Journal of Comparative Literature and Aesthetics, Vol. 44, No. 1, Spring 2021

JOURNAL
of
COMPARATIVE
LITERATURE
and
AESTHETICS
Volume 44 | Number 1 | Spring 2021
In Loving Memory of
Prof. Sushil K. Saxena (1921-2013)
on his Birth Centenary
ISSN 0252-8169
A Vishvanatha Kaviraja Institute Publication
Founding Editor: A. C. Sukla
Founding Editor
Ananta Charan Sukla
Vishvanatha Kaviraja Institute
Editor
Parul Dave-Mukherji
Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU)
EDITORIAL BOARD
W. J. T. Mitchell University of Chicago

Peter Lamarque University of York
Terry Eagleton Lancaster University
Charles Altieri UC Berkeley
Jonathan Culler Cornell University
Robert Stecker Central Michigan University
Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht Stanford University
Noël Carroll The City University of New York
Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak Columbia University
Martha C. Nussbaum The University of Chicago
Sheldon Pollock Columbia University
Stephen Halliwell University of St Andrews
George E. Rowe University of Oregon
Stephen Davies University of Auckland
John Hyman Queen's College
Meir Sternberg Tel Aviv University
Roger T. Ames Peking University
Zhang Longxi City University of Hong Kong
Susan L. Feagin Temple University
Rita Felski University of Virginia
Garry L. Hagberg Bard College
Arindam Chakrabarti Stony Brook University
Peter E. Gordon Harvard University
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© 2021 Vishvanatha Kaviraja Institute

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Journal of
Comparative
Literature
Vishvanatha Kaviraja Institute and Aesthetics
Volume 44 | Number 1 | Spring 2021
In Loving Memory of Prof. Sushil K. Saxena (1921-2013) on his Birth Centenary
ARTICLES
David Fenner
Reading Ritualized Space 1
Michel Dion
George Eliot and Marcel Proust: The Religious Feeling and the Paradoxical
Temporality 12
Max Ryynänen
Learning from Dr. Dre: Teaching Aesthetics and Art Theory to Artists 27
Ryan Mitchell Wittingslow
The Play’s das Thing: On the Incommensurability of Arendtian Political Action
and the Kantian Sublime 34
Oindri Roy
Bridging the Gaps: Towards a New Paradigmatic Interface of Translation
Studies and Comparative Literature 44
Yue Wang
In Search of Humanity: A Bakhtinian Dialogic Study of The Sound and the Fury 57
Sangeetha Puthiyedath & Sreedharan T.
Aesthetics and Ethics: Convergence and Divergence in Plato and Aristotle 71
Bowen Wang
Demystification of the “Innocent Eye”: Nelson Goodman, Ernst H. Gombrich, 81
and the Limitation of Conventionalism
Muskaan Kapoor
The Present-Day Medusa: Foregrounding L’ecriture Feminism in the 89
Contemporary Retellings of Mythology
Wang Chutong
What Does It All Mean? An Approach to Aesthetics of Ancient Chinese Poetry 98
Tingwen Xu
Right to Untranslatability and Hospitality of World Literature 110
Mridula Sharma
Revisiting Bernard Rose’s Frankenstein: Ugliness and Exclusion 120
Yuying Liang
The Production of Space and Representation of Culture: A Case Study of the 128
Opening Ceremony of Beijing Olympics
Prashant Kumar
Reimagining the Notion of Imagination: A Kantian Perspective 144
Monica Choudhary
Is it Easy to Forget Allama Iqbal? A Search for Progressive Religion and 151
Recrudescence of Reason
Catarina Pombo Nabais
The Museum Today: Towards a Participatory and Emancipated Heterology 157
José L. Fernández
Hugo, Hegel, and Architecture 168
Mukulika Dattagupta
Weaving Cityscapes with Oral Narratives: A Study of Select Travel Narratives 179
by Biswanath Ghosh
Anwesha Sahoo
Interpreting ‘madwomen’: A Study of Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s “The Yellow 187
Wallpaper” and Pratibha Ray’s “The Eyes”
NOTES AND DISCUSSION
Oguz Tecimen
Auerbach, Tanpinar and Edib in Istanbul: Reinventing the Humanities and
Comparative Literature (An Interview with Efe Khayyat) 195
BOOK REVIEWS
Muralikrishnan T.R.
Joan of Arc on the Stage and Her Sisters in Sublime Sanctity (Bernard Shaw and His
Contemporaries). By John Pendergast 207
Ritushree Sengupta
Women Writers of the South Asian Diaspora: Interpreting Gender, Texts and Contexts.
By Ajay K. Chaubey and Shilpa Daithota Bhat 210
Shouvik Narayan Hore
K. B. Goel: Critical Writings on Art 1957-1998. By Shruti Parthasarathy (Ed.) 213
Oindrila Ghosh
The Death Script: Dreams and Delusions in Naxal Country. By Ashutosh Bhardwaj 214
Anwesha Sahoo
Exploring Gender Diversity in the Ancient World. By Allison Surtees and Jennifer
Dyer 217
Samuel Bendeck Sotillos
A Living Islamic City: Fez and Its Preservation. By Titus Burckhardt, Jean-Louis
Michon & Joseph A. Fitzgerald (Eds.). Jane Casewit (Trans.) 219
Samuel Bendeck Sotillos
The Unhindered Path: Ruminations on Shin Buddhism. By John Paraskevopoulos 222
/1
Reading Ritualized Space
DAVID E. FENNER
Abstract
S cholars from various disciplines think of “ritual” as performatives that serve to set
apart some events from other events. The spatial se�ings of rituals not only are
constructed deliberately through the application of aesthetic sensibilities but they can be
“read” or interpreted through aesthetic means. Persons responsible for constructing the
ritual’s se�ings include and exclude items, and arrange the se�ing’s mise en scene,
specifically to enhance the aesthetic character of the se�ing, to contribute to the aesthetic
experience of those who are participating or observing the ritual, and to increase the
aesthetic worth of both the event and the experience of it. This paper is about how to
interpret and appreciate that “stage-se�ing.”
Reading Ritualized Space

Scholars from various disciplines think of “ritual” as performatives that serve to set
apart some events from other events – and in se�ing them apart imbue them with special
significance and, normally, special importance. This paper is about the se�ings of such
events and relevant aesthetic considerations. Though on occasion one might think of
the se�ing of a ritual as integral to the central performative(s), and on that basis think
of this as a paper about ritual, given that the performatives are not what we will explore,
perhaps it is best to think of this paper rather as just about the contexts – the spatial
contexts – for rituals.
When discussing film theory, it is common for those analyzing film form to break the
concept into various parts, one of which is the contents of the visual field. This is called
the mise en scene, and it includes everything that is within that visual field: the se�ings,
the props, how deep the field is and how many planes are involved in constituting that
depth, and even the actors, their costumes, their makeup, and sometimes even their
behaviors. (It does not include the photographic aspects; that’ssomething else.) What we
can see in film we can also easily see in theater plays, in opera, in dance, and an argument
might be made for the symphony as well. This paper is about mise en scene — not the mise
en scene of works of art but rather of rituals.
My thesis is that the spatial se�ings of rituals, thought of in the broadest possible
terms and along a continuum from the most grand to the most modest, not only are
constructed deliberately through the application of aesthetic sensibilities but they can be
“read” or interpreted through aesthetic means. Certainly this is a case of form following
function, and the primary motivation of constructing ritual se�ings is to support, foster,
and enhance the ritual in terms of its functions and goals, but how this is done, I believe,
Journal of Comparative Literature and Aesthetics Vol. 44, No. 1, Spring 2021 [1-11]
© 2021 Vishvanatha Kaviraja Institute, India
2 / JOURNAL OF COMPARATIVE LITERATURE AND AESTHETICS
is through aesthetic means. By “application of aesthetic sensibilities” and “aesthetic

means,” I mean that those persons responsible for constructing the ritual’sse�ings include
and exclude items, and arrange the se�ing’s mise en scene, specifically to enhance the
aesthetic character of the se�ing, to contribute to the aesthetic experience of those who
are participating or observing the ritual, and to increase the aesthetic worth of both the
event and the experience of it. This paper is about how to interpret and appreciate that
“stage-se�ing.”
Ritualized Space
Let’sbegin with some examples. There are a virtually infinite number of rituals; the list
below is meant to illustrate some of the most common as well as illustrating a spectral
continuity of grand to modest.
· A Coronation. In 1953, Elizabeth II was crowned Queen Regnant of the United Kingdom
and parts of the Commonwealth. The coronation was the first that was televised, and
audiences around the world watched as Elizabeth, in Westminster Abbey,was crowned.
The spectacle was likely the grandest that anyone watching may have seen or perhaps
may ever see in terms of the se�ing of the Abbey, those present and their a�ire, and
especially those participating and their a�ire. One might argue that the coronation
was an event that stretched from Buckingham Palace to the Abbey, but whether the
se�ing was just the Abbey or the Abbey and a particular (not lengthy) stretch of London,
it is easy to think about the se�ing as bounded in space.
· A Wedding. Whether a wedding is conducted before a church’s altar, under a chuppah
in a synagogue, or while taking seven steps around a fire in India, se�ings, decorations,
and the a�ire of the bride and groom (supposing that sort of wedding) as well as family
members and a�endants are all special to the ritual.
· A Religious Worship Event. Temples and other houses of worship are special places,
imbued with special symbols, overseen by ritual experts in special garb, and a�ended
by others who often wear special garb as well.
· A Graduation. Even when a university graduation is held in a school’sbasketball arena,
the space is made special by those participating and those a�ending. Academic a�ire
in the European style is odd – the sleeves on gowns are odd, square caps are odd,
hoods are odd – but the oddness of the a�ire signals that the ritual of graduation has a
special significance that connects to traditions hundreds of years old.
· A Birthday. Balloons, streamers, banners, a cake with candles, and a pinata all contribute
to transforming an ordinary room or back garden into a space for remembering the
anniversary of one’s entry into the world.
· A Holiday Event. A home well cleaned and decorated with diyas and rangolis, inhabited
by family members wearing special clothes, sets the traditional context for the five
days of Diwali.
· A Dinner Party. In an iconic middle-class American fashion, a dining room is opened; a
table not used for everyday meals is decorated with linens, plates, glasses, flatware,
flowers and candles; lamps that are infrequently used are lit; hosts dress up and await
guests who bring bo�les of wine.
Reading Ritualized Space / 3
In all these cases, “stages” are set to provide contexts for rituals. Consider perhaps the
most modest of all ritual-focused stage-se�ings: when one first moves into a new space
– a first room, a first apartment, a first house – job one is to make sure the space will
function properly. One needs furnishing, and a list of the basics is drawn up: bed, chair,
table, etc. The second job is to make certain that the space, that the items on the list of
basics that will inhabit the space, are comfortable. The third job – and this is where we
come in – is for the new occupant to ensure that, to the extent that resources of time,
talent, and treasure will allow, the space reflects an aesthetic taste to which the new
occupant aspires. What color will the walls be? What colors will the sofa and curtains
and rugs be? How will objects be arranged? What will decorate the walls? What will be
the style of the dishes and flatware? It is only after these ma�ers of necessity, comfort,
and aesthetics are decided that one begins to plan excursions to IKEA or wherever the
objects to be purchased presently reside.
It is intuitive to think that the daily task of simply living is not a ritual, and that se�ing
up a first living space is not the creation of a se�ing for ritual, but there are definitely
elements of ritualization that are relevant here. First, the living space, by its very nature,
is set apart from the outside world and the living spaces of others. Second and more
importantly, the living space very likely will be the se�ing of future rituals, grand and
modest, and so ge�ing a basic pale�e, a basic mise en scene, in place as a working backdrop
for those future events is important. On the list above I included “the dinner party.”This
is a common modestly ritualized event that takes as its backdrop one’s ordinary living
environment – but these environments are transformed, sometimes simply, sometimes
elaborately, for the event. In addition, special manners of dress and comportment may
be employed. The goal of this ritual – if we can think of a dinner party as a kind of
modest ritual – may be thought of in a variety of ways (fun, social bonding, career
enhancement, and so forth), but the event bears a set of aesthetic markers and an aesthetic
character that is repeated across such events within a culture or a region. Dinner parties
are but one ritual performed in one’s living space, but that living space, as simple as it
may be, will normally be arranged and decorated to allow for easy transformation for
special occasions like holidays, birthdays, and dinner parties.
Interpreting a Ritualized Space

Interpretation of art objects and events incorporates a variety of different activities,
and these activities are theoretically and practically approached in a variety of different
ways. In this section, let’s briefly review the ma�er so we may proceed with applying it
later in the paper.
The work of artistic interpretation seems to consist in three things: discovery of meaning,
bridging the descriptive and the evaluative, and working out the logic of the formal
relationships among the elements of the work of art. 1 These items easily transfer to the
interpretation of ritualized space.
By “discovery of meaning” I mean that part of the work of interpretation deals with
understanding, and this work of understanding is akin to translation from an unknown
language into a known one. If a speaker of a language I do not understand uses a phrase
I wish to understand, a translation must be made. This language-translation metaphor
can only go so far, but the goal with both language-translation and interpretation of a
work of art is understanding: “what does this art object mean?”
By “bridging the descriptive and the evaluative” I mean that while works of art come
with properties that are perceptual or, in the case of literature, arise from the linguistic
meaning of what is perceptual – all that we are likely to call “objective” – the ascription
of aesthetic properties to the object are made only through the application of taste2 and
this necessarily adds value or valuing to what is “objective.” That is, aesthetic properties
are bearers of value; we use them to speak of a work’sartistic virtues and faults; we use
them as evidence of our judgments of a work’s artistic value. The movement from the
purely objective – say, the lines and colors of painting – to the judgment that the
composition is balanced, elegant, or harmonious is a movement from the descriptive to
the evaluative. This application of taste in order to achieve ascriptions of aesthetic
properties is an interpretative project. The audience member must interpret the objective
properties as underwriting value-carrying aesthetic or artistic properties.
By “working out the logic of the formal relations” within a work of art, I mean that the
audience member, as yet another instance of interpretive work, must consider how the
various aspects of the object fit together, puzzle-like, into a single coherent whole that
exhibits an internal integrity that some (like Clive Bell3 and Suzanne Langer4) have
described as significant form. I invoked “film form” earlier in talking about mise en scene.
Let me invoke it again by saying that if film form consists of a film’s mise en scene, its
photographic aspects (cinematography), its narrative, its sound elements, and its editing
style, it is up to the viewer of the film to determine either or both of the meaning of the
film and the quality of the film through consideration of how those aspects fit together
into a unified coherent whole. This is the structure, form, or logic of the work of art.
How these projects are carried out differs on the approach one takes toward
interpretation. For the sake of brevity, let’s take a lofty view and consider just six large
scale approaches.
· One should avoid interpretation. This is the position of Susan Sontag who argues that
especially recently both the world of art as objects/events and the world of audience
members and critics have emphasized approaches to art and the consideration of art
that have privileged cognitive engagement to the exclusion of engagement characterized
as emotional or spiritual or even purely aesthetic in the sense of simple sensory
appreciation of the properties of objects. Cognitive engagement is only one sort
available, but an over-focus on interpretative engagement with art objects can over-
emphasize this sort of engagement. The answer: let the art speak as it will and do not
force a reduction to mere cognitive appreciation. One way to concretize this approach:
avoid interpretation.5
· One should focus on the intentions of the artist. The most famous proponent of this
view is E. D. Hirsch. He argues that within each art object is both a set of rules that
govern the meaning of that work and the “data” (the aesthetic properties and features)
that allow application of those rules. Where there is ambiguity in either figuring out
those data or the rules that are meant to govern discovery of their meaning, one should
appeal to the artist and her stated intentions concerning what she meant to convey.
This is how communication works intuitively; when one speaks to us, we are keen to
understand what she means by the words she uses, and if there are misunderstandings,
we appeal to the speaker to clarify what she meant.6
· One should focus strictly on the object itself. William Wimsa� and Monroe Beardsley
famously argued that artist intention is irrelevant to understanding the meaning of a
work of art. Like Hirsch, they believed that works of art carry within them elements
that allow for interpretation in the same way that words on a page carry meanings. If
we know the language, we know the meanings not only of the words but of the entirely
literary work; the same goes for any work of art.7 One need not appeal to anything
external to the object to understand its meaning; the object alone is sufficient for that so
long as the audience member a�ending to it knows how to “read” it.
· If there are, as a ma�er of fact, a plurality of possible interpretations of a given art
object, one should focus on that interpretation (or those interpretations) that enhance
the value of the experience of the work.8 While an ideal might be described where each
art object possesses only one possible interpretation, the likelihood is rather than a
given work will inspire a plurality of different interpretations. Those that enhances
audience members’ experience of the work, that enhance the value of the art object or
enhance the experience of the object, are those that are deemed legitimate.
· Stanley Fish is likely the best known of those theorists who argue that works of art do
not carry within themselves enough that establish their meanings in se�led ways.9 The
same word, sentence, paragraph or whole literary work may mean very different things
to different people. Fish is known for saying that it is specific schools of interpretation,
specific interpretative communities, who offer interpretations that are legitimate. As
there are a plurality of such communities, so there will be a plurality of legitimate
interpretations – and the more communities, the more legitimate interpretations. These
interpretative communities can include all sorts of different perspectives: Marxist
Socialist-Realism, Freudianism, Jungianism, Critical Race Theory, Feminism, Queer
Theory, and so forth.
· At the furthest end of the spectrum are those who believe that interpretations are ma�ers
of individual engagement with art objects and who believe that so long as the individual
interpreter finds her interpretation meaningful and revelatory, there should be no
interference with that. There should be no suggestion that one should se�le for a more
formalized or restrictive view – one that might actually diminish for the particular
viewer the quality of her engagement with the work. If the goal is the enhancement of
the individual art experience, then any interpretation, no ma�er its content or how it
was derived, is legitimate if indeed the individual experiencer finds it useful or
insightful or otherwise valuable. This sort of interpretation can carry within it personal
associations and personal identifications with the work; these cannot be adopted
experientially by any audience larger than the person having the experience.
This brief review is about what it means to “read” an art object; we will return below to
discussing its application to ritualized spaces.
The Aesthetic Form of a Ritualized Space

