Rasa Aesthetics Goes Global: Relevance and Legitimacy
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CHAPTER TWO Rasa Aesthetics Goes Global: Relevance and Legitimacy PRIYADARSHI PATNAIK Quantum Physics makes me so happy! It is like looking at the universe naked. Ohh . Sheldon’s words in the sitcom The Big Bang Theory, Season 5, Episode 20. This living hand, now warm and capable Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold And in the icy silence of the tomb, So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights That thou would wish thine own heart dry of blood So in my veins red life might stream again, And thou be conscience-calm’d–see here it is— I hold it towards you.1 John Keats, “This Hand, Now Warm and Capable.” I. INTRODUCTION Let us begin this chapter with the two quotes above which raise more questions than they answer. What is it that makes Keats’s poem successful? Why does it make us marvel and yet leave us in a state where it is difficult to pinpoint what we feel?W hat is it in this string of words that makes us experience emotions that have nothing to do with our lives? Similarly, when Sheldon looks at his whiteboard of equations in The Big Bang Theory and blurts out the words above, we see rare emotions in a person who is generally unmoved by emotions of everyday life or art. What motivates such Copyright © ${Date}. ${Publisher}. All rights reserved. © ${Date}. ${Publisher}. Copyright reaction? Whatever else we may say, we cannot deny that these questions are as pertinent today as they must have been when Bharata’s NāṭyaŚāstra attempted to answer such questions through the aesthetic concept of rasa. 44 PRIYADARSHI PATNAIK Rasa theory begins with the assumption that emotions can be of two kinds: those that relate to our everyday life affecting our existence directly and others that have nothing to do with our personal lives and yet profoundly affect us. The two are deeply linked to one another. For instance, meeting one’s beloved makes one react with emotions. Reading Keats’s poem also generates emotions. But are they the same kind? What is it in a work of art—which has nothing to do with our lives—that touches our hearts? How does it work? Bharata suggests that it works in similar ways to the cause and effect and sequential flow of our daily lives.2 He, in fact, develops a series of specialized terminologies in order to indicate how this happens. According to Bharata, rasa comes from the combination of vibhāvas (antecedents, sources or causes), anubhāvas (effects or consequents that emerge in response to the antecedents or causes) and vyabhicāribhāvas (accompanying fleeting states that intensify the mood).3 Gradually, their unfolding, which leads to a series of emotional responses in the perceiver, stirs certain feelings, and finally a specific emotion (say that of joy, ecstasy or disgust) intensifies to a state where we—for a few seconds or minutes—forget ourselves, submerge in the world of the art object and experience an emotion that has nothing to do with our lives. This experience makes us forget our identities, our specific time and locale, our histories, and floods us with a nameless experience—Bharata calls this experience rasa. But how does it apply to Keats’s poem? We must remember that Bharata spoke essentially in the context of a play where there was a story with its internal set of cause and effect relationships—there was a world that we could enter. In that world, things could happen. But Keats’s poem is only a few lines and there is no story. Or is there? Let us look closely. We read the lines, we close our eyes. As the lines unfold in our mind’s world, we see a fragment of a story, and then a world slowly emerges. The hand is not just a hand; it is linked to a body, to a throbbing heart. This is the speaker. We may imagine him in many ways. But he is there speaking the lines. He is the cause (vibhāva), the initiator of the words that as they unfold must have an effect (anubhāva) on the person he is speaking to, and in fact on the ambience of the whole poem. We do not know who she4 is. But we have enough evidence in the text to make us aware, even though hypothetically, of what her responses would be. Within the poetic world, another world is created where things are icy and cold—death touching all (disgust—bībhatsa). Along with this is generated fear for the loved one (bhaya), empathetic sadness (karuṇa) and the reflection (even mental enactment) that this would result in the beloved responding immediately (anubhāva) to restore harmony: That thou would wish thine own heart dry of blood So in my veins red life might stream again. The emotion of love (śṛṅgāra) is intensified by this imagined/enacted sacrifice. But then, all is restored to normal after love’s imagined sacrifice when the reverie is dispelled and the hand is thrust forward flowing with the throbbing blood of life: Copyright © ${Date}. ${Publisher}. All rights reserved. © ${Date}. ${Publisher}. Copyright And thou be conscience-calm’d–see here it is— I hold it towards you. RASA AESTHETICS GOES GLOBAL 45 The sense of love (śṛṅgāra) is intensified and this happens only because of the touch and go of fear, anxiety, sadness and disgust, which cook with the flavor of love (śṛṅgāra) as the poem unfolds. Then the spell is broken and we come back to our lives. Moreover, this is not directly communicated to us, since emotions can only be evoked through suggestion (dhvani). We are told, this spell is created through the process of sādhāraṇīkaraṇa5—a state where we lose ourselves in another world with its own logic, space, and time. We are also told that this is made possible because of our innate tendencies and memory of earlier perceptions (vāsanās and saṃskāras) that get activated in special ways during imaginative experiences. This paves the way for assuming that emotions and approaching aesthetic experience through emotions hold the potential of transcending human-made barriers and approximating the universal. True, each of us may create our own different worlds, may experience even different emotions from the same work of art—but there is no denying that these emotions are distinct from real-world emotions and that they operate in similar ways in us through the logic of antecedence–consequence and cause–effect. Finally, at the moment of deep experience we are timeless. But not all works of art allow for story-telling or story-creation so important to the process of an emotional response. Here, I would like to point out that this story- creation has nothing to do with sequential arts. A painting can create a narrative fragment in our minds while unfolding of texts such as Auden’s poem “O Tell Me the Truth about Love”6 may fail to do so: Some say love’s a little boy, And some say it’s a bird, Some say it makes the world go around, Some say that’s absurd, And when I asked the man next-door, Who looked as if he knew, His wife got very cross indeed, And said it wouldn’t do . Does it look like a pair of pyjamas, Or the ham in a temperance hotel? . Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian, Or boom like a military band? . When it comes, will it come without warning Just as I’m picking my nose? Will it knock on my door in the morning, Or tread in the bus on my toes? Will it come like a change in the weather? Will its greeting be courteous or rough? Will it alter my life altogether? O tell me the truth about love. Copyright © ${Date}. ${Publisher}. All rights reserved. © ${Date}. ${Publisher}. Copyright Why does it not work?—It is about love or śṛṅgāra! The rhetorical pattern manages to evoke a series of images no doubt. But they form and they dissolve. The 46 PRIYADARSHI PATNAIK disjunction among them is too great for a world to be shaped. We cannot identify a clear-cut set of vibhāvas or anubhāvas. We are not permitted to submerge in a story world. Rasa response to it is not possible unless the perceiver creatively links the various fragments together to create and enact a story. True, we marvel at the images, but it does not lead to rasa. But it also does not, for that reason, become a bad poem. It is simply not compatible with rasa analysis. What then, say, about a painting like Guernica? As I pointed out above, it is about the ability to create a relation of cause and effect in the perceiver’s mind. Let us abandon the story world within the work of art. Let us create a link between the art object and the perceiver. Is it not possible to suggest that if the art object is the cause (vibhāva), the response to it in the audience is the effect (anubhāva)? What if such an effect has emotional contents? In a separate world within the perceiver’s mind, memories and instincts from real life cook with the images from the painting that trigger them; a tragedy that has nothing to do with her personal life is experienced and an emotional response is formed. Thus, Guernica, on first viewing it, hits us with its horror (bībhatsa). True, there is no narrative per se. But we have the vibhāvas (causes) of horror in mangled and distorted forms that communicate sadness, disgust, grief, and outrage.