Not until this week has the relationship between religion and aesthetics really been focused on in our readings. Before it was largely just aesthetics and rasa theory. Occasionally religion would be touched on – in the small biographies it would be mentioned that the authors indeed prescribed to a religion, for example Abinava was a Saivite Tantric – but the readings never fully explored how their religion affected the way they viewed rasa and aesthetics. One example that did come up many time was how some of the commentators viewed aesthetic experience as something equitable to the experience of the ultimate Brahman. They were both considered by many to be universalizing experiences, where one transcends their individuality and experiences something beyond themselves. But the religiosity of this concept was never overtly explained. With the title of this course “Religion and Aesthetics” one would think that the two could – and have been – overtly linked. As we are winding up rasa theory –as I believe we are since last week (which were the readings originally intended for this week) did not focus so heavily on rasa as in the past six weeks of this course – the possible connection between aesthetic experience and religion is finally made more clear. The introduction to the translation of the primary text the Bhaktirasamrtasindhu and the independent article by Wulff both address this question of connection.
I often felt there was actually very little to nothing religious about what many of the commentators were talking about and the title of the course confused me. Just because they mention religion occasionally and in an offhand manner does not make rasa RELIGIOUS. It can be argued that pretty much all aspects of South Asian culture are incorporated into the religious sphere because there is no concept of religion in their society due to the fact that there was very little separating the religious from the secular – but that does not necessarily make it true. For sure, some things are not overtly related to the religious realms of consciousness. On page xxv of the introduction to the Bhaktirasamrtasindhu it is mentioned how the tradition Rupa comes out of really emerged in the first half of the sixteenth century. This is when the tradition of discussing the religiosity of aesthetic experience really started to form. I see similarities with this and Pollock’s discussion of the lacuna of the social context in literary theory discussed in his article read a few weeks ago. It is a topic that is present in the background, that some of the commentators and scholars have thought about, but which was possibly seen as either too obvious to go into detail about, or irrelevant. It is not until the tradition has been established – and the questions have been asked - that the topic really gains attention.
Yet with this new tradition I feel as though the commentary on rasa has been taken to the opposite extreme. Rasa no longer feels like the same thing it once was – its ties to drama have become so far removed, as now life in general is seen as the drama. No longer does it appear to have anything to do with drama, poetry or other forms of art. Unless life is art. Now aesthetic experience IS religion, is it still art? Is the first idea of rasa conceived by Bharata in the Natyasastra really connected at all to this idea of rasa imagined by the later scholars such as Rupa? It is almost like a game of telephone – the original intended meaning has been lost long ago.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
The Worship of Art, The Art of Worship
I believe I have commented somewhere in blog-dom past (probably in response to Mohanty’s “Feelings, Poetics, and Religion”) on the fact that I find aesthetic experience to be intimately linked to religious experience. As such, I seem to have found a kindred spirit in Donna M. Wulff, who, in “Religion in a New Mode: The Convergence of the Aesthetic And The Religious in Medieval India” argues for an abandonment of the religion-art dichotomy characteristic of western academia whist grappling with matters pertaining to South Asian. I agree that the dissolution (or at least softening) of this dichotomy is essential to more viable appreciation for religious and aesthetic phenomena in the Indic context. After all, is the association between religion and art so foreign to us? Do snakes not enter “trance” states due to music? Was sufi poetry not born of mystical experiencing? In fact, all religions known to us incorporate music in some way shape or form. Is the inspiration and/or expression of art and music so separate for us? I agree wholeheartedly with Wulff that we overlook the religious significance of various artistic phenomena (music, architecture, dance) due to an inappropriate theological bias. We thus often conflating religion with doctrine, eclipsing the role of art in the religious process.
Wulff compares the aesthetic theories of Abhinavagupta , Kasmiri Saiva (10th-11th century), and Bengali Vaisnava Rupa Gosvami, from 16th century Brindavan (author or “Bhaktirasamrtasindhu”) in order to demonstrate the inextricability of religion and aesthetics in the South Asian context. She actually goes as far as the Taittiriya Upanisad (“some fifteen centuries before Abhinava”) where the term “rasa” is associated with bliss. However, despite my agreement with her overarching argument, I am tempted to regard this piece of “evidence” with scrutiny. After all, is there any mention of aesthetic theory in this Upanishad? The mere use of the term “rasa” is insufficient given the age and breadth of the Sanskrit language: words have necessarily assumed other meanings, and various nuances. I am therefore uncertain that Wulff’s invocation of the Upanishad is entirely appropriate.
However, I find her argument based on Abhinava’s theological predilection most compelling. She writes that, according to Kashmiri Saivism, ajnana is the fundamental cause of human suffering, and that the sole goal of life is absorption into the fullness of Siva’s divine being which occurs when once has transcended one’s limited, individual view of reality. This ultimate state is personified, in this school, as the deity Shiva. However, much like in Advaita, Samkhya, and other soteriological schools, one is faced with the dilemma of how the practitioner transitions from individual ego consciousness into this luminous intelligence (prakasa) and ultimate fullness (purna) which is divine consciousness and the ground of absolute being. How indeed may we venture into unmediated consciousness (anupaya)? Discourse on Aesthetics offers both a similar crisis and a parallel solution. How does one leave one’s individual self, refraining from identifying with individual emotion, in order to experience “unembodied” rasa?
Rasa, much like metaphysical reality, purportedly transcends the time and place of the particular. In karuna rasa, one is not individually sad, not does one fixate on a particular experience of sadness. Indeed, when one experiences rasa, one does not experience one’s individuates self, for, rasa is not localiszed in that self. It is as slippery as the ‘absolute consciousness’ of object-less knowing as purported by these various metaphysical schools. Rasa is therefore necessarily alaukika (supra-mundane) or lokottara (transcendent). Both the yogic and the aesthetic experience result in timeless bliss. I greatly appreciation her cross-examination of our unreflexive tendency towards segregating aesthetic experience form the religion variety. Both, conveniently, occur just outside of the threshold of language, therefore what can possibly be ‘said’ to effectively dissociate the two? Indeed Abhinava is carefully to distinguish aesthetic experience and religious experience to a certain extent, yet they both result in bliss, which is, as far as I understand, wholly unified. However, as Wulff points out: “Although he does not say so explicitly, Abhinava seems to imply that such experiences, like the tantric meditative practices that they closely resemble, are effective means of attaining this ultimate realization” (678). But why does he not say so? Why indeed does Abhinava appear to tiptoe around this convergence of the aesthetic and the religious? Was it so obvious to him that he thought it not worth mentioning, in the way, for example, that we wouldn’t mention the invention of the ‘television’ set in any discourse on the phenomenon of ‘youtube’? Was it perhaps too taboo, in the sense that a secular scholar of religion would only ever allude to visions he may have experienced? But was he not an overt Saivite, having even authored metaphysical discourses such as Trantraloka? Clearly his essential outlook on reality can not be factored out of his writing on aesthetics. Could it be that he did not in fact associate the two to the extent to which Wulff purports? Although I don’t know why he doesn’t say so implicitly, I can’t help but think that someone so entrenched in religious thought would be able to suspect this outlook whilst engaging in aesthetic theory.
