Hinduism Might Actually be True

Brahman's not dead, he's SURELY ALIVE, HE'S

Here, having thought about it vaguely for about five days, I lay out my comprehensive case for Hinduism. My argument, in a nutshell, is that Hinduism coincides with a plethora of independently plausible philosophical beliefs, more so than any other world religion.

Before I argue for specific Vedantic doctrines, here are demographical facts that should pique our interest about Hinduism, prior to learning what it says.

1. It’s big. Suppose the true religion is Wollenism, a religious creed according to which God wants you to like my article and subscribe to Going Awol. Conditional on Wollenism being true and its God being loving, would you expect Wollenism to be popular or unpopular? Popular, right? If Wollenism is the fullness of the truth (I submit that it’s at least part of the truth), and God wants us to live in the fullness of the truth—which seems natural if he loves us—then from the armchair, you’d expect Wollenism to be pretty popular. In contrast, if all you knew was that Wollenism were false (I assure you: this is a counterfactual we’re talking about), then given the infinite range of possible religious beliefs people could have, you’d expect no one believe it—let alone that it would be popular. The general lesson is: the more widespread a religion is, the more evidence you have for its truth. Not decisive evidence, granted, but evidence. So the fact that Hinduism is the third largest religion—with 15% of the world’s population, and 1.2 billion members—sets it alongside Christianity and Islam as one of the big contenders.

2. It’s old: A similar logic applies here, but this time, Hinduism gets the gold not the bronze. Hinduism is the oldest living religion. This is likewise a point in its favour. On his website, Christian astrophysicist Hugh Ross quips: “That Hinduism is presently the oldest major religion does not make it true any more than prostitution being the oldest profession makes it honorable.” But the argument here isn’t that Hinduism being the oldest living religion makes Hinduism true, or proves it to be true; the claim is that its age is evidence for its truth, since a priori, you’d expect God’s truth to be available for more of history than for less of history, all else equal. The same thought doesn’t map on to prostitution, since there’s no reason to expect ethical trades to be practiced for more of history than for less of it.

But these are small potatoes. What gets me about Hinduism is that it’s right—or plausibly right—about so many philosophical questions. I’ve only just started looking into Hindu thought (I’m like fifty-something pages into the Rig Veda [*cough* Rig BASED-a *cough, cough* [sorry.]], and poked my head into BAPS Shri Swaminarayan Mandir last week, for the first time in at least five years), but here’s what speaks to me so far.

I. Reincarnation

This one falls into the “plausibly right” bucket. Conditional on time being infinite in both directions, you, dear reader, have near certain anthropic evidence that you’ve been reincarnated an infinite number of times in the past, and will be reincarnated an infinite number of times in the future. Such was proved by Michael Huemer in his recent Nous article, Existence is Evidence of Immortality.

For the proof to work, you need three assumptions:

1. You exist now.

2. Time is infinite in both directions.

3. There is a non-zero epistemic probability that some theory of personal identity is true on which you could be infinitely reincarnated.

From these, you get the fun result that—with probability 1.—you’ve been reincarnated an infinite number of times, and will be reincarnated an infinite number of times in the future.

Why? Here’s the quick an dirty version: if time is infinite in both directions, you exist now, but your existence isn’t repeated across infinite lifetimes, the probability you’d exist now would be 0, since—given infinite time—you’d either have already occurred in the past, with probability 1 (after which point you couldn’t occur again, given the assumption that you are non-repeatable), or you’d never occur at all. Either way, the probability you’d exist now would be 0. But you do exist now. Hence, you must’ve existed across infinite lifetimes.

Why think you exist now? Well, because you obviously exist now. You might worry that affirming “I exist now” commits one to this or that controversial theory of personal identity. But that’s not so at all: pick any theory of personal identity you like, and you’ll still get the result that you exist now. (Even reductionist, no-self Buddhist views on which there is no permanent, unchanging core of selfhood will have to say something about how you can affirm indexical like “I exist” in evidence-gathering, since sometimes our evidence is indexical. Whatever they say generally, they can say here.)

Why think time is infinite? Huemer’s argument is simple: (i) it’s intuitive that time is infinite, and (ii) there are no good reasons for thinking it’s finite. I’m not sure on (ii), but I share Huemer’s intuition about (i). Since intuitive seemings—like all seemings—give us prima facie justification for beliefs in the absence of counterevidence, then should there turn out to be no good argument for the finitude of the past, we are (or at least: I am) justified in thinking time is infinite. Why is it intuitive that time is infinite? Well, as Huemer writes:

[T]he idea of a beginning of time seems to me metaphysically impossible in a manner similar to that of an edge of space. For any location in space, it makes sense to ask what is, for example, one meter to the left of it (even if the answer is that nothing is there). If there were an edge of space, what would happen if you approached it and tried to gaze past the edge? When we try to imagine this, we find ourselves trying to imagine a place where there is no space, which is of course impossible. The idea of a bounded space is perfectly mathematically consistent; it simply does not seem that Space, that is, all of space, could have this structure.

