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Triveni Journal

1927 | 11,233,916 words

Triveni is a journal dedicated to ancient Indian culture, history, philosophy, art, spirituality, music and all sorts of literature. Triveni was founded at Madras in 1927 and since that time various authors have donated their creativity in the form of articles, covering many aspects of public life....

Satchidananda Murty

Prof. K. R. Srinivasa Iyengar

SATCHIDANANDA MURTY
Scholar and Administrator

[PadmabhushanProf. K. Satchidananda Murty has distinguished himself in the field of Philosophy. He was Vice­-Chancellor of Sri Venkateswara University and recently retired as Professor of Philosophy, Andhra University. He has the unique distinction of delivering lectures not only in all the important universities of India but also abroad. He has to his credit about a dozen books on Philosophy and allied subjects. He was conferred Hon. D. Litt. by four universities and was the first to get the prestigious B. C. Roy National Award in 1982. He established a Centre for Studies on Peace and Non-violence and also Centre for Human and Social Development, S. V. University, Tirupati. He is Honorary Pro­fessor of Philosophy, Andhra University; Honorary Director, Buddhist Studies Centre, Nagarjuna University; Chairman, Philosophical Congress and National Fellow, Indian Council of Philosophical Research. He took charge as Vice-Chairman of the University Grants Commission very recently.        �Editor]

I am very happy to visit the university again, come particularly to this hall, and most of all to be associated with this function. I have known Professor Satchidananda Murty for a period of thirty-five years, ever since he came to the Andhra University. These thirty five years I can conveniently divide into three phases. The first 17 years from 1949 to 1966, I knew him as a colleague, and I became a friend, though not an intimate friend. Then, during the brief period, 1966-�68, when I was Vice-Chancellor of this university, I requested him to go to Guntur and organise the Post-Graduate Centre as its Special Officer and Principal. Naturally we were thrown closer together in the task of planning and organisation, which was not easy; but to work with him was easy, because he could do the needed thinking and attend to the execution as well.

The remaining 15 years since I left the Andhra University I have met him off and on, and I have followed his career with continued admiration and satisfaction.

But having said this, I must also explain that between him and myself, there were certain gaps. There is, firstly, the genera­tion gap. Sixteen years divided him from me, and sixteen years meant a lot of time. Then there was the subject gap. I was supposed to teach literature, poetry; he was supposed to profess philosophy. Poetry and philosophy do not normally go together, and Matthew Arnold said: “Wordsworth’s poetry is the reality, his philosophy is an illusion.� One might go further and say: “Poetry is the reality and philosophy is the illusion.� It took me sometime, therefore, to build the needed bridges of understanding between Murty’s “philosophy� which was more than philosophy and my “literature� which was also more than literature. Then, again, there is the third gap–the temperamental gap. I am a Tamasic sort of person, quite content to live by myself, quite content to minimise my work for the department, whereas Murty did not accept any such limitation. In the good sense of the term I would say he was Rajasic, he was dynamic, and wanted to do more than he need have done. Even when Murty was but a lecturer, he assumed the responsibilities of a leader of his discipline. For example, he organised the Buddha’s 2500th birthday, got people together, organised seminars, and so on. I would have thought of these activities as needless extras. But he did not think so, and many were the beneficiaries of his dynamism. But in spite of these gaps, the generation gap and the subject gap and the temperamental gap that were there at the beginning, as the years passed, as we met more and more, and as I read his writings and heard his speeches, I could see that there was much in him to cultivate and to admire.