Gerow and Aklujkar, for example, argue against the parity of the aesthetic and the religious experience on the basis that the ‘transience’ of the former is wholly incongruent with the ‘permanence’ of the latter. However, I fully agree with Wilff that various religious trance states along the path of liberation, too, are ‘transient’. So, their argument becomes invalid. Experiences of rasa are like windows out of causality which permit one brief glimpses into the timeless grounds beyond the confines of samsara. So, too, are yogic trances. They don’t last, but may provide insight into “the lasting”. I agree, too, that this does not result in the deification of art, but, rather, in the recognition of art’s transformative potency, a potency which can move the individual even into the realm of religious experiencing.
As Wulff points out, rasa is clearly an intensely religious term for the Vaisnava Bhakta Rupa. Wulff tries to argue, though, that his conception of bhakti is fundamentally aesthetic, however, I am not convinced of this. All of the examples of “aesthetic” dramatizations used are enactments of the life and feats of mythical deity Krishna. Indeed one is meant o witness these plays over and over again, enhancing one’s experience each time, but we cannot ignore that these are religious plays, and so the aesthetic experience itself is an act of piety. For Rupa, rasa is clearly devotional first and aesthetic (if this is indeed a second category) second. His conception of rasa is not, in my opinion “fundamentally an aesthetic one”, for, even thought he prescribed the gradual refinement of aesthetic appreciation through repeated encounters with the artistic medium, he advocates the use of an overtly religious artistic medium. However, I don’t think this fundamentally opposes the kind of experiencing Abhinava describes. Both thinkers clearly envision an experience which compromises conceptions of individuality and selfhood. Both allude to the attainment of bliss. But is watching a play or listening to music not quite distinct from performing ritual? Is mantra not music? Must it not be chanted? To what extent, then, is musicality - and perhaps, by extension, art in general, divorced from religiosity? These issues will surely not be resolved in the course of one blog entry, however, it is clear to me that both religion and art are common denominators to all human cultures, neither of which exhibit any obvious empirical utility, and both of which are vehicles for elation and transformation. I can’t help but feel that the aesthetic experience must be ties to the religious experience, and vice verse, since they both appear to be tied to the human spirit.
Wulff compares the aesthetic theories of Abhinavagupta , Kasmiri Saiva (10th-11th century), and Bengali Vaisnava Rupa Gosvami, from 16th century Brindavan (author or “Bhaktirasamrtasindhu”) in order to demonstrate the inextricability of religion and aesthetics in the South Asian context. She actually goes as far as the Taittiriya Upanisad (“some fifteen centuries before Abhinava”) where the term “rasa” is associated with bliss. However, despite my agreement with her overarching argument, I am tempted to regard this piece of “evidence” with scrutiny. After all, is there any mention of aesthetic theory in this Upanishad? The mere use of the term “rasa” is insufficient given the age and breadth of the Sanskrit language: words have necessarily assumed other meanings, and various nuances. I am therefore uncertain that Wulff’s invocation of the Upanishad is entirely appropriate.
However, I find her argument based on Abhinava’s theological predilection most compelling. She writes that, according to Kashmiri Saivism, ajnana is the fundamental cause of human suffering, and that the sole goal of life is absorption into the fullness of Siva’s divine being which occurs when once has transcended one’s limited, individual view of reality. This ultimate state is personified, in this school, as the deity Shiva. However, much like in Advaita, Samkhya, and other soteriological schools, one is faced with the dilemma of how the practitioner transitions from individual ego consciousness into this luminous intelligence (prakasa) and ultimate fullness (purna) which is divine consciousness and the ground of absolute being. How indeed may we venture into unmediated consciousness (anupaya)? Discourse on Aesthetics offers both a similar crisis and a parallel solution. How does one leave one’s individual self, refraining from identifying with individual emotion, in order to experience “unembodied” rasa?
Rasa, much like metaphysical reality, purportedly transcends the time and place of the particular. In karuna rasa, one is not individually sad, not does one fixate on a particular experience of sadness. Indeed, when one experiences rasa, one does not experience one’s individuates self, for, rasa is not localiszed in that self. It is as slippery as the ‘absolute consciousness’ of object-less knowing as purported by these various metaphysical schools. Rasa is therefore necessarily alaukika (supra-mundane) or lokottara (transcendent). Both the yogic and the aesthetic experience result in timeless bliss. I greatly appreciation her cross-examination of our unreflexive tendency towards segregating aesthetic experience form the religion variety. Both, conveniently, occur just outside of the threshold of language, therefore what can possibly be ‘said’ to effectively dissociate the two? Indeed Abhinava is carefully to distinguish aesthetic experience and religious experience to a certain extent, yet they both result in bliss, which is, as far as I understand, wholly unified. However, as Wulff points out: “Although he does not say so explicitly, Abhinava seems to imply that such experiences, like the tantric meditative practices that they closely resemble, are effective means of attaining this ultimate realization” (678). But why does he not say so? Why indeed does Abhinava appear to tiptoe around this convergence of the aesthetic and the religious? Was it so obvious to him that he thought it not worth mentioning, in the way, for example, that we wouldn’t mention the invention of the ‘television’ set in any discourse on the phenomenon of ‘youtube’? Was it perhaps too taboo, in the sense that a secular scholar of religion would only ever allude to visions he may have experienced? But was he not an overt Saivite, having even authored metaphysical discourses such as Trantraloka? Clearly his essential outlook on reality can not be factored out of his writing on aesthetics. Could it be that he did not in fact associate the two to the extent to which Wulff purports? Although I don’t know why he doesn’t say so implicitly, I can’t help but think that someone so entrenched in religious thought would be able to suspect this outlook whilst engaging in aesthetic theory.
