The Dhvanyāloka of Ānandavardhana with the Locana of Abhinavagupta
Until he is filled with this rasa
The poet does not spill it forth.
In this weeks discussion of Indian poetic aesthetics two terms predominated the readings, that of rasa and dhavani. Rasa being essentially the ultimate purpose of poetry and dhavani the method by which this is achieved. To give some background and highlight some of the discussion....
In the analysis of the achievement of a great poem there are fundamentally three aspects, the poets creative inspiration, the result in the form of the words of the poem itself and the effect upon the receiver of the poem, the reader. In the theory of Indian poetics there emerged two great authors Anandavardhana, a Kashmir author of the 9th century and Abhinavagupta, another Kashmiri philosopher who wrote a commentary on Ananda's treatise in the 10th century. In their theories of Indian poetics a central purpose was to distinguish, define and analyze what constitutes a superb poem.
Without any question this is an elusive pursuit however there are a few direct statements that define the view of these authors. The early authors of this subject Bhamaha and Dandin outlined and defined alankara, figures of speech used in poetry, the good and bad qualities in writing poetry and remarked on various styles ritis. Their analysis of various qualities such as sweetness madhurya focused primarily on formal arrangements of words in achieving effects which was summarized as "style is the soul of poetry". However, it was with the writings of Anandavardhana and Abhinavagupta (with some credit due to the lost works of Udbhata) that the Bharata's doctrine of the rasas, the flavours or moods of a theatrical piece was introduced into a general theory of literature and through which this analysis of what constitutes excellence in poetry could be explored and the new paradigm of "the doctrine that the beauty of particular words depends on the rasa that the author wishes to achieve" and that rasa, not style that is the soul of poetry.
With Ananda what Bharata had introduced, the importance of rasa, Ananda made paramount. It is the two concepts of dhavani (suggestion) and rasa (flavor) that comprise the two main building blocks of Ananda's theory of poetics. Dhavani falls into the area of the discussion of meaning in poetry into which there are two main catgories, direct meaning (abhida) and inferred meaning (laksana). Suggestion itself is further subdivided into that which shifts to something else (arthantarasankramita) an example of which Ananda cites from the Ramayana by Valmiki, the first poet:
The sun has stolen our affection for the moon,
Whose circle now is dull with frost,
And like a mirror blinded by one's breath
Shines no more.
In this example "blinded" qualities of an animate creature to an inanimate object, the moon embuing it with various other qualities such as loss of beauty. An even greater form of suggestion (vivaksitanyaparavacya) is that which reveals the ultimate purpose of poetry the leading to the potential for the experience of rasa by the reader.
Rasa is defined as juice, flavor, taste. In terms of a play or poem, it is the mood that characterizes the piece. These have been described as eight kinds (with the 9th peace santa added by Ananda) as the erotic (srngara), the comic (hasya), the tragic (karuna) the furious or cruel (raudra), the heroic (vira), the fearsome or timorous (bhyanaka), the gruesome or loathsome (bibhatsa) and the wonderous (abhuta). These moods are based on human emotions, of which Ananda did not elaborate but the discussion was taken up by his commentator Abhinava. The Rasasutra explains that rasa is produced by the combination of the determinates (vibhavas), the consequents (anubhavas) and the temporary or transitory state of mind (vyabhicarinah). The determinates are the object towards the emotion is focused (such as the lovers in erotic rasa), the determinates are the setting or conditions (such as a springtime garden in which we find the lovers). The consequents are the subsequent characteristics (such as the twirling of the bracelet by the young shy girl or sidelong glances of the lovers). The transitory mind is states such as jealousy, discouragement and the secondary involuntary states such as trembling.
In the exposition by Ananda these elements are explained as experienced by both the poet who forms them into the expression in words and the sensitive reader who responds from the heart. Ananda conceives this rasa to abide in the character invented by the poet or in the poet himself as well as in the audience. As for the poet himself, it is when he is under such a heightened state of emotion as rasa that he becomes capable of writing the suggestive poetry that will transfer this rasa to his hearers/readers. He has the inspiration needed to produce poetry that is enlived by suggested meanings. For example the first poet Valmiki was so saddened by the wailing of the curlew bird who had lost its mate that Valmiki's grief was transformed into the tragic rasa of the Ramayana (p 18 intro).
Ananda maintained that rasa could not be directly expressed but is dependent upon suggestion (dhavani). It is through suggestion (dhavani) that rasa arises (rasadhavani). Beauty of poetry by which the reader is delighted, the flavor (rasa) comes through the judgment of the heart and although this may be elusive, it may be defined and clarified as arising through specific qualities and elements.
For example in the expression " Only when flavoured by the rays of the sun are lotuses lotuses." Implies that with the light of the sun on the lotus the full beauty of the object becomes evident. The words then become enveloped in an emotional atmosphere that moves the meaning from a literal sense to an evocative sense of implied beauty that when felt through the refined sensibility of the reader becomes a joyous experience the true purpose of poetry "the bliss [which arises] in the hearts of sensitive readers". (p 68)
Where the poet and the reader connect is as Abhinava defines literary sensitivity (sahrdayatva) as the faculty of entering into identity with the heart of the poet ( p 72). In Abhinavas theory vastudhavani and alankaradhavani are merely parts of poetry being superior to direct designation but not being the real soul of poetry, which is rasachavani.
To create poetry that reaches a point of excellence it was considered that there must be appropriate matching of the emotions, the determinants and the consequents for the rasa to arise. The other attributes of poetry such as alamkara figures of speech support were secondary but contribute to the strengthening of the experience of rasa. What Ananda proposed, Abhinava elaborated and clarified. In only one major point did Abhinava differ from Ananda and that is discussion of the emotion of the poet. This interesting difference is that were Ananda viewed the melting of experience in the poet and outflowing of this empathy as inspired poetic form in words this role of the poet was defined by Abhinava as a more impersonal and generalized state of creative intercessor in the removal of the author from the emotion and sympathy of the experience into a position of a more impersonal observer expressing human experience in poetry as an intermediary and in this point his views differ from that of the rasa theory as proposed by Ananda.
These blog comments express only a small portion of the interesting reading we had this week but perhaps one of the aspects I enjoyed most was the respect and reverence the writers of Indian aesthetics confer to the sensitivity (sahrdayatva) of the heart of the reader a most subtle and refined analysis of the transformative quality of poetry.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
The Suggestive Power of Language
Hey Mr. Tambourine man play a song for me
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you.
Though I know that evening’s empire has returned into sand
Vanished from my hand
Left me blindly here to stand
But still not sleeping.
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you.
Though I know that evening’s empire has returned into sand
Vanished from my hand
Left me blindly here to stand
But still not sleeping.
~Mr. Tambourine Man, Bob Dylan
Dylan the poet versus Dylan the recording artist shaped this song, many speculate, to sound like it’s saying one thing while it’s actually saying something quite different. The particular song has become, in pop culture, a mythical drug-referencing poem. A Rasa for the Woodstock generation, one might say! I begin with this reference not only because I’m a Dylan fanatic but because it was important for me to culturally contextualize the concepts about which I was reading for this week’s class. It is only through the lenses that I wear that I can hope to interpret any incoming information!
Seeing as how I am desperately late in the posting of this blog, I will focus entirely on the Raja article, and be prepared to discuss the Dhvanyaloka articles in class. I felt that there was enough meat to the Raja article that I could sufficiently provide some fodder in one blog post without embarking on the epic adventures that Raj and Jackie seem to have taken! So here goes…
Mimamsaka-s and Naiyayika-s – the original developers of literary theories in India – cannot say that, according to Raja, that the literal meanings of words induce the emotions that language often provokes. Nay. Rather, these emotions are nursed out by what lies around, between and under these literal words. This Raja calls the “suggestive power [of] language” (Raja, 281). This suggestive power (vyanjana) is what Anandavardhana extrapolated upon in the Dhvanyaloka, albeit the work focuses mainly on poetic composition rather than all of language. His (Anandavardhana’s) inspiration for this dissertation came from another great literary theorist – Bhartrhari, who developed the sphota doctrine, which emphasized the importance of the whole utterance, rather than a singular, as one unit of language (Raja, 277).
What vyanjana is to linguistics, dhvani is to poetry. This is the foundation of Anandavardhana’s theory of poetic suggestion. Raja mentions that just as “the sound of utterances reveal integral linguistic” (283) similarly the sound in combination with the literal sense makes a good poem. This marriage of sound and sense is what draws out the true aesthetic value of poetry. One might even call this the flavour of the poetry – the Rasa! Indeed as Anandavardhana says, the integral function of the singular words when in the form of poetry is to aid in the development of Rasa (Raja, 307).
Criticism of the dhvani theory, to my understanding, comes from the fact that it tries to tackle too large a portion of language and the way in which it behaves in different situations. Furthermore, it is difficult to express and comprehend how a theory of linguistics could fathom entrance into the emotive and psychological realm. To which, my response is to point to the Dylan song that I quoted at the beginning of this post. No, there may not be a theory to explain why the song resounds with college students, criminals, and everyone in between…however, for some inexplicable reason, it does. Its meaning means something, even though its words are saying something else.
Discussion of the Dhvani-Rasa Theory
In Indian Theories of Meaning, Kunjunni Raja outlines most of the issues under discussion in Anandavardhana’s Dhvanyaloka. A lot of attention is given to poets like Ananda who aim to look at poetry beyond its literal limits. Unlike the mimamsa’s that are concerned with structural, grammatical and stylistic arrangements of poetry, Ananda and reaches beyond this into a secondary meaning or purpose (dhvani). This week’s reading was concerned with the understanding of dhvani and the rasa theory. Most discussion went into the complications of this theory. Raja outlines that, “the formal or intellectual, imaginative and emotional elements of a poem blend into a predominant sentiment, and making a simultaneous appeal awakens the reader…” (289) In this explanation Raja explains the coming together of rasa and dhvani illustrated in the works of Abhinavagupta. He shows that dhvani which is when the power of the imagination realizes the suggested meaning is felt through the blending of moods or emotions, then rasa is manifested. This is of course just a brief summary of the themes outlined in the dense readings done this week. (Taking into mind that we all did the readings I will not get into the technicality of what these terms mean)
Within these readings there are just a couple of ideas that captured my attention. The first issue that was brought up in the first chapter of the dhvanyaloka readings is this complication of defining dhvani. Ananda illustrates that, “there is no such thing as dhvani distinct from the figures and qualities.” (55) Through this expression dhvani becomes non-existent because to say figures and qualities is to say dhvani and vice versa. However, within this part of the book, Ananda expresses that “all figures and qualities are present with their associated meanings” and if a meaning or quality does not exist it becomes irrelevant to the poet. In this regards in order for dhvani to exist, there is a secondary meaning. I think that even though words whether they are in Sanskrit or not, imply different meanings dependent on the context they are put into. However, with the complexity of translations or figuring out the meanings of words, one could see how the dhvani theory can be problematic. This is because grouping words together to suggest an implied meaning, is not only required for the poetic master, but also can become inaccessible to audiences who are not poetic specialists.
More precisely, because the dhvani theory is used by experts and as Raja puts it, “only men of equal scholarship and literary taste can fully appreciate their poems. This leads one to believe that these poems then are created only for the enjoyment of poets and men alike. In this regard, audiences cannot enjoy the poem or artwork on the same level as the poet or characters of the play. For example, specialists whether they are magicians, mathematicians, or architects will have a different understanding of their specialties than those who share no common ground with them. In this light, the meanings that they would associate with different things would parallel the meanings that others would extract from similar situations.
Keeping this in mind, once different meanings are given, it only makes sense to say that different emotions and feelings/moods arise in audiences who are not poets or poetic masters. Having said this, the rasa theory then is undermined since the audiences would not be able to experience the same moods as the poet or characters intends. However, if I was to just undermine the structuring of these tropes, then understanding or appreciating poetry would not even be something of importance to discuss. On the contrary, this is not the case since poetry has not only marked Indian culture, but also has been important in understanding key concepts.
Ultimately, I have a hard time understanding the mechanics behind having the same experiences. I guess this is what made this weeks reading very confusing and frustrating to grasp at times.
Within these readings there are just a couple of ideas that captured my attention. The first issue that was brought up in the first chapter of the dhvanyaloka readings is this complication of defining dhvani. Ananda illustrates that, “there is no such thing as dhvani distinct from the figures and qualities.” (55) Through this expression dhvani becomes non-existent because to say figures and qualities is to say dhvani and vice versa. However, within this part of the book, Ananda expresses that “all figures and qualities are present with their associated meanings” and if a meaning or quality does not exist it becomes irrelevant to the poet. In this regards in order for dhvani to exist, there is a secondary meaning. I think that even though words whether they are in Sanskrit or not, imply different meanings dependent on the context they are put into. However, with the complexity of translations or figuring out the meanings of words, one could see how the dhvani theory can be problematic. This is because grouping words together to suggest an implied meaning, is not only required for the poetic master, but also can become inaccessible to audiences who are not poetic specialists.
More precisely, because the dhvani theory is used by experts and as Raja puts it, “only men of equal scholarship and literary taste can fully appreciate their poems. This leads one to believe that these poems then are created only for the enjoyment of poets and men alike. In this regard, audiences cannot enjoy the poem or artwork on the same level as the poet or characters of the play. For example, specialists whether they are magicians, mathematicians, or architects will have a different understanding of their specialties than those who share no common ground with them. In this light, the meanings that they would associate with different things would parallel the meanings that others would extract from similar situations.
Keeping this in mind, once different meanings are given, it only makes sense to say that different emotions and feelings/moods arise in audiences who are not poets or poetic masters. Having said this, the rasa theory then is undermined since the audiences would not be able to experience the same moods as the poet or characters intends. However, if I was to just undermine the structuring of these tropes, then understanding or appreciating poetry would not even be something of importance to discuss. On the contrary, this is not the case since poetry has not only marked Indian culture, but also has been important in understanding key concepts.
Ultimately, I have a hard time understanding the mechanics behind having the same experiences. I guess this is what made this weeks reading very confusing and frustrating to grasp at times.
A Better Understanding of Rasa Theory
The Dhvanyaloka and Raja readings this week stressed the literary conventions of poetry that were detailed in the Dhvanyaloka by Ananda and Adhinava. The book clearly illustrates the theories of dhvani and rasa, which they consider to be the soul of poetry. Dhvani is related as the suggestive power of words and senses (literal and implied), and rasa which is dependent upon dhvani, is the relishing of the emotion one gets from dhvani. As a result of these poetic conventions the inner mental state of the individual (poet, audience member, participants) is transformed and he/she has some sort of aesthetic experience.
Is religion, be it spiritual, ethical or a value-based religion, a feeling or an emotion elicited in the devotee? Then, can we speak of religion void of aesthetic enjoyment? The readings this week encourage an association between religion and poetry, as I believe that poetry become an ulterior way to experience God (bhakti). Something that is striking and interesting is that most religious texts are written within the conventions of poetry (verse, meter etc..). Can this mean that all poetry can be considered religious because of the aesthetic experience it raises in the individual? On the other hand it could be possible that the only thing poetry and religion have in common is this aesthetic component?
