On May 17 of this year, I wrote my first post for this blog, and precisely eighty days later, on August 4, on this very post, I will have finished writing my first 100,000 words for any single project. At the outset, I must state that the original mission of the blog — to be a running journal for my thoughts — has been modified. It contains few knee-jerk reactions, but more of the passing thoughts of a scholar. My sole digression — the interest in Indic religion and the search for a political ethic and understanding of politics in Indian texts was limited to one, but the blog provided an avenue for the understanding of what it means to be doing political philosophy as a career and vocation and less as an academic burden. The topics it has addressed are wide-ranging; they are extensive only because I cannot keep myself placated with a minor feat of learning but am animated by the desire to continuously learn more. In these eighty days, I have had many crises of faith, some of which have found their way on its blog; I have remembered, forgotten, and then channelled some of my passion into a more regular form of learning and understanding; I have read beyond my wildest dreams, and yet, for some reason, I find the need to know more. It is a compulsive desire to know — but also to remember, to write for friends and fellow travellers on my academic journey — that has guided this blog [and a love for Chicago-style full notes]. Thus, I venture to offer a few thoughts, more supported by the brunt of my experience than by other sources of knowledge.

The first is that the humanities are consciously in need of vitalisation. The study of the human condition — of which an essential part is played by political philosophy — constantly requires those who are capable of defending it against the onslaught of abject cynicism and denial. The history of thought — whether it is Indian or Western — is some form of eternal cycle. Intellectual trends make their appearance everywhere. There will always be there who support the status quo, those who are contrarians, and more who simply do not care about the effects of their actions on man. There are those who seek to make hay while the sun shines, and those who seek to write about hay before confining it to the flames. But hay is, more or less, the same everywhere, and this lesson must comport to man as much as it does to the flora and fauna he is surrounded with. To suppose that cultural differences make earth-shattering impacts on questions we ought to examine is to clad those questions in a relativist coat. The right way to conduct oneself, exchange gifts, or write changes very little from place to place. There will always be a surface-level analysis that will emphasise the differences between times and places and peoples and cultures, but once you look closely and carefully, you will be faced with the certainty of knowing things. The vitalisation is a recognition of the humanities’ central role in our lives. We are faced with the prospect of anomie, and yet, we persevere not because we yearn for something outside of ourselves, but for what is within each one of us and is common to all: our humanity.

The second is the importance of doubt. No position must be held so dogmatically that it be unassailable or immune from any form of questioning. And it is precisely doubt that has shifted the goalposts: it is possible to defend a variety of seemingly orthodox positions even if one doubts the standard manner of their defence. Such things may include nomocratic governance, human imperfection, and of the central Shakespearean dilemma: that the study of man is not the study of a machine, but rather the study of a highly complex being who is more attuned to error than to perfection, but even so has managed to fundamentally change the world. Even for someone who is so deeply cynical of progress, such as myself, I am amazed at what man has achieved so far. It is a deep-seated doubt in man’s capabilities that creates the sense of wonder so necessary for philosophy.

The third is related to the first and the second: why should we study the ancients, the classical, the canonical? We study these works because they give expression to human understanding. Because man is the same everywhere, what happened once somewhere is liable to happen again, even if we manage to remember what happened the last time someone attempted a certain action. Studying these canonical and classical texts is a reminder that we can never progress beyond that which we have already progressed, that the moral dilemmas and ethical conundrums that cause many an existential crises are not new, but merely rehashed ones from the years gone by. It is humbling to know this. We are not alone in our journeys, throttling through life, sometimes groping around in the dark. But there is the prospect of light, and while one must necessarily doubt, one must also think about essential similarities. Doubt must never give in to nihilism. Scepticism does not automatically lead to denial. But negligence and egotism is the highway to living hell, to existential despair with a ready solution.

There is, I hope, much for me to write. As I go forward, I will complete the remainder of my independent research fellowship on the subject of the moral economy, work to write my GREs, a suitable application essay and writing for programmes for graduate study, and hopefully graduate from Dartmouth and matriculation into a rigorous graduate programme. It is the prospect of further knowledge that animates me. Writing my first 100,000 words only confirms that sense of calling and heightens how invested I am in my academic work, but it is also a call to action to myself.

For those reading, good night, and good luck!