Gerow and Aklujkar, for example, argue against the parity of the aesthetic and the religious experience on the basis that the ‘transience’ of the former is wholly incongruent with the ‘permanence’ of the latter. However, I fully agree with Wilff that various religious trance states along the path of liberation, too, are ‘transient’. So, their argument becomes invalid. Experiences of rasa are like windows out of causality which permit one brief glimpses into the timeless grounds beyond the confines of samsara. So, too, are yogic trances. They don’t last, but may provide insight into “the lasting”. I agree, too, that this does not result in the deification of art, but, rather, in the recognition of art’s transformative potency, a potency which can move the individual even into the realm of religious experiencing.
As Wulff points out, rasa is clearly an intensely religious term for the Vaisnava Bhakta Rupa. Wulff tries to argue, though, that his conception of bhakti is fundamentally aesthetic, however, I am not convinced of this. All of the examples of “aesthetic” dramatizations used are enactments of the life and feats of mythical deity Krishna. Indeed one is meant o witness these plays over and over again, enhancing one’s experience each time, but we cannot ignore that these are religious plays, and so the aesthetic experience itself is an act of piety. For Rupa, rasa is clearly devotional first and aesthetic (if this is indeed a second category) second. His conception of rasa is not, in my opinion “fundamentally an aesthetic one”, for, even thought he prescribed the gradual refinement of aesthetic appreciation through repeated encounters with the artistic medium, he advocates the use of an overtly religious artistic medium. However, I don’t think this fundamentally opposes the kind of experiencing Abhinava describes. Both thinkers clearly envision an experience which compromises conceptions of individuality and selfhood. Both allude to the attainment of bliss. But is watching a play or listening to music not quite distinct from performing ritual? Is mantra not music? Must it not be chanted? To what extent, then, is musicality - and perhaps, by extension, art in general, divorced from religiosity? These issues will surely not be resolved in the course of one blog entry, however, it is clear to me that both religion and art are common denominators to all human cultures, neither of which exhibit any obvious empirical utility, and both of which are vehicles for elation and transformation. I can’t help but feel that the aesthetic experience must be ties to the religious experience, and vice verse, since they both appear to be tied to the human spirit.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Rupa's Rasa Theory Explored
The emphasis of this week’s reading was the Bhaktirasamrtasindhu and more specifically the rasa theory. In his article, Wulff highlights how the work’s of Abhinavavgupta which particularly outlines the relationship between aestheticism and religion sets the framework for much of Rupa’s Bahktirasamrtasindhu. He shows how art has a close vicinity with religious experience within the Indian context. To illustrate this he outlines the way rasa theory (tied to art forms) assumes religious context, through the works of abhinavagupta and Rupa. He shows how Abhinavagupta uses ties the rasa experience of pleasure together with a religious experience in which he identifies as moksa. Emphasizing this he shows that pleasure (rasa) when experience in a drama transcends the individual to self realization of the four ends of life or in other words the ultimate reality.
On the other hand, Wulff exemplifies how Rupa’s connection to rasa theory assumes a direct religious connection. In other words, Rupa uses rasa as a component within his religious goals. He shows that through love and devotion to Krishna and his family or friends, or living out the drama of Krishna’s life one is able to reach a perfected state that differs through redefining emotions towards the lord and away from worldly pleasures.
Since much attention has been paid to Abhnanvagupta’s theory in our previous classes, my attention in this blog will focus more on the Bhaktirasamrtsindhu (Rupa’s theory).in the introduction of the book there are a couple of points that I will like to discuss.
First, on pg 48 of 64, the author talks about how love is experienced differently by all practitioners. He lists five bhavas that can be experienced by the practitioners in through their devotion to Krishna. The least intimate one is the peaceful one in which the practitioner realizes a master servant relationship. The most intimate is refined erotic love for Krishna. In each bhava love is present but it is perhaps most refined and pure through the last bhava which transforms the individual. This love is and realization of Krishna and his ultimate presence is what in Rupa’s theory relates the individual to the rasa experience. In this regard, the bahvas seems to be a path to which one has to pass through in order to reach this rasa experience. The ending result is erotic love. However, the question is how one is able to reassure themselves that they have reached this level of erotic love, or in other words how can one truly know they have had a rasa experience, since love takes various forms attached to various emotions. To what extent is love measured?
In addition, I found very interesting the idea of how words with negative connatations are in fact positive when geared toward devotion to Krishna. The author states how the practitioner when he reflects such emotions of jealousy towards the lord can become positive. The understanding is that in a worldly environment jealously is a negative feeling but when one becomes jealous of sharing their love with the lord it becomes positive and necessary to reach the desired goal of the bhakti path. Therefore, here the author illustrates how emotions can be refined towards the lord and how this can create an individual that possibly encompasses the totality of love (yet still the degree to much this is refined or measured is still indeterminable).
Second, another point that was made in the Bhaktirasamrtsindhu is the idea that the love or rasa that one is suppose to experience is suppose to equate with this idea of ultimate oneness. However, it is interesting to see that this ultimate reality is taken out of a dualistic understanding of the world. In other words, in order to realize the oneness of Krishna one must first experience the dualism. Basically, in order to know this idea of union one must first experience separation, or in order to respect one must first fear. What seems rather interesting about this is the idea that in order to transcend reality one must first experience it, which in the Indian context links religion and aesthetics together.
On the other hand, Wulff exemplifies how Rupa’s connection to rasa theory assumes a direct religious connection. In other words, Rupa uses rasa as a component within his religious goals. He shows that through love and devotion to Krishna and his family or friends, or living out the drama of Krishna’s life one is able to reach a perfected state that differs through redefining emotions towards the lord and away from worldly pleasures.
Since much attention has been paid to Abhnanvagupta’s theory in our previous classes, my attention in this blog will focus more on the Bhaktirasamrtsindhu (Rupa’s theory).in the introduction of the book there are a couple of points that I will like to discuss.