At the start of the paper and once more just above I invoked the notion of mise en scene
as an element of film form. Removing the notion from film form and applying it to
ritualized space provides us with a framework for understanding the elements of the
aesthetic form (or structure or logic) of the ritualized space. Below are discussed nine
elements of that form.
The Perspective of the Participants. Participants in a ritual have a specific place or set of
specific places they occupy as part of the ritual. In a traditional Hindu wedding, the
bridge and groom take seven steps around a ritual fire. As they do, they occupy seven
different positions, and they have seven different perspectives of the space they occupy.
Those different perspectives will render different visual phenomena for the bride and
groom; in occupying different spaces and in seeing the space from different vantage
points, their visual perspectives alter and so their registration of their occupation of
the space alters. Each perspective is a separate uptake of the aesthetic form of the space.
Perspective is important as the location we occupy within a space constructs that space
differently for us; we understand the space differently with different perspectives.
This is important to understanding and appreciating its aesthetic character and virtues.
The Perspective of the Observers. It is common in many rituals to have a set of people who
are merely observing and not participating. Their positions are usually fixed. They
take their seats or their places at the start of the ritual and they tend to stay there for the
duration – not always of course but commonly. So their perspectives will be fixed (or
largely so) as well. Furthermore, as they are not participants, their perspective is likely
to be of a wider field and from a more distanced vantage point than the participants.
That farther-away, wider-field perspective is important to get just right, as one
aesthetically constructs the space, as it changes so li�le and takes in so much.
The Depth of Field. Each time I visit Westminster Abbey, I find myself seated within the
center of the cruciform structure. No ma�er how many times I visit, I cannot help but
let my eyes wander higher and higher along the rising architecture. The depth of field
for those European medievals who designed and created the space was important; it
had symbolic significance in referencing the expansiveness and greatness of the divine.
The same depth of field is present when one looks from the doorway to the Abbey
through to the altar (which can only be seen ideally as there is a massive screen in the
midst and the space is immense). Not all ritualized spaces are as grand or are meant to
be; some are meant to be small and intimate. Consider a Native American sweat lodge,
where the canopy is just large enough to contain the inhabitants and the fire in the
center. Intimacy and closeness are important there, and so “depth of field” should not
always be taken as encouragement of massive space. Sometimes the opposite is true.
The Enclosure. Most ritualized spaces will be enclosed in obvious ways, with walls that
define the space and limit the visual expanse. This is not always the case, but it does
seem always the case that even when the space is not obvious enclosed it is nonetheless
bounded according to a human scale – that is, according to an aesthetical sensibility
that accords to how humans define “a space.” Take for instance a Christian baptism
that is done outside in a lake or a river. Here one might argue that there is no enclosure
– and there is not – but the space is still bounded. It is either the space of the lake, or it
is a subset of that space that has been “adopted” as a sacred space for the ritual to take
place. It has a special importance or significance, and so it cannot then extend out
indefinitely. It must be bounded according to its ritualized purpose.
The Items Present. Every ritualized space will have objects within it whose inclusion is
understood to be purposeful and deliberate. They may only be present to define the
space, but most times they are present as symbols and instruments of meaning. A
birthday party may have balloons, streamers and a cake – all of which not only enhance
but focus the activity on celebration of an enthusiastic and upbeat nature.
The Items Used. Not every ritual makes use of objects but many do. Not only are these
objects bearers of aesthetic value, how they are used – the manner in which the
performance of the ritual is carried out – is also an aesthetic ma�er.
The Auditory. Film theory makes a distinction between “diegetic” and “non-diegetic”
sound. “Diegetic” refers to all those elements that are part of the film’sworld – in other
words, that would be real if the film world were real. “Non-diegetic,” particularly in
reference to sounds like music, refers to sounds that are not part of the world of the
film but that nonetheless are heard by the audience. It is common for a musical score
that assists in the creation of mood, focus, and other values to be employed in a film.
This filmic distinction again is useful when it comes to ritualized space, and even though
sound per se is not a part of a film’s mise en scene, we can still think of it as part of the
aesthetic fabric that constitutes the contextual se�ing of a ritual. It is difficult to imagine
a ritual that does not incorporate sound of some sort.
The Olfactory. The fire in a Hindu wedding has a distinctive smell. The incense in a Roman
Catholic mass has a distinctive smell. Even the peppermint smell of the candy cane
that is handed out by the Santa Claus at the American Mall – if such a visit has a
ritualistic quality – can form part of the indelible atmosphere of such an event.
The Taste. Many rituals incorporate consumables like food and drink. Again the Roman
Catholic mass comes to mind, and the stereotypical taste of the somewhat watered-
down sweet wine, along with the papery texture of the eucharistic host (the wafer), are
aesthetic ma�ers. Generally when it comes to taste, we call these aesthetic components
“gustatory,” but that suggests “good” and “bad” tastes. Here, especially given the
Roman Catholic example, I simply mean any taste.
It may well be that there are more than nine aspects to the aesthetic form of the se�ing
of a ritual, and ideally this list should be comprehensive. It is through analyzing the
se�ing of a ritual in terms of its form that we can interpret – that we can “read” – that
aesthetic form. The reason why such a “read” is important is that through such an
interpretative project, we can appreciate not only the aesthetics of the se�ing per se but
we can see how the se�ing’saesthetic elements work together toward the success of the
ritual, to the quality of the efficacy of the ritual. Or how they fail to – which is to say that
“reading” the aesthetic se�ing allows us also to build the case for evaluating it, for
determining whether it is sufficient or exemplary or whether it fails.
In all the approaches to interpretation that are sketched above, there is an element of
the normative. The facilitation of understanding, of achieving meaning and/or
communication, is a value. But some of the approaches sketched above go well beyond
this in emphasizing value-focused goals for interpretation – goals that are largely cashed
out in terms of the quality of the experience one has in a�ending to the art object under
consideration.
When discussing above the generalities of interpretation, I mentioned “significant form”
as a name that at least two art theorists used as they a�empted to capture the internal
integrity of an aesthetic object. That “internal integrity” – how the pieces of the aesthetic
puzzle fit together to create a seamless organic whole, one that demonstrates maximum
coherence among all its various aspects – goes by several names, “significant form” being
only one. This same aesthetic character likely was at the heart of what Immanuel Kant
understood as the “purposeless purposiveness,” the character of an object that, while it

serves no instrumental function per se, still has a quality that strikes the one a�ending to
it as purposeful and purposive.10 John Dewey, who we will talk about once more at the
end of this paper, describes experiences that have maximal aesthetic quality – each of
which he refers to as “an experience” – as having the same internal coherence, as being
bounded and having a recognizable beginning, middle, and end (what I would call a
“narrative arc”).11 All of these approaches and likely many more focus on the experiential
registration by the audience member of the puzzle-like quality of aesthetic objects when
all the pieces lock in and the puzzle is revealed. The project of working this out, as I
mentioned above, is one of the key ways of understanding the nature of interpretation.
Through an analyzed form of the se�ing of a ritual – toward which the list above
means to present a start – we can know the puzzle pieces. Once we know the puzzle
pieces, we can begin the task of considering their individual character, but even more
importantly we can see how the puzzle pieces go together to form whatever degree of
coherence they all together form. This allows us to evaluate that aesthetic se�ing, but
more importantly it allows us to understand it and to understand how it contributes to
the ritual meeting its goals as a ritual. And this leads us to the next section of the paper.
The Goals of a Ritualized Space

Why do we engage in these aesthetically-focused “stage-se�ing” exercises? The answer
to this question can be expressed in a single word: focus. But in asking “focus on what?”
we occasion an opportunity to unpack the answer.
· First and foremost, the se�ing must enhance focus on the significant performatives of
the ritual as well as the overall function or goal of the ritual. The se�ing must focus
a�ention on the ritual as ritual. This was mentioned toward the top of the paper.
· Second, the se�ing must assist in emphasizing the “set-apart” nature of not only the
ritual and those participating in the ritual but also the space in which the ritual is
performed. The se�ing must be bounded in space (and in time) on a human scale, so
that anyone appreciating the se�ing will appreciate its boundaries and “set-apart”
nature.
· Third, the se�ing must focus a�ention by psychically bracketing off the ritual from the
ordinary, from daily worries and distractions. Whether inspiring of calm or of
gregariousness, the se�ing must focus a�ention “on” and “away from.”
· Fourth, the se�ing must invite the appropriate behaviors for those performing, those
participating in, and those observing the ritual. Voicesare modulated (lowered or raised)
appropriately; respect is demonstrated; esprit de corps is demonstrated.
· Fifth, the se�ing must uplift the mood and elevate the spirit. It must feel special; it must
make one feel honored and eager to do honor.
· Sixth, the se�ing must convey to all present the value of the ritual and the time and
effort spent on the ritual.
What do we mean to achieve in concentrating focus? I want to suggest a slate of six goals
that the aesthetic character of the ritual’s se�ing contribute to meeting. Before going into
these, though, I need to point out two things. First, not all rituals have the same goals, no
ma�er how generalized the goals may be articulated; so no list that represents itself as
expressing necessary and/or sufficient conditions for an event being a ritual, or for a
ritual to be a successful ritual, is likely to be successful. Second, part of the (non-physical)
context of a ritual is its cultural se�ing; we are not discussing this aspect of the context of
rituals in this paper, but as rituals are necessarily set in cultures, so their goals are as
well. And, furthermore, their aesthetic virtues must be understood as necessarily set
within a cultural context as well. As the aesthetic property of “balance” differs significantly
between European Renaissance paintings and Japanese Ikebana, so all the aesthetic aspects
of ritual se�ings may only be fully understood within their cultural contexts – and for
some rituals their historical, regional, religious (and so forth) contexts as well. The value
of creating a list of goals is to help us organize our thinking about what the aesthetic
features of a ritual’s se�ing contribute to that ritual, but any more ambition than that
may be disappointing.
Expressing Culture. As all rituals are culturally bound, it seems to follow that we can gain
insights into the culture of which the ritual is a part through considering its se�ing.
The aesthetic features of those se�ings express their cultural contexts, and to the degree
to which a culture is expressed in a ritual, we can appreciate that culture all the more.
This is a circuit. As we appreciate the cultural context, we can appreciate the significance
of a particular ritual and its components all the more, as well. A ritual that might seem
strange to one from outside that ritual’sculture, with the education that comes through
understanding the particular cultural context of that ritual, may be illuminated for
that spectator. And in turn that spectator may appreciate that culture in ways that are
new and revelatory.
Continuity with Tradition. While this paper is not engaging with contextual ma�ers beyond
the aesthetics of a ritual’sse�ing, the reality is that the aesthetic elements of that se�ing
will cast light back on the traditions and history of that ritual. This is cross-fertilizing
insofar as analyzing the aesthetics of the se�ings will illuminate other contextualities
relevant to the ritual.
Establishment of the Sacred. I have been fairly careful to talk about rituals rather than talking
about the sacred. The reason is that while I see no reason to think that a ritual cannot be
private and individual, most are not. Most are communal. “Ritual” is a name for a class
of events, but “the sacred” is not. “The sacred” is an a�itudinal state of an individual
or group for a thing, a place, or an event; it is usually an a�itudinal state characterized
by holding that thing, place, event as possessing a special value. So it is cleaner and
safer for me to talk simply about rituals. That said, the aesthetic aspects of the se�ing
of a ritual through defining a certain space and a certain time as “set-apart” allows us
to see a mechanism through which one may come to regard that ritual or its space or
its time as possessing the special value that commonly accompanies a thing, place, or
event identified as being sacred.
Signaling A New Navigation of the Reality of the Ritual. When one is an observer or a
participant in a ritual, it is common for one to behaviorally comport oneself in a manner
fi�ing taking on that role in a ritual. The same is true for dress. The reality of the
everyday and the ordinary gives way to a new reality, the reality of the ritual, and the
respect that the ritual commands – again whether that respect is characterized by
serenity or by boisterousness – is integral to that new reality.Observers and participants,
in entering the new world of the ritual, act and dress in ways consonant with that new
world and its expectations and rules. The aesthetic aspects of the se�ing not only
encourage recognition that one has entered a new world, they also suggest and signal
the character of that new world and the logic and rules that govern it.
Reinforcing Community. As I just mentioned, I have no reason to think a private ritual is
impossible, but most rituals connect to histories and traditions than transcend the
individual and put us in contact with others, both past and present. As we are connected
with others, our sense of being in community and the importance of being in community
is enhanced. Just as in the case with the item directly above, an aesthetic consideration
of the se�ing, through the fact that this establishes the boundaries in time and space of
that ritual, makes us aware of the boundaries of that community and this in turn makes
us aware of our place in it and our particular connections to those within it.
Reordering Hierarchy. Finally, many rituals reorder the roles and functions of those
participating in them. A wedding for instance places both the bride and groom in a
new position vis a vis their families. It is not surprising that English royals have titles
bestowed on them only at the point of their marriages; the marriage concretizes and
symbolizes their new position, which in turn is further concretized and symbolized
through the conferral of a new title. What happens explicitly in this rarified case happens
emblematically, though perhaps subtlely, through all marriages at the point of the
wedding. We see the emblematic nature of this change aesthetically,through the clothes
the bride and groom are wearing, to where they are located during the ritual, to how
they are the focus of all eyes during the ritual. What happens in a wedding happens in
many other rituals; positional change is not only achieved through the ritual but the
trappings of this change are expressed, usually very clearly, through the aesthetics.
Conclusion
Every ritual, as a ma�er of metaphysical reality, has a context. In addition to histories,
traditions, associations and other contextual ma�ers, each ritual has a physical context, a
se�ing. That se�ing can be read and understood in terms of its aesthetic form. It can not
only be interpreted, which is the primary focus of this paper, but it can be evaluated in
terms of its efficacy at bringing focus to the central performative goals of the ritual.
Understanding and evaluating the aesthetic aspects of a ritual’scontext may seem a project
in over-intellectualizing events that are common to our everyday lives, but the significance
of these intellectualized projects is to gain a deeper insight into the nature of these
everyday events. That is, in understanding their contexts, we can understand more deeply
how they function in our lives, why they are important to us, how their achieve their
defining goal of se�ing apart some events from others and imbuing those set-apart events
with special importance and significance.
There are additional lessons to learn as well.
I stated above that I would mention the work of John Dewey again. Dewey believed
that every event we experience has something of the aesthetic about it. He said that an
event that is maximally aesthetic – has the most of this aesthetic quality – we call, as I
mentioned, “an event” and he described this aesthetic character in the way I briefly
sketched above. Dewey’s view that all events are on an aesthetic spectrum fits nicely the
fact that rituals can be common everyday events but they are still, by their nature, “set-
apart.” The way Dewey characterizes the aesthetic is a means for us to approach and
consider what assists in making these events both “continuous-with” and “set-apart-
from” the ordinary and everyday.
If we can indeed read through aesthetical analysis the se�ings of rituals and can gain
deeper insight into the nature of those particular rituals and ritual as a general kind of
event, then we can, in complement, also gain, through considering these ma�ers, deeper
insight into the nature and importance of analyzing all se�ings in aesthetic terms. That
is, if through unpacking the aesthetic form of a ritual’s se�ing we gain insight into that
ritual, we also gain insight into the nature of all se�ings as being analyzable and
understandable through aesthetic analysis. All physical staging can be thought about in
aesthetic terms, and very likely projects of this sort will lead to meaningful insights. The
enhancement of our facility for such analysis likely will contribute to understanding all
human events more deeply.
University of North Florida, USA
Notes
1
XXXXXXXXXX, “Mapping Approaches to Interpretation,” Journal of Aesthetic Education,
forthcoming.
2
Frank Sibley, “Aesthetic Concepts,” Philosophical Review 68:4 (1959), 421-450.
3
Clive Bell, Art (London: Cha�o and Windus, 1914).
4
Suzanne Langer, Feeling and Form (New York: Scribner, 1953).
5
Susan Sontag, “Against Interpretation,” in Against Interpretation (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1966).
6
E. D. Hirsch, Validity in Interpretation (Yale University Press, 1967).
7
William K. Wimsa� and Monroe C. Beardsley,“The Intentional Fallacy,”Sewanee Review 54 (1946),
468-488.
8
Alan Goldman, “Interpreting Art and Literature,” Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 48:3 (1990),
205-214, and Alan Goldman, Philosophy and the Novel (Oxford University Press, 2013).
9
Stanley Fish, Is There a Text in This Class? (Harvard University Press, 1980).
10
Immanuel Kant, Critique of Judgment (Indianapolis: Hacke�, 1987).
11
John Dewey, Art as Experience (New York: Perigee, 1934).
George Eliot and Marcel Proust: The Religious Feeling

and the Paradoxical Temporality
MICHEL DION
F rom a philosophical and literary viewpoint, George Eliot (1819-1880) and Marcel
Proust (1871-1922) have not been influenced by the same philosophers and writers.
However, Proust was fascinated by Eliot’s realistic novels. Eliot lived in the Victorian
period. Proust’s À la recherche du temps perdu was mainly published from 1913 to 1927
(five years after Proust’sdeath). Proust lived during the First World War and was aware
of the beginnings of the “Roaring Twenties”. Eliot and Proust did not belong to the same
literary period. Eliot was close to Romanticism, while Proust was the most important
representative of the “stream of consciousness” literary technique (the other main repre-
sentatives included Virginia Woolf, James Joyce, Joseph Conrad, and Henry James).
Nonetheless, Eliot and Proust shared some concerns for love and happiness. However,
they did not embrace the same philosophical approach, although they shared the same
interest for Leibniz’s philosophy. On one hand, Eliot deepened the dialectics between
generosity (and compassion), religious feeling, and anxiety.However, the religious feel-
ing is then closely linked to the possibility of disappointed faith. Anxiety and anguish
have conscious and unconscious dimensions that we must learn to unveil in our daily
life. On the other hand, Proust developed a dialectics between temporality and the hu-
man quest for love, happiness and truth. However, temporality is then paradoxical. It
does not have any theoretical self-consistency. In Eliot’s novels, we will see how the
religious feeling (and the disappointed faith) plays a major role for the development of
the dialectics between generosity, religious feeling, and anxiety. In Proust’s novels, we
will examine how the paradoxical temporality plays a decisive role in the dialectics be-
tween paradoxical temporality and the quest for love, happiness, and truth.
George Eliot: The Dialectics Between Generosity, Religious Feeling, and Anxiety
Important events can bring us a new self, and thus a very different existence. However,
pride can make us distort the true importance of our own self (Eliot 1986, 551, 625). Eliot
(1960, 591) described two opposite modes of existence: either “an easy floating in a stream
of joy” or “a quiet resolved endurance and effort”. “Floating in a stream of joy” is effi-
ciently coping with our existential predicament, while having “a quiet resolved endurance
and effort” involves the path of existential struggles. Eliot (1986, 802) believed that a spiritual
life is based on the capacity of thought and especially on joy.Joy expresses our pleasure for
others’ success and happiness. It allows us to be detached from material goods. Generosity
and compassion can be applied in the two opposite modes of existence, since they constitute
the basic components of human existence. “Floating in a stream of joy” requires deepening
our religious feeling and disappointed faith. Having “a quiet resolved endurance and effort”
unveils the conscious and unconscious dimensions of our anxiety/anguish.
The Religious Feeling and the Paradoxical Temporality / 13
The Basic Components of Human Existence: Generosity and Compassion

