routinely study the Chinese Āgama translations, this is largely in the service of interpreting Pali and little or no attempt is made, at least by Pāli scholars, to understand Chinese Buddhism or Chinese culture. Having had to make some attempts in this direction, I can only say that after 10 years I have barely scratched the surface.

Meanwhile, Jonathan Silk (2015, 2021, 2022) has raised serious doubts about the idea that philological methods developed to interpret the Bible are straightforwardly applicable to Buddhist texts. But then Silk mainly writes about Mahāyāna texts rather than Pāli, so Pāli scholars simply ignore him. Most scholars of Early Buddhism appear to think that Buddhism is exceptional, even unique, and best studied in isolation from questions of history, anthropology, sociology, and ethnology.

Anyone who has studied Pāli grammar knows that it is a composite language. Grammatical suffixes are (mercifully) simpler than in Classical Sanskrit, but there are numerous alternative forms of declensions, such as ablatives in -ā, -asmā, and -amhā. Pāli shows clear influence from at least two Middle Indic languages. For example, forms like seyyathā (Skt tadyathā) or yebhuyya (Skt yad bhūya) do not conform to the general rules of Pāli phonology. Se and ye derive from Sanskrit pronouns tad and yad; and in Pāli we expect, and generally find, so and yo). Such forms are currently explained as coming from the "Māgadhī Prakrit" since parallels are found in the Asoka Edicts associated with Magadha. 

Karpik suggests that a good analogy for the varieties of language spoken in the North India ca 400 BCE would be US versus British English. This clearly does not work for extant Gāndhārī and Pāli texts written down some centuries later (i.e. the actual evidence). The relationship between these two is more like that between the Scandinavian languages. A Swede and a Norwegian can converse without too much difficulty and both can read Danish. However, they struggle to understand spoken Danish. Similarly, a working knowledge of Pāli is not sufficient to read Gāndhārī (I've tried), and as spoken languages the two were probably mutually unintelligible. One has to specifically learn Gāndhārī in order to understand it.

Pāli also shows signs of influence from Sanskrit, both in loan words such as brāhmaṇa and in Sanskritised grammatical inflexions. The Brahmanical influence on Buddhism is obvious, and easily explained by pointing out that many of the legendary followers of the Buddha are said to be Brahmins, not least Sāriputta and Moggallāna. It's also evident that Buddhists felt they had to compete with Brahmanism to some extent, and hence Pāli suttas are constantly pointing out the faults of (non-Buddhist) Brahmins. Such critiques are far more common and more thoroughgoing than, say, critiques of the Nigaṇṭhā sect. Here again, the Nigaṇṭhā sect is identified with Jainism, but never referred to as such in Pāli, another speculation often treated as an established fact.

Some attempts seem to have been made in antiquity to standardise the language of the suttas, but some parts of the Suttapiṭaka seem to have failed to undergo this same process. For example, we find numerous “Māgdhisms” in parts of the Suttanipāta. While the retention of odd inflexions is asserted to be evidence of antiquity, it is equally plausible to me that the text is the same age as all the rest, but simply escaped the rather clumsy standardisation we see elsewhere. While it may have been canonised late, reflected in its status as a miscellaneous text, this does not make the Suttanipāta "early".

Moreover, despite the emic view, the Theravāda sect itself does not really go back to the mythical First Council (weirdly, these councils are routinely treated as historical, even by sceptics). An etic view of the Theravāda tradition tells us that is a late an offshoot of the Vibhajjavāda movement and has undergone repeated reinvention. The ordination lineage of Sri Lanka died out twice and had to be reintroduced from Burma. The Sri Lankan Theravādins embraced both Mahāyāna and Tantra before Medieval purges created the reformed movement that we now think of as Theravāda. This movement is largely focussed on Abhidhamma thought as expressed in Buddhaghosa’s Visuddhimagga and later commentarial works composed in Sri Lanka and Burma. There is nothing very “original” about Theravāda Buddhism. Like other Buddhist sects, Theravādins moved away from reliance on buddhavacana; preferring teachings closer to their own time. We should also note that while the rubric “Theravāda” is often used in an essentialised, monolithic way, there are Theravāda lineages that don’t recognise each other’s ordinations. We have to be wary of Buddhist modernist claims, even when they come from seemingly orthodox quarters.