First, on pg 48 of 64, the author talks about how love is experienced differently by all practitioners. He lists five bhavas that can be experienced by the practitioners in through their devotion to Krishna. The least intimate one is the peaceful one in which the practitioner realizes a master servant relationship. The most intimate is refined erotic love for Krishna. In each bhava love is present but it is perhaps most refined and pure through the last bhava which transforms the individual. This love is and realization of Krishna and his ultimate presence is what in Rupa’s theory relates the individual to the rasa experience. In this regard, the bahvas seems to be a path to which one has to pass through in order to reach this rasa experience. The ending result is erotic love. However, the question is how one is able to reassure themselves that they have reached this level of erotic love, or in other words how can one truly know they have had a rasa experience, since love takes various forms attached to various emotions. To what extent is love measured?
In addition, I found very interesting the idea of how words with negative connatations are in fact positive when geared toward devotion to Krishna. The author states how the practitioner when he reflects such emotions of jealousy towards the lord can become positive. The understanding is that in a worldly environment jealously is a negative feeling but when one becomes jealous of sharing their love with the lord it becomes positive and necessary to reach the desired goal of the bhakti path. Therefore, here the author illustrates how emotions can be refined towards the lord and how this can create an individual that possibly encompasses the totality of love (yet still the degree to much this is refined or measured is still indeterminable).
Second, another point that was made in the Bhaktirasamrtsindhu is the idea that the love or rasa that one is suppose to experience is suppose to equate with this idea of ultimate oneness. However, it is interesting to see that this ultimate reality is taken out of a dualistic understanding of the world. In other words, in order to realize the oneness of Krishna one must first experience the dualism. Basically, in order to know this idea of union one must first experience separation, or in order to respect one must first fear. What seems rather interesting about this is the idea that in order to transcend reality one must first experience it, which in the Indian context links religion and aesthetics together.
Rupa "versus" Abhinava
This weeks readings consist of informative insights on the Bhakti tradition, and the flashing out of Indian aesthetic theories in relation to this tradition especially rasa. The most useful source we have in regards to this theory is the bhaktirasamrtasindhu itself. For the purpose of our word limitations and time, I am going to focus in on the Second reading: Religion in a New Mode: The Convergence of the Aesthetic and the Religious in Medieval India” by Wulff.
Wulff argues that the religious and the aesthetic are usually perceived in the west as two separate entities, and it is not so much the case in India where this duality becomes one. He uses Abhinavagupta and Rupa as examples of this convergence between the aesthetic and the religious. Although, Rupa stands as a sound example, Abhinava does not. Abhinavagupta developed an argument for the relationship between the aesthetic and the religious more so as a response to Bhoja, and his works explicitly state that aesthetic enjoyment arising from rasa is LIKE or similar to religious experience, but these religious explanations are separate from his work on poetic aesthetic theories. His works that tie him to his tantric religious association seem to be the focus of his Wulff’s writings as opposed to Abhinava’s work on rasa itself. Furthermore, Wulff focuses in on the similarities of aesthetic and religious experiences, perhaps for the purpose of his argument, and tends to ignore the differences between the two. Although, it is clear that Abhinava does provide an argument for the relation between both experiences, I think he has also made it just as clear (especially when he discusses rasa) it that which is aesthetic enjoyment separate from religious experience.
In Abhinava’s discussion of rasa theory and the reaching of aesthetic enjoyment through the relishing of emotions, he makes it clear that the spectator has an experience that is separate from or at a distance from the actors in the drama. Whereas, when we look at Rupa’s work we see that the spectator becomes one with the actor or actress and thus, this is the result of aesthetic enjoyment. The distinction between these two works to me is clear; one discusses aesthetic enjoyment in terms of the intake of art or poetry, while the other discusses aesthetic enjoyment as a religious experience. I believe, that the first does not discuss the experience of oneness (as ultimate reality, or the ultimate reality of God) instead it discusses an experience that is transcendent or “other worldly” (which can imply oneness, but does not do so explicitly). The second discusses this oneness and ultimately puts this reality into motion; one cannot deny the emphasis this has on religion and thus, the only outcome, would be a religious experience. With this said, I think it is ludicrous of Wulff to try and put emphasis on something that is barely there.
What I think is important to note is that Abhinava, as well as other poets wrote from a particular perspective, which in turn influenced all their works. All these poets were versed in Hinduism, and in order for their works to gain recognition in the Hindu community they drew upon relational aspects that were understandable in order to fully define their Indian aesthetic theories. Although, works were not meant to be religious in nature, I believe many often perceived them as this. After all these things were far away from what was considered Vedic religion and I think to pass them off as this is in a way to devalue this religious worldview or system. In this case religion and art were two categories that were distinct, where poetry and art was strictly considered leisure and entertainment. In turn this entertainment and enjoyment (I believe) no longer meets the need of the people and there is a turn away from this secular art form, towards art form that brought together religion and art or religious experience and aesthetic enjoyment.
Wulff argues that the religious and the aesthetic are usually perceived in the west as two separate entities, and it is not so much the case in India where this duality becomes one. He uses Abhinavagupta and Rupa as examples of this convergence between the aesthetic and the religious. Although, Rupa stands as a sound example, Abhinava does not. Abhinavagupta developed an argument for the relationship between the aesthetic and the religious more so as a response to Bhoja, and his works explicitly state that aesthetic enjoyment arising from rasa is LIKE or similar to religious experience, but these religious explanations are separate from his work on poetic aesthetic theories. His works that tie him to his tantric religious association seem to be the focus of his Wulff’s writings as opposed to Abhinava’s work on rasa itself. Furthermore, Wulff focuses in on the similarities of aesthetic and religious experiences, perhaps for the purpose of his argument, and tends to ignore the differences between the two. Although, it is clear that Abhinava does provide an argument for the relation between both experiences, I think he has also made it just as clear (especially when he discusses rasa) it that which is aesthetic enjoyment separate from religious experience.
In Abhinava’s discussion of rasa theory and the reaching of aesthetic enjoyment through the relishing of emotions, he makes it clear that the spectator has an experience that is separate from or at a distance from the actors in the drama. Whereas, when we look at Rupa’s work we see that the spectator becomes one with the actor or actress and thus, this is the result of aesthetic enjoyment. The distinction between these two works to me is clear; one discusses aesthetic enjoyment in terms of the intake of art or poetry, while the other discusses aesthetic enjoyment as a religious experience. I believe, that the first does not discuss the experience of oneness (as ultimate reality, or the ultimate reality of God) instead it discusses an experience that is transcendent or “other worldly” (which can imply oneness, but does not do so explicitly). The second discusses this oneness and ultimately puts this reality into motion; one cannot deny the emphasis this has on religion and thus, the only outcome, would be a religious experience. With this said, I think it is ludicrous of Wulff to try and put emphasis on something that is barely there.