From the readings, I gathered that the difference between dhvani and rasa, is a matter of degree. Dhvani suggests an emotion, and in turn rasa results by the relishing over of that emotion (or "aesthetically enjoying") that emotion (Ingalls, 117). Therefore, the emotion has to affect the heart of the listener, by the connection of ones own experiences with the particular emotion being displayed. This element is what gives a poem its merits, and thus lack of this element is an example of an ineffective poet. How do poets bring about this emotion? According to dhvani through the use of words and senses that have a suggested power. Since the meanings of words are so important in order to have an aesthetic value, than it becomes central (as argued) to study the primary text. Does this mean that the experience of the primary text, and the interpreted text is different? Is there ONE TRUE experience? According to the readings, the poet is effective if he or she is able to express the rasa through dhvani (word choice). If the poet is effective the audience is able to gain one (overall) emotional experience or rasa.
In relation to the experience one gets from poetry the readings define Bhakti "as the intense desire one may have to express such a concept as proximity or fierceness" (Ingalls, 65). This definition was interesting to me because I believe that poetry on the whole raises this desire in every individual. By this I mean that every individual when relating their emotional experiences with that that the poet tries to convey, is in a sense seeking a desire to obtain a proximate relationship with them. This relationship becomes important and central, because it is this that gives the rasa of poetry.
Is religion, be it spiritual, ethical or a value-based religion, a feeling or an emotion elicited in the devotee? Then, can we speak of religion void of aesthetic enjoyment? The readings this week encourage an association between religion and poetry, as I believe that poetry become an ulterior way to experience God (bhakti). Something that is striking and interesting is that most religious texts are written within the conventions of poetry (verse, meter etc..). Can this mean that all poetry can be considered religious because of the aesthetic experience it raises in the individual? On the other hand it could be possible that the only thing poetry and religion have in common is this aesthetic component?
From the readings, I gathered that the difference between dhvani and rasa, is a matter of degree. Dhvani suggests an emotion, and in turn rasa results by the relishing over of that emotion (or "aesthetically enjoying") that emotion (Ingalls, 117). Therefore, the emotion has to affect the heart of the listener, by the connection of ones own experiences with the particular emotion being displayed. This element is what gives a poem its merits, and thus lack of this element is an example of an ineffective poet. How do poets bring about this emotion? According to dhvani through the use of words and senses that have a suggested power. Since the meanings of words are so important in order to have an aesthetic value, than it becomes central (as argued) to study the primary text. Does this mean that the experience of the primary text, and the interpreted text is different? Is there ONE TRUE experience? According to the readings, the poet is effective if he or she is able to express the rasa through dhvani (word choice). If the poet is effective the audience is able to gain one (overall) emotional experience or rasa.
In relation to the experience one gets from poetry the readings define Bhakti "as the intense desire one may have to express such a concept as proximity or fierceness" (Ingalls, 65). This definition was interesting to me because I believe that poetry on the whole raises this desire in every individual. By this I mean that every individual when relating their emotional experiences with that that the poet tries to convey, is in a sense seeking a desire to obtain a proximate relationship with them. This relationship becomes important and central, because it is this that gives the rasa of poetry.
Blogpost Script
This didn't go with the major theme of my blog, so I cut it out. But then I was thinking about it and wanted to mention it:
I thought it was very interesting that Ananda believed that it was when the poet himself was “under such a heightened state of emotion as rasa that he becomes capable of writing the suggestive poetry that will transfer this rasa to his hearers. The process is illustrated by the story of the first poet, Valmiki...” (Ingalls, 18). I question this, as didn’t Valmiki experience soka, which is not a rasa but the corresponding bhava for the rasa of karuna. So wasn't Valmiki experiencing bhava?
What do you guys think?
I thought it was very interesting that Ananda believed that it was when the poet himself was “under such a heightened state of emotion as rasa that he becomes capable of writing the suggestive poetry that will transfer this rasa to his hearers. The process is illustrated by the story of the first poet, Valmiki...” (Ingalls, 18). I question this, as didn’t Valmiki experience soka, which is not a rasa but the corresponding bhava for the rasa of karuna. So wasn't Valmiki experiencing bhava?
What do you guys think?
Wrestling with Rasa
I thought the readings this week were absolutely fascinating. So fascinating that I wrote too much, and since I had given such a hard time to Raj for his long blog post I decided to try and not be a hypocrite and cut down my entry by a lot!
Rasa theory began with Bharata’s Natyasastra. Udbhata was probably the first literary critic to focus on rasa. Ingalls cites Jacobi as assigning Ubhata as the first to believe rasa was the soul of poetry, but this is unlikely, as Ananda was really the first to assign it as the chief goal of poetry. (Ingalls, 7)
Before going into too much of a discussion on rasa I like to lay out the 8 categories of bhava=rasa as described in the BhNS, as it is easy to get muddle between what is bhava and what is rasa:
bhava (abiding emotions) of the Actor = rasa (flavour experienced) of the audience
Rati (sexual desire) = srngara (erotic)
Hasa (laughter)= hasya (comic)
Soka (grief) = karuna (tragic)
Krodha (anger) = raudra (furious or cruel)
Utsaha (heroic energy) = vira (heroic)
Bhaya (fear) = bhayanaka (fearsome or timorous)
Jugupsa (disgust) = bibhatsa (gruesome or loathsome)
Vismaya (wonder or amazement) = adbuta (wondrous)
[added later: ?? = santa (peace)]
(from Ingalls, 16)
This week I think I understand more clearly what Ananda meant when he said “grief if the basic emotion of the rasa of compassion, for compassion consists of relishing (or aesthetically enjoying) grief” (Ingalls, 116-117) Why do people get pleasure out of watching plays or reading texts that do not have “pleasurable” rasas, such as grief and fear? Bhattayaka was probably the first to comment on such a question, stressing the subjectiveness of rasa as an aesthetic experience of the spectator (Raja, 287).
Continuing with this question, Abhnava explained that there must be a qualitative difference between the bhava, the feeling that is expressed by the actor, and the rasa, the flavour of that emotion that is felt by the audience. If they were the same, and the audience was experiencing real pain, real fear, real grief, they would not be enjoying themselves and would “close the book or leave the theatre”.
I have actually experienced real feelings when watching a movie once - Hotel Rwanda. It was not pleasant, it was so traumatizing for me I was in cold sweats and started to hyperventilate. My mom made me leave the theatre. The emotions I felt while watching that movie were too real to be pleasurable. I did not relish in it. Was the bhava too real that it was not distanced from the rasa? I wonder if this would have been acceptable to these Sanskrit critics. Are the boundaries being pushed too far today, either making us desensitised to emotions expressed on screen thanks to over exposure, or making them too real. Is the suggestion, the dhvani, lost?
Sankuka prescribed rasa to be the imitation of the feelings felt by the audience (Ingalls, 18). Rasas are not real emotions, they are the feelings one gets after watching real emotions on stage. But are not these real emotions, the bhava, fake emotions as they are acted out by actors? Abhinava also make the distinction between real emotions and the rasa. If the actor were to experience either the bhava or the rasa he would forget his lines, therefore he is simply faking the emotion, making it not real. (Ingalls, 36)
Therefore rasa would be imitations of imitations of emotions. They are so distanced from real emotions that this may be an explanation for why one can feel pleasure when experiencing not so typically pleasant emotions in the form of rasa. The “not-so-pleasantness” is less “not-so-pleasant” because you are getting a feeling distanced from a real feeling by the factor of two.
It seems contradictory then that many commentators, such as Bhatta Lollata - the earliest commentator on the BhNS that we know of - said that rasa was the intensified form of the bhava, which has been strengthened by the actor (Ingalls, 17). Maybe it is intensified as it is simplified. Real emotions felt by people are often muddied and confused. The bhavas on stage and in the poetry and often condensed examples of an emotion and the responding rasa is simpler, and therefore a clearer emotion. Making it seem intensified.
Bhattanayaka appears to have believed that rasa does not belong to someone else, as that would make others indifferent. Yet it does not belong to ourselves (here Abhinava disagrees). Rasa is actually not even perceived, it is something to simply enjoy. The audience realizes they are experiencing the rasa, and upon this realization they experience enjoyment. But this enjoyment is very different from the enjoyment one experiences with direct experience or from memories.
I found it most fascinating how this enjoyment, according to Bhattanayaka, was related to the Advaita understanding of realizing atman = Brahman. The moksa, or release, one experiences with the realization that we are all a part of a greater reality, the ultimate. (Ingalls, 35-36)
but now I have gone way over my intended limit, even after deleting more than half of my post :-(
Rasa theory began with Bharata’s Natyasastra. Udbhata was probably the first literary critic to focus on rasa. Ingalls cites Jacobi as assigning Ubhata as the first to believe rasa was the soul of poetry, but this is unlikely, as Ananda was really the first to assign it as the chief goal of poetry. (Ingalls, 7)
Before going into too much of a discussion on rasa I like to lay out the 8 categories of bhava=rasa as described in the BhNS, as it is easy to get muddle between what is bhava and what is rasa:
bhava (abiding emotions) of the Actor = rasa (flavour experienced) of the audience
Rati (sexual desire) = srngara (erotic)
Hasa (laughter)= hasya (comic)
Soka (grief) = karuna (tragic)
Krodha (anger) = raudra (furious or cruel)
Utsaha (heroic energy) = vira (heroic)
Bhaya (fear) = bhayanaka (fearsome or timorous)
Jugupsa (disgust) = bibhatsa (gruesome or loathsome)
Vismaya (wonder or amazement) = adbuta (wondrous)
[added later: ?? = santa (peace)]
(from Ingalls, 16)
This week I think I understand more clearly what Ananda meant when he said “grief if the basic emotion of the rasa of compassion, for compassion consists of relishing (or aesthetically enjoying) grief” (Ingalls, 116-117) Why do people get pleasure out of watching plays or reading texts that do not have “pleasurable” rasas, such as grief and fear? Bhattayaka was probably the first to comment on such a question, stressing the subjectiveness of rasa as an aesthetic experience of the spectator (Raja, 287).
Continuing with this question, Abhnava explained that there must be a qualitative difference between the bhava, the feeling that is expressed by the actor, and the rasa, the flavour of that emotion that is felt by the audience. If they were the same, and the audience was experiencing real pain, real fear, real grief, they would not be enjoying themselves and would “close the book or leave the theatre”.
I have actually experienced real feelings when watching a movie once - Hotel Rwanda. It was not pleasant, it was so traumatizing for me I was in cold sweats and started to hyperventilate. My mom made me leave the theatre. The emotions I felt while watching that movie were too real to be pleasurable. I did not relish in it. Was the bhava too real that it was not distanced from the rasa? I wonder if this would have been acceptable to these Sanskrit critics. Are the boundaries being pushed too far today, either making us desensitised to emotions expressed on screen thanks to over exposure, or making them too real. Is the suggestion, the dhvani, lost?
Sankuka prescribed rasa to be the imitation of the feelings felt by the audience (Ingalls, 18). Rasas are not real emotions, they are the feelings one gets after watching real emotions on stage. But are not these real emotions, the bhava, fake emotions as they are acted out by actors? Abhinava also make the distinction between real emotions and the rasa. If the actor were to experience either the bhava or the rasa he would forget his lines, therefore he is simply faking the emotion, making it not real. (Ingalls, 36)
Therefore rasa would be imitations of imitations of emotions. They are so distanced from real emotions that this may be an explanation for why one can feel pleasure when experiencing not so typically pleasant emotions in the form of rasa. The “not-so-pleasantness” is less “not-so-pleasant” because you are getting a feeling distanced from a real feeling by the factor of two.
It seems contradictory then that many commentators, such as Bhatta Lollata - the earliest commentator on the BhNS that we know of - said that rasa was the intensified form of the bhava, which has been strengthened by the actor (Ingalls, 17). Maybe it is intensified as it is simplified. Real emotions felt by people are often muddied and confused. The bhavas on stage and in the poetry and often condensed examples of an emotion and the responding rasa is simpler, and therefore a clearer emotion. Making it seem intensified.
Bhattanayaka appears to have believed that rasa does not belong to someone else, as that would make others indifferent. Yet it does not belong to ourselves (here Abhinava disagrees). Rasa is actually not even perceived, it is something to simply enjoy. The audience realizes they are experiencing the rasa, and upon this realization they experience enjoyment. But this enjoyment is very different from the enjoyment one experiences with direct experience or from memories.
I found it most fascinating how this enjoyment, according to Bhattanayaka, was related to the Advaita understanding of realizing atman = Brahman. The moksa, or release, one experiences with the realization that we are all a part of a greater reality, the ultimate. (Ingalls, 35-36)
but now I have gone way over my intended limit, even after deleting more than half of my post :-(
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Suggestion Speaks Louder than Words
There was definitely a lot of reading this week, but it was fascinating stuff! Before I proceed with addressing the material proper, let me vent and say that there were SO MANY Sanskrit terms to contend with. But of course, there’s no way around it. A thought occurred to me though: just as Abrams’ Glossary of Literary Terms (can you tell I used to be an English student?) readily rescues the troubled scholar of English literature, we students of Sanskrit literarature are in DIRE need of a such a glossary. It would certainly help to have quick reference to the meaning of , e.g., varöa, paryŒyokta, apahnuti, d´paka, saºkara, prŒk¨ta-dhvani, vaik¨ta-dhvani, vŒcya, pratyamŒna, guö´bhètanvyaºgya, tŒtparyav¨tti, vakrokti, etc., etc., etc! Such a tool would be all the more invaluable to Sanskrit literature than to English literature given the fact that one can’t simply look a word up in Sanskrit and expect to arrive at a single, reasonably fixed, literal meaning. As Goldman aptly points out in Translating Texts Translating Texts: Issues in the Translation of Popular Literary Texts with Multiple Commentaries, the Sanskrit language is in effect a “massive proliferation of different philosophical, metaphysical, scientific and technical systems [e.g. dhvani theory!], all drawing from the same lexical well [and is thus characterized by] a certain hypertrophy of semantic features, notably synonymity, nominal compostion, and kenning…” (94) For example, alaµkŒra means not only a rhetorical trope, but a physical ornament, and god knows what else! Hmmm…perhaps someday I can work on a “Sanskrit Glossary of Literary Terms”, but hopefully someone is already doing so! Ajay..?
One of the questions Daniel Ingalls raises in the introductory essay to his translation of înandavardhana’s Dhvanyaloka is “what is it about [înandavardhana’s view] that places [it] in such a magisterial position?” The question is quite understandable given the extent to which this work influenced the discipline of literary criticism in South Asia by this work over the centuries. Regardless of the “nuts and bolts” of its receptive history, the work itself is, in my opinion, a remarkable piece of scholarship, in any age, in any culture. I claim no intimate understanding of the arguments presented by this 9th century Kashmiri scholar, however, his treatise appears methodical, thoughtful, and thorough. He appears to be advancing an original and intricate theory of Literary Criticism – i.e., dhvani Theory – one whose novelty and subtlety are indicative of a fine intellect at work. In addition to his originality, he appears to be quite a learned scholar. His familiarity with Sanskrit literature is evident by the fact that he incorporates several textual examples throughout the work in order to bolster his arguments. Due to my own lack of familiarity with the material, I cannot comment on how insightful înandavardhana’s reading of the Sanskrit literary canon is, but his anticipation of objections, and answers thereto, lends his work an air of credibility.