Generosity and kindness are not enduring passions. They can easily disappear from
our mind and heart (Eliot 1960, 10). “Life never seems so clear and easy as when the
heart is beating faster at the sight of some generous self-risking deed. We feel no doubt
then what is the highest prize the soul can win; we almost believe in our power to a�ain
it” (Eliot 2013c, 1018). Compassion allows us to release ourselves “from the bondage of
false concessions” (Eliot 1986, 570). Those concessions are often purely egoistic. Com-
passion can allow us to deepen our sense of humility. Without compassion and good-
will, we do not necessarily fall into the trap of malevolence. However, we emphasize the
experience of egoistic pleasures (Eliot 1986, 660, 759). Egoism can be deeply passionate
(Eliot 2013b, 490). Eliot denounced the destructive and pernicious impact of egoism on
others’ wellbeing (Gatens 2009, 84). Her realistic novels a�empted to enhance sympathy
and compassion towards suffering people (Greiner 2009, 307). There is a hidden beauty
in the “secret of deep human sympathy” (Eliot 2013, 102). Sympathy can be “self-re-
nouncing” (Eliot 2013, 203). It can also be “agonized” (Eliot 2013, 247), or “regretful”
(Eliot 2013c, 851). Sympathy is often enthusiastic and passionate. It is especially the case
when we deepen our awareness of the “great drama of human existence” in which our
own life is a part (Eliot 2013c, 977). Compassion is sympathy towards others’ pain (Eliot
2013c, 998). Sympathy can be mixed with generosity,kindness, or melancholy (Eliot 2013,
13, 132; 2013b, 673). “It is in the nature of all human passion, the lowest as well as the
highest, that there is a point where it ceases to be properly egoistic, and is like a fire
kindled within our being to which everything else in us is mere fuel” (Eliot 2013c, 909).
Vices make an integral part of our individual life. We should look at vices in concrete
lives rather than abstractly, since they are involved in individual existence (Eliot 1986,
412). In a Rousseauist perspective, Eliot believed in the basic goodness of humankind.
However, it does not mean that every thought, word and deed is always impregnated
with goodness and generosity. Moral education is required to develop virtuous ways of
thinking, feeling, speaking, and behaving (Rousseau 1966, 306-309; Eliot 1960, 26; 1986,
37). Eliot asserted that “pity and faithfulness and memory are natural”, since they make
an integral part of human existence. We can be “haunted by the suffering” we have caused
because pity is a natural trend in humankind. Any lack of pity reduces our capacity for
unconditional love (Eliot 1960, 552).
“Floating in a Stream of Joy”: Deepening our Religious Feeling and Disappointed Faith
Our reason can define the various forms of religious feeling. Newton (2012) explained
that in The Mill on the Floss, Eliot emphasized the will and the reason as means “to over-
come inclination in regard to moral choice”. So, Eliot enhanced the separation of faith
and morality from philosophy and science. According to Gatens (2012, 80), the main
threat for the growth of human knowledge is “the tendency for a reductively conceived
science to fill the gap left by the crisis of faith”. Eliot (1906, 14) believed that some people
can have a religious feeling without being able to rationalize it. Religion makes human
being overcoming his “animalness” (Eliot 1986, 590). In Middlemarch, Eliot focused on
feeling rather than theoretical reflection (Fay 2017, 120). Appearances can hide the fact
that there can be unfulfilled potentialities in our mind and heart (Guth 1999, 923). “Reli-
gion can only change when the emotions which fill it are changed” (Eliot 2013b, 596).
Love can hardly be distinguished from religious feeling (Eliot 2013, 22). In any religious
feeling, we can identify an aspect of love. In any expression of love, there is an expres-
sion of religious feeling.
Eliot (1906, 14-15) unveiled the “anguish of disappointed faith”: when we are sub-
jected to false ideas and beliefs, then our faith will become anxious. A faith-related hope
is then transmuted into an existential dread (Eliot 1906, 21). A “disappointed faith” has
lost its own grounds. A spiritual dread makes long-lasting uncertainties and doubts arise
in our daily life. Believers are then cut off from their original faith. Their energetic cer-
tainties are transmuted into doubts (Eliot 1906, 23, 54; 1986, 94, 96, 98, 567; 2013a, 229,
246). Emotions and beliefs are full of energy (Eliot 2013c, 962). Energy is not equivalent
to a will. Rather, it is the foundation of any will. Energy is involved in any existentiell
decision (Eliot 2013b, 480, 571, 694). “In any case, one can hardly increase appreciably
the tremendous uncertainty of life” (Eliot 2013b, 490). The uncertainties of life impact
the past, the present, and the future (Eliot 2013b, 547). Our mind and heart could find
refuge in our existentiell doubts (Eliot 2013c, 995). However, doubt makes perfect love
impossible (Eliot 2013, 297; 2013c, 1013). Doubts can make us fall into a “threatening
isolation” (Eliot 2013c, 1018). Eliot (2013b, 660) suggested that pathological doubts can
be transformed into groundless moral doubts. Moral doubts can be groundless because
of our existential finitude. They can also be groundless, since they have been separated
from rationality. Eliot distinguished the realm of mystery and the realm of knowledge.
Mystery implies the absence of any reliable knowledge, while knowledge can be par-
tially grounded on realities (Eliot 2013, 29, 120). Faith involves mysteries (Eliot 2013a, 88).
It presupposes that the power of mysteries is greater than the power of facts (Eliot 2013b,
650). Human beliefs can never be totalized. There seems to be a strong reluctance to
crystallize our beliefs into a stable system (Eliot 1906, 212). Passionate beliefs can radically
influence our motives and actions (Eliot 1986, 572). Passions express strength. However,
any strength is not necessarily developing our existentiell freedom. “Strength is often
only another name for willing bondage to irremediable weakness” (Eliot 2013a, 41).
Faith in God (the “Unseen”) can allow people to be�er cope with suffering and af-
flicted emotions. It can be used for controlling our passions and reducing our wants and
desires. This is what Eliot called a “self-renouncing faith” (Eliot 1960, 167, 330-331). A
self-renouncing a�itude requires to neglect our self-love and thus to avoid any egoistic
thought, word, and deed. A “crucifixion of our selfish will” is needed to deepen our
faith (Eliot 2013b, 640; 2013c, 963). This is the only way to develop the serenity of mind
and heart, that is, an “inward peace”. A self-renouncing a�itude can have various posi-
tive impact on our mind and heart. It can get rid “vain imaginations, evil perturbations,
and superfluous cares”. Our “immoderate fear” and “inordinate love” will disappear
(Eliot 1960, 353-354, 357). A self-renouncing a�itude requires not to “seek my own hap-
piness by sacrificing others” (Eliot 1960, 552). Eliot (1960, 611) knew that a self-renounc-
ing a�itude is not an easy way to live. However, denying the possibility to adopt a self-
renouncing a�itude is falling into the trap of uncontrollable passions. Disliking reli-
gious issues reduces the consciousness of our existential limitations and spiritual con-
straints. Our conscience is built up by various sensibilities and memories (Eliot 1986, 94,
570). However, any “exaggerated sensitiveness” can give birth to illusions (Eliot 2013b,
369). Eliot denounced all forms of superstition as distorted feelings. Superstitions can
make us neglect or forget any rational distinction between good and evil (Eliot 2013b,
362). “But in complex a thing as human nature, we must consider, it is hard to find rules
without exceptions” (Eliot 2013, 202; 2013a, 215). Any rational distinction between good
and evil takes for granted that human nature is fallible. Human nature involves long-
lasting passions, feelings and desires (Eliot 2013a, 147, 154). “Human feeling is like the
mighty rivers that bless the earth; it does not wait for beauty – it flows with resistless
force and brings beauty with it” (Eliot 2013, 102). Vicious words and deeds make the
frontiers between good and evil fragile (Eliot 2013a, 193). Eliot (2013, 103) asserted that
our moral behavior is grounded on feelings rather than ideas and thoughts. We can eas-
ily identify the influence of Hume’sTreatiseof Human Nature (Hume 1985) and Rousseau’s
Émile ou de l’éducation (Rousseau 1966). Feelings provide a specific kind of knowledge
(Eliot 2013, 297). However, the various feelings and emotions are not necessarily com-
patible with each other. There can be a “conflict of feelings” (Eliot 2013b, 565).
Superstitions convey a “blind faith” and create a feeling of wretchedness (Eliot 2013b,
365; 2013c, 915, 941-943, 956, 977, 1074, 1082). Eliot (2013, 224) identified the possibility
of contradiction between the feeling of wretchedness and the feeling of exultation to-
wards our own life. The feeling of wretchedness could make us lose the courage to face
our own death, while the feeling of exultation strongly enhances our state of “being in
life”. The feeling of wretchedness can be dreadful. It can affect one’s spiritual condition
(Eliot 2013b, 621, 640). Eliot (2013, 195) referred to “convulsive, motiveless actions by
which wretched men and women leap from a temporary sorrow into a lifelong misery”.
Eliot (2013c, 784) quoted Epictetus (Arrien 2000, 68): “For men are disturbed not by
things themselves, but by their opinions or thoughts concerning those things”. Adopt-
ing a new a�itude opens the way to new interpretations (Eliot 2013b, 574). The religious
life can provide us the highest refuge from personal trouble (Eliot 1986, 507-508). Our
soul is “a temple of remembrance where the treasures of knowledge enter and the inner
sanctuary is hope” (Eliot 1986, 555). God is the Invisible and the Inexplicable (Eliot 1906,
3, 101). God is the Omnipresent that makes all beings, things and phenomena intercon-
nected (Eliot 1986, 812). People who do not have any “enthusiastic religious faith” may
use their imagination to develop and strengthen their desires and hopes. However, their
reminiscences from the past can nurture their existential fears (Eliot 1906, 3-4). Faith is a
strong power to resist self-despair (Eliot 1986, 867). We should remain humble, when
deepening the “mysteries of God’s dealings” (Eliot 2013, 104). God can be understood as
“a supreme and righteous Ruler” (Eliot 2013c, 874). Everything comes from God. Our
capacity for love and inner peace is grounded on God’sWill. God is the ultimate ground
for our own soul. God’s Will is “holy, just, and good” (Eliot 2013, 16, 19, 27). God is the
“loving, infinite Presence” in our own soul (Eliot 2013, 22, 69). The infinite Presence is
“the presence of the living God” and “the Unknown towards which we have sent forth
irrepressible cries in our loneliness” (Eliot 2013, 261, 284). Eliot (2013c, 912) believed that
only a just and loving soul can counterbalance the radical effect of existential loneliness.
According to Eliot (2013c, 937), faith gives us a “large freedom of the soul”. Faith re-
quires the strong belief that “the being who is nearest to us is greater than ourselves”. In
a Schleiermacherian way (Schleiermacher 1944, 143-205), Eliot (2013c, 890) referred to
“the passionate sense of the infinite”. Faith is thus inherently passionate (Eliot 2013c,
963). That is why a “loving faith” is possible (Eliot 2013b, 300).
“Having Quiet Resolved Endurance and Effort”: Unveiling Conscious and Un-con-
scious Dimensions of Anxiety/Anguish
Eliot (1986, 791) defined the strength of humankind as “the balance between separate-
ness and communication”. Separateness implies differences, while communication re-
fers to commonalities between all human beings. Eliot’sethics reflected the emphasis on
both aspects of human predicament (Albrecht 2012, 392, 399). Being with others is exer-
cising our existential freedom “in-front-of-others” and “in-the-world”. Nemoianu (2010,
77-78) explained that our releasement from any form of existential bondage gives birth
to freedom. However, such existential freedom is never unconditioned. It is rather deter-
mined by various conditioning factors. It is especially the case with any revolutionary
cause that involves ideological thought. Having a revolutionary spirit is working “all
our life long against privilege, monopoly, and oppression”. Any revolutionary spirit
a�empts “to correct the moral rules of the world” (Eliot 2013a, 95, 97). It is basically an
issue of social justice (Eliot 2013b, 554). We need to check to what extent our ideological
thoughts and beliefs can be criticized from a moral viewpoint. “There is no general doc-
trine which is not capable of eating out our morality if unchecked by the deep-seated
habit of direct fellow-feeling with individual fellow-men” (Eliot 2013b, 595). Criticizing
ideologies is unveiling its inner contradictions. In our world, we can perceive many
contradictions. However, it does not mean that such contradictions are real. In concrete
life and ideological thoughts, apparent contradictions may arise from our misunder-
standing of events, situations, and phenomena (Eliot 1986, 267). Some words can “cover
different meanings to different minds” (Eliot 2013b, 328). Thus, we should criticize
our own interpretations/reinterpretations of worldly events and phenomena. Accord-
ing to Langland (1994, 90-91), Eliot’s literary realism emphasized “narrative probabil-
ity” rather than simple possibilities. In Adam Bede, Eliot unveiled realities as they are
reflected in the observer’s mind. She did not presuppose that the meaning of realities is
constantly changing. Eliot (2013, 165) referred to “an ingenious web of probabilities –
the surest screen a wise man can place between himself and the truth”.
Our skills can be unconscious. Dreaming is being unconscious of concrete efforts and
requirements for a given behavior. We can be unconscious of others’ influence on our
own way of thinking, speaking, feeling, and behaving (Eliot 2013, 17, 24, 57-58, 64). We
could be unaware of realistic dangers and threats as well as our surrounding environ-
ment (Eliot 2013, 166, 238; 2013c, 987, 995). Our actions and a�itudes can be uncon-
sciously driven (Eliot 2013, 259; 2013c, 929). Tressler (2011, 484) explained that double
consciousness refers to “the state of semi-conscious reverie in which conscious thought
is temporarily suspended”. Eliot’s realistic novels unveiled the probability of double
consciousness in our daily life (Eliot 1986, 691). Self-consciousness has corporeal effects
(Eliot 2013c, 1015). We usually a�ribute consciousness to some thoughts and emotions
(Eliot 2013, 60). “Prudent resolution” can be grounded on our self-consciousness (Eliot
2013, 72). Eliot (2013, 90) explained that a “confused self-consciousness” can give birth
to an excess of indifference. Eliot (2013, 113) insisted on our consciousness of some past
events, since those events can still influence our way of thinking, speaking, feeling, and
behaving. Our emotions are subtly connected to our remembrance of things past. We can
then understand why Proust loved Eliot’snovels. Proust and Eliot shared the same inter-
pretation of our “living past”. We can “enrich our present with our most precious past”
(Eliot 2013, 287). However, we can be subjected to the power of some past events. If so,
then we lose part of our freedom (Eliot 2013b, 581). The intensity of our self-conscious-
ness can be determined by the “outward stillness” (Eliot 2013, 175).
Even without memory, the life is bound into one by a zone of dependence in growth and
decay; but intense memory forces a man to own his blameworthy past. With memory set
smarting like a reopened wound, a man’s past is not simply a dead history, an outworn
preparation of the present: it is not a repented error shaken loose from the life; it is a still
quivering part of himself, bringing shudders and bi�er flavors and the tinglings of a mer-
ited shame (Eliot 2013b, 593).
We should never wish to get rid of the past, when looking at our own future. Our
future can never arise without “the ties of the past”. Those ties are not equivalent to
reminiscences from the past, but rather to “feelings and expectations we have raised in
other minds” (Eliot 1960, 545). If ties of the past do not exist, then our duties are ground-
less. We would then be subjected to the requirements of the present moment. The ties of
the past allow us to build up our moral duties and to comply with such duties (Eliot
1960, 585). Our past experiences are true experiences that can still influence our present
and future (Eliot 1906, 16). Eliot (1906, 191) asserted that we can become fully aware of
the basic unity between our past and our present. Consciousness is closely linked to
Time, particularly to the present (Eliot 2013, 260). Sometimes we can feel “the wide dis-
tance between our present and past self” (Eliot 2013c, 961).
Anxiety depends on promise and hope. Being anxious is “making an indefinite prom-
ise to an indefinite hope” (Eliot 1986, 765). Anxiety can arise, when being in touch with
others (Eliot 2013, 26, 31, 45-46, 89, 176, 243, 256-257; 2013a, 224, 23; 2013b, 374). Anxiety
can also be related to a troubled mind and heart (Eliot 2013, 53). The arising of anxiety
can be caused by a changing environment (Eliot 2013b, 688, 692). The object of anxiety
lies in the powerful character of our future feelings and deeds (Eliot 2013, 181, 256, 269).
Anxieties are often expressed through corporeal effects (Eliot 2013b, 592; 2013c, 783, 827,
853). They can reflect lived experiences in given realms of social life (Eliot 2013c, 896).
However, anxiety can become excessive anxiety as a pathological form of anxiety
(“overanxiety”: Eliot 2013, 27; 2013c, 884) or as an existentiell anguish. We can identify
various objects, beings, events and phenomena that make us anxious. However, being
anguish seems to be groundless. We can never reach the true origin of such encompass-
ing feeling (Eliot 2013, 245, 247). Someone can accept to feel existentiell anguish, since
such feeling opens the way to a “great end”. It is then a conscious self-sacrifice (Eliot 2013c,
756). Unlike anxiety, anguish does not necessarily provoke corporeal change (Eliot 2013b,
687). Anguish is a deep feeling we can try to strongly repress (Eliot 2013c, 856). Anxiety
seems to prepare our mind and heart to develop a mode of anguish. Being anxious does
not necessarily give birth to a psychological state of anguish. However, being anguish
requires prior experiences of anxiety. Existentiell anguish can never be isolated from the
growing development of anxious experiences in our daily life. There can be conscious and
unconscious dimensions in every anxious experience. Even the state of existentiell anguish
is not necessarily conscious throughout our life. Eliot rightly explained the connectedness
between anxiety and anguish. She did not address the existentiell issues related to anguish.
However, Eliot knew the difference between anxiety and anguish.
Marcel Proust: The Dialectics Between Paradoxical Temporality and the Quest for
Love, Happiness and Truth
In Proust’s À la recherche du temps perdu, the notion of Time is constantly developed in
various ways. It is clearly the focus of that novel. However, living “in-time” is not de-
scribed in a linear manner. There is a basic flexibility between the past, the present, and
the future. A non-linear conception of temporality unveils how the past can still influ-
ence our present and how the future can play a decisive role in our present choices and
decisions. In one’s life, there is an interconnectedness between the past and the present,
between the present and the future, and even between the past and the future. But such
non-linear conception of Time has deep (and paradoxical) consequences for the way we
live “in-time”. It is especially true for the way we pursue our quest for love, happiness,
and truth. Proust enlightened how the non-linear dimension of human temporality af-
fects our existentiell search for love, happiness, and truth.
The Paradoxical Temporality