“What do they know of England that only England know?� is an old question. Likewise, what do they know of Philosophy who only philosophy know! You can narrow down the connota­tion of the term philosophy to such an extent that it almost becomes useless. One philosopher may understand another philosopher; even that is not a certainty. But for the rest of mankind, it becomes something futile. But if philosophy is taken in its wider connotation, the universe is the limit, and from the divine to the secular, from the atom to Brahman, everything may be com­prehended in philosophy. Murty was never content with the given syllabus. Most professors would merely grumble, and there an end. But Murty tried to break through the prison-house of the given syllabus. He never asked the question: “It is so nominated in the bond?� To think anew, and change, is not in the bond; why should one do it? People may think of one as a busy body: “Why can’t the man teach his few students, cover one or two papers, and be contented with that!� People might say this but Murty did not mind. And so, at every stage of his association with the department, he did something or other to tone it up. Although the department had distinguished itself from the beginning under the leadership of Professor Saileswar Sen, a very fine and sincere person and a good philosopher, the department did not attract students. Neither did English literature! But though Philosophy did not attract students, at least not in sufficient numbers, and not always of the right quality, Murty did the best he could. And that was what evoked the admiration of people like myself outside the Philosophy Depart­ment. I did not always co-operate with him, and I remember he started an association where teachers were to meet and discuss and think about the serious problems of life. And although he invited me to become a member, I wrote to him excusing myself. This did not prevent him from requesting me to join something else that he initiated. There was thus a certain patience, persistence, faith in what he was doing. Nothing can be done if you have no faith in what you are doing. And so his interests became wide­-ranging. People thought that he was too ambitious, but again without ambition what can you do? There can be an excess of ambition, and again there can by an excess of the lack of ambition. And so, I found him taking interest in all sorts of subjects which did not come strictly within the purview of philosophy as it was viewed in those days. For example, the problem of Peace, the philosophy behind India’s Foreign� Policy, the Philosophy of Mahatma Gandhi, and, of course, Buddhism and so on.

Now in Murty’s career as an administrator there were three phases. A time came when he became Head of the Philosophy Department: a small department, but still a basic department, and a department with its own ground of achievement. As a teacher Murty injected his students with his own enthusiasm, he tried to draw them out to build their character, build their intellect and build their future. I remember how, when I happened to be the Vice-Chancellor, Murty organised a seminar on World Views. I could not give him the money he wanted. And what was worse, the Syndicate made a notional grant, but he was not disappointed. Somehow he collected the money necessary, and the seminar got going. Quite a few scholars came from all over the country, and I not only gave the inaugural address, but attended also some of the other meetings. By organising such seminars, Murty was doing what a Professor should be doing, and what a university teacher should be doing.

And then, there is his work as Special Officer and Principal of the Post-Graduate Centre at Guntur. When I sent for him and asked him whether he would go to Guntur, for I thought he was the proper man for it, he wanted something of a free hand. I said, “Certainly, you have a free hand; if you have a free hand, that would mean I would have less on my hand.� He said he would like to start a course in Asian Philosophies and Religions. That was something at once audacious and imaginative. As Indians, we are not as a rule much bothered about other religions and philosophies. We forget that India has been the home of so many religions and philosophies. But, we ask ourselves–Don’t we have headaches enough? Why should we worry about the rest of Asia? That, too, was my immediate reaction, with my Tamasic nature. But presently I could see that Murty’s proposal was an imaginative, instead ofthe usual repetitive and routine response, something significant and new. I said, “Go ahead, good luck!� and we appointed a committee. And when later the U. G. C. Commission came to Guntur, they had a funny notion that a new Post-Graduate Centre was not necessary unless it did something new. They said: “You have the Andhra University in Waltair: why do you want to have a University Centre in Guntur?� Professor Bhatnagar the mathematician, one of the members, put the question: “What is the new thing that you are going to do? Have you any new speciality in physics or chemistry, or literature, on which you would concentrate in Guntur?� Then Professor Satchidananda Murty promptly said, “We are going to start a department of philosophy with Asian Philosophies and Religions.� The Commissioner probably did not know what this meant, but he was duly impressed. And then I said, “In literature we are going to specialise in Commonwealth Literature.� The Commission was impressed again. Irrespective of the vagaries of University Commissions, the question was a challenge, a challenge to the University Post-Graduate Centre at Guntur with Nagarjuna in the ground; and the idea of specialising in Asian Philosophies and Religions was a fitting answer. That the department did not materialise at once doesn’t in any way diminish the validity of the idea itself. For the rest, during his tenure as Special Officer and Principal, Murty set the Post-Graduate Centre on firm foundations.