As outlined by K. Kunjunni Raja in chapter seven “Vya–janŒ, Suggestions” of Indian Theories of Meaning (p 289-302), the critiques against dhvani theory (most of which he anticipates and addresses) are essentially as follows: critique (a) is where the NaiyŒyika-s (e.g. Mahimabha a in his Vyaktiviveka) asserts that dhvani is no more than standard inference, or anumŒna; Critique (b) is where dhvani may be considered arthŒpatti, which is a kind of immediate inference based on the universal relation between the absence of major and the absence of middle terms; Critique (c) is where some ŒlaµkŒtrika-s, e.g., Mikilabha a, include suggestion, vya–janŒ/dhvani as lak·ana: all instances of ideas which convey a meaning differing from their literal sense; this can be called the tail of the primary meaning of the word (abhidhŒpuccha); Critique (d) is where M´mŒµsaka-s of the PrabhŒkara school who follow the anvitŒbhidhŒna theory of verbal comprehension, considering dhvani as included in the primary function of abhidhŒ itself: the meaning of a word is what is being conveyed by it; Critique (e) iswhere Dhvani and tŒtparyav¨tti - ŒlaµkŒrika-s such as Dhanaµjaya and Dhanika consider it tŒtparv¨tti, a function of the sentence postulated to explain the verbal comprehension arising from a sentence; and, Critique (f) is where Kuntaka, for example, thought dhvani to be vakrokti, or, the striking mode of speech. The one critique (and answer) to which I wish to respond is critique (a), i.e., the association of dhvani with anumŒna.
K. Kunjunni Raja cites Wittgenstein who remarks (in Tractatus) that “whatever can be said can be said clearly. And what we cannot speak about we must leave in silence” (292). However, I entirely disagree with him and support Raja’s sentiment that “great poetry is written on the fringe of that silence; it aims at conveying the inexpressible by means of suggestion”. Logic and Language are for me, too inadequate vessels to contain the essence of literature, aesthetics, religion, etc. To subject such experiencing to the measure of reason and language would indeed be to render “whole areas of human discourse” as “meaningless and unintelligible”. I firmly support Raja’s statement that “it is only through the power of language to suggest things which cannot be expressed directly, that it can convey philosophical truth” (293). On this basis, I wholeheartedly reject the impulse to confine dhvani, literary suggestion, to the sphere of anumŒna, logical inference. Power to înandavardhana! Dhvani, according to Dhvanyaloka, is the soul of poetry, not the soul of science. The “thing” to which the poem alludes is not merely a which is readily knowable to the spectator. It is not something which may be easily cognize, and articulated. Rather, it is an experience which evades the scope of language. It (dhvani) is a means to aesthetic relishing (rasa) and is, for înandavardhana, the very measure of poetry. Poetry is poetry because of this “suggestive” capacity, and good poetry is poetry which accomplishes this more competently. I would like to now draw a comparison to this line of thought.
One of the most enriching courses of my entire undergraduate degree was “RLG304: Language Symbols, and the Self” in which we discussed Martin Heidegger’s notion of “poetic dwelling”. Heidegger distils his philosophy from a reading of a poem by Friederich Holderlin. I could not begin to do justice to Heidegger in a blog entry (nor to înandavardhana for that matter!), but Heidegger’s thesis was essentially that poetry’s function was to try to express the inexpressibility of reality, and this, to always be “pointing” to something we cannot see. A poem is a poem because it points to the inadequacy of language. This “pointing to” is remarkably resonant with dhvani theory, which is of course based on vya–janŒ, suggestion. Both Heidegger and înandavardhana – two thinkers tremendously separated by time, place and culture –seemingly concur that the measure of poetry somehow lies in it’s capacity to allude, point, suggest, etc. To employ an analogy, we often consider prosaic language as the vehicle of meaning. It conveys specific “cargo”. Poetic conveyance, however, carries nothing specific, except a map, a suggestion of where the cargo, the meaning, may be found. Although the vehicle continues along the route of the map, the destination lies beyond the perimeter of the map. The map points to something beyond the map. So, too, does language, at least poetic language (though Heidegger would argue that this holds true of ALL language) is marked by its artful suggestion of that which lies beyond the domain of words. I find the parallel between Heidegger and înandavardhana absolutely fascinating, and entirely aligned with what Raja writes, that “language suggests things which cannot be expressed directly” and only in this suggesting do we approach “philosophical truth”. Philosophical truth is, for me, trans-lingual because it is trans-rational. This is precisely why I object the reduction of dhvani (or any account of aesthetic experience) as anumŒna, i.e., a mere function of grammar and logic.
There is one other parallel which I would like to draw upon before concluding this entry. înandavardhana adamantly states that the poet DOES NOT experience the emotional equivalent of the rasa being created. Just for reference sake, I will list the rasas and their corresponding emotional moods. The eight sthŒyibhŒva-s (emotional moods) are: rati (love), hŒsa (laughter), §oka (sorrow), krodha (anger), utsŒha (energy), bhaya (fear), jugupsŒ (repugnance), vismaya (wonder), and their corresponding rasas are, respectively, ·¨ºgŒra, hŒsya, karuöa, raudra, v´ra, bhayŒnaka, b´bhatsa, adbhuta. So the idea is that the poet facilitating raudra rasa DOES NOT experience anger (krodha). As we know in the case of the adhikavi VŒlm´ki, the poet channeling karuöa rasa DOES NOT experience sorrow (§oka). I’ve allowed this notion to percolate for while now and I don’t quite know what to make of it, but I overall subscribe to the idea that VŒlm´ki, for example, does not himself experience grief but merely ruminates upon the grief (due to the bird’s immense suffering), identifies that grief with grief in his memory, and, meeting it with a heartfelt response, undergoes a certain relishing (rasa) of the grief, indeed a relishing which melts one’s thoughts, and results in artful speech. This process is what enables us to escape our indiivudal selves when we enter in great art. How else may we get lost in a painting? I really like the quote înandavardhana uses from Bha anŒyaka, who says in the H¨dayadarpaöa, “until he is filled with this rasa, the poet does not spill it forth”. This speaks to me, though I don’t know what it says. Perhaps its meaning is poetic and thus merely suggests something beyond its literal meaning! With this distinction in mind - VŒlm´ki experiencing grief versus him merely utilizing it somehow, without experiencing it - I would like to draw a parallel to Wordsworth, a prominent English poet of the Romantic era. I believe I made mention of this in my response to Barbara’s blog last week. I quoted what Wordsworth wrote in his Preface to Lyrical Ballads, which, much like Dhvanyaloka, was an attempt at a novel addition to literary criticism. Wordsworth argues that poetry is "the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings from emotions recollected in tranquility”. The “spontaneous overflow” is definitely present in VŒlm´ki’s curse. Also, the “powerful feelings” is also present since VŒlm´ki identifies with the intense sorrow of the lamenting bird. Furthermore, Wordsworth’s stipulation that the overflow of emotion must be “recollected in tranquility” is highly resonant with înandavardhana’s insistence that the poet DOES NOT experience the feelings, but merely associates them with his own recollection of that feeling in order to produce a certain rasa. Wordsworth does here comment on the aesthetic experience, but what he does say about the poetic process is highly compatible with the poet’s production of rasa as derived from a specific emotional mood. Here, too, the poet needs to distance himself in order to acquire the necessary tranquility to channel powerful emotion. On the one hand, I might be comparing apples and oranges, but based on the assumption that aesthetic production and appeal are universal principle, perhaps both of these thinkers were expressing the same ideas in different literal and cultural languages.
One of the questions Daniel Ingalls raises in the introductory essay to his translation of înandavardhana’s Dhvanyaloka is “what is it about [înandavardhana’s view] that places [it] in such a magisterial position?” The question is quite understandable given the extent to which this work influenced the discipline of literary criticism in South Asia by this work over the centuries. Regardless of the “nuts and bolts” of its receptive history, the work itself is, in my opinion, a remarkable piece of scholarship, in any age, in any culture. I claim no intimate understanding of the arguments presented by this 9th century Kashmiri scholar, however, his treatise appears methodical, thoughtful, and thorough. He appears to be advancing an original and intricate theory of Literary Criticism – i.e., dhvani Theory – one whose novelty and subtlety are indicative of a fine intellect at work. In addition to his originality, he appears to be quite a learned scholar. His familiarity with Sanskrit literature is evident by the fact that he incorporates several textual examples throughout the work in order to bolster his arguments. Due to my own lack of familiarity with the material, I cannot comment on how insightful înandavardhana’s reading of the Sanskrit literary canon is, but his anticipation of objections, and answers thereto, lends his work an air of credibility.
As outlined by K. Kunjunni Raja in chapter seven “Vya–janŒ, Suggestions” of Indian Theories of Meaning (p 289-302), the critiques against dhvani theory (most of which he anticipates and addresses) are essentially as follows: critique (a) is where the NaiyŒyika-s (e.g. Mahimabha a in his Vyaktiviveka) asserts that dhvani is no more than standard inference, or anumŒna; Critique (b) is where dhvani may be considered arthŒpatti, which is a kind of immediate inference based on the universal relation between the absence of major and the absence of middle terms; Critique (c) is where some ŒlaµkŒtrika-s, e.g., Mikilabha a, include suggestion, vya–janŒ/dhvani as lak·ana: all instances of ideas which convey a meaning differing from their literal sense; this can be called the tail of the primary meaning of the word (abhidhŒpuccha); Critique (d) is where M´mŒµsaka-s of the PrabhŒkara school who follow the anvitŒbhidhŒna theory of verbal comprehension, considering dhvani as included in the primary function of abhidhŒ itself: the meaning of a word is what is being conveyed by it; Critique (e) iswhere Dhvani and tŒtparyav¨tti - ŒlaµkŒrika-s such as Dhanaµjaya and Dhanika consider it tŒtparv¨tti, a function of the sentence postulated to explain the verbal comprehension arising from a sentence; and, Critique (f) is where Kuntaka, for example, thought dhvani to be vakrokti, or, the striking mode of speech. The one critique (and answer) to which I wish to respond is critique (a), i.e., the association of dhvani with anumŒna.
K. Kunjunni Raja cites Wittgenstein who remarks (in Tractatus) that “whatever can be said can be said clearly. And what we cannot speak about we must leave in silence” (292). However, I entirely disagree with him and support Raja’s sentiment that “great poetry is written on the fringe of that silence; it aims at conveying the inexpressible by means of suggestion”. Logic and Language are for me, too inadequate vessels to contain the essence of literature, aesthetics, religion, etc. To subject such experiencing to the measure of reason and language would indeed be to render “whole areas of human discourse” as “meaningless and unintelligible”. I firmly support Raja’s statement that “it is only through the power of language to suggest things which cannot be expressed directly, that it can convey philosophical truth” (293). On this basis, I wholeheartedly reject the impulse to confine dhvani, literary suggestion, to the sphere of anumŒna, logical inference. Power to înandavardhana! Dhvani, according to Dhvanyaloka, is the soul of poetry, not the soul of science. The “thing” to which the poem alludes is not merely a which is readily knowable to the spectator. It is not something which may be easily cognize, and articulated. Rather, it is an experience which evades the scope of language. It (dhvani) is a means to aesthetic relishing (rasa) and is, for înandavardhana, the very measure of poetry. Poetry is poetry because of this “suggestive” capacity, and good poetry is poetry which accomplishes this more competently. I would like to now draw a comparison to this line of thought.
One of the most enriching courses of my entire undergraduate degree was “RLG304: Language Symbols, and the Self” in which we discussed Martin Heidegger’s notion of “poetic dwelling”. Heidegger distils his philosophy from a reading of a poem by Friederich Holderlin. I could not begin to do justice to Heidegger in a blog entry (nor to înandavardhana for that matter!), but Heidegger’s thesis was essentially that poetry’s function was to try to express the inexpressibility of reality, and this, to always be “pointing” to something we cannot see. A poem is a poem because it points to the inadequacy of language. This “pointing to” is remarkably resonant with dhvani theory, which is of course based on vya–janŒ, suggestion. Both Heidegger and înandavardhana – two thinkers tremendously separated by time, place and culture –seemingly concur that the measure of poetry somehow lies in it’s capacity to allude, point, suggest, etc. To employ an analogy, we often consider prosaic language as the vehicle of meaning. It conveys specific “cargo”. Poetic conveyance, however, carries nothing specific, except a map, a suggestion of where the cargo, the meaning, may be found. Although the vehicle continues along the route of the map, the destination lies beyond the perimeter of the map. The map points to something beyond the map. So, too, does language, at least poetic language (though Heidegger would argue that this holds true of ALL language) is marked by its artful suggestion of that which lies beyond the domain of words. I find the parallel between Heidegger and înandavardhana absolutely fascinating, and entirely aligned with what Raja writes, that “language suggests things which cannot be expressed directly” and only in this suggesting do we approach “philosophical truth”. Philosophical truth is, for me, trans-lingual because it is trans-rational. This is precisely why I object the reduction of dhvani (or any account of aesthetic experience) as anumŒna, i.e., a mere function of grammar and logic.
There is one other parallel which I would like to draw upon before concluding this entry. înandavardhana adamantly states that the poet DOES NOT experience the emotional equivalent of the rasa being created. Just for reference sake, I will list the rasas and their corresponding emotional moods. The eight sthŒyibhŒva-s (emotional moods) are: rati (love), hŒsa (laughter), §oka (sorrow), krodha (anger), utsŒha (energy), bhaya (fear), jugupsŒ (repugnance), vismaya (wonder), and their corresponding rasas are, respectively, ·¨ºgŒra, hŒsya, karuöa, raudra, v´ra, bhayŒnaka, b´bhatsa, adbhuta. So the idea is that the poet facilitating raudra rasa DOES NOT experience anger (krodha). As we know in the case of the adhikavi VŒlm´ki, the poet channeling karuöa rasa DOES NOT experience sorrow (§oka). I’ve allowed this notion to percolate for while now and I don’t quite know what to make of it, but I overall subscribe to the idea that VŒlm´ki, for example, does not himself experience grief but merely ruminates upon the grief (due to the bird’s immense suffering), identifies that grief with grief in his memory, and, meeting it with a heartfelt response, undergoes a certain relishing (rasa) of the grief, indeed a relishing which melts one’s thoughts, and results in artful speech. This process is what enables us to escape our indiivudal selves when we enter in great art. How else may we get lost in a painting? I really like the quote înandavardhana uses from Bha anŒyaka, who says in the H¨dayadarpaöa, “until he is filled with this rasa, the poet does not spill it forth”. This speaks to me, though I don’t know what it says. Perhaps its meaning is poetic and thus merely suggests something beyond its literal meaning! With this distinction in mind - VŒlm´ki experiencing grief versus him merely utilizing it somehow, without experiencing it - I would like to draw a parallel to Wordsworth, a prominent English poet of the Romantic era. I believe I made mention of this in my response to Barbara’s blog last week. I quoted what Wordsworth wrote in his Preface to Lyrical Ballads, which, much like Dhvanyaloka, was an attempt at a novel addition to literary criticism. Wordsworth argues that poetry is "the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings from emotions recollected in tranquility”. The “spontaneous overflow” is definitely present in VŒlm´ki’s curse. Also, the “powerful feelings” is also present since VŒlm´ki identifies with the intense sorrow of the lamenting bird. Furthermore, Wordsworth’s stipulation that the overflow of emotion must be “recollected in tranquility” is highly resonant with înandavardhana’s insistence that the poet DOES NOT experience the feelings, but merely associates them with his own recollection of that feeling in order to produce a certain rasa. Wordsworth does here comment on the aesthetic experience, but what he does say about the poetic process is highly compatible with the poet’s production of rasa as derived from a specific emotional mood. Here, too, the poet needs to distance himself in order to acquire the necessary tranquility to channel powerful emotion. On the one hand, I might be comparing apples and oranges, but based on the assumption that aesthetic production and appeal are universal principle, perhaps both of these thinkers were expressing the same ideas in different literal and cultural languages.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Presentation Follow-Up
Dear All,
Many thanks for the positive feedback: I was quite nervous about presenting, but glad you enjoyed it. As for your 2 requests: (1) I can't promise to chant next class, we'll see if I'm in the mood, (2) you can find the outline of my presentation below. This is merely a skeleton - I embellished some elements and disregarded others which presenting. especially towards the end! Actually, I don't think I talked about the parallel between ritual performance and aesthetic performance as clearly as I originally intended - you can see the 'conclusion' section if you are interested...