In every human life, Time passes (Proust 2001a, 502). Daily time is elastic. Our pas-
sions make our temporality expand. But the passions we inspire to others make our
temporality radically shrink (Proust 1987, 295). In Proust’s À la recherche du temps perdu,
we can identify five basic components of our “paradoxical temporality”: the meaning of
our existence “in-time” is that our being is “in-time”, while having a “timeless being”;
Time is simultaneously creative and destructive; our “future-oriented past” and our “here-
an-now” are interconnected; existing is becoming oneself “in-front-of-others”; time and
memories have limited power on human existence.
First Component: Living “in-time” Means that Being “in-time” is Having a “Timeless Being”
Memory makes our past emerging in the present moment. In doing so, it inevitably
a�empts to change the past. Nonetheless, such illusory a�empt annihilates a great di-
mension of Time, that is, our capacity to reinvent the past in our here-and-now (Proust
1972, 422). Our past is remoulded and actualized in our present. We are not always deeply
aware that our past is still present in our present moment. The process of internalization
allows us to reach the depths of our changing self. Some past events are still living in our
self (Proust 1972, 428, 440-441). Our memories reflect a meaningful past that emerges
from the events themselves. Events and phenomena constitute the conventional and
crystallized reality that is prone to deny the existence of any other meaningful past.
Crystallizing the past is reducing the set of meanings drawn from past events and
phenomena. The meaning of our daily life needs the meaningfulness of our past events
and memories (Proust 1972, 257). The essence of things, beings, events and phenomena
is not external to our own self. Rather, it is our own self (Proust 1993, 55). We “are” the
essence of external things, beings, events and phenomena, since our own self continuously
internalizes them. This is equivalent to the awareness of “a timeless being within oneself”,
said Dancy (1995, 22, 26). According to Proust (1972, 259), an enduring part of our self
overcomes the superposition of our identity-related layers. Everybody who lives “in-time”
is also a “timeless being”. This is the first component of our paradoxical temporality.
The Second Component: Time Creates Renewal, While Making Everything Degenerate
Time creates something new for every existing being. Time can make forgiveness, for-
getfulness and indifference coexist (Proust 1972, 321, 323, 353). Time modifies circum-
stances (Proust 1972, 267-268). We could even consider that Time is an artist, said Proust
(1972, 306). If so, then the works of art are the only means to recover lost time (Proust
1972, 262). Nonetheless, Time gives birth to forgetfulness. Forgetfulness makes our no-
tion of Time change. Beings, things and phenomena always deeply affect the notion of
Time. Beings, things and phenomena always remain perishable (Proust 2001, 174, 248).
Forgetfulness is the realm of nothingness, while memories constitute the realm of reality
(1987b, 118-119, 251). The world in which we live is the realm of nothingness (Proust
2000, 264-265). If everything is perishable, then it is “going-to-nothingness”. Death opens

the way to the infinite and to nothingness (Proust 2001a, 872).
Clock time is a distortion of human temporality (Proust 1987c, 151). According to De
Renéville (1985, 228), Proust have described time as an integral part of human existence.
He did not refer to the “objective clock-time”. Time is something that we cannot own,
since we are “in-time”. De Renéville suggested that Proust’s notion of time is quite close
to Heidegger’s concept of time. However, Proust has not analyzed time as an existential-
ontological category.Proust’s and Heidegger’s perspective converge to a point: the meas-
urement of time makes it public. So, every form of “nowness” can be compared to mul-
tiple others. As Heidegger (1962, 470) rightly said, public time unveils “a present-at-
hand multiplicity of nows”. The flow of time is the archetype of degeneration. We usu-
ally live as though Time could not affect us. Nonetheless, Time is continuously degrad-
ing our own existence (Proust 1987, 144). Time destroys every being, thing, event, or
phenomenon. It continuously causes a radical change in the essence of all beings, things,
events, and phenomena (Proust 1972, 300; 2019, 135). From a chronological viewpoint
(clock-time), Time is the infinite succession of “nows”. Every instant is constantly dying
and giving birth to the next moment. If the flow of time expresses degeneration, then
every temporal being, thing, event or phenomenon is also constantly degenerating. Time
is essentially degeneration. That is why Eternity cannot be a dimension of Time. Eternity
excludes any form of degeneration. Every temporally based being is perishable, while
an “Eternal Being” can never degenerate. Perishable beings, things and phenomena are
ever-changing and degenerating. Degenerating things, beings and phenomena can never
be totally seized, since their “essence” is constantly changing. We always a�empt to
grasp “reality-as-it-is”. Unfortunately, we are continuously finding nothingness. Time
makes things, beings, events and phenomena degenerate. This is the second component
of our paradoxical temporality.
The Third Component: Our “Future-Oriented Past” and Our Here-and-Now AreInterconnected
We always imagine that our present experience is radically different from our past
experiences (Proust 1995, 429). Consciously or not, the future inhabits our mind and
heart (Proust 1987b, 106). Nonetheless, something seems not to be absorbed by nothing-
ness, argued Proust (1995, 395). Reality seems to be reluctant to be absorbed by nothing-
ness. It is particularly true for memories. Nothingness is contradicted by the reminis-
cences of past events. If nothingness were overwhelming, then there would never be any
reminiscence of past events. Memories deny the overwhelming power of nothingness
(Proust 1987b, 251). Reminiscences of past events are constantly moving. When the past
(our present memories) were the present (as a living experience), it was oriented to-
wards the future. Due to the flow of time, this future has become the past. A “future-
oriented past” has been safeguarded in our memory, insofar as it has not been realized
until now. Such future has been transformed into a past (Proust 2001, 71, 139). Preserv-
ing the future cannot be realized by the immediate joy of the present moment. The “fu-
ture-oriented past” can only be preserved through the wise thoughts that come from the
past (Proust 1987a, 201). A “future-oriented past” can be still a “possibility-to-be”, that
is, a choice that allows us to become “who-we-would-like-to-be”. It can be realized in
our personalized “here-and-now”. Focusing on the present moment cannot preserve
such “future-oriented past”. We can avoid the degeneration of our “future-oriented past”
in reminding the “lessons of wisdom” we have drawn from past events. Some past events
are intrinsically related to our “future-oriented past”. We have learned a lot from such
events. Reminding such learning could make our “future-oriented past” arise in our
personalized “here-and-now”. Durán (1991, 77) rightly suggested that Proust’snotion of
“lost time” implies that the past still exists. If the past still exists, then it can be “recov-
ered” or “recaptured” in a very different way. The loss of time is actuated by the search
for our lost time, said Earle (2002, 950). We cannot know the existence of our lost time
before searching for it. We do not have to subject ourselves to past events, since we must
continuously decide “who-we-would-like-to-be”. Nonetheless, our “future-oriented past”
could give us new possibilities-to-be. It can even provide and strengthen relevant “world-
dreams” for our personalized “here-and-now”.
The “future-oriented past” in the here-and-now is qualitatively different than its origi-
nal substance and scope. We cannot actualize the “future-oriented past”, while safe-
guarding the past as time period. We “live-in” a personalized “here-and-now”. The con-
text has changed. The way the “future-oriented past” will be realized cannot be com-
pared to the probable way it would have been actualized in its “original present”. Every-
thing that has existed is prone to reappear (Proust 1993, 377). However, when something
reappears, it is never the same as the way it has appeared in the past (Proust 2000, 70).
Events have a threefold temporal structure: (1) the temporality of their historically based
breakthrough: every event conveys its “having-been” that is historically induced, (2) the
temporality of the future-focused orientation: every event reflects “what-it-is”, (3) the
temporality of retrospective outlook: every event can make the past arise in the present
(Proust 2000, 386). The future could already inhabit our mind/heart, even unconsciously.
Our thoughts and words could make such future more decisive in a short delay, or in a
very long-run (Proust 1987b, 106). The third aspect of our paradoxical temporality is the
interconnectedness between our future-oriented past and our here-and-now.
The Fourth Component: Existing is Becoming Oneself “In-Front-of-Others”
“Existentiell decisiveness” requires choosing our “future-oriented past” as our utmost
possibility-to-be. Being “in-time” is being a “self-in-a-world”. Every self is made of in-
numerable selves that successively die. Every self is made of an overlay of successive
states of mind/heart (Proust 1965, 207; 1972, 259-260; 2001, 14, 126). In a Leibnizian way,
Proust asserted that there is a very long distance between our intelligence and our heart
(Proust 1987c, 85; Leibniz 2008). The superposition of identity-related layers is not im-
mutable. Rather, it is always changing. Some layers are suddenly crystallized, while oth-
ers are degenerating (Proust 1972, 375; 2001, 126). We are continuously becoming who-
we-are. Human being can never go out of himself/herself, except when he/she is loving
someone (Proust 2019, 72). Even imitating someone is not becoming him/her. It is only a
way to renew our “becoming-oneself”. It is a mode of “becoming-oneself”. Internalizing
processes allow us to deepen our self-understanding and to improve our understanding
of others’ self (Proust 2001, 34). There is a gap between our self-image and others’ per-
ception of our own self (Proust 1995, 277). We absolutely want to avoid self-contempt
(Proust 1987c, 35). Our self-identity is influenced by the discrepancy between our de-
sired self-projection and others’ perception of our self. Our self-identity is created “in-
front-ot-others”. We need others’ self-identity to define our own. We can even allow
others to become who-they-are. Everything in our inner life is intertwined and over-
lapped (Proust 2000, 241). We are always involved in a movement of self-transcendence
(Proust 1993, 97). Choosing our thoughts, words, feelings, a�itudes and actions is ex-
ploring the depths of our “becoming-oneself”. However, any self is “in-a-world” and
“with-others”. We cannot identify our own self without being “in-front-of-others”. Our
“in-the-worldliness” is closely linked to our existentiell “being-in-front-of-others”. Such
existentiell positioning could eventually provoke misunderstandings and conflicts as
much as understanding and peace. Everybody is temporally conditioned and existen-
tially “being-free”. The existentiell-ontic expressions of our being-free imply temporally
based choice of possibilities-to-be. “Existentiell decisiveness” unveils such temporally
based choice of possibilities-to-be. Those choices are crucial for our existentiell project-
to-be. They allow us to create our self-identity. The fourth component of our paradoxical
temporality is our becoming-oneself in our world and with others.
The Fifth Component: Time and Memories Have Limited Power on Human Existence
We can never know our whole self (Proust 2000, 140). Sometimes, we need to leave our
own self and be in touch with others’self (Proust 1995, 148). But we cannot leave our self
since we “are” our own self. We know others through our self’s perspective (Proust
2001, 34, 148). Language cannot express the depths of our soul (Proust 1987, 223). Educa-
tion reflects part of our soul (Proust 1987b, 153). Our memories about past events extend
to the future. They let room for the various conditioning factors that precede those past
events. Memories about past events have modified them (Proust 2000, 386). Our “total
soul” would then include our unconscious or forgo�en memories (Balsamo 2008, 457).
Our “total soul” can never be totally recovered (Proust 1987b, 237). The “unknown realm”
within the depths of our soul gathers our memories of past events and phenomena (Proust
1972, 258; 1987b, 238). Our own self and life remain unknowable. Proust (1972, 368-369)
defined the “limited” power of Time and the “limited” power of memory. Time can
modify our own self. Such power of impairing our self is not affected by our memory.
However, Time can never change others’ perception of our own self. The crystallized
power of memories reduces the power of Time on our daily life. When we are not sub-
jected to doubt, then our expectation of future pleasures requires the multiplicity of
anticipated representations. Time is divided in very small temporal units (Proust 1995,
393). Throughout the whole History, human being expresses the same angry, sadness,
and courage, regardless of changing situations and successive generations. Such emo-
tions make an integral part of our humanity (Proust 1970, 97-98; 1972, 317). But unlim-
ited courage, infinite hope and devotion for others’ wellbeing are also noble components
of human life (Proust 2019, 107-108). The elapsed time makes us forget our past antipa-
thy and disdain. We even forget the true grounds for such antipathy and disdain. Every-
body feels that he/she has an unceasingly increased temporality. However, our place
within Time can never be precisely measured, since it is highly subjective (Proust 1972,
375, 439-440). We can recover past experiences and representations. However, nobody
can never destroy Time (Proust 1987c, 41). We can recover the sensations related to our
past experiences. Nonetheless, Time can hinder us to identify the nature of such sensa-
tions (Proust 1965, 59). The fifth component of our paradoxical temporality is the limited
power of Time and memories.
The Quest for Love, Happiness and Truth

From an existentiell-ontic perspective, our self-identity is related to the existentiell
search for love, happiness, and truth. The quest for love, happiness and truth unveils
two basic types of relational interconnectedness: the interconnectedness between love,
desire/imagination, and happiness; the interconnectedness between happiness and the