The third phase in his administrative career was his 3-year term as Vice-Chancellor of Sri Venkateswara University. I know something about his work there, because I visited the university once or twice in his time, and I found how he filled that Post, the post of Vice-Chancellor of Sri Venkateswara University, with distinction, with a sense of responsibility, and the hallmark of  efficiency. The scholar and the teacher was now a Vice-Chancellor, a capable organiser and administrator as well.

in Andhra University as Professor, he is now a National Fellow, formulating the results of his thinking and presenting his considered views at various centres. Numerousare the subjects on which he has spoken during the last two or three decades. There is a collection, Indian Spirit. I remember it contained a series of seminal essays, not the kind of exercises that are dryly academic, the stereotyped learned stuff from philosophers, but something more relevant, all the sound philosophical scholarship that you can ask for plus something more. It is that plus which gives a certain quality, the quality of dynamism, to the writing. Some years ago, I received fcom him a lecture, a printed brochure, “Philosophy, Development and National Crisis.� That lecture begins with a general review of the present conditions in India. And it asks a pertinent question, it asks the overwhelming question: What has gone wrong with this country? Here is an academic, a philosopher, who cares to pose this question of questions: What has gone wrong? In 1947, we had high hopes in our Swaraj, Poorna Swaraj, although in the midst of the partition. But even after the partition, India was a big country with great leaders. C. R Reddy used to say that the ministry that we had at the Centre in 1947 was the most distinguished which we could have asked for: great patriots, great philosophers, varied in their talents, varied in their brilliance. After 20 years, after 30 years what has happened to this country? Murty asks this question and tentatively presents a plausible diagnosis. After reading his lecture, I wrote to him what an excellent analysis it was of current discontents and how it carried too a hint for the future! I wrote: “You are still young enough to think boldly, you are not afraid to think and you are not afraid to express your views. Can you not put together three or four people, a ‘Club of Rome� for India, who without asking themselves, whether what they say is going to be heard or not, will give anxious thought to the maladies India suffers from. This club should ask the one crucial question: “What is wrong with this country?�. When freedom came, Vallabhbhai Patel and Nehru were there; and many other eminent people. In no country you could have found at that time such a galaxy of leaders; and yet what has gone wrong? The Five-Year Plans; the Sixth Five ­Year Plan, the Seventh Five-Year Plan � yet what has gone, wrong? Something has gone wrong. A man is healthy, and suddenly everything is wrong. Sometimes the doctor is able to locate the disease and prescribe the cure: he may say, “Don’t eat mangoes� don’t smoke, and you will be all right.� Let a small group, with­out any vested interests, study the national malady and prescribe the cure. And I wanted Murty to take a lead in the matter. I thought he was the right man to do it, for he thinks boldly and expresses himself with clarity.
Again, in 1970, we were called to be together for a few days in the salubrious atmosphere of Simla, as guests of the Indian Institute of Advanced Study. I had gone there to participate in a Seminar. My friend, Dr. Suniti Kumar Chatterjee, was there, and Professor Murty was also there as Visiting Professor. He was to deliver a course of six lectures, and his subject was “The Realm of Between.� I believe that I took the Chair on the first day, and Professor Chatterjee took the Chair the next day. Professor Chatterjee said that in Murty’s speeches there was philosophy that he could understand. Philosophy is supposed to be a kind of abracadabra, impressive but understandable. But everything that Dr. Satchidananda Murty said could be understood. Not that it was commonplace; but he wore his learning lightly. I looked into the book recently, and was astonished by the range of references and citations, not from philosophy alone, not from Sanskrit texts alone, but also from European classics, from Sri Aurobindo, not only from Sri Aurobindo’s philosophy but from Sri Aurobindo’s Savitrias well. Poetry indeed figures very often in Murty’s writings. And for six days at Simla, we students of literature regularly attended Murty’s lectures, talked about them and felt grateful.