Similarly, for any moment in time, it makes sense to ask what happened, say, one minute before (even if the answer is that nothing happened). If there were a beginning of time, it would have to somehow not make sense to ask what happened before that time. When we try to conceive of the beginning, we find ourselves trying to imagine time coming into existence. But time could not have come into existence, because a thing’s coming into existence implies a time when the thing does not exist, followed by a time when the thing exists. Of course there could not have been a time when time did not exist. Sometimes it is suggested that God, existing outside time, created time. But even God could not do this, because any act of creation – or any other action or event – presupposes a time at which the act or event may take place. One can identify, of course, a consistent mathematical structure containing a first time; it just does not seem that Time, that is, all of time, could have this structure.

Finally: why think there’s a non-zero epistemic probability that some theory of personal identity? Because there are a number of theories of personal identity—believed by smart philosophers, who give arguments to back them up—on which reincarnation makes sense. Examples include: the theory that we’re immaterial souls, the theory psychological continuity grounds personal identity over time, and the theory that persons are gappy spacetime worms. As long as you’re not 100% sure that all of these theories are false, which no one should ever be, you have to allow a non-zero epistemic probability that you could be reincarnated.

Putting the pieces together, there’s a decent argument for the view that you’ve been reincarnated infinitely many times, and will be reincarnated infinitely many times in the future.

Along one dimension, Huemerian reincarnation doesn’t mesh well with Hindu theology: according to Hinduism, the utmost aim of our lives is moksha, or liberation—liberation, that is, from the cycle of rebirth. If moksha is taken to be final, then given Huemer’s proof, we can deduce with probability 1 that we’ll never attain it, since, with probability 1, we’ll keep reincarnating forever and ever and ever.

The best move here is to revise moksha a bit: Maybe we’ll never escape the cycle of rebirth permanently, but maybe we will escape it for ridiculously long periods of time—times so long they might justly be thought of as ‘eternities’. I have no idea if any Hindu thinkers have thought this, but it doesn’t seem to do do violence to the concept too much, such that the revision puts moksha beyond recognition.

II. Karma

Conditional on theism, and we have good reasons to be theists, prior probability of God laying down a karmic law is fairly high. (The law might be identified with God’s actions, or be something God puts in place and lets run—either way, it doesn’t matter much.)

Why? Well, if you believe in desert—a word which here means: the ethical doctrine that its intrinsically good for wrongdoers to be harmed in proportion to their wrongdoing or vice, and intrinsically good for do-gooders to be benefited in proportion to their virtue or good deeds—then since, given God’s other goals (soul-building, the permission of morally significant free-will, etc.), he might not be able to satisfy the demands of desert in this life, we’d expect him to satisfy demands of desert in the next life. Hence, karma.

And if Huemer’s argument for reincarnation is right, we have infinitely many lifetimes ahead of us, meaning if it’s not convenient for God to give us our due in the next life, he could hold off and give us what we’re due in the life after that.

I take it most Hindus think we’re going to get our karma sooner rather than later, such that we have more reason to expect bad karma for the evil we did in this life in the next life rather than, say, a billion lives on. Is there any reason to expect this on theism? I think so: after all, God—omnirational as he is—is not a procrastinator. Hence, if there were ever a lifetime where God could be satisfying the demands of desert, had no countervailing reasons not to, but didn’t, he’d be slacking; failing to do the very best he can. But God is the very best. Hence, on theism, you’re more likely to get your just deserts sooner rather than later, since the more lifetimes God waited, the more probable it would be that he would’ve had an opening to give us what we deserve, without needing to sacrifice anything of equal or greater importance.

Now, there are some serious philosophical worries with the view I just sketched. (I’ll probably discuss those worries in later posts.) Until then, though, the simple case for karma is at least prima facie plausible.

III. Religious Experience/Common Consent

Here are two much-discussed lines of evidence for theism:

1. Religious experiences. An enormous number of sincere and sane people report having experiences where it seems to them they’re experiencing a divine being. Since we’re prima facie justified is believing what seems to us to be the case, many of these people are prima facie justified in believing in a divine being. But even if you’ve never had a religious experience yourself, the fact that many sincere and sane people report having them is evidence for a divine being, just as the fact that many sincere and sane people report a ringing in their ears in evidence for tinnitus.

2. Common consent. As discussed above, if lots of people believe something, that’s evidence that it’s true. Since most of the world believes in a divine being, that’s trivially some evidence for a divine being.

The trouble begins when people trying to use these arguments in support of Anselmian Monotheism, or on behalf of an exclusivist religious tradition. Many religious experiences are reported as being as of not just an Anselmian God, but as of limited, minor deities, or nature spirits. The most straightforward interpretation of this evidence is that it best supports a fusion of Anselmian Monotheism and polytheism about lesser deities. This is exactly what Hinduism gives you, unlike most other religions, which hold either that there’s (i) one God, (ii) many gods, or (iii) no God/gods at all.