search for Truth/morality. The paradoxical temporality is involved in both types of
interconnectedness. Pleasure lies in every present moment. Imagination is related to the
past and the future. Future is involved in desires and expectations.
The Interconnectedness Between Love, Desire/Imagination, and Happiness
Love seems to be at the heart of human relationships. It is the basic power of human
life. We could love anyone, although we usually do not know why we love him/her. That
is the mystery of love, said Proust (1995, 232). Love is multidimensional, and thus
ungraspable. Respect is the sine qua non condition for love, argued Proust (1970, 172).
Mutual understanding arises from our capacity for unconditional love and compassion.
Understanding others’ emotional life is grasping the various expressions of their love. At
the very least, being loved requires to be understood by others. The search for mutual
love is an intrinsic component of human relationships. Nobody wants to be hated. Eve-
ryone wants to be loved because he/she loves others (Proust 2001, 78). Only people who
love could know they are hated, said Proust (2001a, 812). Hatred and love are intercon-
nected. The more intensely we love someone, the less we are prone to hate him/her. The
more intensely we hate someone, the less we can love him/her. The lack of hate strength-
ens love, while the lack of love nurtures the power of hatred. Hatred is intrinsically
related to vengeance (Proust 2001a, 262). In some situations, we love what we do not
own. We love the object of our desires and expectations (Proust 2000, 369-370). Such love
can make jealousy arise in our mind and heart. In other situations, we hate what we do
not want to own. We can imagine what is absent, that is, “what-is-not-in-front-of-us” (Proust
1972, 229). In some cases, the power of imagination can give birth to love, while in others it
can open the way to jealousy.Without love, we could always “live-in” misunderstandings
and conflicts. Love makes us search for happiness and social harmony in daily life.
The desire for happiness is always a desire for a specific happiness. A “general happi-
ness” is not a true happiness, since it is not related to an existentiell quest for happiness.
Only a specific notion of happiness can allow us to be “in-quest-for-happiness”. Being
aware of happiness strengthens our desire to live (Proust 1987a, 22-23). It is well-known
that Proust’snotion of desire was grounded on Schopenhauer’s philosophy (Souday 1927,
87; Duplay 1972, 42). Schopenhauer (2009, 587) asserted that desires come from a basic
lack or dissatisfaction. However, any satisfaction is always fragmentary. That is why
fulfilled desires produce further desires. Desires nurture our personal growth. But the
thirst for earthly goods (objects, renown, power) wilts everything (Proust 1979, 179-180).
Desires are rooted in beliefs (Proust 2001, 93). They can enlighten our search for truth
and even the frontiers between good and evil. We can only desire what we believe to be
substantially existing. However, our desires are not always convergent. Sometimes they
contradict each other. Desires can never be promises of happiness, said Proust (1987,
152). The way we meet our desires does not open the door to sustainable happiness,
since further desires inevitably arise. Moreover, opposite causes and conditioning fac-
tors are strengthened by other desires. Things, beings and phenomena do not have any
intrinsic power. Desiring them can never allow us to become happy in the long-term. At
any time, human being defines the power and meaning of things, beings, events, and
phenomena (Proust 1972, 211).
Our sense organs can corrupt our imagination (Proust 2019, 62). Pure imagination is
much less egoistic than memories (Proust 1987b, 235). Imagination makes us define the
basic characteristics of happiness. However, those characteristics come from a prior analy-
sis of our utmost desires. We believe that some desires could lead to happiness. Such
belief is the ground for all characteristics of happiness. It does not say a single word
about the nature of happiness (Proust 1987a, 13). The object of our imagination is noth-
ing but absent things, beings, and events (Proust 1972, 229). Imagination makes us desire
what we cannot own (Proust 1987a, 87). It distorts the essence of some things, beings,
events, or phenomena (Proust 1987a, 265; 2002, 39). Imagination always goes beyond
reality (Proust 1987c, 159; 2001a, 735). Any pleasure that is not subjected to our imagina-
tion is empty (Proust 1987a, 180). Our suffering can make imagination and thought deeply
influence our behavior (Proust 1972, 273). Imagination makes us regret past events and
expect the arising of future events (Proust, 1979, 86). It can release us from the power of
past and present, as though our own being were totally timeless, that is, without any
past and present. Imagination is then related to a non-religious form of eternity. It ex-
presses our “timeless self”. Imagination does not have any experience, since it is full of
hope. It conveys an idealized perception of reality (Proust 2001a, 130-131, 465). The power
of imagination is inherently linked to truth-claims. Nobody can give us Absolute Truth.
Rather, truth-claims mirror the way we create Truth by ourselves (Proust 1970, 229).
Every path to happiness expresses a possibility-to-be that can be chosen. Such multi-
plicity of possible lives (or possibilities-to-be) enhances our personality.But most of pos-
sible lives will never be actualized, argued Proust (1965, 87, 90-91). We are continuously
choosing given possibilities-to-be, while excluding others. In doing so, we choose a given
path to happiness/unhappiness. Living a happy life makes every relationship, event or
phenomenon become a source of happiness. The presence/absence of happiness lies at
the bo�om of our heart/mind (Proust 2001a, 166, 593). Being happy should be the only
objective of our life. It necessarily excludes egoistic a�itudes and behaviors. Egocen-
trism can only give birth to unhappiness. Altruism never makes someone unhappy.Rather,
it nurtures our happiness as well as others’ happiness. Happiness is intrinsically linked
to unconditional love, harmony and peace. Living for-others is the only way to be happy
in our own life.
The Interconnectedness Between Happiness and the Existentiell Search for Truth/Morality
Giving meaning to things, beings, events and phenomena can never be based on em-
pirical facts. Human being is not an inquiring subject, but rather a subjective thinker
(Kierkegaard 1974). Empirical facts can be useful for understanding the nature of beings,
things, events, and phenomena. However, “giving-meaning processes” are not objec-
tively oriented. Rather, they mirror our subjective existence. Facts are unable to make
beliefs arise/disappear (Proust 1993, 159, 195). Rather, they are related to empirically
observable things, beings, events, and phenomena. Only the inquiring subject is infi-
nitely concerned with empirical facts. Beliefs are rather linked to intuition, imagination,
hope, and desires. The subjective thinker is ultimately concerned with his/her own exist-
ence. Every belief is subjected to existentiell doubt, said Proust (2001a, 519-520). The
subjective thinker cannot have any belief without taking his/her existentiell doubts into
account. Everything is existentially uncertain. Every existentiell questioning is endless.
Philosophical doubt is among the most important characteristics of human nature. Too
often, we believe that the present state of things can never be different. We then exclude
all other possibilities-to-be (Proust 1995, 462-463). Human being is “in-quest-for mean-
ing”, since he/she is “being-who-interprets-reality”.
Searching for Truthand defining morality are inextricably linked with each other. Proust
referred to Descartes’ conception of truth (Descartes 1979, 151-159): certainties driven
from evidence constitute the basic criterium for truth. Proust (2001a, 345, 658). The
existentiell quest-for-meaning can be either a search for Truth or a quest for morality.In
traditional moralities, meanings are related to an Absolute Truth (Truth-itself). They are
not objective. But they aim at an absolute and knowable Truth. Since the Enlightenment,
traditional moralities have been strongly criticized. Meanings are rather closely linked
to truth-claims. Meanings are then subjectively defined. They are not related to any Truth-
itself. So, we must take our existentiell “quest-for-Truth” into account. Traditional mo-
ralities presuppose the existence of Truth-itself. Searching for Truth is thus appropriat-
ing Truth-itself. Post-modern philosophers and writers generally promote the existence
of relative truths (truth-claims). Searching for Truth involves exchanging our truth-claims
with others. In moral worldviews, we can connect ourselves to Truth-itself. But post-
modernity strongly affirms that there is no Truth-itself. Traditional moralities do not
seriously take existentiell uncertainties and doubts into account. If it were the case, then
any preconception of Truth-itself would be radically shaken. Doubting requires accept-
ing the possibility that we follow a wrong path. Being uncertain and doubting are cogni-
tive and moral a�itudes that undermine the existence of Truth-itself. Existentiell uncer-
tainties and doubts make the frontiers between good and evil fragile. There is nothing
absolutely good/evil. Good and evil are always changing. Every action has morally good
and wrong consequences. Truth is never absolute, said Proust (2001a, 137, 267). We can
never define good without evil, and vice-versa. Evil makes good deploy itself in the very
long-run (Proust 1972, 177). It does not mean that Evil is historically needed. Rather, the
existence of Evil mirrors the necessity to orient ourselves towards the Good. Truth can
never be reduced to “what-we-can-imagine”. Events and phenomena are determined by
unknown prior realities, argued Proust (2001a, 727).
Human being continuously searches for morality. Being in quest for morality requires
listening to our mind/heart. Everybody imagines that he/she is the one who listens to
his/her own words, said (Proust 1987, 295). Self-listening is being involved in dialogical
processes. Listening to the voice of our own self is talking to an “ideal/external I”. In
doing so, we develop our existentiell passions, emotions, and sentiments. We can subjec-
tively know others’ passions. But such knowledge is always limited. Listening to others
can allow us to be�er know “who-we-are”. Others’ passions could make us internalize
our own feelings and passions. Everybody tries to find motives behind his/her passions
(Proust 1993, 139, 423). We cannot uproot our existentiell passions. However, existentiell
passions are risky, since they can make us neglect others’ well-being. Existentiell pas-
sions are rarely altruistic. In some situations, existentiell passions can reduce our capac-
ity for universal/unconditional love and compassion. In other situations, they allow us
to deepen the meaning and implications of unconditional love, altruism, and compas-
sion. Unconditional love is not related to self-understanding. It does not depend on the
way we can understand others’ self. Unconditional love does not depend on anything at
all. Others’ self remains unknowable for us. Our representations of others’ “self-in-a-
world” are always partial, useless, and irrelevant. Unconditional love makes us forget
others’ weaknesses. We usually hate whoever looks like us. We are unable to see our
own weaknesses from an external viewpoint (Proust 2000, 54, 99). Our greatest chal-
lenge is to change our “self-in-a-world” and to abandon its self-idealized form. Uncon-
ditional altruism and love can be influenced by existentiell passions. Any existentiell
search for morality is compatible with unconditional altruism and love. However, self-
control is very important. Otherwise, existentiell passions can reduce our capacity to
express unconditional altruism and love. If existentiell passions are rationally control-
led, then they can strengthen our path to unconditional altruism and love.
Conclusion
George Eliot has described how generosity and compassion constitute basic compo-
nents of human life. She has also identified two modes of existence: either “floating in a
stream of joy” (having religious feeling and a disappointed faith) or “having quiet re-
solved endurance and effort” (unveiling the conscious and unconscious dimensions of
anxiety/anguish). In Eliot’s novels, the religious feeling was much more important than
the issue of human temporality.Marcel Proust explained how the non-linear conception
of Time gives birth to a paradoxical temporality. He put the emphasis on the
connectedness between the paradoxical temporality and the human quest for love,
happiness, and truth. In Proust’s novels, human temporality is much more emphasized
than the religious feeling.
Future research could compare Eliot and Proust, from a philosophical viewpoint. Their
common interest for Leibniz’sphilosophy is certainly an area for further research. Above
all, future research could examine how Eliot and Proust have chosen very different philo-
sophical approaches. Eliot was basically influenced by Aristotle and Spinoza, while Proust
was deeply influenced by Plato, Kant and Schopenhauer. Those philosophical approaches
can have a very important impact on the way a writer deals with social, cultural, politi-
cal, economic, and even religious/spiritual issues. Choosing a philosophical perspective
for analyzing their novels could enlighten how Eliot and Proust did not really share the
same worldview.
Université de Sherbrooke, Canada
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Learning from Dr. Dre:

