Anyone might think ontology and epistemology are heavy terms, but it’s worth noting that they function like a bass-line in a song. You may not notice them, but the music falls apart without them.
By Dhiren A. Sadokpam
Let me start with a confession: I’m no philosopher but a lesser known journalist without state accreditation. But life has a funny way of thrusting you into conversations that demand philosophical muscle. A few days ago, a friend—an assistant professor at a central university—called me, rattled. He needed books on social science research methodology. Easy enough, I thought, and sent him a list. But then he called again, this time with a question that caught me off guard: “What do Ontology and Epistemology even have to do with research? Aren’t they just abstract philosophy?”
His tone made it sound like he was asking about two rival gods. I chuckled, but then realized—he genuinely saw them as separate realms. That was when I knew I had to dig into my own messy, personal history with these ideas to explain why they are inseparable from the very act of asking questions.
The Day I Met Epistemology (Thanks to Ayn Rand and a Bunch of Leftist Students)
Back in my Delhi days (between 1990 and 1995), I was a sociology student surrounded by a fiercely political peer group. Half of them were members of hard-core left student organizations. Imagine this: a room full of Marxists, debating late into the night, their walls plastered with Che Guevara posters. And there I was, clutching Ayn Rand’s Introduction to Objectivist Epistemology—a book they had sooner use as kindling than read.
Yet, paradoxically, they were the ones who pushed me to critique Rand. “Read her,” they would say, “then tear her arguments apart.” It was like being handed a grenade and told to study its mechanics before tossing it back. That book, with its icy confidence in reason and reality, became my gateway to epistemology. I did not agree with Rand’s politics, but her questions stuck: “How do we know what we know? What makes knowledge valid?”
Years later, I was recommended two books by Richard Feynman—Surely You’re Joking, Mr. Feynman! (1985) and The Pleasure of Finding Things Out: The Best Short Works of Richard P. Feynman (1999). Feynman’s playful obsession with the nature of reality—whether electrons “exist” or are just useful fictions—felt like ontology in action. Here, was a physicist asking, “What is real?” while my sociology peers in Delhi asked, “Whose reality?” The tension between these questions haunted me.
My (Very Imperfect) Understanding
When my friend asked about ontology and epistemology, I did not recite textbook definitions. Instead, I shared how I had come to see or understand them:
Ontology is the skeleton of reality. It is the question you ask when you stare at the night sky: “Is what I’m seeing truly out there, or is it a story we have agreed to tell?” For some, reality is a fixed structure (think gravity); for others, it is clay moulded by culture, power, or even trauma.
Epistemology is the toolkit for digging into that reality. It is the “how” behind the “what.” Do we trust numbers? Stories? The ache in our heads?
But here is the kicker: They are twins, not rivals. Your belief about reality (ontology) dictates how you will investigate it (epistemology). Here are some stories that would help understand the twins.
- The Physicist and the Tribal Elder
Imagine a physicist studying quantum particles. She may assume reality operates by immutable laws (realist ontology), so she runs experiments, collects data—positivist epistemology. Now, picture an anthropologist living with a member of an economically and culturally marginalized community in the mountainous region of India’s Northeast. To him, reality is woven through shared myths and rituals (constructivist ontology), so he learns by listening, participating, interpreting. Both are “true,” but their tools depend on their starting assumptions.
- The Activist-Scholar’s Dilemma
Years ago, I had a fried who was a PhD candidate of Sociology at a University in Delhi. He had worked on caste violence and believed reality was shaped by oppressive systems (critical ontology). So, his epistemology was not about neutrality—it was about amplifying marginalized voices to dismantle those systems. Knowledge, for him, was a weapon for change.
- My Chaotic Hybrid Phase
During a phase in my life when I was doing a research for a New Delhi based German foundation that was part of the Green political movement, I tried merging surveys (quantitative) with personal diaries (qualitative) in a project. One of my (un)official advisors raised an eyebrow: “Are you a pragmatist or just confused?” I realized then that mixing methods is not about throwing holy water at the wall—it’s about aligning your very personal philosophical foundations.
A Decision That Changed Nothing (And Everything)
Anyone may think Ontology and Epistemology are heavy terms. But one should note that both are like the bass-line in a song. You do not notice it, but the music falls apart without it. That is the takeaway, really, if I do not need to explain what does bass-line in a song or instrumental music means. Whether you are a physicist, a novelist, an academic or an activist, your work rests on these foundations. You do not have to wear a philosopher’s hat, but you cannot hide from the questions:
What’s real? How do I know?
For me, embracing this was not academic—it was survival, not in the sense of getting a job at a university. It let me critique Rand without dismissing her, respect Feynman while questioning his “objectivity,” and finally, years later, write this rambling, personal ode to the bones beneath the skin of research.
So here is my challenge to my friends and foes: Next time you design a study, write a report, or even argue politics at a bar, ask yourself—What is my bass-line? The answer might just change the song. Definitely.
(Dhiren A. Sadokpam is the Editor-in-Chief of The Frontier Manipur)