What I think is important to note is that Abhinava, as well as other poets wrote from a particular perspective, which in turn influenced all their works. All these poets were versed in Hinduism, and in order for their works to gain recognition in the Hindu community they drew upon relational aspects that were understandable in order to fully define their Indian aesthetic theories. Although, works were not meant to be religious in nature, I believe many often perceived them as this. After all these things were far away from what was considered Vedic religion and I think to pass them off as this is in a way to devalue this religious worldview or system. In this case religion and art were two categories that were distinct, where poetry and art was strictly considered leisure and entertainment. In turn this entertainment and enjoyment (I believe) no longer meets the need of the people and there is a turn away from this secular art form, towards art form that brought together religion and art or religious experience and aesthetic enjoyment.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
What’s Good For The Goose Is Good For The…Tamils?
While I took Reading Week to mean a week for my brain to catch up on all the work that had gotten away from me over the past seven weeks of the semester, my body decided that it was the week during which to procure a very painful pinched nerve in my neck. Needless to say, I spent the week following through on none of the lofty goals I’d set out for myself and thus find myself here on Tuesday evening – late in posting my thoughts on the readings!
A book that I’m currently reading is thoroughly titillating. Titled “The Konkans”, it follows the transition of two Konkani men to America in the 1960s. My cultural heritage is Konkani and the book draws on much cultural knowledge to draw the reader in, as it has me. I wonder however, how a person who has neither access to nor knowledge of this now-dying cultural tradition would appreciate the book with its italicized foreign words, dirty inside jokes in Konkani that lose their punch when translated to English?
In some ways, it is this type of loss that I feel most when reading Vedanta Desika's “Hamsasandesa”. Something is lost in the translation I feel that cannot be recovered. Although still quite beautiful and prolific in its production of rasa, I couldn’t help but be left with a sense that I wasn’t getting all of it.
Then I read the Bronner-Shulman article and suddenly I was being given insight that I couldn’t previously latch onto!
Bronner-Shulman tout Venkatanatha, also known as Vednata Desika, as the first poet in the Sanskrit literary tradition to transcend the limits set up by everyone’s favourite adhikavi – Valmiki. Each of his major works exists for the purpose of out-doing a pre-existing major classical prototype. As such, the Hamsasandesa is juxtaposed against Kalidasa’s Meghasandesa (Bronner & Shulman, 11).
The Meghasandesa is viewed in general, as the originating piece of the messenger-poem genre (sandesa-kavya) and serves as the template for all future mahakavyas. This masterpiece focuses on the process of poetic imagination, and on the linguistic and figurative means that further it’s cause. The poem’s unfolding follows a consistent and logical patter that sees the cloud subject directed systematically through desirable locales (Bronner & Shulman, 11). After going fairly in-depth with the characteristics of this genre, Bronner-Shulman assert that the genre of sandesa-kavya “heralds the crystallization of an independent regional Sanskrit tradition” (Bronner & Shulman, 12).
To follow this assertion of the authors, Venkatanatha’s Hamsasandesa stays on course with the route set up by Kalidasa’s poem – in metre, structure, size and narrative logic. Right down to the phrasing structure, the similarities between the two works of poetic greatness are astounding. However, as much as Venkatanatha’s work is a reflection of Kalidasa’s prototype, it is also very much a mirroring – that is, while the topical aspects are similar, the underlying facets seem to be equally opposite the nuances found in Kalidasa’s work. For instance, Bronner-Shulman point out that while both narratives start somewhere in the middle of the Indian sub-continent, they move in opposite directions (Bronner & Shulman, 12).
While reading the Hamsasandesa, the descriptive richness of the landscape struck me more than anything else. Bronner-Shulman very cleverly address why this happened to me – by telling the goose to not be sucked in by the beauty of the lands that it will be flying over, Rama is purposely drawing the attention of the reader to that very thing. Like a child being told not to think of a pink elephant, it is all we want to notice – sometimes to the exclusion of other aspects of the story.
What good is the goose, asks the Bronner-Shulman article. To me, the goose is symbolic of the spread of the Sanskrit literary tradition throughout the Indian landscape. While not of the earth, the goose is able to view the ground from a vantage point that other earth-based beings may not have access to. Similarly, while not of the local people, the Sanskrit tradition provides an overarching entity of kavya-ic richness that one would be hard pressed to produce without the benefit of the mahakavyas that came before. As Bronner-Shulman conclude, Sanskrit brings with it a unique set of assets that transcend local contexts and enable powerful articulation of the regional tradition in its true fullness (Bronner & Shulman, 29).
A book that I’m currently reading is thoroughly titillating. Titled “The Konkans”, it follows the transition of two Konkani men to America in the 1960s. My cultural heritage is Konkani and the book draws on much cultural knowledge to draw the reader in, as it has me. I wonder however, how a person who has neither access to nor knowledge of this now-dying cultural tradition would appreciate the book with its italicized foreign words, dirty inside jokes in Konkani that lose their punch when translated to English?
In some ways, it is this type of loss that I feel most when reading Vedanta Desika's “Hamsasandesa”. Something is lost in the translation I feel that cannot be recovered. Although still quite beautiful and prolific in its production of rasa, I couldn’t help but be left with a sense that I wasn’t getting all of it.
Then I read the Bronner-Shulman article and suddenly I was being given insight that I couldn’t previously latch onto!
Bronner-Shulman tout Venkatanatha, also known as Vednata Desika, as the first poet in the Sanskrit literary tradition to transcend the limits set up by everyone’s favourite adhikavi – Valmiki. Each of his major works exists for the purpose of out-doing a pre-existing major classical prototype. As such, the Hamsasandesa is juxtaposed against Kalidasa’s Meghasandesa (Bronner & Shulman, 11).