Regards,
Raj
Many thanks for the positive feedback: I was quite nervous about presenting, but glad you enjoyed it. As for your 2 requests: (1) I can't promise to chant next class, we'll see if I'm in the mood, (2) you can find the outline of my presentation below. This is merely a skeleton - I embellished some elements and disregarded others which presenting. especially towards the end! Actually, I don't think I talked about the parallel between ritual performance and aesthetic performance as clearly as I originally intended - you can see the 'conclusion' section if you are interested...
Regards,
Raj
The Morality of Orality: A Marrage between the Ascetic and Aesthetic elements of the Ramayana
Dr. Ajay Rao
RLG3762: Religion and Aesthetics in South Asia
Rajesh Balkaran, 990242439
Wednesday, January 19, 2008
The Morality of Orality:
A marriage of the ascetic and the aesthetic elements of Valmiki's Ramayana
Close Reading and Analysis of Canto 2-4, “The Creation of Poetry” of VŒlm´ki’s RŒmŒyana, Book One: Boyhood (BŒlakŒö¶a). Tr Robert P. Goldman. New York University Press: New York, 2005. pp 29-61.
INTRODUCTION:
- I thoroughly enjoyed the reading; I found it rich with imagery, imagery which I would like to explore in this discussion.
- As you know, MA project is based in VŒl´ki’s RŒmŒyaöa’s, with particular interest in tension between kingship and asceticism, between worldly authority and spiritual authority, between social values and possible “universal” values.
- In my own readings of the text for my work, I had paid particular attention to RŒma’s decision to renounce the world and accept exile into the wilderness on the very day of his coronation. As such, I had not previously attempted a close reading of the epic’s inaugural cantos, however, having done so for this week’s reading, I find the “ascetic” motif quite prevalent. The ascetic “motif” is the first of three which I hope to explore in my analysis of the selection. The others motifs are “purity”, “orality”, all of which, I hope to demonstrate, are intimately, if not indistinguishably intertwined.
MOTIF I: ASCETICISM
- The ascetic motif is evident from the very onset of the epic. It begins with the great sage, VŒlmik´, who in the first 6 verses of Canto 1, pose a question, to NŒrada. Narada, too, is a great ascetic figure. The question itself is quite philosophical and reflexive in nature: the first sake asks the second about human virtues, specifically wondering who among them possess virtues in abundance.
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- NŒrada names RŒma as one befitting VŒlm´ki’s query, and lists several virtues of the hero-King. The very first of several qualities listed was “self-controlled” (1.1.8) which is clearly the mark of a sage, or at least one quite sage-like.
- So we have a work crafted by a sage, inspired by another sage, about a third, a hero King, who is remarkably sage-like, and indeed spends much of his like in exile. RŒma actually fulfills his cosmic purpose while in exile, as a quasi-ascetic, not as a full-fledged King.
- Returning to the work itself, as we learn from this week’s reading, once composed, the students/performers of the epic are Lava and Kusha. As you may recall, they originally arrive at VŒlm´ki’s ashram “in the guise of sages” (4.3, p 57). Of coursem as we know, they are in fact princes. This is strangely similar to the fate of their father who was made to renounce his own royal garments when he was a prince. This parallels well embodies the tension between royalty and renunciation.
- We are also told that Lava and Kusha, once they learned the poem, sang it “with single-minded concentration before assemblies of seers [¨·i], bhramans [dvijŒt´], and good men [sŒdhu]” (4.19 p 59). Single-mindedness, too, tends to be associable with the self-control which NŒrada says of RŒma. The mind is often depicted as a chariot led by five horses, the five sensed, and this compelled to travel in various directions. Only when one controls the horses does the mind become single-pointed, and this is, more or less, the aim of the ascetic, to control the senses, and to attain single-pointed-ness of mind. So, Lava and Kusha are not only sage-like in their delivery of the poem, but they in fact deliver it before a group of sages. So we have a work composed by a sage, VŒlm´ki, inspired by sage, NŒrada, about a sage-like King, RŒma, first performed by sage-like twins before and audience of sages. It is no wonder that Lava and Kusha are given a bark-cloth mantle as a reward to performing to poem so well (4.19 p 59). They are also give a water-pot, but I wish to comment on this in more detail when I arrive at my discussion of the theme of purity.
- Ironically, the kingship-asceticism tension is covertly articulated by RŒma himself, the first royal audience to receive the work. He remarks that despite the fact that “…these two sages, Kusha and Lava, are great ascetics, they bear all the marks of kings” (4.26, p 61). Are they kings in the clothing of sages, or are they sages in the bodies of kings? Interestingly, they “earned” their ascetic garb through their profound performance of the RŒmŒyana itself.
- I offer these thoughts on the predominance of asceticism in the work more as a backdrop for peripheral digestions. What I wish to draw your attention to is a topic which I think well resonates with asceticism: and this is purity.
MOTIF II: PURITY
- Notions Purity and Pollution are a topic which at once pervade South Asian thought, culture, narrative, etc., and evade scholars and practitioners alike. What is purity? What is pollution? We could easily spend the class discussion this issue, but I don’t want to get bogged down with a definition at this point, since I wish only here to inspire free-range discussion, rather than the development of caged definitions. Much like the term “religion”, who knows what it means? Then again, who doesn’t know what religion means? In a broad sense, I use purity to denote that which is religiously or ‘spiritually’ beneficial as opposed to pollution, which is religiously or spiritually debasing. In this manner, purity and pollution, dealing with the psycho-spiritual realm appear to be the domain of the ascetic rather than the king, yet appear to be sought after, and necessary, in the society as well as beyond. A king needs to be consecrated, and this consecration requires ritual purity. RŒma is not merely an example of justice, virtue, good conduct, etc., he is an example of purity. He himself has lived the life od ascetic simplicity, subsisting on roots, nuts, fruit etc., denying his desires, cultivating a grounded, composed, pure self. As such, the very recounting of his life and deeds is treated as a purifying process.
- The qualities and deeds of RŒma are summarized by NŒrada who informs VŒlm´ki that that “Whoever reads this history of Rama, which is purifying, destructive of sin, holy, and equal to the Vedas, is freed from all sins.” (2.77-80, p 41) The epic itself is not only an embodiment of purity, but also an instrument thereof. It’s recitation may be considered a ritual whereby the participants are purified.
- This notion of “being free from all sins” reminds me of the common-held belief that, upon bathing in the Ganges, the sincere spiritual aspirant would be purged of all sins, past, present, and future. One need not even be at the river, but the water thereof is thought to be pure. Hence, water form the Ganges is often used in ritual within and without India.
- The river itself mirrors the epic in that it is an embodiment of purity, and an instrument thereof. The river’s water is pure, and it can make you pure. Rivers in general are considered ritually pure, and in my opinion it is no coincidence that poetry itself, which is construed here to have a purifying effect, began in a river.
- The water in which VŒlm´ki bathes is described as a “lovely bathing spot, free from mud.” The loveliness of the water is constituted by its absence of mud. By entension, it’s purity is secured by its absence of pollution. The presence of mud would have signified the presence of pollution, which would have compromised the purity of the bathing spot, and would have rendered it “less lovely”, and certainly less fit for a bath, for the sake of both hygiene, but more so for the sake of a ritual bath.
- We are told that the waters are “lucid as the mind of a good man” (2.5, p 45). The purity of the water appears to correlate to the lucidity of VŒkm´k´ in the following fashion: poetry is born of his experience in the water, poetry, therefore, emerges, like a lotus, from the water, but not without the agency of the poet’s lucid mind. His clarity of thought and perception mirror the clarity of the water: neither are muddied by pollution.
- We are told that VŒlm´ki was preparing to take a ritual bath “his senses tightly controlled” (2.9, p45). This ascetic quality mirrors the self-control of RŒma which NŒrada’s account so readily celebrates. He, as a sage, and as a sage he is an embodiment of purity. He is the diametrical opposite to the ni·Œda (hunter) who is described as “filled with malice and intend on mischief”. (2.10, p 45). The hunter’s senses run amok such that he is driven to harming another creature. Here, he is an embodiment of pollution, and thus an appropriate foil for VŒlm´ki in this scene. VŒlm´ki’s name is actually derived from a legend where, while deep in meditation, he allowed ants to build an anthill around his very body. The sage-like detachment, equanimity and self-control he demonstrates is starkly contrast for the hunter’s malicious slaughter of a harmless creature. The sage’s commitment to self-controlled and ahiµsŒ is so that he even refrains from even from protecting his very body from an army of ants. The hunter, however, is so deluded by anger, jealousy, etc., that he senselessly harms a peaceful creature who is no threat to him whatsoever. Thus, their natures well-demonstrate the distinction between purity and pollution.
- Interestingly, VŒlm´ki is never described as possessing anger towards the ni·Œda. The text reads (1.2.13-14. p47): “Then, in the intensity of this feeling of compassion, the Brahman thought, ‘This is wrong’”. This is not an emotional, angry, hateful outburst, rather, but an almost reflective moral evaluation rendered by the “lucid-minded” VŒlm´ki.
- Although the sage’s bathing-spot appears free from mud, and thus pure, upon original inspection, pollution eventually arrives in the form of the hunter. However, poetry, both pure and purifying, is born of this pollution, like the lotus flower, emerging from mud. The lotus is not only beautiful, but it is pure. So, too, the epic not merely fosters an aesthetic function, but a religious one.
- As Goldman writes in his introductory essay, “The RŒmŒyaöa was meant to be heard at gatherings, to be chanted like liturgy – a poem that, early in its history, promises its audience not only aesthetic rapture but salvation” (Goldman 23)
- RŒma himself says, “it is said that the profound tale they tell is highly beneficial, even for me. Listen to it” (4.27, p 61). So the virtuous and pure RŒma conveniently extols the virtuous and purifying effects of the recitation his own virtuous and pure acts, effects form which he himself may benefit! Clearly there is a dimension to this work of art which purports to transcend the understood scope of aesthetic influence, traversing well into the realm of the spiritual and/or religious.
- Poetry is portrayed in the reading as a remarkably religious phenomenon. Interestingly we have here an account of its creation, which is no less mythical and supernatural than any religious account of creation. The creation of the creative process hereby aligns with a religious understanding of the creation of the universe itself, as a product of divine intervention/inspiration. The creative process itself is an act of creation, especially here where it is first being created.
- Poetry comes into being not by just any individual, but by a sage of great attainment and insight. Ascetic affinity apparently mirrors Aesthetic affinity in this setting. The creativity in this aesthetic process was not a product of the sage’s own lucidity, but also a function of his attainment. He is granted a vision by Brahma, the creator god, who reveals that he was chosen as Brahma’s instrument. Only a bona fide ascetic would be granted such an honor.
- As Brahma says, “This is shloka that you have composed. You needn’t be perplexed about this. Brahman, it was by my will alone that you produced this elegant speech” (2.29-2.30 p49). This is the first mention of Brahma in the text and one may wonder, why now? And why him, and not another god? Why not Vi·öu, especially given the avatŒr subplot? Would Vi·öu not be best suited to reveal the events of his own incarnation? It is Brahma, because he is the the creator god, and is responsible for all creation, including the creation of poetry. Creativity is an aspect of Divinity, so the aesthetic experience is necessarily religious to some degree.
- Poetry is a result of divine agency. Yet, still, Brahma does not create poetry independent from VŒlm´ki. He rather, elicits the aid of the sage’s who must ‘experience’ emotion in order to execute Brahma’s creation. Poetry is a peculiar result of both human and divine agency. Emotional experience becomes aesthetic experience, which is subsumed somehow under religious experience.
- Not only does Brahma dictate the style of the work, i.e., metered verse, but it is through the god’s blessing which grants the sage access to RŒma’s life events. The god is very much responsible for the epic’s very plot. The work – from style to content to aesthetic experience is hereby portrayed as a manifestation of the divine, albeit through human experience. The divine agency helps us understand the extent to which the work’s salvific dimension.
- Upon authorizing VŒlm´ki to compose the entire story of RŒma, Brahma declares:
As long as the mountains and rivers shall endure upon the earth,
so long will the story of the RŒmŒyaöa be told among men.
And as long as long as the story of RŒma you composed is told,
so long will you live in my worlds above and below.
(2.35-2.36 p 49)
- Immortality/salvation is hereby guaranteed by the following logic: the poem will live at least as long as the mountains and rivers, which, presumably is for all time, or at least all earthly time. Also, VŒlm´ki will exist as long as the poem does, thereby gaining immortality. But is this merely about the sage’s immortality, and not ours? There is another element here: for the poem to be told among men, men must exist! So, in reciting the poem, we, too, benefit from Brahma’s prophetic benediction in a roundabout way.
- It is noteworthy to consider that rivers are considered purifying, so both of these sources of purity are intertwined, and potentially play off of each other.
- The theme of purity may also be examined through the inclusion of the “water-pot”. For a modern secular readership, a “water-pot” would have little significance, but the kala§a is actually laden with associations of ritual purity. It is often a vessel of purified water, and plays a role even in modern day rituals. In my experience, there is often a segment of the ritual known as the kala§a sthŒpana, or establishment of the water-pot whereby said water-pot is consecrated, or sanctified, or made ritually pure, and worthy of veneration.
- VŒlm´ki asks Bharadvaja to set down his water jar (kala§a) and give him his bark robe just prior to entering the water. These two items represent both asceticism (the garment is made essentially of forest-material) and purity. The jar is presumable empty at this point, although the text does not specify (2.9, p45). The kala§a, is again mentioned, (2.20), after VŒlm´ki completes his ritual bath, this time the text indicates that it is “brimming” with water from the river. Initially, the pre-ritual pot is an empty vessel in the hands of the students, carrying neither water nor purity. The teacher them takes ownership of the pot, consecrating it and its contents in his ritual bath – a bath which coincides with the birth of poetry, rendering him doubly “purified” at its conclusion. He hands it back to his student full – physically, and ritually – ready to be taken back to the ashram. A kala§a is again mentioned (at 4.19 p 59) where it serves as a gift from sage to Lava and Kusha. It is the payment for their delivery of the moving epic. Given the poem’s purifying qualities as discussed above, it appears to be a fair exchange: one agent of purity, the pot, given in exchange for another agent of purity, the epic performance.