Teaching Aesthetics and Art Theory to Artists
MAX RYYNÄNEN
Abstract
A major part of the work of most people in the academy consists of teaching, and
theory teachers in art schools do not differ here from the main paradigm. Supervi-
sion is everywhere an essential part of teaching, although in art schools its role is even
bigger, following the studio tradition of art teaching, where teachers often spent whole
days working with their (e.g. painting) students. As an art school(/university) theory
teacher, I also in some sense co-design the student’sgraduate work, as I take part in such
a fundamental way in the building of the theses. Why is this? Students at the thesis level
are less ‘ready’ for writing the theses in art schools than in science universities, following
the fact that their theoretical studies often take place only after BA level – and still even
then theory is just a margin in their education. This leads to a different role for the teacher,
who has to turn into a living library providing ideas, concepts and materials during the
process. Can we think of the work of the art school theory teachers as something at least
closely analogous to the work that an executive producer does? Executive producers are
central for example in rap music, where they in some extreme cases engage in creating
the whole musical track for the rapper. It is not that we’d think that they are the artists,
but one can hardly underestimate their role in the process. I take the analogy of supervi-
sion and executive production as a reflective mirror for my inquiry on supervision. I
hope to produce reflections and questions needed for a further study of theoretical su-
pervision in art schools/ universities.
Keywords: education, art education, art varsities, art schools, rap music, hip hop, supervision
The student walks into the room. She is in the middle of a painful process of changing
sex/gender. She also hates academic writing and desires to write poetically.She, increas-
ingly he, has already worked out a series of artworks, where she goes into depth on this
huge change in her/his life. The thing is that s/he has no texts s/he likes. “Have you ever
read Hélène Cixous? I ask. “As I think you are very theoretical, there you would find
another way writing than the main academic style you dislike.” No? Well, what have you
read, or is there something else that you have found that could support your work?” “No.”
I walk around the room and watch my bookshelf and think carefully what I could offer,
something that could work for this type of an artist and something that would not just
stimulate resistance. Besides Judith/Jack Halberstam’sbooks I pick up some essays on sex/
gender that I have printed for another supervision project – and I so hope that the student
will find at least something that works. There is hardly anything one could force students
to read in an art university, and there is no canon, there is no shared methodology.
This is a normal day at the office for me, really.I teach theory to artists, i.e. film makers,
painters, designers and performance artists. Their topics have throughout the years var-
ied from tropicality to shamanism, from textile art to museum cars, and the methodolo-
gies have ranged from analytic philosophy to semiotics, from Indian philosophy to phe-
nomenology, queer theory and fashion studies.
It is not that someone, after four years of studying philosophy or sociology,could walk
in and have a methodology, a theoretical position already at hand. Students at my job
have a high level of artistic practice, but usually no research methods, no wri�en sources
and no idea on how to posit themselves theoretically, which makes the whole supervi-
sion dialogue very challenging from a theoretical point of view. (I read as broadly as I
can to keep up with the situation.) Some have wri�en hardly anything since they left
high school so I have to revamp them to think that you could really do something with
writing. Many of my students are into artistic research, and even if I teach three courses
of theory in the MA programme I work in, theory is somehow also often just a supple-
ment for the students, something that can be cut-and-pasted when one needs ‘theoretical
support’ for artistic work, or something to play around with freely. Some students think
of theory as a defence system, like karate, which they can use to shield off critique or
prejudice. They want to use theory to explain what they do to a curator or a critic – or
someone who is against what they do.
Sometimes, in the best case (for the teacher, who loves theory), the theoretical text of
course also becomes an organic part of the artistic, curatorial work at stake. Some stu-
dents also pick up theory as their main thing, and so their work changes. In that case, the
end result of our dialogue is sometimes just text, and some of my students have left art
behind them. They have become scholars only. But this is not the typical story. I recall,
when I taught at science universities, that any kind of interest presented by a student
would have meant a certain set of books read and methods chosen. There the student
who came in with an interest in gender/sex came in with a bag full of books and s/he
knew already how to approach the topic in writing. But art students have a different
background. We, me and them, are not doing the same, which would be the case if we
were having a dialogue in a department of aesthetics or cultural studies.
In some sense, when I was teaching at a science university, I showed what I do, or
explained it, and the student a�empted to do the same. You could think that it was like
the mimetic tradition in old art schools. I showed the model. The student followed. But
in art schools the students use theory for their own work nearly always in some sense as
amateurs, as this is – this is a typical comment from them – ‘not really their stuff’. As a
theorist, in these dialogical moments, I of course learn a lot from my students too. I am
ge�ing knowledge straight from the scene and I learn about new movements, institu-
tional problems that young artists face, and from time to time also about practical prob-
lems in art production. This has made me wiser in the arts. After 14 years in this job, I
also perceive rapidly the philosophical potentials in the work of the student.
Working as a theory teacher in an art school, one really has to keep an open mind,
methodologically speaking. I have to try to grasp every work and consider what theo-
retical material would be good reading for the student, and what would be something
the student would be able to grasp. Often, to get the process going, I really need to think
what could be “inspiring”. And I have to – this definitely nails my role – have a very
broad library in my head, and be very relaxed with different (often unorthodox) ways of
applying theory. I have witnessed a (great) video work on Heidegger where two girls
Teaching Aesthetics and Art Theory to Artists / 29
were eating chewing gum. I have seen a variety of theories becoming installations. “This
light here is Heidegger’s Lichtung.” “Max, the tapestry thing, its about Hegel.”
And the process of supervising... What happens? We discuss. A lot. Following the way
painting teachers have for centuries spent days with their students in the teaching stu-
dios, there is an expectance that the theory teacher also will spend a lot of time with the
students. Sometimes we have spicy debates, as artists are often fanatical about their life
projects, and some of them really have a hard time accepting critical reflection. One can
also say that art culture is more open to emotional expression than academic culture.
Often our discussion is just about finding texts which mirror the practice of the student,
or sheds light on it. The students often desire to find a theoretical mirror image for their
work. I suppose these things are really universal. But not me. I want to see more: argu-
mentation, interpretation or then a way of using the texts artistically. Anyway, I am a
living library, I am a method bank, and I am a co-traveller, maybe a bit like a co-artist, a
second author of a manuscript...
I studied 93 credits of pedagogy, in two different programmes and on one summer
course, but I did not receive any teaching on supervision. Also Ian Dowey notes in his
article “Reflections on Academic Supervision” (2008) the nearly total lack of education
for supervision. It was sometimes referred to, but the scenario was always the same, and
it was really, really simplified (and idealistic, one could say): you had a teacher, who had
all the knowledge, but who needed pedagogical skills, to somehow ‘relocate’ this knowl-
edge from the head of the teacher to the head of the student. But that is not what my
work is about, and I doubt how good this formula is for understanding any supervision.
Barbara Kamler and Pat Thomson 2014, 158) say that “the supervisor embodies and
mediates institutionary and disciplinary cultures, conditions and conventions”, and this
idea of the role of a ‘guide’ to a whole world of scholarship is of a good reminder when
the student follows the supervisor into this field, but in my case the role is still some-
thing different (too). I suppose these things are really universal.
The etymology of supervision, which unites the Latin super (above) and videre (to
see), tells us at last something about the practice: it is the act or function of overseeing
something or somebody,of course also about providing knowledge to someone, helping
to organise tasks, maybe even enhance motivation, and, as university work is also about
assessing students, about monitoring activity and results. One side of supervision seems
to be lost, and that is the one I started the paper with. Where and how can we start
discussing it, finding a way to frame it, so that we can grasp its possibilities? I have
always been in favour of finding somewhat away analogies to help in reflection. And
here we are thinking about this way of sharing the trip with the student, taking part in it.
How about turning to rap music? Why rap? Since starting to listen to rap, I have always
heard more than in other types of music about the role of the executive producer, and
often, as a rap fan, I have recognised, while listening, that this must be produced by a
producer I “know”. They often leave a recognisable trace on the “product”.
Watching the excellent hip hop history on Netflix, Hip Hop Evolution (Shad et al 2016-
2019), I could not help ge�ing back to admiring Dr. Dre, who produced many of my
early adulthood’s favourite records. I have never been a fan of Eminem, but his sound
and overall image is a product of Dre’ssensitivity. 50 Cent, Snoop Dog, Kendrick Lamar,
Raekwon from Wu Tang Clan, Jay-Z, Gwen Stefani and Mary J. Blige (Ro 2007) also have
“works” which strongly show the presence of Dre. There is a certain atmosphere there, a
way of handling the beat, cu�ing-edge rhythm and the rappers often seem to rap a bit
more sharply when “working” for Dre. There are noises hijacked from traffic, radio and/
or horror films, which intensify the thick and heavy texture of the soundscape.
I can imagine Eminem walking in, and Dre starting to work on background and the
holistic life work. Am I like Dre? Someone said that he could see that I had been the
supervisor of a thesis work. Are we talking about the same thing as in producing rap
music, the touch of a producer(/supervisor)?At least the example of the producer takes
us further than the hierarchical anti-creative scenarios presented in discussions of super-
vision in pedagogy.
“[...] Dre had the awestruck kid in his home studio. Dre sat near the Solid State Logic
4000E/G console, playing a dopey horn-laden track based on Labi Siffre’s ‘I Got The.’ Em
created a hook (‘Hi, my name is Slim Shady.’) and lyric that described him and Dre as a
team. Dre played another instrumental and Em had something for that, too, about smok-
ing weed, taking pills, and dropping out of school. […] Dre waited until Em finished a
jeremiad against white Detroit group the Insane Clown Posse [‘When Hell Freezes Over’]
then played another track. ‘Are you diggin’ this?’ he asked. ‘Yeah, I got a rhyme to spit to
it.’” (Ro 2007, 159-160)
Someone who is doing their thing walks in and I start working on bringing that thing
onto a second level, at least theoretically speaking, adding material and knowledge which
the person does not possess. If Dre comes with beats and backgrounds, I come with
methods and texts. One could say that I “play”, as a test (as I have seen the student’s
genderdriven works of art) Judith Butler’s Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of
Identity and the student realises that this is exactly what they need for their “rap”. Or, the
student comes out with a jeremiad against some of the class and race structures of the art
world, and I start playing bell hooks’sOutlaw Culture: Resisting Representations to sup-
port it. Like executive rap producers, for example Dre (who started DJing outside his
house in his early teens; Ro 2007, 4-5), I have no education for supervision, but I have
learned it the “hard way” (not in any way claiming that this “hard way” would be com-
parable to Compton, LA, even if I am from the working class myself) – not from the
streets, but from the challenging neoliberal reality of today’sfast-paced university world,
where colleagues drop out on sick leave following their burnout every year. The end
result is controlled by me and Dr. Dre to quite an extent (he releases material he feels is
ready,I say at some point that you can leave this in now), but it is always about someone
else, the artist/rapper doing something on their own, having the voice.
I would not think of myself as a co-author, but to some extent I think we need to even
ask this question: How much can a supervisor be a co-author? In all supervision there is
a sense of co-production. In some forms of supervision, this takes a stronger role. For
some readers, this might sound like taking away some of the Gloria of the student’s
work, but if executive producing does not – many producers are famous for their work –
why would supervision then do it? It is no big news that philosophers have a role in co-
steering lives, life works and careers, as we know for example from the ancients’ “philo-
sophical supervision” of rulers (Confucius, Aristotle). Moreover, the dialogical mode of
working has been fetishised right from the beginning of wri�en (Southern) European
philosophy, just to recall Plato’s work (on Socrates, who he appropriated for his own
purposes, like a rapper appropriates an already dead soul singer).
Theorists often work with artists in art schools, and many major names have made a
career while working in art universities and colleges. One could mention here for exam-
ple Peter Sloterdijk, Umberto Eco, Camille Paglia and Eugenio Trias, but the list is really
long. Still, we do not yet have any public or even scholarly,reflective account of the way
we theorists have an impact on artists and art as supervisors. Has anyone, for example,
studied how Eco, Paglia and Trias have affected their students artistic work, or their
thinking? I suppose no.
And if, for example, John Dewey thinks he is ameliorating art by changing our concep-
tion of art and aesthetic experience 1980), could one think that I am ameliorating art
already in this educational dialogue, right from the beginning, when it is still in the
process of developing into a professional practice? What could ameliorative work here
mean? Maybe helping the artist to become more reflective and conceptually bright in
their vision? In Arthur Danto’s(1964) footsteps, one could ask if this is the moment when
art sometimes becomes philosophy, long before the touch of the professional world of
art and its art histories and “theoretical atmospheres”, where Danto traces it.
The art world builds a great deal on art school education. Dewey wanted to free artis-
tic practices and (aesthetic) experience from the constraints of the art system. So, he
focused on experience. On the other hand, his museum critique nailed the problem with
art museums, which, at least in his time, (to use a rap term) “killed” art works by cu�ing
off their relationship to the lived world. Here is maybe an opening for us, if we want to
find a way of discussing and developing the idea of this supervision as executive pro-
duction with the help of classics. In some sense, our canons, matrixes – journals with
their referees – and overtly (in a Freudian manner) anal interpretations of texts do not
maybe have that much in connection with the living/original ways of reading or writing
philosophy. One could write a Deweyan institutional critique of the academy and ask
what philosophy is really about and if the institution supports our philosophical needs.
Classics are quite often read in a stiff and dead way – analogous to the way paintings
were put on the walls in an archiving manner in the Louvre in Dewey’stime. In a sense,
teaching theory for artists is – I am borrowing this banal (but good) expression from rap
music – about “keeping it real”. Rappers sometimes say that they come from the street.
Artists who turn to theory could say: I come from art! This affects their way of reading
philosophical classics about art. When Descartes is horrified about his
phenomenologically sceptical thoughts in the Discourse on Method, art students read the
text as an account of the sheer craziness of his practical project of doubting everything in
his life, more than science university students, who taxonomise the text (one could even
say that in our business you do taxidermy to classics), and focus only on the epistemologi-
cal outcome. In some sense, the artist reading has at least a complementary truth to it, as
for example Descartes’ text also is an anxiety-driven adventure (this literary model of ra-
tionalist doubt was probably taken from Teresa of Aquila), which nails the fact that sus-
pecting everything in everyday life is not just a small intellectual ‘choice’, but a project
which experientially takes us further in a shocking way if we really start to apply it (and
this is what Descartes did).
I do not mean that I would like to accentuate any ideas of authenticity, but that many
classics and key texts of philosophy are philosophical in a passionate, artistic way,and in
a way that shows an experimental a�itude. Susan Sontag’s “Notes on Camp”, Clement
Greenberg’s “Avant-Garde and Kitsch”, and for example bell hooks’ Outlaw Culture: Re-
sisting Representations, are about care, fostering a position in a problematic environment,
and even about creating a life philosophy, although in the academy the texts are often
just analysed as complex webs of true and false notions, or well-working and problem-
atic argumentation. Are we true to the originals? (We do not have to be, but it might be a
good question to ask.) The aforementioned texts have anyway made my students happy.
And recycling them for a theoretical art world audience which is also practically per-
plexed by issues, and passionately working on them hands-on, starts again to sound like
an analogy of rap music. Most aestheticians and art theorists know the work of Richard
Shusterman, who in Pragmatist Aesthetics (Shusterman 1992) accentuates the way that
rap music recycles old classics to make them groovy again – living art – and I have
sometimes felt that the way philosophical texts find a novel role in the art world comes
close to this. Susan Sontag becomes live again, from being a piece in the idea historical
machinery, as artists struggle to keep their work living and resonating with contempo-
rary culture and society, and in this way, I might be like a DJ in my work, as I help the
texts to become read as lively companions in artistic and curatorial production. As the
executive producer of rap music (for example Dr. Dre) recycles music, the theorist phi-
losopher here works on recycling theory; theory which will for sure change in its new
context (and change the context too).
It is of course about a broader issue in the art scene. A�ending a panel discussion or
reading an exhibition catalogue, one finds philosophy the most important partner for
dialogue for contemporary artists, although it is surprising how li�le this dialogue has
so far extended into for example aesthetics – as many artists only want to discuss poli-
tics, climate change and gender.At the same time, they often have, in art schools, already
inhaled aesthetics and art theory, to become part of their work on a deep level, so it
might be invisible in the end result. Aesthetics thus comes in sneakily. Often only the
surface is tagged with theorists like Antonio Negri and Chantal Mouffe. To understand
this relationship of teaching aesthetics in art schools and the end result of the work of
successful artists is at least one thing we might want to note. I just read an interview
where a student of mine who runs a rock band, talks like Adorno, who was the key
figure of his thesis which I supervised. When one looks at the increasingly anti-consum-
erist discursive production of the band, I can see and feel my touch there, in the work,
like an executive producer can see/hear their touch in a rap piece – not as strongly in this
case, but still. In the end, exploring the role of the “executive producer” in supervision
has to be conducted with an eye on ethics.
Iwan Dowie discusses neatly the challenge of keeping distance from interesting theses
and accentuates the ethical need for leaving the student “ownership” of their work even
while teaching nursing students (Dowie 2008, 36). Art university teaching, though, dif-
fers from most academic work, as the students do not actually, often already at the BA
level, create sketchy inquiries to support their future work, nor do they simulate real
work: their productions are already part of their life work, and sometimes presented in
central venues for art. In the museum, the role of the supervisor will (maybe already
during the studies) to some extent be taken by a curator/mediator of art. Kamler and
Thomson (2014, 22) suggest that thesis writing is a task differing substantially from other
scholarly writing practices, but even this becomes blurred in an art university environ-
ment, where the authors have more freedom for experimental writing and where the
writing also often becomes an integral part of the artistic production. It might be that the
only difference between their dissertation and their later work is the presence (and im-
pact) of the supervisor.
Should we theorise this topic, work more to understand it, and should we try to find
ways of developing it – and in the end: should we at least give a thought to giving more
credit to the theory supervisor in arts? I think so, yes. I realize I am a kind of a “figure”
(and male, if that helps – already old enough too), and, at least partly following this, I
think I get credited quite often in some sense, but not all of us receive as much of a
response as we should. Thinking about the education of aestheticians, art educators and
art theorists: how could we offer support for the students who will work one day with
artists, if not in art schools then at least in the art scene? Could we build systematic
methods for this or a good set of background facts to share on a course? Are there dan-
gers in the practice, or problems that we have not yet mapped out in this preliminary
analysis? Can we audit the practice? And how does one document this in a portfolio? Or
should everything continue to happen organically as it has done for ages? Could one
write a history of the theoretical supervision of artists and its impact? One could, and we
might even need this idea historical work to really understand the impact of this work.
Theoretical art school teaching is all over the place when we engage with the products
of education in arts, i.e. the art works. Yes, I think that there is a lot of interesting work to
be done here, and I am sure more questions will arise if we take up the challenge. For this
paper, the scope needs to be kept narrow, as this is more of a proposal. I have aspired to
convince you that there is an issue at stake, which might connect teaching theory to
artists to the executive production of rap music, and even more, lead, if studied well, to
a deeper understanding of art, art education and supervision.
There’s one more layer to it, of course. If the philosopher here enters artistic produc-
tion as an executive producer, we might have to think of philosophy itself, now through
this extension, as a form of art. As we have here made it clear, the role of the philosopher
here is not just a source of inspiration. It is one collaborator in the production itself. I
have only showed what the philosophy of education might need to learn from this. Phi-
losophy itself, and maybe art too, might be the next fields, where the fruits of this might
have to be discussed.
Aalto University, Finland
(Thank you, Slavka Kopackova. This talk was originally presented in the conference Teaching Aesthetics in
Presov 2019 at the Univerity of Presov. Another less edited version, with a bit of a different outcome, will be
published as a part of the proceedings of the conference.)
References
Danto, Arthur C (1964). The Art World. Journal of Philosophy 61, 571-584.
Dewey, John (1980). Art as Experience. New York: Perigee Books.
Dowie, Ian (2008) Reflections on Academic Supervision. Nursing Standard 23(11): 35-38.
Shad (Host) and R. Peters, S. McFadyen, S. Dunn and N. George (Producers.) Hip Hop Evolution
2016-2019. HBO Canada / Netflix. 12 episodes. Documentary.
Kamler, Barbara and Thomson, Pat (2014). Helping Doctoral Students Write: Pedagogies for Su-
pervision. Oxon: Routledge.
Ro, Ronin (2007). Dr. Dre: The Biography. New York: Thunder’s Mouth Press.
Shusterman, Richard (1992). Pragmatist Aesthetics. London: Blackwell.
The Play’s das Thing: On the Incommensurability of

Arendtian Political Action and the Kantian Sublime
RYAN MITCHELL WITTINGSLOW
Abstract
D rawing upon Hannah Arendt’s political reimagining of Kant’saesthetics and Kant’s