The Meghasandesa is viewed in general, as the originating piece of the messenger-poem genre (sandesa-kavya) and serves as the template for all future mahakavyas. This masterpiece focuses on the process of poetic imagination, and on the linguistic and figurative means that further it’s cause. The poem’s unfolding follows a consistent and logical patter that sees the cloud subject directed systematically through desirable locales (Bronner & Shulman, 11). After going fairly in-depth with the characteristics of this genre, Bronner-Shulman assert that the genre of sandesa-kavya “heralds the crystallization of an independent regional Sanskrit tradition” (Bronner & Shulman, 12).
To follow this assertion of the authors, Venkatanatha’s Hamsasandesa stays on course with the route set up by Kalidasa’s poem – in metre, structure, size and narrative logic. Right down to the phrasing structure, the similarities between the two works of poetic greatness are astounding. However, as much as Venkatanatha’s work is a reflection of Kalidasa’s prototype, it is also very much a mirroring – that is, while the topical aspects are similar, the underlying facets seem to be equally opposite the nuances found in Kalidasa’s work. For instance, Bronner-Shulman point out that while both narratives start somewhere in the middle of the Indian sub-continent, they move in opposite directions (Bronner & Shulman, 12).
While reading the Hamsasandesa, the descriptive richness of the landscape struck me more than anything else. Bronner-Shulman very cleverly address why this happened to me – by telling the goose to not be sucked in by the beauty of the lands that it will be flying over, Rama is purposely drawing the attention of the reader to that very thing. Like a child being told not to think of a pink elephant, it is all we want to notice – sometimes to the exclusion of other aspects of the story.
What good is the goose, asks the Bronner-Shulman article. To me, the goose is symbolic of the spread of the Sanskrit literary tradition throughout the Indian landscape. While not of the earth, the goose is able to view the ground from a vantage point that other earth-based beings may not have access to. Similarly, while not of the local people, the Sanskrit tradition provides an overarching entity of kavya-ic richness that one would be hard pressed to produce without the benefit of the mahakavyas that came before. As Bronner-Shulman conclude, Sanskrit brings with it a unique set of assets that transcend local contexts and enable powerful articulation of the regional tradition in its true fullness (Bronner & Shulman, 29).
Commentary on 'A Cloud Turned Goose': Sanskrit in the Vernacular Millenium
‘A Cloud Turned Goose’ by Shulman and Bronner emphasized some of the themes that we have discussed in class. The article emphasizes the importance of Sanskrit in poetry. More precisely, the authors argue that to understand Sanskrit poetry one must first grasp, the audience, language and theme used in order to relate to the historical biography being displayed. They acknowledge the fact that Sanskrit is a powerful language used to transcend local contexts, but ends up enriching regional histories. With this he begins discussion of the way in which Sanskrit is employed by poets and how this relates to the history or particularities of their time.
One of the first things that these authors argue is the fact that “Sanskrit participated…in the project of inventing and elaborating distinctive regional cultures and identities”. This implies two things. First, that if Sanskrit is employed in poetry which relates specifically to a certain audience that shares a particular cultural identity. In this regard, as we have mentioned in previous classes the social context, cannot be removed from in order to experience rasa, or in other words the intended experience. However, the authors do state that even though the poet sticks to his limited identity he has freedom to appeal to the world (6). This to me would imply some sort of universal appeal on the basis of how emotions are experienced. However, I believe that even the appeal to emotions and the way they are experienced is deeply influenced by one’s social influences.
Second, is the fact that given the social world in India, regional cultures and identities are often closely related to religion. This then brings religion and aesthetics under the same umbrella. This leaves one to ask whether or not religion can be separated from associated meanings that Sanskrit encompasses. From the perspective of these authors and the importance of figurative language, meanings of words and time and space within Sanskrit poetry and the specific way that the audience is suppose to understand the poem, it seems that in order for one to relate to the depth of the poem, one must understand a system of meanings made available through religious symbols, deities and ideals. For example, the union of Rama and Sita towards the ending of the poem would not be fully grasped without a cultural understanding of oneness. More specifically, as the authors claim the oneness one experience here is closely associated with the way the bhakti practitioner through meditation becomes one with God (27). In this respect, religion enriches the understanding of poetry.
Further, the authors exemplify, “how are we to understand the dynamics of the linguist spectrum underlying a poet’s choice of language?” (8). This issue has been at the forefront of our discussions. The idea is who are the intended audience of Sanskrit poetry? Given the spectrum of which the Sanskrit language is enjoyed, culture would play an important role in directly interpreting or understanding the intended experience. However, this does not mean that such poetry should be exclusive to certain regions. Given the scope of difficulty of translating Sanskrit or translating direct meanings, I would think that it would almost become impossible for someone either than the poet himself to interpret the direct meanings. However, the authors do make it a point to establish that Sanskrit enables poets to condense meanings and contents into single sentences (11), so I guess it would be best left up to the Sanskrit specialists to further break down this conflict.
One of the first things that these authors argue is the fact that “Sanskrit participated…in the project of inventing and elaborating distinctive regional cultures and identities”. This implies two things. First, that if Sanskrit is employed in poetry which relates specifically to a certain audience that shares a particular cultural identity. In this regard, as we have mentioned in previous classes the social context, cannot be removed from in order to experience rasa, or in other words the intended experience. However, the authors do state that even though the poet sticks to his limited identity he has freedom to appeal to the world (6). This to me would imply some sort of universal appeal on the basis of how emotions are experienced. However, I believe that even the appeal to emotions and the way they are experienced is deeply influenced by one’s social influences.
Second, is the fact that given the social world in India, regional cultures and identities are often closely related to religion. This then brings religion and aesthetics under the same umbrella. This leaves one to ask whether or not religion can be separated from associated meanings that Sanskrit encompasses. From the perspective of these authors and the importance of figurative language, meanings of words and time and space within Sanskrit poetry and the specific way that the audience is suppose to understand the poem, it seems that in order for one to relate to the depth of the poem, one must understand a system of meanings made available through religious symbols, deities and ideals. For example, the union of Rama and Sita towards the ending of the poem would not be fully grasped without a cultural understanding of oneness. More specifically, as the authors claim the oneness one experience here is closely associated with the way the bhakti practitioner through meditation becomes one with God (27). In this respect, religion enriches the understanding of poetry.