- There is an intriguing relationship here between poetry, purification, and performance. Poetry and Water are both agents of purity, yet ‘water’ is the source of both Poetry and Purity in this case. The kala§a symbolizes the presence of purity, hence it is brimming full upon completion of the sage’s ritual. It then appears as part of another very different process of purification, imitated by the twins’ performance of the Ramayana. There seems to be two performances here, ritual and poetic, ascetic and aesthetic, each serving as embodiments of purity and agents of purification. What is their commonaltiy? I would argue that their commonality is the third Motif of the discussion: Orality.
- So, why then, is recitation of the RŒmŒyaöa, or any kŒvya so purifying? According to Sheldon Pollock, “there is no tension between the ritual and grammatical meaning of saµsk¨ta” (46). If the language itself – it’s very grammar – is codified to retain ritual purity, then the only application of the language which would compromise that purity are those which violate that grammar, which the epics certainly do not. Both ritual performance and aesthetic performance are equally purifying because they are performance of Sanskrit, a language well-made for the transmission of purity.
- Orality is needed for purity. (water demonstration)
- The following is a purification mantra which invokes the sanctity of rivers:
oµ gaºge ca jamune caiva godŒvari sarasvati /
narmade sindhu kŒveri jale ‘smin sannidhiµ kuru
the water in the kala§a is purified by the ‘waters’ of these rivers via mantra, via SOUND.
- The following is a common purification mantra which is used in conjucbntion with the sprinking of water, but makes no mention of water specifically. It basically says that ‘purity’ and ‘polution’ reside in all things, but he who remembers the lotus-eyed lord (vi·öu) shall be clean
oµ apavitraú pavitro vŒ sarvŒvasthŒµ gato ‘pi vŒ /
yaú smaret puö¶ar´kŒk·aµ sa bŒhyŒbhyantaraú §uciú
- In like manner, one can recite a §loka from the epic to be used as a mantra, e.g., Brahma’s blessing (2.35 – 2.36 p 49)
- yŒvat sthŒsyanti girayaú sarita§ ca mah´tale
yŒvad rŒmŒyaöakathŒ loke·u pracari·yati
yŒvad rŒmasya ca kathŒ tvatk¨tŒ pracari·yati
tŒvad èrdhvam adha§ ca tvaµ malloke·u nivatsyasi
MOTIF III: ORALITY
- Pollock dates the epic at no earlier than the mid 3rd century B.C.E., only after the invention of writing. In the second chapter (p78), “Literature and the Cosmopolitan Language of Literature”, of his book, The Language of Gods in the World of Men, he cleverly argues that:
The carefully constructed image of a purely oral culture in the prelude – a text unquestionably dated later that the main body of the work – cannot mean what it literally says. When VŒlm´ki is shown to compose his poem after meditating and to transmit it orally to two young singers, who learn and perform it exactly as he taught it to them, we are being given not a realistic depiction, but a sentimental “fiction of written culture”…for it clearly cognizes orality as such from outside orality, so to speak, in a way impossible to do in a world ignorant of any alternative – ignorant, that is, of writing.
- The qualities and deeds of RŒma are summarized by NŒrada who brings VŒlm´ki up to speed on RŒma’s current situation, he declares that “Whoever reads this history of Rama, which is purifying, destructive of sin, holy, and equal to the Vedas, is freed from all sins.” (2.77-80, p 41)
- in places where “the majority of the audience has always been illiterate, public recitation has played a vital role in the dissemination of sacred literature” (Philip Lutgendorf, The “Great Sacrifice” of RŒmŒyaöa Recitations: Ritual Performance of the RŒmacaritmŒnas, p186)
- However, the oral, acoustic dimension is undeniable. Goldman writes that “…the translator of Sanskrit epic poetry has to conform the inevitable loss of the kin-aesthetic effect this poetry – intended to be sung to the accompaniment of musical instruments – had upon it’s original audience” (Goldman 23).
- Upon uttering the primordial §loka, VŒlm´ki declares that, “fixed in metrical quarters, eahcin with a like number of syllables, and fit for the accompaniment of stringed and percussive instruments, the utterance that I produced in this access of §oka should be called §loka, poetry, and nothing else” (1.2.17, p 47). There seems to be an excessive emphasis on the fact that this was meant to be performed with musical accompaniment.
- VŒlm´ki’s poetic cry ensues upon hearing the cry of the bird. It was not just any animal that was killed. It was not, for example, a silent animal, like a rabbit or a deer, either of which would be equally helpless and timid. It was a vocal animal which was killed, and one not simply one capable of sound, e.g., a hyena, or fox, it was one capable of aesthetic sound. These birds are often referred to as sweet-voiced.
- The krau–cha hen utters a cry at the sight of her murdered mate. The sight causes grief which causes an utterance. She therefore parallels VŒlm´ki in that fashion which, upon witnessing the hateful act is moved to a poetic utterance by force of his compassion. This is necessarily an oral experience. The krau–cha’s sound is born of grief just as VŒlm´ki’§loka is born of §oka, i.e. grief.
- This ties into the notion of a rasa being also experienced on the tongue. The “mood” of the composition is not associated with a texture (relating to touch), an aroma (relating to scent), a sound, relating to (hearing), or a sight (relating to vision). After all, these art forms are received by the eyes and ears, but the only sense associated is the only sense associated with the mouth, reinforcing the oral motif.
- The murdered krau–cha is described as sweet-voiced (2.27, p 49), and it is for the loss of this sweet-voiced being that VŒlm´ki grieves. From the grief over this loss springs poetry, but poetry which must not be only read silently, or read aloud, or chanted, it must be sung. Lava and Kusha are first introduced as, among other things, sweet-voiced. The text again self-reflexively repeats that it is “sweet both when recited and sung in the three tempos to the seven notes of the scale, and it is eminently suitable for the accompaniment of both stringed and percussive instruments” (4.7 p57).
CONLUSION:
- Sanskrit culture is undeniably an oral culture one, despite, as Pollock asserts, the later trend towards writing.
- Orality fundamental to both ritual performance and aesthetic performance, thereby rendering any divide between aesthetics and religion (in regards to this text) tenuous at best.
- Both performances, ritual and aesthetic, serve to purify, since their common medium, the Sanskrit language, is understood as both an embodiment of purity and as an instrument thereof. Sanskrit is pure, and Sanskrit makes pure. As such, performing a Sanskrit epic is parallel to performing a vedic ritual.
FURTHER CONSIDERATIONS:
- is the orality motif a subset of the purity motif, or is the former the subset of the latter?
- What can we say about non-oral aesthetic performance (e.g., dance) which does not rely on Sanskrit: can it, too, be likened to ritual performance? Does orality play a part in dance as well?
RLG3762: Religion and Aesthetics in South Asia
Rajesh Balkaran, 990242439
Wednesday, January 19, 2008
The Morality of Orality:
A marriage of the ascetic and the aesthetic elements of Valmiki's Ramayana
Close Reading and Analysis of Canto 2-4, “The Creation of Poetry” of VŒlm´ki’s RŒmŒyana, Book One: Boyhood (BŒlakŒö¶a). Tr Robert P. Goldman. New York University Press: New York, 2005. pp 29-61.
INTRODUCTION:
- I thoroughly enjoyed the reading; I found it rich with imagery, imagery which I would like to explore in this discussion.
- As you know, MA project is based in VŒl´ki’s RŒmŒyaöa’s, with particular interest in tension between kingship and asceticism, between worldly authority and spiritual authority, between social values and possible “universal” values.
- In my own readings of the text for my work, I had paid particular attention to RŒma’s decision to renounce the world and accept exile into the wilderness on the very day of his coronation. As such, I had not previously attempted a close reading of the epic’s inaugural cantos, however, having done so for this week’s reading, I find the “ascetic” motif quite prevalent. The ascetic “motif” is the first of three which I hope to explore in my analysis of the selection. The others motifs are “purity”, “orality”, all of which, I hope to demonstrate, are intimately, if not indistinguishably intertwined.
MOTIF I: ASCETICISM
- The ascetic motif is evident from the very onset of the epic. It begins with the great sage, VŒlmik´, who in the first 6 verses of Canto 1, pose a question, to NŒrada. Narada, too, is a great ascetic figure. The question itself is quite philosophical and reflexive in nature: the first sake asks the second about human virtues, specifically wondering who among them possess virtues in abundance.
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- NŒrada names RŒma as one befitting VŒlm´ki’s query, and lists several virtues of the hero-King. The very first of several qualities listed was “self-controlled” (1.1.8) which is clearly the mark of a sage, or at least one quite sage-like.
- So we have a work crafted by a sage, inspired by another sage, about a third, a hero King, who is remarkably sage-like, and indeed spends much of his like in exile. RŒma actually fulfills his cosmic purpose while in exile, as a quasi-ascetic, not as a full-fledged King.
- Returning to the work itself, as we learn from this week’s reading, once composed, the students/performers of the epic are Lava and Kusha. As you may recall, they originally arrive at VŒlm´ki’s ashram “in the guise of sages” (4.3, p 57). Of coursem as we know, they are in fact princes. This is strangely similar to the fate of their father who was made to renounce his own royal garments when he was a prince. This parallels well embodies the tension between royalty and renunciation.
- We are also told that Lava and Kusha, once they learned the poem, sang it “with single-minded concentration before assemblies of seers [¨·i], bhramans [dvijŒt´], and good men [sŒdhu]” (4.19 p 59). Single-mindedness, too, tends to be associable with the self-control which NŒrada says of RŒma. The mind is often depicted as a chariot led by five horses, the five sensed, and this compelled to travel in various directions. Only when one controls the horses does the mind become single-pointed, and this is, more or less, the aim of the ascetic, to control the senses, and to attain single-pointed-ness of mind. So, Lava and Kusha are not only sage-like in their delivery of the poem, but they in fact deliver it before a group of sages. So we have a work composed by a sage, VŒlm´ki, inspired by sage, NŒrada, about a sage-like King, RŒma, first performed by sage-like twins before and audience of sages. It is no wonder that Lava and Kusha are given a bark-cloth mantle as a reward to performing to poem so well (4.19 p 59). They are also give a water-pot, but I wish to comment on this in more detail when I arrive at my discussion of the theme of purity.
- Ironically, the kingship-asceticism tension is covertly articulated by RŒma himself, the first royal audience to receive the work. He remarks that despite the fact that “…these two sages, Kusha and Lava, are great ascetics, they bear all the marks of kings” (4.26, p 61). Are they kings in the clothing of sages, or are they sages in the bodies of kings? Interestingly, they “earned” their ascetic garb through their profound performance of the RŒmŒyana itself.
- I offer these thoughts on the predominance of asceticism in the work more as a backdrop for peripheral digestions. What I wish to draw your attention to is a topic which I think well resonates with asceticism: and this is purity.
MOTIF II: PURITY
- Notions Purity and Pollution are a topic which at once pervade South Asian thought, culture, narrative, etc., and evade scholars and practitioners alike. What is purity? What is pollution? We could easily spend the class discussion this issue, but I don’t want to get bogged down with a definition at this point, since I wish only here to inspire free-range discussion, rather than the development of caged definitions. Much like the term “religion”, who knows what it means? Then again, who doesn’t know what religion means? In a broad sense, I use purity to denote that which is religiously or ‘spiritually’ beneficial as opposed to pollution, which is religiously or spiritually debasing. In this manner, purity and pollution, dealing with the psycho-spiritual realm appear to be the domain of the ascetic rather than the king, yet appear to be sought after, and necessary, in the society as well as beyond. A king needs to be consecrated, and this consecration requires ritual purity. RŒma is not merely an example of justice, virtue, good conduct, etc., he is an example of purity. He himself has lived the life od ascetic simplicity, subsisting on roots, nuts, fruit etc., denying his desires, cultivating a grounded, composed, pure self. As such, the very recounting of his life and deeds is treated as a purifying process.
- The qualities and deeds of RŒma are summarized by NŒrada who informs VŒlm´ki that that “Whoever reads this history of Rama, which is purifying, destructive of sin, holy, and equal to the Vedas, is freed from all sins.” (2.77-80, p 41) The epic itself is not only an embodiment of purity, but also an instrument thereof. It’s recitation may be considered a ritual whereby the participants are purified.
- This notion of “being free from all sins” reminds me of the common-held belief that, upon bathing in the Ganges, the sincere spiritual aspirant would be purged of all sins, past, present, and future. One need not even be at the river, but the water thereof is thought to be pure. Hence, water form the Ganges is often used in ritual within and without India.
- The river itself mirrors the epic in that it is an embodiment of purity, and an instrument thereof. The river’s water is pure, and it can make you pure. Rivers in general are considered ritually pure, and in my opinion it is no coincidence that poetry itself, which is construed here to have a purifying effect, began in a river.
- The water in which VŒlm´ki bathes is described as a “lovely bathing spot, free from mud.” The loveliness of the water is constituted by its absence of mud. By entension, it’s purity is secured by its absence of pollution. The presence of mud would have signified the presence of pollution, which would have compromised the purity of the bathing spot, and would have rendered it “less lovely”, and certainly less fit for a bath, for the sake of both hygiene, but more so for the sake of a ritual bath.
- We are told that the waters are “lucid as the mind of a good man” (2.5, p 45). The purity of the water appears to correlate to the lucidity of VŒkm´k´ in the following fashion: poetry is born of his experience in the water, poetry, therefore, emerges, like a lotus, from the water, but not without the agency of the poet’s lucid mind. His clarity of thought and perception mirror the clarity of the water: neither are muddied by pollution.
- We are told that VŒlm´ki was preparing to take a ritual bath “his senses tightly controlled” (2.9, p45). This ascetic quality mirrors the self-control of RŒma which NŒrada’s account so readily celebrates. He, as a sage, and as a sage he is an embodiment of purity. He is the diametrical opposite to the ni·Œda (hunter) who is described as “filled with malice and intend on mischief”. (2.10, p 45). The hunter’s senses run amok such that he is driven to harming another creature. Here, he is an embodiment of pollution, and thus an appropriate foil for VŒlm´ki in this scene. VŒlm´ki’s name is actually derived from a legend where, while deep in meditation, he allowed ants to build an anthill around his very body. The sage-like detachment, equanimity and self-control he demonstrates is starkly contrast for the hunter’s malicious slaughter of a harmless creature. The sage’s commitment to self-controlled and ahiµsŒ is so that he even refrains from even from protecting his very body from an army of ants. The hunter, however, is so deluded by anger, jealousy, etc., that he senselessly harms a peaceful creature who is no threat to him whatsoever. Thus, their natures well-demonstrate the distinction between purity and pollution.
- Interestingly, VŒlm´ki is never described as possessing anger towards the ni·Œda. The text reads (1.2.13-14. p47): “Then, in the intensity of this feeling of compassion, the Brahman thought, ‘This is wrong’”. This is not an emotional, angry, hateful outburst, rather, but an almost reflective moral evaluation rendered by the “lucid-minded” VŒlm´ki.
- Although the sage’s bathing-spot appears free from mud, and thus pure, upon original inspection, pollution eventually arrives in the form of the hunter. However, poetry, both pure and purifying, is born of this pollution, like the lotus flower, emerging from mud. The lotus is not only beautiful, but it is pure. So, too, the epic not merely fosters an aesthetic function, but a religious one.
