One project that the Other of the modern West needs to take up is
that of translatability of the Western canon, from Homer to Hofstadter,
into its native tongue. Although there have been efforts to translate,
say, Shakespeare into Sanskrit (wherein Krishnamacharya is the pioneer), it is striking how there is little effort to translate Sanskrit literature itself to modern English.
There is of course the issue of limited diction: not only Ganguly’s Mahabharata but also various later translations, be they of erotic poetry or of tracts on logic, succeed in giving the impression that Sanskrit, rich though it may be in its potential, is a language of an awfully limited vocabulary and style (compared parochially, of course, to English), so that to explain our theories from even the social sciences to a Brahmin pandit learned only in his traditional lore it would take a special effort of explaining using simple similes and losing a good deal of the sophistication that Western literature today possesses.
There is also the need to comparatively analyse the ‘progress’ in language in the West itself from Ovid to Bacon, since this period is co-incident with that of almost all Sanskrit composition. Now a cursory glance reveals that etymology alone cannot go too far in understanding the historical development of vocabulary. Much academese of today is based on using Latin-rooted diction instead of that of Germanic/Anglo-Saxon provenance (see, for instance, if you can understand Uncleftish Beholdings). Besides, not unlike many a śāstrakāra inventing etymologies pretending Vedic sanction for his ideas (Bronkhorst calls it semantic etymologising, linking it to magic), many popular phrases and acronyms in English today (which the Urban Dictionary mercifully clears up) are of less spectacular origin.
It also seems to be the case that much in modern English prose is simply alluring verbiage, Orwell's nightmare come true, mere chaff the removal of which should delight many readers and many more trees. Of course, in novels this very chaff is treasured for its taste, but in the humanities it is often uncalled for. For instance, Allen Carlson’s verbose Aesthetic Appreciation of the Natural Environment in the Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, chosen merely because I happened to be reading it just now, may be compressed thus:
But what I mean by translation to modern English is not mere adaptation to diction that is current (Rasala, Paranjape and some works in the Clay series are examples I'm aware of), but meaningful translation that definitively gives an idea of what it is that the ancients were thinking of when they wrote all their literature.
Except Aurobindo and a few other later Western-educated scholars (Debiprasad Chattopadhyaya and Ramkrishna Bhattacharya come to mind), many translations by Hindu/Indian scholars of texts in even the upaniṣad genre (which is explicitly philosophical), such as those by Radhakrishnan or more recently those by AG Krishna Warrier, fail to enunciate or clearly bring out the variety of ideas within the genre. Contemporary Brahminical scholarship has failed to highlight the glories of its own heritage, let alone productively analyse that of others. Add to that the insistence on emic secrecy (in ritualism and education) and the typical Hindu dislike of writing, it is not very encouraging for an outsider to approach the tradition when correctly educated adepts are not available.
As if that were not enough, (post)colonial Brahmin scholars have imitated Western 'investigations' of covert meanings (related usually to postwar physics) in sacred literature -- Raja Ram Mohan Roy's Vedic Physics being a case in point. While there seems to be a way to flesh out an early theory of cybernetics in sociological commentary like yadā yadā hi dharmasya glānir... tadātmānaḿ sṛjāmy aham, it is highly unlikely that the ṛk authors had Clifford algebra in mind when composing verses in the gāyatrī metre, to say nothing of the vaimānika śāstra and similar concoctions.
Even if yāska, the brāhmaṇa texts and patañjalī may themselves have not had much of a clue as to what the old bards were talking about, it is no reason to go look for subatomic particles in the veda. In all this fuss, what is in fact valuable remains unexplored, so that its very followers become enemies of the tradition. Ironically however, it is something etic Indology is slowly accomplishing.
There is of course the issue of limited diction: not only Ganguly’s Mahabharata but also various later translations, be they of erotic poetry or of tracts on logic, succeed in giving the impression that Sanskrit, rich though it may be in its potential, is a language of an awfully limited vocabulary and style (compared parochially, of course, to English), so that to explain our theories from even the social sciences to a Brahmin pandit learned only in his traditional lore it would take a special effort of explaining using simple similes and losing a good deal of the sophistication that Western literature today possesses.