More recently, he came to Madras, and gave two lectures on the Mahabharata at the Sanskrit Academy, Mylapore. How are you going to cover the entire Mahabharata in just two lectures? That was the question I asked him. “You should have taken just one section out of the Mahabharata and gone into it with exhaustive detail, say Yaksha Prasna!� But he was not afraid to take the whole of the Mahabharata in his stride. He didn’t want to think that the Himalayas of the Mahabharata lacked centrality. But asked to give only two lectures on the Mahabharata, how was Murty going to make them worthwhile and relevant to the people? Anything can sidetrack you � Kunti can sidetrack you � ­Gandbari can sidetrack you � anyone of the great characters can sidetrack you. And if you started with the Bhagavad Gita, you could go on and on talking till the end of time. But Murty came with notes; he spoke extempore but he had notes, and he had jotted down the Sanskrit quotations. I should have reminded you earlier that he is a profound Sanskritist, which is a very necessary qualification for a philosopher anywhere and certainly for a philosopher in this country. Then, at the end of the two days, I found with what admirable simplicity, sufficiency, clarity, and mastery he had presented the whole problem. On the first day he spoke about the problem of Dharma; on the second day, he spoke about Moksha. The problems of Dharma and Moksha as they are presented with elaboration and complexity, seeming contradiction and clinching finality, in the multiverse; Mahabharata! He talked with perfect mastery, with occasional humorous sallies, but all within measure. And in Mylapore, you do have a critical audience of Sanskritists and critical scholars. They are not easily satisfied. But I could see them listening to him, following him step by step, and admiring him. Dharma � what is Dharma? Everybody talks about Dharma. This is my Dharma, that is your Dharma; the tyrant talks of his Dharma; the defector talks of his greater Dharma. Now in such a world, where Dharma is almost anything that you wanted it to mean, Murty moved with a sure sense of certainty and sense of direction. He walked warily, and took the hearers with him. One could understand it all, the main definition and the needed qualifications. On the second day, the theme was Moksha, and he spoke with the same self-­assurance. Later, I met some of the Mylapore people and everyone told me that Murty’s two lectures on the Mahabharata were the best in the series. Every year some eminent scholar comes to give two lectures on the Mahabharata, and I have also heard some in the series. Several told me that Murty’s two lectures were the best, and I wrote to him too at that time: Could he not write out the lectures and publish them?

Lastly, after leaving Sri Venkateswara University and taking residence again in the Andhra University, Murty has turned more exhaustively to the multitudinous immensities of Buddhism. His interest in Asian Philosophies and Religions had not exhausted itself when he left Guntur. By a strange coincidence, I was also interested in the subject and I was most, gratified to find that he was exploring the highways and byways of Buddhist thought. He is the author of a standard little book on Nagarjuna which unfortunately I have not yet read. But I have read some of his writings: the lectures he gave on Buddhist Thought in Andhra Pradesh, for example, and the articles he wrote in Swatantra. These revealed the intensity of his adhesion to the Buddhist thought. In other countries, people call themselves philosophers but they restrict themselves to narrower and narrower grooves. In India, Philosophy only too often means Hindu philosophy; Hindu philosophy means Vedanta; Vedanta means Advaita; Advaita means Sankara; and Sankara means one of Professor T. M. P. Mahadevan’s books. And so on, we are apt to reduce the view with such drastic thoroughness that it becomes reductio ad absurdum. I may be a Vaishnava. But India has been the home of so many philosophies, and it was only when I read something in the “Gandavyuha Sutra� and a few other Buddhist classics that I found what an immensity of knowledge and speculation and divination I had been missing. Professor Satchidananda Murty has very gallantly, very appropriately, very successfully made good use of his time and opportunities, and we should be most grateful to him. And it culminated in the recent International Conference on “Buddhism and National Cultures� of which he was Director.

In short, Satchidananda Murty is a professor with a difference. An Englishman came to a college where I was teaching some decades ago, and asked one of my colleagues: Are you one of the innumerable professors of English in this country? But Murty is not just one of the innumerable professors. I think there are 20,000 professors in our country. There are professors and professors and professors. Murty was a professor even when he was not formally a professor. And now that he has retired, I should imagine his work and worth become greater still. Many feel shattered when they retire. But for men like Murty, the whole world is their field of study. I am sure he will be more active now than ever before. As Browning said “Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be.�

Life begins at sixty, somebody said; I think life begins at 65 or 75. One is old only when one ceases to grow. I have no doubt that Professor Satchidananda Murty, even in the years to come would be active as ever. I have known certain professors in their fortieth year. I knew what they did. In the sixtieth year I knew what they did. They continued to set question papers; continued to seal the answer books, continued to grumble because the money paid was too low. And even at 75 or 80 they are doing the same thing. They refuse to grow. But Professor Satchidananda Murty is not like that. I wish him well. As I am older by a few years, assuming the privilege which is given to older people in this country, I give him my best wishes and, I am sure, the years will see more and more of his distinguished work in philosophy, in the humanities, and in the whole field of knowledge.

(From tape-record of a speech on 27-10-84 at the Andhra University)

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