- As Goldman writes in his introductory essay, “The RŒmŒyaöa was meant to be heard at gatherings, to be chanted like liturgy – a poem that, early in its history, promises its audience not only aesthetic rapture but salvation” (Goldman 23)
- RŒma himself says, “it is said that the profound tale they tell is highly beneficial, even for me. Listen to it” (4.27, p 61). So the virtuous and pure RŒma conveniently extols the virtuous and purifying effects of the recitation his own virtuous and pure acts, effects form which he himself may benefit! Clearly there is a dimension to this work of art which purports to transcend the understood scope of aesthetic influence, traversing well into the realm of the spiritual and/or religious.
- Poetry is portrayed in the reading as a remarkably religious phenomenon. Interestingly we have here an account of its creation, which is no less mythical and supernatural than any religious account of creation. The creation of the creative process hereby aligns with a religious understanding of the creation of the universe itself, as a product of divine intervention/inspiration. The creative process itself is an act of creation, especially here where it is first being created.
- Poetry comes into being not by just any individual, but by a sage of great attainment and insight. Ascetic affinity apparently mirrors Aesthetic affinity in this setting. The creativity in this aesthetic process was not a product of the sage’s own lucidity, but also a function of his attainment. He is granted a vision by Brahma, the creator god, who reveals that he was chosen as Brahma’s instrument. Only a bona fide ascetic would be granted such an honor.
- As Brahma says, “This is shloka that you have composed. You needn’t be perplexed about this. Brahman, it was by my will alone that you produced this elegant speech” (2.29-2.30 p49). This is the first mention of Brahma in the text and one may wonder, why now? And why him, and not another god? Why not Vi·öu, especially given the avatŒr subplot? Would Vi·öu not be best suited to reveal the events of his own incarnation? It is Brahma, because he is the the creator god, and is responsible for all creation, including the creation of poetry. Creativity is an aspect of Divinity, so the aesthetic experience is necessarily religious to some degree.
- Poetry is a result of divine agency. Yet, still, Brahma does not create poetry independent from VŒlm´ki. He rather, elicits the aid of the sage’s who must ‘experience’ emotion in order to execute Brahma’s creation. Poetry is a peculiar result of both human and divine agency. Emotional experience becomes aesthetic experience, which is subsumed somehow under religious experience.
- Not only does Brahma dictate the style of the work, i.e., metered verse, but it is through the god’s blessing which grants the sage access to RŒma’s life events. The god is very much responsible for the epic’s very plot. The work – from style to content to aesthetic experience is hereby portrayed as a manifestation of the divine, albeit through human experience. The divine agency helps us understand the extent to which the work’s salvific dimension.
- Upon authorizing VŒlm´ki to compose the entire story of RŒma, Brahma declares:
As long as the mountains and rivers shall endure upon the earth,
so long will the story of the RŒmŒyaöa be told among men.
And as long as long as the story of RŒma you composed is told,
so long will you live in my worlds above and below.
(2.35-2.36 p 49)
- Immortality/salvation is hereby guaranteed by the following logic: the poem will live at least as long as the mountains and rivers, which, presumably is for all time, or at least all earthly time. Also, VŒlm´ki will exist as long as the poem does, thereby gaining immortality. But is this merely about the sage’s immortality, and not ours? There is another element here: for the poem to be told among men, men must exist! So, in reciting the poem, we, too, benefit from Brahma’s prophetic benediction in a roundabout way.
- It is noteworthy to consider that rivers are considered purifying, so both of these sources of purity are intertwined, and potentially play off of each other.
- The theme of purity may also be examined through the inclusion of the “water-pot”. For a modern secular readership, a “water-pot” would have little significance, but the kala§a is actually laden with associations of ritual purity. It is often a vessel of purified water, and plays a role even in modern day rituals. In my experience, there is often a segment of the ritual known as the kala§a sthŒpana, or establishment of the water-pot whereby said water-pot is consecrated, or sanctified, or made ritually pure, and worthy of veneration.
- VŒlm´ki asks Bharadvaja to set down his water jar (kala§a) and give him his bark robe just prior to entering the water. These two items represent both asceticism (the garment is made essentially of forest-material) and purity. The jar is presumable empty at this point, although the text does not specify (2.9, p45). The kala§a, is again mentioned, (2.20), after VŒlm´ki completes his ritual bath, this time the text indicates that it is “brimming” with water from the river. Initially, the pre-ritual pot is an empty vessel in the hands of the students, carrying neither water nor purity. The teacher them takes ownership of the pot, consecrating it and its contents in his ritual bath – a bath which coincides with the birth of poetry, rendering him doubly “purified” at its conclusion. He hands it back to his student full – physically, and ritually – ready to be taken back to the ashram. A kala§a is again mentioned (at 4.19 p 59) where it serves as a gift from sage to Lava and Kusha. It is the payment for their delivery of the moving epic. Given the poem’s purifying qualities as discussed above, it appears to be a fair exchange: one agent of purity, the pot, given in exchange for another agent of purity, the epic performance.
- There is an intriguing relationship here between poetry, purification, and performance. Poetry and Water are both agents of purity, yet ‘water’ is the source of both Poetry and Purity in this case. The kala§a symbolizes the presence of purity, hence it is brimming full upon completion of the sage’s ritual. It then appears as part of another very different process of purification, imitated by the twins’ performance of the Ramayana. There seems to be two performances here, ritual and poetic, ascetic and aesthetic, each serving as embodiments of purity and agents of purification. What is their commonaltiy? I would argue that their commonality is the third Motif of the discussion: Orality.
- So, why then, is recitation of the RŒmŒyaöa, or any kŒvya so purifying? According to Sheldon Pollock, “there is no tension between the ritual and grammatical meaning of saµsk¨ta” (46). If the language itself – it’s very grammar – is codified to retain ritual purity, then the only application of the language which would compromise that purity are those which violate that grammar, which the epics certainly do not. Both ritual performance and aesthetic performance are equally purifying because they are performance of Sanskrit, a language well-made for the transmission of purity.
- Orality is needed for purity. (water demonstration)
- The following is a purification mantra which invokes the sanctity of rivers:
oµ gaºge ca jamune caiva godŒvari sarasvati /
narmade sindhu kŒveri jale ‘smin sannidhiµ kuru
the water in the kala§a is purified by the ‘waters’ of these rivers via mantra, via SOUND.
- The following is a common purification mantra which is used in conjucbntion with the sprinking of water, but makes no mention of water specifically. It basically says that ‘purity’ and ‘polution’ reside in all things, but he who remembers the lotus-eyed lord (vi·öu) shall be clean
oµ apavitraú pavitro vŒ sarvŒvasthŒµ gato ‘pi vŒ /
yaú smaret puö¶ar´kŒk·aµ sa bŒhyŒbhyantaraú §uciú
- In like manner, one can recite a §loka from the epic to be used as a mantra, e.g., Brahma’s blessing (2.35 – 2.36 p 49)
- yŒvat sthŒsyanti girayaú sarita§ ca mah´tale
yŒvad rŒmŒyaöakathŒ loke·u pracari·yati
yŒvad rŒmasya ca kathŒ tvatk¨tŒ pracari·yati
tŒvad èrdhvam adha§ ca tvaµ malloke·u nivatsyasi
MOTIF III: ORALITY
- Pollock dates the epic at no earlier than the mid 3rd century B.C.E., only after the invention of writing. In the second chapter (p78), “Literature and the Cosmopolitan Language of Literature”, of his book, The Language of Gods in the World of Men, he cleverly argues that:
The carefully constructed image of a purely oral culture in the prelude – a text unquestionably dated later that the main body of the work – cannot mean what it literally says. When VŒlm´ki is shown to compose his poem after meditating and to transmit it orally to two young singers, who learn and perform it exactly as he taught it to them, we are being given not a realistic depiction, but a sentimental “fiction of written culture”…for it clearly cognizes orality as such from outside orality, so to speak, in a way impossible to do in a world ignorant of any alternative – ignorant, that is, of writing.
- The qualities and deeds of RŒma are summarized by NŒrada who brings VŒlm´ki up to speed on RŒma’s current situation, he declares that “Whoever reads this history of Rama, which is purifying, destructive of sin, holy, and equal to the Vedas, is freed from all sins.” (2.77-80, p 41)
- in places where “the majority of the audience has always been illiterate, public recitation has played a vital role in the dissemination of sacred literature” (Philip Lutgendorf, The “Great Sacrifice” of RŒmŒyaöa Recitations: Ritual Performance of the RŒmacaritmŒnas, p186)
- However, the oral, acoustic dimension is undeniable. Goldman writes that “…the translator of Sanskrit epic poetry has to conform the inevitable loss of the kin-aesthetic effect this poetry – intended to be sung to the accompaniment of musical instruments – had upon it’s original audience” (Goldman 23).
- Upon uttering the primordial §loka, VŒlm´ki declares that, “fixed in metrical quarters, eahcin with a like number of syllables, and fit for the accompaniment of stringed and percussive instruments, the utterance that I produced in this access of §oka should be called §loka, poetry, and nothing else” (1.2.17, p 47). There seems to be an excessive emphasis on the fact that this was meant to be performed with musical accompaniment.
- VŒlm´ki’s poetic cry ensues upon hearing the cry of the bird. It was not just any animal that was killed. It was not, for example, a silent animal, like a rabbit or a deer, either of which would be equally helpless and timid. It was a vocal animal which was killed, and one not simply one capable of sound, e.g., a hyena, or fox, it was one capable of aesthetic sound. These birds are often referred to as sweet-voiced.
- The krau–cha hen utters a cry at the sight of her murdered mate. The sight causes grief which causes an utterance. She therefore parallels VŒlm´ki in that fashion which, upon witnessing the hateful act is moved to a poetic utterance by force of his compassion. This is necessarily an oral experience. The krau–cha’s sound is born of grief just as VŒlm´ki’§loka is born of §oka, i.e. grief.
- This ties into the notion of a rasa being also experienced on the tongue. The “mood” of the composition is not associated with a texture (relating to touch), an aroma (relating to scent), a sound, relating to (hearing), or a sight (relating to vision). After all, these art forms are received by the eyes and ears, but the only sense associated is the only sense associated with the mouth, reinforcing the oral motif.
- The murdered krau–cha is described as sweet-voiced (2.27, p 49), and it is for the loss of this sweet-voiced being that VŒlm´ki grieves. From the grief over this loss springs poetry, but poetry which must not be only read silently, or read aloud, or chanted, it must be sung. Lava and Kusha are first introduced as, among other things, sweet-voiced. The text again self-reflexively repeats that it is “sweet both when recited and sung in the three tempos to the seven notes of the scale, and it is eminently suitable for the accompaniment of both stringed and percussive instruments” (4.7 p57).
CONLUSION:
- Sanskrit culture is undeniably an oral culture one, despite, as Pollock asserts, the later trend towards writing.
- Orality fundamental to both ritual performance and aesthetic performance, thereby rendering any divide between aesthetics and religion (in regards to this text) tenuous at best.
- Both performances, ritual and aesthetic, serve to purify, since their common medium, the Sanskrit language, is understood as both an embodiment of purity and as an instrument thereof. Sanskrit is pure, and Sanskrit makes pure. As such, performing a Sanskrit epic is parallel to performing a vedic ritual.
FURTHER CONSIDERATIONS:
- is the orality motif a subset of the purity motif, or is the former the subset of the latter?
- What can we say about non-oral aesthetic performance (e.g., dance) which does not rely on Sanskrit: can it, too, be likened to ritual performance? Does orality play a part in dance as well?
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Ramayana-Book One, Boyhood by Valmiki and the discussion of Rasa
Taking the bark-cloth from his disciples hands, he walked about, his senses tightly controlled, looking all about him at the vast forest. Nearby, that holy man saw an inseparable pair of sweet-voiced krauñcha birds wandering about. But even as he watched, a Nisháda hunter, filled with malice and intent on mischief, struck down the male of the pair. Seeing him struck down and writhing on the ground, his body covered with blood, his mate uttered a piteous cry. And the pious seer, seeing the bird struck down in this fashion by the Nisháda, was filled with pity.
Then in the intensity of this feeling of compassion, the Brahman thought, "This is wrong." Hearing the krauñcha hen wailing, he uttered these words: "Since, Nisháda, you killed one of this pair of krauñchas, distracted at the height of passion, you shall not live for very long." And even as he stood watching and spoke in this way, this thought arose in his heart, "Stricken with grief for this bird, what is this I have uttered?" (2.10)
As Ingalls states (1.5 p. 113) it is rasa that gives life to poetry as the soul gives life to the body. Woven throughout many of the writings in the discussion of the meaning of rasa the grief associated with the killing of the krauñcha hen is the vehicle for interpretation of this concept. For example for Ananda the rasa is the sharpening of Valmiki's emotion of grief. This inner meaning is the essence of the poem and its outward beauty is the wealth of its direct meaning, word and structure. (p. 114) This grief of the first poet Valmiki born from the wailing of the cock curlew becomes transformed into verse. Grief here is considered the basic emotion transformed through compassion to an inferred meaning beyond the words yet suggested through them like the reflection of the moon in water.
How this primary emotion transforms into poetry is through the "rumination" of the grief through which the pain and torture of the experience becomes "relished" through compassion and the melting of one's thoughts. The verse then flows spontaneously from this "melted" source.
Grieving once more for the krauñcha hen, given over wholly to his grief and lost in his inner thought, he sang the verse again right there before the god. With a smile, Brahma spoke to the bull among sages, "This is a shloka that you have composed. ....Now compose the holy story of Rama fashioned into shlokas to delight the heart. (2.30)
From this viewpoint Rasa, is an aesthetic expression of the affinity of experience among beings found in the heart. Essentially the contemplated emotion goes through a process of literary alchemy. It is absorbed, consumed, elaborated, communicated through the poet and in a subtle, refined and profound manner transforms into poetry that then poised, strikes skilfully through the heart of the reader, becomes art and ultimately reflects the soul. In the sublimation of the emotion there is a radiance, a bliss, that is both impersonal and otherworldly, and is essentially a spiritual experience and where it mirrors the Vedas.
One of the most interesting points made on p 115 is that it would be a mistake to consider that the sage experiences this grief personally. Masson writes of the Indian poet's need to distance himself from the emotion before writing of them. Ingalls states that the poet does not write of his own emotions but of that of others as described in Abhinava's view (the grief is not Valmiki's but that of the grieving bird) which is in direct contradiction to the Ramayana itself that speaks of the "poet's grief and pity". A very thought provoking issue.....to be discussed again later perhaps.
Taking the bark-cloth from his disciples hands, he walked about, his senses tightly controlled, looking all about him at the vast forest. Nearby, that holy man saw an inseparable pair of sweet-voiced krauñcha birds wandering about. But even as he watched, a Nisháda hunter, filled with malice and intent on mischief, struck down the male of the pair. Seeing him struck down and writhing on the ground, his body covered with blood, his mate uttered a piteous cry. And the pious seer, seeing the bird struck down in this fashion by the Nisháda, was filled with pity.