There is also the need to comparatively analyse the ‘progress’ in language in the West itself from Ovid to Bacon, since this period is co-incident with that of almost all Sanskrit composition. Now a cursory glance reveals that etymology alone cannot go too far in understanding the historical development of vocabulary. Much academese of today is based on using Latin-rooted diction instead of that of Germanic/Anglo-Saxon provenance (see, for instance, if you can understand Uncleftish Beholdings). Besides, not unlike many a śāstrakāra inventing etymologies pretending Vedic sanction for his ideas (Bronkhorst calls it semantic etymologising, linking it to magic), many popular phrases and acronyms in English today (which the Urban Dictionary mercifully clears up) are of less spectacular origin.
It also seems to be the case that much in modern English prose is simply alluring verbiage, Orwell's nightmare come true, mere chaff the removal of which should delight many readers and many more trees. Of course, in novels this very chaff is treasured for its taste, but in the humanities it is often uncalled for. For instance, Allen Carlson’s verbose Aesthetic Appreciation of the Natural Environment in the Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, chosen merely because I happened to be reading it just now, may be compressed thus:
Santayana: appreciation of natural landscape dependent on selecting, emphasizing and (re)grouping; no parallel problem for art objects; Ziff’s acts of aspection; our knowledge of art is grounded in recognition of them as artifacts; question here is of modes, methods and limits of appreciation of nature. Object of Art Model (dwelling on sensuous and expressive qualities of a singled out object) appropriate only for self-contained aesthetic objects; the Landscape or Scenery Model speaks of viewing a prospect from specific standpoint, but it thereby limits and misleads appreciation; others include the Human Chauvinistic Aesthetic and the Aesthetics of Engagement (needlessly dissolves subject/object dichotomy). Necessity of limit, classification and meaning; the Natural Environmental Model: the role of naturalists in appreciating nature analogous to art critics for art objects;
Since not all these ideas may be translatable into Sanskrit without coining new words that at first blush will seem awkwardly formed to the native speaker, limitations in language may plausibly be speculated upon to imply a lack of imagination and critical thinking and, therefore, an overall relative paucity of intellect. Insistence on brevity of expression (à la sūtra) does not help either as it can easily give the impression of not having developed a particular thesis maturely. To complicate matters further, Sanskrit grammarians have repeatedly tried to portray their language as divine and eternal, and thereby discourage innovation or at least disguise it as commentarial elaboration of what turned out to not have been explicitly said.But what I mean by translation to modern English is not mere adaptation to diction that is current (Rasala, Paranjape and some works in the Clay series are examples I'm aware of), but meaningful translation that definitively gives an idea of what it is that the ancients were thinking of when they wrote all their literature.
Except Aurobindo and a few other later Western-educated scholars (Debiprasad Chattopadhyaya and Ramkrishna Bhattacharya come to mind), many translations by Hindu/Indian scholars of texts in even the upaniṣad genre (which is explicitly philosophical), such as those by Radhakrishnan or more recently those by AG Krishna Warrier, fail to enunciate or clearly bring out the variety of ideas within the genre. Contemporary Brahminical scholarship has failed to highlight the glories of its own heritage, let alone productively analyse that of others. Add to that the insistence on emic secrecy (in ritualism and education) and the typical Hindu dislike of writing, it is not very encouraging for an outsider to approach the tradition when correctly educated adepts are not available.
As if that were not enough, (post)colonial Brahmin scholars have imitated Western 'investigations' of covert meanings (related usually to postwar physics) in sacred literature -- Raja Ram Mohan Roy's Vedic Physics being a case in point. While there seems to be a way to flesh out an early theory of cybernetics in sociological commentary like yadā yadā hi dharmasya glānir... tadātmānaḿ sṛjāmy aham, it is highly unlikely that the ṛk authors had Clifford algebra in mind when composing verses in the gāyatrī metre, to say nothing of the vaimānika śāstra and similar concoctions.
Even if yāska, the brāhmaṇa texts and patañjalī may themselves have not had much of a clue as to what the old bards were talking about, it is no reason to go look for subatomic particles in the veda. In all this fuss, what is in fact valuable remains unexplored, so that its very followers become enemies of the tradition. Ironically however, it is something etic Indology is slowly accomplishing.
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