analysis of ‘enthusiasm’ as a modality of the sublime, I demonstrate in this paper
how the Kantian sublime is incompatible with Arendt’s conception of political action.
Keywords: sublime, beauty, Nazism, politics, Kant, Arendt
Introduction
Jean-François Lyotard, in ‘Postscript to Terror and the Sublime’, writes that “there is
no such thing” as a politics of the sublime. Instead, “it could only be terror”.1 Nonethe-
less, a number of commentators (including Jacques Rancière,2 Gilles Deleuze,3 and Michael
Shapiro4) have tried to forge a politics of the sublime: a sublime that, rather than being
terrifying, instead affords us the opportunity to radically imagine the world anew.
While I do not disagree with analyses and programmes of this sort in principle, I am
sympathetic to Lyotard’sconcerns. It is that sympathy which drives this paper. Drawing
upon Hannah Arendt’s political reimagining of Kant’s aesthetics, Kant’s analysis of ‘en-
thusiasm’ as a modality of the sublime, and a case study of the Nazi Thingspiel move-
ment, I demonstrate in this paper that the Kantian sublime is incompatible with Arendt’s
conception of political action.
The Agora
Drawing from the work of Hannah Arendt, when I speak of ‘political action’, I mean
something quite specific: the action of the vita activa, or ‘politically active life’. I will explain.
In both The Human Condition and “Labor, Work, Action”, Arendt claims that ‘labour’,
‘work’, and ‘action’ are the three modes that, in the aggregate, constitute our shared
existential condition. Labour is the most foundational, being the mode that we share
with non-human creatures. Composed of activities like eating, mating, and sleeping, it
denotes the cyclical “metabolism between man and nature” through which we guaran-
tee our continued existence.5 However, while labour is self-sustaining, it leaves no last-
ing impression upon the world. The goods of labour, such as they are, are denuded and
impermanent. They readily decay or disintegrate into nothingness, reclaimed anew by
the world.
The second mode, work, concerns the objects that we make. Unlike (most) other ani-
mals, which are without any kind of real material culture, human beings are homo faber,
or ‘man the maker’. The made objects that constitute this material culture serve a dual
The Play’s das Thing / 35
purpose. First, they serve to make our lives easier, ameliorating some of our material
difficulties, organising our behaviours, and amplifying our capacities in given ways.
Second, by virtue of providing these affordances, the objects of our material culture moor
us to the world in a way that the products of labour do not. As Arendt writes, “the things
of the world have the function of stabilizing human life [...]. Against the subjectivity of
men stands the objectivity of the man-made artifice, not the indifference of nature”.6
The third and final mode, action, is the realm of the political, of the agora. It is also the
existential mode with which the rest of this analysis is concerned. Whereas labour and
work are fundamentally private in that they are (under Arendt’s conceptualisation) basi-
cally solitary activities, they also provide the existential and material foundation where-
upon social and political life can take place. Moreover, it is only once our more basic
needs are addressed that we can begin to engage seriously in the normative activities
that constitute the vita activa or ‘politically active life’, both free from “the inequality
present in rulership” and free to “move in a sphere where neither rule nor being ruled
existed”.7 The realm of action is also the realm of newness, of novelty. Because true ac-
tors are free of material constraints thanks to the modes of labour and work, actors them-
selves are fundamentally undetermined. Arendt writes:
[...] the consequences of each deed are boundless, every action touches off not only a reac-
tion but a chain reaction, every process is the cause of unpredictable new processes […]
one deed, one gesture may suffice to change every constellation.8
However, while it is The Human Condition and “Labor, Work, Action” that contain the
most influential descriptions of political action, it is in Between Past and Future that Arendt
teases out the conceptual mechanisms that underlie it. Building upon Kant’s description
of beauty in The Critique of Judgement, Arendt argues that in Kant’s analysis lie the seeds
of a normative political programme.
In The Critique of Judgement, Kant argues that beauty,properly conceptualised, has four
features (what he calls ‘moments’). Briefly, they are as follows:
1. Judgements of beauty are based upon disinterested pleasure, being unmotivated by
desire.9
2. Judgements of beauty appear rationally motivated in that those judgements look like the
normal activity in which we engage when we apply concepts. Nonetheless, this is not the
case, because Kant thinks that concepts cannot be fully applied to beautiful things. The
tension between the mechanisms of concept-application and the conceptual evasiveness of
beautiful things means that beautiful things look rational without being so. Kant calls this
feature of beautiful things ‘lawfulness without a law’.10
3. Judgements of beauty are not premised upon the extent to which something is fit for a
given purpose. Nonetheless, beautiful things look as if they have purpose. Consequently,
Kant argues that beautiful things possess ‘purposiveness without purpose’.11
4. Finally, judgements of beauty are normative in that they implicitly demand that every-
one who perceives the object ought also judge the object beautiful.12
All four of these moments, acting in concert, facilitate the most important feature of
the beautiful: what Kant calls the ‘free play’ of the faculties. When engaging in free play,
Kant argues that the imagination is unconstrained by the limits imposed by determinate
concepts because there is nothing, per moment 2 and 3, that tells you what an object is or
how it should be used. He writes: “The cognitive powers brought into play by this rep-
resentation are here engaged in a free play, since no determinate concept restricts them
to a particular rule of cognition”.13
Arendt’s insight is that judgements of beauty, as Kant conceptualises them, are rel-
evantly similar to political claims in that both imply the existence of free play. Per mo-
ment 1, they must both be disinterested: in the case of beauty,one cannot be a true judge
if your interests or desires are capable of impinging upon your judgement; in the case of
the la�er, participating in the realm of action requires that your interests are addressed
within the modes of labour and work. Per moments 2 and 3, both judgements of beauty
and political claims exhibit lawfulness without a law and purposiveness without pur-
pose in that there is no set of objective concepts that we can apply, nor is there a set of
rules or standards by which they can be assessed. Finally, per moment 4, both judge-
ments of beauty and political claims are normative in that they demand, but cannot guar-
antee, agreement.
This means, for instance, that saying, “I think that such-and-such is beautiful” is mo-
dally equivalent to the claim that, “I think that so-and-so is the best way to live”, in that
they are both non-binding and normative statements premised upon free play. It also
means that both judgements of beauty and political claims are public facts: in order for
them to have any normative traction, they both need to be introduced as objects of analy-
sis into the agora. As a consequence, both judgements of beauty and the politics of the
agora, Arendt argues, are subsumed within the power of aesthetic judgement: a power
that “rests on a potential agreement with others”.14
What it means to engage meaningfully with the normative claims of other people is to
enlarge our own mentalities; armed with free play,we are able to liberate ourselves from
the blinkers of our own a�itudes and inclinations and thus engage in political action.
Moreover, with free play,the power of aesthetic judgement is a power that requires constant
and careful cultivation, grounded in the common world that we all share. Arendt writes:
“In aesthetic no less than in political judgments, a decision is made, and although this
decision is always determined by a certain subjectivity, […] it also derives from the fact
that the world itself is an objective datum, something common to all its inhabitants”.15
Arendt is not the only person to have made arguments of this sort: Friedrich Schiller,16
Herbert Marcuse,17 and Tobin Siebers,18 among others, have all pointed out the virtues of
Kantian judgements of beauty when seeking to work out how we might adequately con-
ceive of political action in an ideal sense. In all cases, it is the free play implied by aesthetic
judgement upon which political action is premised. This is because free play helps us
imagine what it is like to be other people, and to conceive of the limitations of our own
normative positions. It also serves to guide the process by which we find agreement
with one another, collectively discerning the values that we wish to pursue as a polis.
Consequently, as a governing principle, free play helps midwife an agorathat is pluralis-
tic, democratic, richly interpersonal, and inherently non-coercive. Or,as TobinSiebers writes:
Aesthetic judgment, then, provides the perfect analogy by which to imagine ideal forms of
political judgment. It offers the experience of a free political space, a space of intersubjectivity,
in which a multitude of thinking people are dedicated to an open discussion—unboundby
previously existing prejudices—and commi�ed to reaching an agreement acceptable to all.19
Obviously, aesthetic judgement offers a utopian vision of both the material conditions
under which political action manifests, and the norms that govern collective decision-
making. Nonetheless, from this brief exegesis we can say that political action, even un-
der less-than-utopian circumstances, must permit the possibility of free play.Without it,
we lack the conceptual breathing room to make normative and yet non-binding judge-
ments under the aegis of lawfulness without a law and purposiveness without purpose.
Consequently, free play is a necessary condition that must be met before we are able to
engage in the kind of political action that Arendt describes.
The Sublime
But what of the Kantian sublime and its relation to Arendtian political action? Al-
though the sublime escapes easy definition, we can describe it as a species of spiritual
grandeur that evades any serious a�empt to make sense of it. Shared amongst accounts
of the sublime is a view that the sublime is all at once a feeling of commingled delight,
joy, terror, and dismay in the face of overwhelming power. Consider, for instance, the
terrific and tremulous beginning of Rainer Maria Rilke’sThe Duino Elegies (for my money
one of the most sublime poems ever wri�en):
Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels’
hierarchies? and even if one of them pressed me
suddenly against his heart: I would be consumed
in that overwhelming existence. For beauty is nothing
but the beginning of terror, which we are still just able to endure,
and we are so awed because it serenely disdains
to annihilate us. Every angel is terrifying.20
Despite the vast preponderance of both analyses and expressions of the sublime (and
fi�ingly, given the literature that we have covered thus far), it is Kant’s analysis that has
proven the most influential. He defines the sublime as a kind of experience that pro-
foundly exceeds our capacity to make sense of it. As he writes in The Critique of Judge-
ment, the sublime is “the mere capacity of thinking which evidences a faculty of mind
transcending every standard of sense”.21 It is the feeling we experience when our a priori
forms of sensible intuition—that is, our intuitions of space and/or time—are violated.
These intuitions, he claims, can be violated in two different ways: via experiences of
overwhelming power (what Kant calls the ‘dynamical’ sublime) and experiences of over-
whelming space (what Kant calls the ‘mathematical’ sublime).22
As Jean-François Lyotard argues, Kant’s sublime rests on the perceived tension be-
tween ‘imagination’ (the intellectual capacities that organise and make sense of what we
perceive), and rationality (that which sets the conceptual limits upon what we believe
can be the case). So, while my reason might tell me that something very large or very
powerful is bounded in some way if only for the reason that all things are bounded in
some way,my imagination is incapable of discerning where and how that thing is bounded.
This tension—what Lyotard calls the ‘differend’—is “the heart of sublime feeling: at
the encounter of the two ‘absolutes’ equally ‘present’ to thought, the absolute whole
when it conceives, the absolutely measured when it presents”.23 It is as a consequence of
this incommensurability that the sublime makes obvious the torn and ragged edges of
our conceptual capacities, and in so doing offers a “transport that leads all thought (criti-
cal thought included) to its limits”.24
In making clear the inadequacy of our senses and the incommensurability of those
senses with reason, the Kantian sublime also makes clear to us the powers of our cogni-
tive abilities. Faced with a sublime thing, all you can do is know that you are not that
thing. For Kant, this is the location of true sublimity: faced with an experience of excess,
we are able, if nothing else, to affirm our own sel�ood. Although very small and power-
less, we have power enough to individuate, experiencing a kind of joy in our uncondi-
tioned and wild experience.
The word ‘unconditioned’ is important because it gives Kant room to tie the sublime
with the good. Faced with the differend between imagination and rationality, we are left
free and adrift of preconceptions and inclinations. This, Kant thinks, naturally puts us in
a perfect position to discover the moral law outlined elsewhere in his philosophical pro-
gramme, and thus be be�er able to act in service to the good. Our inclinations and pref-
erences, having been humiliated by the sublime into the experience of empowered joy,
open us to the possibility of acting according to ideal, ‘unconditioned’,25 non-sensuous
principles. In this way, Kant’s account of the sublime clearly illustrates his Enlighten-
ment commitments: after all, for all the sublime’s grandeur, it really only serves to rein-
force the power and acuity of unconditioned intellect.
But what happens if the sublime experience does not open us to unconditioned and
non-sensuous principles? The answer lies in what Kant calls ‘enthusiasm’. At least on
the surface, enthusiasm is indiscernible from the sublime. To be enthusiastic for some-
thing, using the Kantian nomenclature, is to be gripped by an unrepresentable idea, or a
set of unrepresentable ideas, much larger than yourself. The effect of these ideas persists
across time in a way that overrides our preferences or inclinations. Or, as Kant writes,
“from an aesthetic point of view, enthusiasm is sublime, because it is an effort of one’s
powers called forth by ideas which give to the mind an impetus of far stronger and more
enduring efficacy than the stimulus afforded by sensible representations”.26
However, this is not to say that enthusiasm and the unconditioned sublime are identi-
cal. Sublime feeling is a consequence of the rational process by which we individuate in
the face of overwhelming phenomena. As a consequence, it is a product of ‘reason’; that
is, a product of our “faculty of principles”, of which “the unconditioned is the ultimate
goal at which it aims”.27 Meanwhile, Kant argues that enthusiasm is not and cannot be
unconditioned. Instead, while enthusiasm shares some common features with the sub-
lime, it is be�er understood as one of the ways in which the moral law can be connected
with feeling; it is “the idea of the good connected with affect”.28
As distinct from ‘passions’, which can be mastered, Kant describes ‘affects’ as emo-
tional states that do not permit the possibility of self-reflection.29 Instead, Kantian affect
is an instance of pure, unreflexive, and unmediated feeling; certainly not the product of
the unconditioned ‘faculty of principles’. He writes: “every affect is blind either as to the
choice of its end, or, supposing this has been furnished by reason, in the way it is ef-
fected”.30 Enthusiasm then, as “the idea of the good connected with affect”, is a merely
aesthetic expression or modality of the sublime: a sublime stripped of reason and, conse-
quently,moral valence. Moreover, although it may take the form of the good, this form is
purely accidental; there is nothing that guarantees that enthusiasm will be good, be-
cause it is insufficiently unconditioned to make the relevant moral judgements.
All of this means that enthusiasm walks a narrow and dangerous path. Although fully
capable of adhering to the moral law (and indeed, Kant is actually quite optimistic about
the good-making potential of enthusiasm, as he explains in The Conflict of the Faculties, in
Religion and Rational Theology),31 it is dangerous because we cannot ensure that it will. It
is mercurial, wild, delirious.32 It is also socially efficacious. Whipped into a mad, affec-
tive, unreflective frenzy by some set of unrepresentable ideas, an enthusiastic polis can
become unmoored from the moral law and descend into a potent kind of madness, seek-
ing to bring those unrepresentable ideas into actuality. As Lyotard writes:
Enthusiasm is a modality of the feeling of the sublime. The imagination tries to supply a
direct, sensible presentation for an Idea of Reason. […] It does not succeed and it thereby
feels its impotence, but at the same time, it discovers its destination, which is to bring itself
into harmony with the Ideas of Reason through an appropriate present.33
The Thing
An example of enthusiasm in action might be helpful. Rising above Heidelberg, on the
north side of the Neckar river, is the ‘Heiligenberg’: in English, the ‘Holy Mountain’. At
the peak of the Heiligenberg is a large public amphitheatre made from grey stone blocks.
Designed by Hermann Alker and completed in 1935, the Heidelberg Thingstä�e pos-
sesses the heavily, masculine grandeur of so many public buildings from the Nazi era.
Capable of holding some 20,000 people, it is also an excellent example of the architecture
of the ‘Thingspiel’ movement (1933 to 1937).
Although a cognate with the standard German word Ding (which along with English
‘thing’, Dutch ding, and so on, refers to a thing or an object), the German word Thing—
derived ultimately, like Ding, from the Old Norse þing—refers to a particular kind of
communal assembly: “a gathering”, in the words of Martin Heidegger, “and specifically
a gathering to deliberate on a ma�er under discussion, a contested ma�er”.34 These as-
semblies functioned as both social and judicial gatherings: places where seasonal cel-
ebrations would occur and public judgements be rendered. Adopted into the milieu of
Nazism, the word Thing developed distinctly racialist overtones. In connoting “the sa-
cred assembly site of the pre-Christian Germanic tribes”, as Glen Gladberry writes, a
Thing in Nazi parlance was transformed into a place where “the racially unified people
(das Volk) passed judgement”.35
It is in light of this cultural inheritance that theatre scholar Carl Niessen first put forth
the notion of a Thingspiel: that is, a ‘Thing play’. In a speech delivered in 1933, he pre-
sented the Thingspiel as a new and uniquely National Socialist Gesamtkunstwerk (total
work of art), uniting both performance and politics. In this way, it was hoped that
Thingspiele would prove an appropriate expression and encouragement of the
Volksgemeinschaft in a way that democracy did not.
However, it was the journalist and Reichsdramaturg Rainer Schlösser, in cooperation
with dramatist Eberhard Wolfgang Möller, who really codified the Thing play. Combin-
ing oratorio, procession, pantomime, and dance, and inspired by the neopagan dramas
of Ernst Wachler, the intention behind a Thingspiel was to forge drama and völkisch ide-
ology into a single coherent form: a mystery play “using appropriate material to create a
total work of art that is close to the people”, as Martin Swales and Karl-Heinz Schoeps
write, providing “mystical underpinnings for the new state”.36
As William Niven observes, if Modernist drama is an exercise in defamiliarisation or
‘making strange’, then Thingspiele “aimed at refamiliarisation”. Indeed, he writes, “ac-
tors and audience were as one, participants in a dramatic acting out of the German soul”.37
It was to be the ultimate artform: a “syncretic experience of inimitable immensity”.38 Nor
was this lost on the playwrights themselves. As Thingspiel writer Richard Euringer
claimed, the point of a Thing play is “[c]ult, not ‘art’.39 Or, as Schlösser declared:
The longing is for a drama that intensifies historical events to create a mythical, universal, unam-
biguous reality beyond reality. Only someone who knows this longing will be able to create
the cultic people’s drama of the future.40
This mythic impetus means that Thingspiele share a cluster of thematic and narrative
features—although, as Niven points out, working out what is and isn’t a Thing play is a
ma�er of some conjecture.41 Each is filled with lamentations that the steely and Roman-
tic German spirit has been harmed by the degeneracies of the Weimar Republic (whether
Jewish, socialist, internationalist, liberal democratic, feminist, or otherwise); each presents
the thesis that the true German spirit can only be restored via a robust commitment to
National Socialism; and each argues that once these problems are addressed, there will
be “a coming together of all classes, whose differences are forgo�en as they recognize
what they have in common, namely their Germanness”.42
As part of the Gesamtkunstwerk, it was deemed that these performances required cus-
tom-made venues; when a�empting to forge a cultic vision of the German ethnostate,
not just any old tat will do. And so, in line with both Niessen’s initial vision and the
Romantic font from which völkisch ideology emerges, the Nazi Propaganda Ministry
began building Thingplä�e (‘Thing places’) all over Germany, in sites invested “with the
same sacred spirit which was felt had been associated with the ancient Thing”.43
The Heidelberg Thingstä�e is one such Thingplä�. Although other Thingplä�e cer-
tainly trump it in terms of size, its location bestows upon it an undeniable grandeur:
built at the apex of the Holy Mountain, with Heidelberg laid out like a medieval jewel on
the Neckar below, the sense of drama is palpable. And indeed, it appears to have been
thought equally impressive at its unveiling in 1935. Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels,
speaking at the opening, described the Thingstä�e as “National Socialism in stone”; in-
deed it gave “a living, tangible, and monumental expression” to the Nazi concept of life.44
In short, these plays present a sublime vision, both of the German state and of
Germanness itself. The Romantic heroes of Thingspiele are subsumed into the overwhelm-
ing will of the nation: a nation forged from ‘authentic’ blood and soil, rather than from
the thin and toothless legalisms of liberal democracy.Moreover, because members of the
audience were expected to participate in Thing plays, this exercise in nation-building
was to be shared by all present: a vast and mythic call to action intended to blunt any
response but uncritical devotion:
Our German land needs deeds,
Enough words have been spoken.
Germany, you most beautiful of lands,
It is to you we dedicate the work of our hands!
We serve you with the spade,
Because we are soldiers, work soldiers.45
As a consequence, Thingspiele are an excellent example of objects capable of stimulat-
ing—and indeed, designed to stimulate—feelings of Kantian enthusiasm. They offer a
conditioned form of the sublime, premised upon a mythic, cultic, unrepresentable vi-
sion of a Germany that is founded upon a deep and ineffable ontology.
Conclusion
Let’s take stock. Earlier, I argued that free play was a necessary condition for political
action, as Arendt describes it, to manifest. Meanwhile, per Kant, we can say that the
sublime proper induces unconditioned experience, while enthusiasm constitutes a con-
ditioned experience of the sublime. Is Arendtian political action commensurable with
either of these sublimes, whether unconditioned or conditioned? The answer is no, for
(at least) three reasons.
First, Arendtian political action is incompatible with the unconditioned sublime due
to the phenomenological orientation of Kantian beauty.This is because the experience of
beauty requires an object: some something (even if it is a conceptual or abstract some-

thing, like ‘liberty’, or the nation, or the number seven) that serves as the object of a�en-
tion. However, this condition does not hold for the unconditioned sublime. Because of
the incommensurable differend between what we experience and what we conceptual-
ise, an experience of the unconditioned sublime categorically cannot have an object. In-
deed, experiences of the unconditioned sublime sunder our intentional horizons, leav-
ing nothing in their wake.46 This is what Kant means when he says that the sublime is
‘unconditioned’: it is unconditioned because there is no identifiable object to condition
it. Plainly then, Arendtian political action is incommensurable with the unconditioned
sublime, for the very good reason that political action of the sort that Arendt describes is
premised upon the proper functioning of free play. Given that free play requires an ob-
ject or objects to function properly, and given that experiences of the unconditioned
sublime hinge upon the dissolution of objects, it is obvious that free play and the uncon-
ditioned sublime are categorically at odds.
Second, Arendtian political action is also incompatible with enthusiasm, the conditioned
sublime. Enthusiasm differs from the unconditioned sublime by virtue of the fact it has an
object: it is conditioned by some thing or concept. However, the mere fact that enthusiasm
possesses an object does not mean that it is reconcilable with Arendtian political action.
That is because the object—in our test case, a mythic, cultic, unrepresentable vision of
Germany—is much too vast and incoherent to be adequately conceptualised. This means
that it cannot be properly embedded within our a priori forms of sensible intuition (such as
space and time). It also means that making sense of that object looks nothing like the normal
activity in which we engage when we apply concepts, and thus the mythic, cultic,
unrepresentable vision of Germany categorically cannot fulfil the condition of appearing
lawful without a law.Naturally,both of these conditions must be met in order for free play
to be stimulated: a free play that is the foundation of Arendtian political action.
Finally, there is at least one good reason why Arendtian political action is incommen-
surable with any kind of sublime, whether unconditioned or not. Kant’s first moment
makes clear that beauty is a species of ‘disinterested liking’, in that an assessment of a
beautiful thing is not complicated by or motivated by a desire for that beautiful thing.
This disinterest is one of the necessary conditions that need to be met before we can
experience free play.Meanwhile, we simply cannot experience sublime things in a disin-
terested way; although we cannot be afraid when experiencing the sublime, we very
much need to understand that sublime things are appropriate objects of fear. As Kant
writes, the aspect of sublime things “is all the more a�ractive for its fearfulness; and we
readily call these objects sublime, because they raise the forces of the soul above the
height of vulgar commonplace”.47 This obviously poses a problem for anyone hoping to
reconcile the Kantian sublime with Arendtian political action: the manipulative power
of the commingled fear and desire that Kant identifies as integral to the sublime is fun-
damentally incommensurable with the disinterest integral to beauty.
Consequently, and by means of a conclusion: the Kantian sublimes, whether condi-
tioned or unconditioned, are categorically incommensurable with Arendt’s conception
of political action. Although I don’t know if this means that the politics of the sublime
“could only be terror”, per Lyotard, it certainly problematises any a�empt to reconcile
the sublime with the democratic potential of aesthetic judgements and free play.
University of Groningen, The Netherlands