Then in the intensity of this feeling of compassion, the Brahman thought, "This is wrong." Hearing the krauñcha hen wailing, he uttered these words: "Since, Nisháda, you killed one of this pair of krauñchas, distracted at the height of passion, you shall not live for very long." And even as he stood watching and spoke in this way, this thought arose in his heart, "Stricken with grief for this bird, what is this I have uttered?" (2.10)
As Ingalls states (1.5 p. 113) it is rasa that gives life to poetry as the soul gives life to the body. Woven throughout many of the writings in the discussion of the meaning of rasa the grief associated with the killing of the krauñcha hen is the vehicle for interpretation of this concept. For example for Ananda the rasa is the sharpening of Valmiki's emotion of grief. This inner meaning is the essence of the poem and its outward beauty is the wealth of its direct meaning, word and structure. (p. 114) This grief of the first poet Valmiki born from the wailing of the cock curlew becomes transformed into verse. Grief here is considered the basic emotion transformed through compassion to an inferred meaning beyond the words yet suggested through them like the reflection of the moon in water.
How this primary emotion transforms into poetry is through the "rumination" of the grief through which the pain and torture of the experience becomes "relished" through compassion and the melting of one's thoughts. The verse then flows spontaneously from this "melted" source.
Grieving once more for the krauñcha hen, given over wholly to his grief and lost in his inner thought, he sang the verse again right there before the god. With a smile, Brahma spoke to the bull among sages, "This is a shloka that you have composed. ....Now compose the holy story of Rama fashioned into shlokas to delight the heart. (2.30)
From this viewpoint Rasa, is an aesthetic expression of the affinity of experience among beings found in the heart. Essentially the contemplated emotion goes through a process of literary alchemy. It is absorbed, consumed, elaborated, communicated through the poet and in a subtle, refined and profound manner transforms into poetry that then poised, strikes skilfully through the heart of the reader, becomes art and ultimately reflects the soul. In the sublimation of the emotion there is a radiance, a bliss, that is both impersonal and otherworldly, and is essentially a spiritual experience and where it mirrors the Vedas.
One of the most interesting points made on p 115 is that it would be a mistake to consider that the sage experiences this grief personally. Masson writes of the Indian poet's need to distance himself from the emotion before writing of them. Ingalls states that the poet does not write of his own emotions but of that of others as described in Abhinava's view (the grief is not Valmiki's but that of the grieving bird) which is in direct contradiction to the Ramayana itself that speaks of the "poet's grief and pity". A very thought provoking issue.....to be discussed again later perhaps.
Words Speak Louder Than Actions: Oral Fixation in the Ramayana
I am actually facilitating the discussion next class, and am not sure if I should do a blog. I was thinking to post my thoughts afterwards, or perhaps prepare a hand-out. Since I will reserve most of my comments on the primary text until then, I would like to comment here only on the Vasudha Narayanan essay. In “The Ramayana in the Theology and Experience of the Srivaishnava Community: The Poetry of the Alvars and the Commentaries of Periyavaccan Pillai” (originally appeared in the Journal of Vaisnava Studies, vol 2, no 4, Fall 1994; accessed from http://www.ramanuja.org/sv/ramayana/ on January 21, 2008) she writes that “we see (for the first time in Tamil literature) poets actually participating in the story of Rama by identifying themselves as, and then talking in the guise of, various characters in the epic…” I find this interesting insofar as it may offer insight into how these poets might have related to VŒlm´ki himself. Obviously, VŒlm´ki, too, enters into his work. Could this have been viewed by these poets as a literary convention instead of an actual event? If not, why else could these poets be so comfortable entering their work? Perhaps this can be construed as an technique in alignment with rasa theory: These poets themselves embody the mood of their work while performing since they actually partake in it. I find this interesting albeit tangential.
Also, Narayanan writes that Periyavaccan Pillai was among the first Srivaisnava theologians to “emphasize the analogy between Sita and the human soul...[serving as] the ultimate mediator and in fact, (almost) equal to Visnu himself”. This is interesting in considering the relationship between RŒma, S´tŒ and RŒma’s “purpose” throughout the epic. For example, RŒma first discovers S´tŒ while on a journey with his guru, away from home. This is similar to the need for a teacher in order to discover one’s “soul”, instead of finding the proper instruction at home. Also, most of his time getting to know S´tŒ occurs while he is a forest-dweller, away from society. This, too, is congruent with the notion that ascetic life brings one closer to one’s soul. Furhter, when RŒma initially loses S´tŒ, in the forest, he demonstrates a moment of highly uncharacteristic behavior, filled with anger, despair, etc. RŒma is “beside himself”. He ultimately fulfills his cosmic purpose in slaying the demon RŒvaöa, whereby he regains his soul-mate, S´tŒ. This may be taken as allegorical for the human struggle to overcome one’s evil aspects in order to recapture one’s own divine nature, as symbolized by S´tŒ.
Actually, while I have your attention, I think I will explore one of the themes I plan to include in my presentation – I call it the “orality motif”. I find Sheldon Pollock’s thoughts on the matter quite insightful. Pollock dates the epic at no earlier than the mid 3rd century B.C.E., only after the invention of writing. In the second chapter (p78), “Literature and the Cosmopolitan Language of Literature”, of his book, The Language of Gods in the World of Men, he argues:
The carefully constructed image of a purely oral culture in the prelude – a text unquestionably dated later that the main body of the work – cannot mean what it literally says. When VŒlm´ki is shown to compose his poem after meditating and to transmit it orally to two young singers, who learn and perform it exactly as he taught it to them, we are being given not a realistic depiction, but a sentimental “fiction of written culture”…for it clearly cognizes orality as such from outside orality, so to speak, in a way impossible to do in a world ignorant of any alternative – ignorant, that is, of writing.
Interestingly, NŒrada, upon fist recounting the career of RŒma toVŒlm´ki, declares that “Whoever reads this history of Rama, which is purifying, destructive of sin, holy, and equal to the Vedas, is freed from all sins.” (2.77-80, p 41). However, despite, this one reference to writing, the epic overtly privileges orality. For example, in the primary text we read that VŒlm´ki’s poetic cry ensues upon hearing the cry of a krau–cha-hen, a cry of helplessness while her mate was being murdered. It was not just any helpless animal that was killed. It was not, for example, a silent animal, like a rabbit or a deer, either of which would be equally vulnerable in that situation. It was a vocal animal which was killed, and not simply one capable of sound - for example, a hyena, or fox – but one capable of aesthetic sound. These birds are often referred to as “sweet-voiced” throughout the work. The sight of her murdered mate causes grief in the krau–cha hen, which causes a cry to ensue. Her experience thereby parallels VŒlm´ki’s, who, upon witnessing the same hateful act, is moved by the force of his compassion. to produce a poetic utterance, one just as spontaneous as the wail of the krau–cha-hen. The krau–cha’s sound is born of §oka, i.e. grief; so, too, is VŒlm´ki’ poetry. The choice of animal for me, speaks to the ‘orality’ with which the epic is infused. I hope to explore this motif with further examples in my presentation.
Thanks for reading,
Raj
Also, Narayanan writes that Periyavaccan Pillai was among the first Srivaisnava theologians to “emphasize the analogy between Sita and the human soul...[serving as] the ultimate mediator and in fact, (almost) equal to Visnu himself”. This is interesting in considering the relationship between RŒma, S´tŒ and RŒma’s “purpose” throughout the epic. For example, RŒma first discovers S´tŒ while on a journey with his guru, away from home. This is similar to the need for a teacher in order to discover one’s “soul”, instead of finding the proper instruction at home. Also, most of his time getting to know S´tŒ occurs while he is a forest-dweller, away from society. This, too, is congruent with the notion that ascetic life brings one closer to one’s soul. Furhter, when RŒma initially loses S´tŒ, in the forest, he demonstrates a moment of highly uncharacteristic behavior, filled with anger, despair, etc. RŒma is “beside himself”. He ultimately fulfills his cosmic purpose in slaying the demon RŒvaöa, whereby he regains his soul-mate, S´tŒ. This may be taken as allegorical for the human struggle to overcome one’s evil aspects in order to recapture one’s own divine nature, as symbolized by S´tŒ.
Actually, while I have your attention, I think I will explore one of the themes I plan to include in my presentation – I call it the “orality motif”. I find Sheldon Pollock’s thoughts on the matter quite insightful. Pollock dates the epic at no earlier than the mid 3rd century B.C.E., only after the invention of writing. In the second chapter (p78), “Literature and the Cosmopolitan Language of Literature”, of his book, The Language of Gods in the World of Men, he argues:
The carefully constructed image of a purely oral culture in the prelude – a text unquestionably dated later that the main body of the work – cannot mean what it literally says. When VŒlm´ki is shown to compose his poem after meditating and to transmit it orally to two young singers, who learn and perform it exactly as he taught it to them, we are being given not a realistic depiction, but a sentimental “fiction of written culture”…for it clearly cognizes orality as such from outside orality, so to speak, in a way impossible to do in a world ignorant of any alternative – ignorant, that is, of writing.
Interestingly, NŒrada, upon fist recounting the career of RŒma toVŒlm´ki, declares that “Whoever reads this history of Rama, which is purifying, destructive of sin, holy, and equal to the Vedas, is freed from all sins.” (2.77-80, p 41). However, despite, this one reference to writing, the epic overtly privileges orality. For example, in the primary text we read that VŒlm´ki’s poetic cry ensues upon hearing the cry of a krau–cha-hen, a cry of helplessness while her mate was being murdered. It was not just any helpless animal that was killed. It was not, for example, a silent animal, like a rabbit or a deer, either of which would be equally vulnerable in that situation. It was a vocal animal which was killed, and not simply one capable of sound - for example, a hyena, or fox – but one capable of aesthetic sound. These birds are often referred to as “sweet-voiced” throughout the work. The sight of her murdered mate causes grief in the krau–cha hen, which causes a cry to ensue. Her experience thereby parallels VŒlm´ki’s, who, upon witnessing the same hateful act, is moved by the force of his compassion. to produce a poetic utterance, one just as spontaneous as the wail of the krau–cha-hen. The krau–cha’s sound is born of §oka, i.e. grief; so, too, is VŒlm´ki’ poetry. The choice of animal for me, speaks to the ‘orality’ with which the epic is infused. I hope to explore this motif with further examples in my presentation.
Thanks for reading,
Raj
Monday, January 21, 2008
The Origins Of Poetry
The Creation of Poetry – an excerpt from Valmiki’s adhikavya was a pleasure to read now that I know exactly what I’m reading, this being my fourth or fifth reading of the same chapter in the last eighteen months! It’s interesting the details there to be picked up when I am not focused on learning the story itself. This seems to be the exact way in which the Ramayana summary within this chapter works – if one isn’t focused on plot details because they’ve already been revealed, then one is left free to appreciate the finer details of this epic poetry. In The Creation of Poetry, the birth of shloka (poetry) from sloka (grief) is depicted. As this myth tells, the grief that Valmiki feels from seeing a pair of krauncha birds ripped apart mid-coitus by a hunter is what propels him to utter a curse upon Narada, the hunter. His utterance however, was “fixed in metrical quarters, each with a like number of syllables, and fit for the accompaniment of stringed and percussion instruments” (Valmiki, 2.15) – poetry from pain, if you will.
It is this grief, this emotion, that the Dhvanyaloka believes give life to poetry much like the soul gives life to the body. This is Rasa – no more than a sharpening of Valmiki’s emotion of grief (Dhvanyaloka, 1.5K). I took this to mean that what Valmiki created, is a reflection – but not a carbon copy – of what he is feeling. On page 114 of the Dhvanyaloka, a very interesting sentence caught my eye: “Grief is the basic emotion of the flavour of compassion” (Dhvanyaloka, 1.5A)…What could Anandavardhana mean by this? Again, I related this back to the dichotomous relation between what one feels and what one does – if one is unable to feel grief, even in empathy, then one is unable to create an environment in which this grief is alleviated (compassion). In Valmiki’s case, this empathy for the birds moved him so much that on their behalf, he cursed the hunter. By Brahma’s blessing, this curse was uttered as poetry, and thus the art was born. Before I risk being long winded, I wanted to touch upon the topic of Vrtti as well – that is to say, the poetry reflects the Rasa – and hence, one is required to create the other. This allows for poetry itself not to become commonplace, but rather have special place in literature, much like the soul has a special status in life (Dhvanyaloka, 1.5L).
The Narayanan article discusses in depth the alvar poetic tradition of the Srivaisnava community. Rama-devotion manifests itself in this tradition, in two ways: through allusions to Rama in poetry, as well as through participation in the recreation of the Rama story. Many of these “recreations” veer away from the Sanskrit version of the adhikavya, while still maintaining an affinity for the chapter in which Rama destroys Ravana and saves Sita. Narayanan points to an interesting verse in the Kulacekara alvar that speaks of The Creation of Poetry chapter in Valmiki’s Ramayana – the Srivaisnavas consider this to be a miniature Ramayana within itself (Narayanan, 5). In this alvar, Valmiki (arguably) sings the verses to the lord enshrined in the city of Tillai Citrakutam - believed to be Rama himself. Rama, for all intents and purposes, is seen by this tradition as Vishnu himself – what purpose is there for his particular manifestation in this poem, one wonders. Narayanan says that “the incarnation of Rama stands midpoint between the lord’s remoteness in his other incarnations and his rather remarkable camaraderie as Krishna” (Narayanan, 10). Furthermore, Narayanan believes that the alvars reinforce the Srivaisnava belief that incarnation of Rama was merely an exercise in the lord’s accessibility and compassion.
There’s that word again. Compassion. Where there’s compassion, there once was grief. Poetry can’t be far behind!
***What is the significance of the gender reversals of the krauncha birds in the Dhvanyaloka???
It is this grief, this emotion, that the Dhvanyaloka believes give life to poetry much like the soul gives life to the body. This is Rasa – no more than a sharpening of Valmiki’s emotion of grief (Dhvanyaloka, 1.5K). I took this to mean that what Valmiki created, is a reflection – but not a carbon copy – of what he is feeling. On page 114 of the Dhvanyaloka, a very interesting sentence caught my eye: “Grief is the basic emotion of the flavour of compassion” (Dhvanyaloka, 1.5A)…What could Anandavardhana mean by this? Again, I related this back to the dichotomous relation between what one feels and what one does – if one is unable to feel grief, even in empathy, then one is unable to create an environment in which this grief is alleviated (compassion). In Valmiki’s case, this empathy for the birds moved him so much that on their behalf, he cursed the hunter. By Brahma’s blessing, this curse was uttered as poetry, and thus the art was born. Before I risk being long winded, I wanted to touch upon the topic of Vrtti as well – that is to say, the poetry reflects the Rasa – and hence, one is required to create the other. This allows for poetry itself not to become commonplace, but rather have special place in literature, much like the soul has a special status in life (Dhvanyaloka, 1.5L).