Further, the authors exemplify, “how are we to understand the dynamics of the linguist spectrum underlying a poet’s choice of language?” (8). This issue has been at the forefront of our discussions. The idea is who are the intended audience of Sanskrit poetry? Given the spectrum of which the Sanskrit language is enjoyed, culture would play an important role in directly interpreting or understanding the intended experience. However, this does not mean that such poetry should be exclusive to certain regions. Given the scope of difficulty of translating Sanskrit or translating direct meanings, I would think that it would almost become impossible for someone either than the poet himself to interpret the direct meanings. However, the authors do make it a point to establish that Sanskrit enables poets to condense meanings and contents into single sentences (11), so I guess it would be best left up to the Sanskrit specialists to further break down this conflict.
South Asian Poets in Vernacular Millennium: Seeking Refuge South of the Sanskrit Border
In ‘A Cloud Turned Goose’, Sanskrit in the Vernacular Millenium, Yigal Bronner and David Shulman (Henceforth B-S) offer an analysis of the Vedanta Desika’s Hamsasandesa. This poem is, as you know, composed in Sanskrit and modeled after Kalidasa’s Medhasandesa. However, unlike the classical Sanskrit corpus, this work is highly localized, catering to a specific cultural audience, comprised of various specific cultural references and themes. Localization in composition, for B-S, is inversely proportional to depth of composition, meaning, the more concentrated in space (i.e. localized) a work is, the more deeply it embodies the culture of that geographical region. Yet this work is written in Sanskrit, a language quite removed in time and place from its themes. This begs, for the authors, the crucial question of why this seventeenth-century Tamil poet would chose to compose his masterpiece in Sanskrit, particularly one that is so intimately tied to his a time and space, from which Sanskrit is clearly quite removed. His is not the only such regional work composed in Sanskrit. B-S argue that the fact that many authors of the past (“vernacular”) millennium chose to write regional works in Sanskrit constitutes evidence that the language does not in fact “die” after 1000 AD as argued by Sheldon Pollock. I’m not that the argument presented here – against the effective ‘death’ of the language – Is entirely convincing. To extend the analogy, regarding the lifespan of living, compositional Sanskrit, works like Hamsasandesa operate more like ‘resurrections’ than ‘continuations’ of the linguistic life of the Sanskrit language.
B-S argue against the Pollockian notion that vernacular millennium South Asians do not in fact ‘continually re-imagine the world’ by citing works such as Hamsasandesa as evidence to the contrary. It can be argued, however, that these poets (e.g. Vedanta Desika) do not in fact ‘continually re-imagine the world’ since theirs is the regional and not the universal domain. It is not ‘the world’ they are concerned with, so much as ‘their world’. Pollock argues that Sanskrit literature since this juncture in history, is in fact employed for the sake of repetition. Again, B-S attempt to argue against this in their essay, emphasizing the creative novelty of this poem. However, is the object of study here, Hamsasandesa, not closely modeled after Kalidasa’s masterpiece, Medhasandesa? In light of this, can it really be said to be full of “boldness, originality, and intensity”? Clearly this work is far more than a mechanical reproduction, but can it really be considered new, and indeed a viable example of the continuation of the Sanskrit compositional bloodline?
I am really not sure of how to make sense of why Vedanta Desika (and Southern regional poets like him) elect Sanskrit as their linguistic medium. It seems problematic when one considers that Sanskrit is Northern in origin. The epics, and kavya culture at large, appear to valorize the North over the South. Consider the very plot of the Ramayana where Vishnu’s incarnation, the hight of auspiciousness, resides in the North, and is forced into the South in order to rescue his abducted wife from the southern abode of the demon-king. To further complicate matter, this valorization aligns with ritual and cultural sentiments throughout the subcontinent that North is considered ‘auspicious’, where South is treated as ‘inauspicious’. For example, one is forbidden to face South when performing ritual sacrifices, and is required instead to face North. Also, Yama, god of Death, is considered to lord over the southerly direction, which itself is associated with inauspiciousness, impurity, and death. Rama’s mission is to journey south, rescue his wife, and return to the north, victorious. Ayodhya, in the North, is the home of Rama. Lanka, in the South, is the home of the demon-king Ravana. Interestingly the poem is focused only on the journey southwards, not the journey back. Why does the author chose this story? Why does he choose Sanskrit? Would these themes not problematize a celebration of Southern culture?
Perhaps the very problem here (the privileging of North over South) is the very basis for the author’s selection. Vedanta Desika writes:
Fly to the South.
It has plenty of fantastic temples.
Beatiful sandalwood groves.
It’s the birthplace of peals
And the mother of the Malaya breeze.
Go there and save the life of Janaka’s daughter.
Do it for me.
There’s only one little I should mention:
It’s crawling with Raksasas.
The demons are mentioned almost tangentially, aside from which the verse is laden with images of purity and auspiciousness. Aside from the Raksasas, this appears to be a beautiful and sanctified region. Indeed, one may argue that without the demonization of the South, it, too, would be associated with auspiciousness and purity. Indeed the Ganges flows in the North, but must it be the only source of purity? These cultural tensions may be what the author is addressing. In composing in masterful Sanskrit in order to glorify the South, he demonstrates parity between the two. The goose, in flying Southwards, passes various landscapes, divinities, places of pilgrimage, temples, yogis, etc., all of which are emblematic of purity and auspiciousness. This subverts the notion of Northern superiority or dominance, especially since this southern villager enjoys competent mastery of the Sanskrit language. The author’s linguistic power succeeds here in holding dominion of Sankritic cultural domination.