Conclusions

Stefan Karpik makes some interesting linguistic arguments, some of which may well change how we view the history of Pāli, though experts in Middle Indic languages seem to be unpersuaded to date. This is not my area of expertise, so I can only wait with interest to see how this field develops. I am certainly open to his conclusions and sympathetic with this aspect of his project.

If my experience with the Heart Sutra is any indication, Buddhist Studies experts (including those focussed on philology) can be completely wrong about important things. Literally everyone was wrong about the Heart Sutra , for example. It happens.

That said, when Karpik shifts from drawing linguistic inferences to drawing historical inferences, his methods are fundamentally flawed and his conclusions appear to simply repeat his own pre-existing beliefs and prejudices. When examined, these assumptions and biases vitiate all of his attempts at revising history in the direction of modernist Theravāda orthodoxy. These assumptions include belief in the historicity of the Buddha, belief that the historical Buddha spoke Pali. We also have to include the two contradictory beliefs that we can take the Pāli literature at face value and that we can, at the same time, exclude all the supernatural elements of that literature. There are more unexamined assumptions about how later evidence may be interpreted as evidence of an earlier time. 

What's missing from Karpik's articles is any evidence whatever from the relevant time or place as he defines it, i.e. from Northern India in the fifth century BCE. 

Those of us who write about the history of Buddhism must pay attention to the methods of modern historiography. We cannot, for example, simply plough on without any attempt to identify and counter our own manifest biases. Part of the problem is the conceit that an education in philology makes one an expert in historiography, anthropology, and archaeology. It does not. To paraphrase Mary Midgley (1979), in the field of Buddhist Studies there is now no safer occupation than talking bad history to philologers, except talking bad philology to historians.

As noted above, the very great irony here is that Karpik's views on Pāli are compatible with virtually any view on the historicity of the Buddha. It wouldn't make any difference at all to the linguistic argument if Karpik simply dropped the issue of "the Buddha's language" entirely. And it would make such arguments infinitely more plausible if he did.

These problems should have been picked up by an academic editor or in peer-review and addressed prior to publication. Unfortunately for Karpik, his editor shares exactly the same biases and prejudices, so he seems not to have been challenged on what seem to me to be egregious methodological errors. The OCBS may wish to consider whether it wishes to publish an academic journal or some other kind of publication. If JOCBS is an academic journal then academic standards apply. The editor should not use the journal as a vehicle to promote one religious sect or any religious views. Articles with obvious, unaddressed bias should be sent back to be revised, especially if they otherwise merit publication.

I opened with a famous quote from (the young) Wittgenstein: "What can be said at all can be said clearly, and whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.”

I have endeavoured here to say clearly what can be said. Historians cannot speak of "the language of the Buddha", since we do not and, in all probability, cannot know what language he spoke (or if he was even a real person). We can only speak of the language of the texts that have come down to us. And by Wittgenstein's dictum we must not speak of "the language of the Buddha", except to say "we don't know what language the Buddha spoke". If we wish to speculate beyond the evidence, this must be clearly marked and distinguished from facts, and cannot be subsequently relied on as an established fact.

Assumptions, knowledge, belief, and speculation have to be clearly distinguished and identified for the readers of academic articles. No one reads an academic article to find out what the author believes; we read them to find out what the author can prove.

Finally, I want to emphasise that mine is an epistemic claim, not a metaphysical claim. The message is "we don't know" not "he/it didn't exist". With my historian hat on, I have no opinion on the existence of the Buddha. One may speculate on such metaphysical issues, but one should not try to pretend that such speculations amount to history.

Ironically, given the amount of ink spilled and the apparently strong feelings on the matter, in the end, the issue of what language the Buddha spoke has little historical significance. It appears to be raised only in furtherance of an agenda that seeks to legitimise a religious view of the past. While religious Buddhists lap this up, those of us who participate in the academic discussion of the history of Buddhism have an obligation to pay attention to and use established historical methods. 

~~oOo~~



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