The Narayanan article discusses in depth the alvar poetic tradition of the Srivaisnava community. Rama-devotion manifests itself in this tradition, in two ways: through allusions to Rama in poetry, as well as through participation in the recreation of the Rama story. Many of these “recreations” veer away from the Sanskrit version of the adhikavya, while still maintaining an affinity for the chapter in which Rama destroys Ravana and saves Sita. Narayanan points to an interesting verse in the Kulacekara alvar that speaks of The Creation of Poetry chapter in Valmiki’s Ramayana – the Srivaisnavas consider this to be a miniature Ramayana within itself (Narayanan, 5). In this alvar, Valmiki (arguably) sings the verses to the lord enshrined in the city of Tillai Citrakutam - believed to be Rama himself. Rama, for all intents and purposes, is seen by this tradition as Vishnu himself – what purpose is there for his particular manifestation in this poem, one wonders. Narayanan says that “the incarnation of Rama stands midpoint between the lord’s remoteness in his other incarnations and his rather remarkable camaraderie as Krishna” (Narayanan, 10). Furthermore, Narayanan believes that the alvars reinforce the Srivaisnava belief that incarnation of Rama was merely an exercise in the lord’s accessibility and compassion.
There’s that word again. Compassion. Where there’s compassion, there once was grief. Poetry can’t be far behind!
***What is the significance of the gender reversals of the krauncha birds in the Dhvanyaloka???
Suspense, Sentiments, and Sex: Reflections on the Ramayana and Rasa*
This week’s readings largely focused on the Ramayana. The except from Book One of the Ramayana was a summary of how Valmiki learned the story, how he was inspired to create the first sloka, a plot summary of the epic, and then the legend of how the story came to be recited in front of the hero himself by his own kids. I have noticed in my past readings of Sanskrit translations for some other literature classes that it is very common to preface a longer story with a very short summary. In “western” story telling culture this is not so commonly practiced. People want an element of surprise, and suspense drives the story. In contrast to this it is said that no one in India ever hears the Ramayana for the first time. People do not listen to the story of go to re-enactments in order to be surprised. They know the story in and out and go to appreciate the specific telling; the suspense lies in the unexpected ways it is retold. Therefore before we even begin the epic we know the background and we are given the plot, spoilers included!
The excerpts from the Dhvanyaloka were more difficult to get into. This is partly due to the fact that the margins were cut off, and the ends of every line were unfortunately missing. This text discussed rasa theory, particularly in the context of Valmiki’s composition of the Ramayana. Valmiki experienced emotions of grief at the killing of the bird, his grief transformed into the rasa of compassion. It stated that “grief if the basic emotion of the rasa of compassion, for compassion consists of relishing (or aesthetically enjoying) grief” (116-117) I find this to be a rather strange definition or understanding of compassion and grief. I am not sure if I agree that one feels compassion because they enjoy feeling grief. Is it not more a feeling because we care? But I guess if we were to care about other’s problems we would have to not be afraid of feeling grief.
The "Ramayana in the Theology and Experience of the Srivaishnava Community” article was an interesting compilation and discussion of bhakti poetry for the incarnations of Vishnu. I was aware of the often sexual and “bisexual” tendencies of mysticism involving Krsna. One example being how devotees often re-enact the story of Aravan and Mohini in a way that bends gender boundaries, similar to the gender fluidity that is expressed in the myth itself. (Quickly: In the Mahabharata Aravan, Arjuna’s young son, is going to be sacrificed but wants to have a sexual relationship with a woman, and to have that woman mourn his death. But no woman would want to put themselves in that position. So Krsna becomes Mohini, the “temptress”, and satisfies Aravan’s requests.) The Ramayana does not include such interesting examples of gender fluidity as the Mahabharata, so it makes sense why there are less examples involving Rama. But it is interesting to find out that it is not unknown.
I was not sure how formal to make this response, and I just now skimmed over Aveisha’s and Aneisha’s posts, which appear much more put together than mine, which are just my random thoughts. I must have gotten too used to the informal nature in our Method and Theory class!
- Jackie
*You will also have to excuse my title; sometimes I really like alliteration...
The excerpts from the Dhvanyaloka were more difficult to get into. This is partly due to the fact that the margins were cut off, and the ends of every line were unfortunately missing. This text discussed rasa theory, particularly in the context of Valmiki’s composition of the Ramayana. Valmiki experienced emotions of grief at the killing of the bird, his grief transformed into the rasa of compassion. It stated that “grief if the basic emotion of the rasa of compassion, for compassion consists of relishing (or aesthetically enjoying) grief” (116-117) I find this to be a rather strange definition or understanding of compassion and grief. I am not sure if I agree that one feels compassion because they enjoy feeling grief. Is it not more a feeling because we care? But I guess if we were to care about other’s problems we would have to not be afraid of feeling grief.
The "Ramayana in the Theology and Experience of the Srivaishnava Community” article was an interesting compilation and discussion of bhakti poetry for the incarnations of Vishnu. I was aware of the often sexual and “bisexual” tendencies of mysticism involving Krsna. One example being how devotees often re-enact the story of Aravan and Mohini in a way that bends gender boundaries, similar to the gender fluidity that is expressed in the myth itself. (Quickly: In the Mahabharata Aravan, Arjuna’s young son, is going to be sacrificed but wants to have a sexual relationship with a woman, and to have that woman mourn his death. But no woman would want to put themselves in that position. So Krsna becomes Mohini, the “temptress”, and satisfies Aravan’s requests.) The Ramayana does not include such interesting examples of gender fluidity as the Mahabharata, so it makes sense why there are less examples involving Rama. But it is interesting to find out that it is not unknown.
I was not sure how formal to make this response, and I just now skimmed over Aveisha’s and Aneisha’s posts, which appear much more put together than mine, which are just my random thoughts. I must have gotten too used to the informal nature in our Method and Theory class!
- Jackie
*You will also have to excuse my title; sometimes I really like alliteration...
Commentary on Narayanan's Article
In “The Ramayana in the Theology and Experience of the Srivaisnava Community”, Vasudha Narayanan emphasizes the significance of Valmiki’s Ramayana. He outlines the ways in which the epic characters serve as exemplarily models for how individuals should function in society. He outlines three main functions of the Ramayana which emphasizes how religion is not autonomous from asceticism. More specifically he uses the art form (the Ramayana) and correlates it to religious goals, but does so to show its inseparability. Therefore, he shows the epic should come to life through the daily worship of the lord in everyday life.
The first function he outlines is that much like Sita, one must wait for the lord to rescue us like how Rama rescues her in order to seek salvation. In this regard, we must not selfishly force the hand of God for liberation. Second, he mentions that the Ramayana is significant in outlining the relationship between Rama and Krishna. In this section he argues that the main function of the epic is that it emphasizes rasa as outlined by Ingalls. More particularly, the personalities of these characters are presented in a way that creates feelings/moods in the readers. By comparing and contrasting these personalities, this explains the paths of worship to specific incarnations or deities. In other words, personalities form the rasa of this epic is functionalized in worship through bhakti yoga-the path of devotion. Lastly, closely connected to this path is the worshipping of art forms and images. Narayanan emphasizes that this idea of worshipping the images is tied to the epic through Sita placing flowers around the neck of her husband. Much like this pictures are decorated with flowers in the temple as an expression of compassion, love and surrender.
In his work, Narayanan illustrates how ideals whether that be political or religious, can be formed, regulated and maintained through the epic. More specifically, the Ramayana which is famously known for depicting Rama as the ideal husband, king and son and Sita as faithful, submissive and pure, is used to inform readers of their functions in society and overall enforces the bhakti path.
In his post-script Narayanan states that this paper continue to grows. This emphasizes that according to the time and the place within history the translations of the Ramayana in terms of importance will continuously be revised and changed over time. In other words, in order for the epic to be preserved it must be employed to meet the standards of religious practice of the time.
Thus, the Srivaisnava community can be said to be doing two things by emphasizing themes in the Ramayana. First, it can be argued that they are preserving older practices. More specifically, through this they are trying to emphasize the functioning of religion in the public sphere, or in other words that religious ideals are integral for the functioning of society. On the other hand, since liberation is an individual gain, or solely reliant on the individual’s purity, it can also be argued that the Srivaisnava community is concerned with preserving newer practices that tend to keep religious ideals personal rather than public. In other words, it is up to the individual not the community at large to defend what themes they choose to defend in the Ramayana. In this way there is choice in reaching moksa as opposed to forced ways of life and practices in the case of religion merging with the public sphere.
Regardless, the aims of the Srivaisnava community through the use of the Ramayana themes are not explicitly pointed out in this article. Very little is mentioned about what specific actions need to be done in order to achieve liberation, or how one should act in everyday life.
The first function he outlines is that much like Sita, one must wait for the lord to rescue us like how Rama rescues her in order to seek salvation. In this regard, we must not selfishly force the hand of God for liberation. Second, he mentions that the Ramayana is significant in outlining the relationship between Rama and Krishna. In this section he argues that the main function of the epic is that it emphasizes rasa as outlined by Ingalls. More particularly, the personalities of these characters are presented in a way that creates feelings/moods in the readers. By comparing and contrasting these personalities, this explains the paths of worship to specific incarnations or deities. In other words, personalities form the rasa of this epic is functionalized in worship through bhakti yoga-the path of devotion. Lastly, closely connected to this path is the worshipping of art forms and images. Narayanan emphasizes that this idea of worshipping the images is tied to the epic through Sita placing flowers around the neck of her husband. Much like this pictures are decorated with flowers in the temple as an expression of compassion, love and surrender.
In his work, Narayanan illustrates how ideals whether that be political or religious, can be formed, regulated and maintained through the epic. More specifically, the Ramayana which is famously known for depicting Rama as the ideal husband, king and son and Sita as faithful, submissive and pure, is used to inform readers of their functions in society and overall enforces the bhakti path.
In his post-script Narayanan states that this paper continue to grows. This emphasizes that according to the time and the place within history the translations of the Ramayana in terms of importance will continuously be revised and changed over time. In other words, in order for the epic to be preserved it must be employed to meet the standards of religious practice of the time.
Thus, the Srivaisnava community can be said to be doing two things by emphasizing themes in the Ramayana. First, it can be argued that they are preserving older practices. More specifically, through this they are trying to emphasize the functioning of religion in the public sphere, or in other words that religious ideals are integral for the functioning of society. On the other hand, since liberation is an individual gain, or solely reliant on the individual’s purity, it can also be argued that the Srivaisnava community is concerned with preserving newer practices that tend to keep religious ideals personal rather than public. In other words, it is up to the individual not the community at large to defend what themes they choose to defend in the Ramayana. In this way there is choice in reaching moksa as opposed to forced ways of life and practices in the case of religion merging with the public sphere.
Regardless, the aims of the Srivaisnava community through the use of the Ramayana themes are not explicitly pointed out in this article. Very little is mentioned about what specific actions need to be done in order to achieve liberation, or how one should act in everyday life.
Rasa: "The Life of Poetry"
Ingalls uses the Ramayana to illustrate the aesthetic pleasure( in which he identifies as rasa) that one gains from poetry. He shows how Abhinava "distinguishes the primary production of the rasas (flavors) from the secondary production of pleasure and pain" (112). In other words, Abhinava argues that the literal meaning of a word suggests the rasa, and does not generate it. He clearly shows that when there are words directly naming the rasa, then and only then is there a rasa-experience (112). In contrast, Ananda argues, "rasa derives from both meaning and word" (113), and thus the words give a rasa experience and does not only suggest it like Abhinava states. Through the mention of their arguments, Ingalls argues that it is this element (rasa) that arises in the Ramayana; weather one regards it with Abhinava or Ananda. In his essay, ‘The Ramayana in the Theology and experience of the Srivaisnava Community", Narayanan discusses this rasa element that is present in the Ramayana, through the eyes of the Srivaisnava community.
With the introduction of the mythology of Sanskrit epics in Tamil literature, Tamil poets for the first time were able to participate in the story of Rama. Narayanan clearly depicts the differences between the Tamil interpretation of the Ramayana and the Sanskrit Ramayana, in which I believe this process allows for the commonality between them to become visible. As Ingalls stresses the rasa experience remains the same regardless of the process that is used to arise this experience. Narayanan states: "the mention of jasmine flowers will reinforce in the minds of the Tamil audience, the grief of separation that Sita feels (not sure because where I got it from it did not have page numbers). Therefore, through the use of symbols the Tamil audience is able to gain a rasa experience by looking beyond the literal meaning of the symbols for example, Sita comes to represent the human soul and Lanka represents this life. With this representation on stage the story becomes relevant to every human being as we become the characters and thus, this participation yields an aesthetic experience.
Does the Tamil interpretation of the Sanskrit epic, in a sense de-secularize the Sanskrit Ramayana by bringing back the focus to the veneration of God, which in turn gives rise to the bhakti tradition? Where the recounting of the Rama story becomes a symbol of God, and a tool through which one can worship God. If this is the case, the aesthetic experience becomes a religious experience as well, as this life (Lanka) is destructed and the human soul (Sita) is free.
In this case the audience members do not only experience compassion (grief), from the Ramayana, but they also have an experience that is beyond explanation. Can this experience be related to the experience of a Vedic performance? Or does this experience go beyond that as well?
In the Tamil interpretation of the Ramayana, rasa experience becomes an experience related to God. Any emotion expressed becomes symbolic of the emotions individual encompass in relation to God. When the audience becomes the cowhide girl they express the emotion of love, which is symbolic of the love we give to God, the grief that is experienced, becomes the grief of the human soul (Sita) when we are separated from God and also when become part of this life which is filled of "captivating worldly objects (Lanka). In a sense the Tamil interpretation of the Ramayana is intrinsically related to ones relationship with God, and thus we can call it a religious performance similar to that of the Vedic sacrifice.
With the introduction of the mythology of Sanskrit epics in Tamil literature, Tamil poets for the first time were able to participate in the story of Rama. Narayanan clearly depicts the differences between the Tamil interpretation of the Ramayana and the Sanskrit Ramayana, in which I believe this process allows for the commonality between them to become visible. As Ingalls stresses the rasa experience remains the same regardless of the process that is used to arise this experience. Narayanan states: "the mention of jasmine flowers will reinforce in the minds of the Tamil audience, the grief of separation that Sita feels (not sure because where I got it from it did not have page numbers). Therefore, through the use of symbols the Tamil audience is able to gain a rasa experience by looking beyond the literal meaning of the symbols for example, Sita comes to represent the human soul and Lanka represents this life. With this representation on stage the story becomes relevant to every human being as we become the characters and thus, this participation yields an aesthetic experience.
Does the Tamil interpretation of the Sanskrit epic, in a sense de-secularize the Sanskrit Ramayana by bringing back the focus to the veneration of God, which in turn gives rise to the bhakti tradition? Where the recounting of the Rama story becomes a symbol of God, and a tool through which one can worship God. If this is the case, the aesthetic experience becomes a religious experience as well, as this life (Lanka) is destructed and the human soul (Sita) is free.
In this case the audience members do not only experience compassion (grief), from the Ramayana, but they also have an experience that is beyond explanation. Can this experience be related to the experience of a Vedic performance? Or does this experience go beyond that as well?
In the Tamil interpretation of the Ramayana, rasa experience becomes an experience related to God. Any emotion expressed becomes symbolic of the emotions individual encompass in relation to God. When the audience becomes the cowhide girl they express the emotion of love, which is symbolic of the love we give to God, the grief that is experienced, becomes the grief of the human soul (Sita) when we are separated from God and also when become part of this life which is filled of "captivating worldly objects (Lanka). In a sense the Tamil interpretation of the Ramayana is intrinsically related to ones relationship with God, and thus we can call it a religious performance similar to that of the Vedic sacrifice.
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