The same goes for common consent: most people in the world either believe in God, gods, or—in the case of Hinduism—God and gods. Hinduism hoovers up this common consent data more naturally than any other world religion: it predicts that there is a God, a plurality of gods, and isn’t an exclusivist religion (traditionally understood), meaning it predicts that Muslims, Christians, Jews, and Mormons would genuinely come into contact with the divine during their devotional practices.

It also hoovers up the common consent data in its strongest form. For almost any proposition, common consent evidence is at its strongest where the belief commonly consented to was arrived at independently, by groups who had no contact with one another. This makes the common consent argument, say, for the Abrahamic God, and that God alone, especially weak, since widespread belief in the Abrahamic God is traceable back to the same historical root. In contrast, Hinduism is supported by widespread theistic, polytheistic, and animistic belief, much of which did arise independently in separate communities.

IV. Simplicity

You might worry, with all this talk of polytheism, whether Hinduism is an unparsimonious theory of reality. This is a common worry, but I think it’s misplaced. Plausibly, what matters for evaluating ontological simplicity isn’t the number of new entities a theory posits, but the number of explanatorily fundamental entities. Since, on Hinduism, gods like Sita, Devi, Siva and the like are emanations or incarnations of Brahman—the God with a capital ‘G’—Hinduism is no less simple at the fundamental level than Judaism and Islam, and possibly simpler than Christianity, since the Christian God is trinitarian.

V. Vegetarianism

Not all Hindus are vegetarian, but about 4 in 10 Hindus in India are, and 8 in 10 place some restriction on meat in their diets. Hindu scriptures praise vegetarianism, and it’s a plausible practical entailment of ahimsa, the ethical doctrine of non-violence and compassion towards all beings. Since ethical vegetarianism is correct, this is a mark in favour of Hinduism, since the more plausible ethical views a religion endorses, the more likely it is that God revealed it, since God—being omniscient—has all-true moral beliefs, and you’d expect him, if he did communicate with us at any point, to communicate the most important of those to us.

VI. Theism

Theism—the claim that God exists— is probably true; it’s a simple hypothesis, and best predicts the fact that you’d exist in particular, psychophysical harmony, nomological harmony, and a prior knowledge of moral truths. That Hinduism is right on God’s existence—or so I claim—sets it apart from other Eastern traditions that deny God’s existence outright or stay neutral on the subject.

VII. Pre-existence

If reincarnation occurs, then each of us pre-existed our earthly lives. But if we pre-existed our earthly lives, then we could have consented to God allowing us to suffer the evils we suffer for the sake of greater goods. (As I’ve argued elsewhere, pre-existence is probably essential to any good theodicy). This gives Hinduism a leg-up over Christianity which, while not incompatible with pre-existence, doesn’t have a pre-existence doctrine at the core of its tradition, or even on the periphery.

VIII. Ritualism

In “Confucianism and the Liturgy: An Analectical Argument for the High Church Traditions”, Tyler McNabb and Joseph Blado argue that—given the centrality of ritual to human nature, its contribution to social cohesiveness, and its positive effects on human virtue—you’d expect to some degree, from the armchair, that whichever religion God revealed would be highly ritualistic. Since Hinduism is highly ritualistic—more so than many other religious traditions—that’s an evidential chip in favour of Hinduism. I find this argument fairly convincing.

IX. Fantastical Stories

The Hindu tradition is awash with stories about the gods, creation, etc. Many that I’ve heard sound very made up. I don’t think this is a huge problem though. If I were a Hindu, I’d be a religious fictionalist about these stories. A religious fictionalist—on some readings of that label—is someone who treats much (or all) religious revelation as literally false, but true according to a fiction they’ve decided to live out. A Hindu religious fictionalist could still literally believe in Brahman, the existence of many gods, reincarnation, karma, etc., but doubt the historicity of the Hindu epics, treating them as instructive and morally probative myths. I imagine this is how many practicing treat these stories anyway.

Also, if you buy the highly convincing anthropic argument for theism—an entailment of which is that God has created every possible person—it’ll turn out to be the case that, in all likelihood, for every Hindu minor deity, there exists a person God has created who is both (a) equal in power to that deity, and (b) has the precise character traits the deity is said to have. Thus, in a sense, even if one is a fictionalist about the biographies and exploits of the Hindu minor deities, it’ll still be true that a counterpart to each of them exists, even if they’re not in the business of interacting with us.

X. Outro

To be clear, I’m not a Hindu, at least not yet. I just started thinking about it five days ago. But from the standpoint of now, I find it pretty plausible. It does better evidentially than many other major religions. I’m going to keep digging into Hindu theology and philosophy over the next few months to see what I find. Maybe I’ll even read some books.