Indeed Sanskrit provides the author linkage to a “wider literary universe [one encompassing] pan-Indian epics, cosmopolitan and local Sanskrit kŒvya, scientific discourses, and vernacular poetry”, but that wider universe is not accessible in these regional works themselves, nor to their audiences. The authors are aware of the Sanskrit universe, but short-circuit it by emphasizing the regional. Regional Sanskrit works (e.g., Sakala Malla’s Udasa-raghava, Nilakantha Diksita’s Sivalilarnava) are preoccupied with regional features, including metric schemes , syntax, idioms, geography, topography, cultic practice, historic tradition, etc (7) which serve to affirm a local reality. Sanskrit may offer the poetic license to enter the realm of “worldwide potential”, but in emphasizing specifically regional themes, these author consciously refrain from partaking in, and perpetuating, that “universal” domain. I agree with Pollock’s notion that the space crafted by Sanskrit literature was intended “precisely to occlude local differences, or rather, to make the local universally standard” (6). This is how and why these regional poems are different. They employ in the Sanskrit language, but shy away from ‘Sanskrit cosmopolitan culture’. These regional works, after all, were not intended to travel far and wide. As B-S argue regional Sanskrit works are geared towards a local audience, “not meant to travel the length and breath of the cosmopolis”. B-S argue also that Sanskrit served, along with vernaculars, “in the project of inventing and elaborating distinctive regional cultures and identities”. However, these regional identities, once established, succeed in eclipsing the cosmopolitan feature of ‘living’ compositional Sanskrit. Sanskrit serves their culture, they don’t serve Sanskrit culture. They thus effectively collapse the cosmopolis. Such works as these, therefore, are only residual resurrections of ‘living Sanskrit’: The Sanskrit language is not employed here because its supremacy is assumed, but, rather, it is masterfully employed in protest of that linguo-cultural supremacy.
Raj
PS - This was a GORGEOUS poetry. I would love to be able to read it in Sanskrit! Perhaps we can hear some of it in class.
B-S argue against the Pollockian notion that vernacular millennium South Asians do not in fact ‘continually re-imagine the world’ by citing works such as Hamsasandesa as evidence to the contrary. It can be argued, however, that these poets (e.g. Vedanta Desika) do not in fact ‘continually re-imagine the world’ since theirs is the regional and not the universal domain. It is not ‘the world’ they are concerned with, so much as ‘their world’. Pollock argues that Sanskrit literature since this juncture in history, is in fact employed for the sake of repetition. Again, B-S attempt to argue against this in their essay, emphasizing the creative novelty of this poem. However, is the object of study here, Hamsasandesa, not closely modeled after Kalidasa’s masterpiece, Medhasandesa? In light of this, can it really be said to be full of “boldness, originality, and intensity”? Clearly this work is far more than a mechanical reproduction, but can it really be considered new, and indeed a viable example of the continuation of the Sanskrit compositional bloodline?
I am really not sure of how to make sense of why Vedanta Desika (and Southern regional poets like him) elect Sanskrit as their linguistic medium. It seems problematic when one considers that Sanskrit is Northern in origin. The epics, and kavya culture at large, appear to valorize the North over the South. Consider the very plot of the Ramayana where Vishnu’s incarnation, the hight of auspiciousness, resides in the North, and is forced into the South in order to rescue his abducted wife from the southern abode of the demon-king. To further complicate matter, this valorization aligns with ritual and cultural sentiments throughout the subcontinent that North is considered ‘auspicious’, where South is treated as ‘inauspicious’. For example, one is forbidden to face South when performing ritual sacrifices, and is required instead to face North. Also, Yama, god of Death, is considered to lord over the southerly direction, which itself is associated with inauspiciousness, impurity, and death. Rama’s mission is to journey south, rescue his wife, and return to the north, victorious. Ayodhya, in the North, is the home of Rama. Lanka, in the South, is the home of the demon-king Ravana. Interestingly the poem is focused only on the journey southwards, not the journey back. Why does the author chose this story? Why does he choose Sanskrit? Would these themes not problematize a celebration of Southern culture?
Perhaps the very problem here (the privileging of North over South) is the very basis for the author’s selection. Vedanta Desika writes:
Fly to the South.
It has plenty of fantastic temples.
Beatiful sandalwood groves.
It’s the birthplace of peals
And the mother of the Malaya breeze.
Go there and save the life of Janaka’s daughter.
Do it for me.
There’s only one little I should mention:
It’s crawling with Raksasas.
The demons are mentioned almost tangentially, aside from which the verse is laden with images of purity and auspiciousness. Aside from the Raksasas, this appears to be a beautiful and sanctified region. Indeed, one may argue that without the demonization of the South, it, too, would be associated with auspiciousness and purity. Indeed the Ganges flows in the North, but must it be the only source of purity? These cultural tensions may be what the author is addressing. In composing in masterful Sanskrit in order to glorify the South, he demonstrates parity between the two. The goose, in flying Southwards, passes various landscapes, divinities, places of pilgrimage, temples, yogis, etc., all of which are emblematic of purity and auspiciousness. This subverts the notion of Northern superiority or dominance, especially since this southern villager enjoys competent mastery of the Sanskrit language. The author’s linguistic power succeeds here in holding dominion of Sankritic cultural domination.
Indeed Sanskrit provides the author linkage to a “wider literary universe [one encompassing] pan-Indian epics, cosmopolitan and local Sanskrit kŒvya, scientific discourses, and vernacular poetry”, but that wider universe is not accessible in these regional works themselves, nor to their audiences. The authors are aware of the Sanskrit universe, but short-circuit it by emphasizing the regional. Regional Sanskrit works (e.g., Sakala Malla’s Udasa-raghava, Nilakantha Diksita’s Sivalilarnava) are preoccupied with regional features, including metric schemes , syntax, idioms, geography, topography, cultic practice, historic tradition, etc (7) which serve to affirm a local reality. Sanskrit may offer the poetic license to enter the realm of “worldwide potential”, but in emphasizing specifically regional themes, these author consciously refrain from partaking in, and perpetuating, that “universal” domain. I agree with Pollock’s notion that the space crafted by Sanskrit literature was intended “precisely to occlude local differences, or rather, to make the local universally standard” (6). This is how and why these regional poems are different. They employ in the Sanskrit language, but shy away from ‘Sanskrit cosmopolitan culture’. These regional works, after all, were not intended to travel far and wide. As B-S argue regional Sanskrit works are geared towards a local audience, “not meant to travel the length and breath of the cosmopolis”. B-S argue also that Sanskrit served, along with vernaculars, “in the project of inventing and elaborating distinctive regional cultures and identities”. However, these regional identities, once established, succeed in eclipsing the cosmopolitan feature of ‘living’ compositional Sanskrit. Sanskrit serves their culture, they don’t serve Sanskrit culture. They thus effectively collapse the cosmopolis. Such works as these, therefore, are only residual resurrections of ‘living Sanskrit’: The Sanskrit language is not employed here because its supremacy is assumed, but, rather, it is masterfully employed in protest of that linguo-cultural supremacy.
Raj
PS - This was a GORGEOUS poetry. I would love to be able to read it in Sanskrit! Perhaps we can hear some of it in class.
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