Notes
1
Jean-François Lyotard, “Postscript to Terror and the Sublime,” in The Postmodern Explained: Cor-
respondence, 1982-1985 (Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, 1993), 71.
2
Jacques Rancière, “Aesthetic Separation, Aesthetic Community,” in The Emancipated Spectator,
trans. Gregory Ellio� (New York: Verso, 2011), 51-82.
3
Gilles Deleuze, “The Method of Dramatization,” in Desert Islands and Other Texts, 1953–1974 (Los
Angeles: Semiotext(e), 2004), 94–116.
4
Michael J. Shapiro, The Political Sublime (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2018).
5
Hannah Arendt, “Labor, Work, Action,” in The Portable Hannah Arendt, ed. Peter Baehr (London:
Penguin, 2000), 170.
6
Hannah Arendt, “Labor, Work, Action”, 173.
7
Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition (Chicago & London: Chicago University Press, 1998), 33.
8
Hannah Arendt, “Labor, Work, Action”, 180.
9
Immanuel Kant, The Critique of Judgement, secs. 1-5.
10
11
12
13
Immanuel Kant, The Critique of Judgement, 45.
14
Hannah Arendt, Between Past and Future: Six Exercises in Political Thought (New York: Viking
Press, 1961), 220.
15
Hannah Arendt, Between Past and Future, 222.
16
Friedrich Schiller, “Le�ers on the Aesthetic Education of Man,” in Essays, ed. Daniel O. Dahlstrom
and Walter Hinderer, trans. Elizabeth M. Wilkinson and L. A. Willoughby (New York: Con-
tinuum, 1993), 86–178
17
Herbert Marcuse, Eros and Civilization (Boston: Beacon Press, 1955); and Herbert Marcuse, The
Aesthetic Dimension: Toward a Critique of Marxist Aesthetics (Boston: Beacon Press, 1978).
18
Tobin Siebers, “Kant and the Politics of Beauty,” Philosophy and Literature 22, no. 1 (1994).
19
Tobin Siebers, “Kant and the Politics of Beauty”, 46.
20
Rainer Maria Rilke, The Duino Elegies & The Sonnets to Orpheus, trans. Stephen Mitchell (New
York: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, 2014), 3.
21
Immanuel Kant, The Critique of Judgement, ed. Nicholas Walker, trans. James Creed Meredith
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 97-98.
22
23
Jean-François Lyotard, Lessons on the Analytic of the Sublime, trans. Elizabeth Ro�enberg (Stanford:
Stanford University Press, 1994), 123.
24
Jean-François Lyotard, Lessons on the Analytic of the Sublime: x.
25
26
27
28
29
Immanuel Kant, Anthropology from a Pragmatic Point of View, trans. Robert B. Louden (Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 149
30
31
Cf. Immanuel Kant, The Conflict of the Faculties, in Religion and Rational Theology, ed. Allen W.
Wood and George Di Giovanni, trans. Mary J. Gregor and Robert Anchor (Cambridge: Cam-
bridge UP, 2001).
32
33
Jean-François Lyotard, The Differend: Phrases in Dispute, trans. Georges Van Den Abbeele
(Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1988), 165
34
Martin Heidegger, “The Thing”, in Poetry, Language, Thought, trans. Albert Hofstadter (New
York: Harper & Row, 1971), 174.
35
Glen Gadberry, “The Thingspiel and Das Frankenberger Wurfelspiel,” The Drama Review: TDR
24, no. 1 (1980), 104.
36
Martin Swales and Karl-Heinz Schoeps, Literature and Film in the Third Reich (Rochester, NY:
Camden House, 2004), 153.
37
William Niven, “The Birth of Nazi Drama?: Thing Plays,” in Theatre Under the Nazis, ed. John
London (Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press, 2000), 57-58.
38
William Niven, “The Birth of Nazi Drama?: Thing Plays”, 59.
39
Richard Euringer, quoted in William Niven, “The Birth of Nazi Drama?: Thing Plays”, 58.
40
Rainer Schlösser, quoted in Martin Swales and Karl-Heinz Schoeps, Literature and Film in the
Third Reich, 153.
41
William Niven, “The Birth of Nazi Drama?: Thing Plays”, 59-61.
42
William Niven, “The Birth of Nazi Drama?: Thing Plays”, 65.
43
Glen Gadberry, “The Thingspiel and Das Frankenberger Wurfelspiel”, 105.
44
Joseph Goebbels, quoted in William Niven, “The Birth of Nazi Drama?: Thing Plays”, 56.
45
Erich Müller-Schnick, Soldaten der Scholle, quoted in William Niven, “The Birth of Nazi Drama?:
Thing Plays”, 65.
46
Cf. Ryan Wi�ingslow, “Effing the Ineffable: The Sublime in Postphenomenology”, Techné: Re-
search in Philosophy and Technology (August 4 2020), doi: 10.5840/techne202082127.
47
Bridging the Gaps: Towards a New Paradigmatic Interface

of Translation Studies and Comparative Literature
OINDRI ROY
Abstract
T he paper explores the possibilities of new theories in comparative literature

through the tenets of translation studies. In doing so, it looks into the turbulence in
the relational space between translation studies and comparative literature. There have
been prior a�empts to incorporate the praxis of translation into comparative literature.
The present study seeks to approach Comparative Literature through theoretical ideations
from translation studies. In the given academic scenario, both the disciplines need to
explore newer avenues of knowledge as a means of sustenance. The paper argues that
the inversion of the traditional academic relationship, that subverts hegemonic knowl-
edge-formation shall expand the boundaries of both fields of studies through theoretical
interrelations as well as text-based examples.
Keywords: translation studies, comparative literary theories, poly-system and
comparativism, new theoretical tenets of literary criticism.
Introduction: The Relationship: Past and Present

Comparative Literature has always had a relationship characterized by turbulence with
Translation Studies, as another distinctive field of knowledge. While ostensibly both
group of academicians, comparatists and translation theorists, deal with the juxtaposi-
tion of literary compositions from various cultural spaces, there can be perceived an
essential difference in the modalities of their knowledge formation. The early years of
Comparative Literary Studies require the original texts to be read in the original lan-
guages, and translated texts could only be of secondary readability as “translation means
carrying over a piece of foreign language into one’s own” unlike “comparison” which
allows “to step into the other’s language without carrying it across, and thus respecting
the otherness of languages and cultures” as Stanley Corngold (2005) writes.
This belief gained ground in the early years of comparativism which employed a bi-
nary model of research: it would require the original texts to be read in the original
languages, and translated texts could only be of inferior readability. Translation studies
was, as Bassne� puts it, “a poor relation” of comparative literature. It was in the 1970s
that the a�itude began to change, due to certain scholastic endeavors: In “Translation
Theory Today” (1978), Itamar Even Zohar was one of the firsts to suggest a systematic
approach in thinking about the praxis translation:
[W]e [have] been tortured by clichés … that translation is never equal to the original, that
languages differ from one another, that culture is ‘also’ involved with translation proce-
dures, that when a translation is exact it tends to be ‘literal’ and hence loses the spirit of the
original, that the meaning of a text means both ‘content’ and ‘style’ , and so on. (5)
Translation Studies and Comparative Literature / 45
In fact, the offensive against the rather incoherent critique of translation as the pro-
ducer of the spurious provided a ground for looking into the methodologies of transla-
tion studies so that it could be constructed into a discipline as much as comparative
literature. With the rise of feminist critique of language in the 1980s, concepts of ‘fidelity’
to the language or ‘betrayal’ of poetic senses in translated texts were questioned. Lori
Chamberlain drew an analogy between the patrilineal kinship system and the superior-
ity of the source text over the translation. Barbara Johnson writes about ‘rereading’through
translated texts and subverting ‘certainties’ upheld by the original text. Subsequently
poststructuralist critics also determined the fallacy of believing in the single, conclusive
reading of the texts which began to acquire semantic plurality.The “death” of the author
had already been proclaimed by Roland Barthes so that the ownership of all original
texts were challenged; finally, Derrida’s What Is a Relevant Translation? (2001) had vali-
dated the ethics of translation in the untranslatability of the text i.e. admi�ing the lack of
the language a text is being translated to and hence deriving the functionality of the text
from this lack:”As a ma�er of fact, I don’t believe that anything can ever be untranslatable
or, moreover, translatable.” (258)
Meanwhile, Comparative Literature, too, with its share of skeptic criticisms, had grown
into a methodized field of knowledge; it has also undergone multiple but gradual changes
in structures as a field of knowledge: the ‘connection’ that Mathew Arnold spoke of, in
his Inaugural Lecture at Oxford in1857(quoted in Comparative Literature: A Critical Intro-
duction) as universal was still Euro-centric in application; constricted definitions of com-
parative literature bears the evidences of the ‘white’solipsism even in the twentieth cen-
tury when Paul Van Tiegham (1931) spoke of the discipline as “the mutual relations
between Greek and Latin literature” (57) or even Rene Wellek (1970) could define the
historicity of Comparative Literature in terms of “the influence of Walter Sco� in France
and the rise of the historical novel” (17). A shift in comparative models occurred, as in
the translational literary phenomenon; post-structuralism had dismantled any form of
semantic-cultural superiority: the post-colonial modalities of understanding also began
to invade literary criticisms; hence, Comparative Literature that developed outside the
Europe and United States began to derive from its indigenous cultures and hence, look
beyond its national boundaries, rather than to begin with European models of literary
understanding and then look within: Suasan Basne� quotes the founding objective of
Indian Comparative Literature Association in 1981 as to “arrive at a conception of Indian
literature which will not only modernize our literature departments but also take care of
the task of discovering the greatness of our literature and to present a panoramic view of
Indian literary activities through the ages” (39).
Thereafter, comparatists tried to maintain a balance between propagating literary un-
derstanding and cultural superiority so that the new agenda was to compare texts with
new readings across cultures “the mutual illumination of several texts, or series of texts,
considered side by side; the greater understanding we derive from juxtaposing a number
of (frequently very different) works, authors and literary traditions” (Prawer 102). An-
other rather ironic situation was the growth of comparative literature as an academic
discipline through the nineteenth century with a parallel shift towards monolingualism
in Europe and the rest of the English speaking worlds which denigrated the traditional
binary model of literary comparativism which required proficiency of multiple languages
and the reading of original texts:
Whereas a Browning or a Pushkin had read works in various languages without thinking
twice about it, a century later the ability to read in several languages was beginning to be
considered as a sign of exceptional intelligence and education. Where once knowledge of

Greek and Latin was fundamental for any educated European , so by the 1920s the pa�ern
changes radically and by 1990s the knowledge of Greek and Latin is limited to a small
specialist group. Moreover the status of modern European languages in the nineteenth
century is completely altered today. French, once regarded as probably the most Euro-
pean language, widely used across Central and Eastern Europe and throughout Africa
and the Middle East, has fallen into second place behind English, the new world language
of commerce … this spread of English, combined with decline of classical languages has
also had an impact on comparative literary studies.” (Basne� 42)
Subsequently,the methodologies that developed in comparative literature could no longer
insist on linguistic difference as a condition for comparing literatures. Translation, thus,
became an important tool in the very act of comparison. In fact, Basne� does not men-
tion the growing popularity of literatures that have often been considered ‘non-canoni-
cal’ – Indian , African-American, Latin-American etc. Vernacular modernisms or
Multicultural feminisms are studies based on texts that often read in translation as well
as in comparison.
Hence, it is necessary to look into the theoretical paradigms of each of these disciplines
and then, look into the ways in which the translation studies, as the second to gain aca-
demic legitimacy can benefit its predecessor.
The Extent of Comparative Literary Theories

Now, comparative literary theories are not coherent knowledge bodies available prior
to the practice of Comparative Literature: comparative studies with reference to litera-
ture may be said to have initiated in 1598 with Francis Meres’ “A Comparative Discourse
of Our English Poets with the Greek, Latin and Italian Poets”; as early as 1753, Bishop
Robert Lowth a�empted at theorizing modes of comparative studies while propound-
ing on the additive values of juxtaposing the cultural-intellectual framework of the Brit-
ish-English and Hebrew writings:
We must see all things with their eyes [i.e. ancient Hebrews]: estimate all things by their
opinion; … We must act … with regard to that branch of … science which is called com-
parative … in order to form a perfect idea of the general system and its different part,
conceive themselves as passing through, and surveying, the whole universe, migrating
from one planet to another and becoming for a short time inhabitants of each. (113-4)
Almost, three centuries later when comparative literature had already become a disci-
pline, comparatists still actualized theories based on the similar values for understanding
literatures, presumably divided: juxtaposition of different cultural contexts through
literature with a view to cognitive advancement and the entire praxis governed by a holistic
sense, to create a rather comprehensive body of knowledge about the concerned literatures.
The chiefly binary model of comparative literary theory has been functional for a pro-
longed period and is yet to be made obsolete, though the hegemonic nuances have de-
clined in the formulation of theories: for instance, national boundaries gained importance
for theorists after the 1940s: “Comparative Literature … will make high demands on the
linguistic proficiencies of our scholars. It asks for a widening of perspectives, a suppres-
sion of local and provincial sentiments, not easy to achieve.” (Wellek 44)
Therefore, comparative literary theories developed based on the notion of discerning
intertextual and intercultural mutuality by juxtaposing texts, originating from various
cultures. There, hence, can be discerned three schools of theorists:
a) The French school of theory derived from a positivistic approach with a great emphasis
on historicizing literature as is expounded in the seminal texts La Li�erature comparee named
by Paul Van Tiegham (1931) and by Claude Pichois and Andre M.Rosseau (1967) ; nation-
alistic notions were supreme and with most theorists assuming the greatness of French
literature as : “[the] backbone of the universal literary system, and the task of comparatist
consisted in examining how and why the English, German, Spanish, Italian and Russian
ribs were a�ached to it.” (Joist 25)
b) The American school is characterized by a multiplicity of theories, given the academic
freedom and the complete aversion to the nationalistic instinct, given the immigrant back-
ground of the nation; therefore, the chief tenets of the theorists like Rene Wellek, Harry
Levin in his Grounds for Comparison are cultural tolerance and eclectic approach to com-
parative studies where it is, as Wellek said, “possibly, it would be best to speak simply
about literature”.
c) The likes of Shklovsky, Zhirmunsky or Jacobson propounded theory based on social
realism as was the Russian order of the day; but tried striking a balance with aesthetic
aspects of culture. Inter-literariness (synchronic and diachronic, typological contacts and
analogies) was the primary component of the theoretical writings but it also derived from
historicism vis-à-vis, the cultural situations and the institutional conditions creating frame-
works literary pieces.
It should be however, remembered that these theories developed based on certain a�i-
tudes of academically viable comparatists and are neither infallible nor exclusive in ap-
plication. Rather, it is possible in a comparative study to refer to these as valid modes of
understanding, rather than approaching comparisons exclusively through one of these
theories. Moreover, most of these theorists have been criticized for being Euro-centric;
with the advent of postcolonial studies and proliferation of minoritarian discourses, such
theoretical dictums have been modified to suit comparative literatures as practiced in
Latin-America, Japan and India. Comparative theory of literature has reached an age of
dialogics, dialectics and globalectics that brings under considerations, the machinations
of economic and political forces creating sociocultural spaces that are glocal (character-
ized by both global and local values). Therefore, comparative literary theories are in a
state of flux with certain constant and rather irreplaceable denominations.
a) Cross-cultural studies (often the traditional binary model); b) Historicity; c) Temporal
dimensions (synchronic, diachronic); d) Spatial dimensions (inclusive of the Non-Geo-
graphic); e) Linguistic dimensions; f) Literary tools (themes, motifs, genres)
The a�empt here is to extend the boundaries of comparative literary theory without
being incongruous with the extant but remaining open to the possibilities of the new
theoretical extent through tenets of translation studies.
The Extent of Theories in Translation Studies

Like Comparative Literature, the practice of translation precedes the advent of Trans-
lation Studies, though acts of translation precedes acts of literary comparison.Translated
texts date back to 2100 B.C., and then, Etienne Dolet of France (1509-46), was said to have
propounded one of the first translation theories that instructed the translator to be com-
pletely faithful to the original in understanding as well as in rendering. In fact, until the
last century, all theoretical frameworks developed under source-oriented approaches
were concerned with what a translator must or must not do. The principle focus was on
the closeness to the source text as regards both meaning and form. It acquired religious
validity through the Evangelical tradition with Biblical translation. Later, the likes of
George Chapman, who famously translated Homer, or Alexander Pope with his transla-
tion of Illiad was faithful to this source-oriented principles. Even, a century later, The
Principles of Translation, the first systematic work on translation studies by Alexander
Frazer Tytlerreferred to translation as a complete transcript of the original, even in style
and manner of writing. Mathew Arnold in his lectures published as “On Translating
Homer” in 1861 upholds the superiority of the source text and writes a translation of
Homer’s Illiad from Greek to English should be judged based on whether the translated
text has the same effect as the ‘original’ text.
However, Saussure’s1916 publication of Cours in General Linguistics, there was rethinking
about the “original” essence of a language and the changeable relationships of syntactic
pa�erns with semanticity. These linguistic norms were developed by Roman Jakobson
in his “On the Linguistic Aspects of Translation” where he introduced inter-lingual, in-
tra-lingual and inter-semiotic principles of translation: besides translation theory was
regarded as a part of linguistic communication based on Information Theory, source-
oriented, normative, synchronic and focused on the faithfulness of process as in the pre-
vious period. Then, the likes of Eugene Nida (who drew from Chomsky’s idea of the
surface and deep structures of the language) came to conceive of translation studies as
an empirical study,constituting in a target-oriented approach. James Holmes propounded
several theoretical principles under the two broad categories of pure translation studies
and applied translation studies. The current tenets of translation studies derive mostly
from the former, and is more relevant to any literary research and hence, to comparative
literary theory. Pure Translation Studies is classified into Descriptive Translation Studies
and Theoretical Translation Studies. The aim of Descriptive Translation Studies is con-
cerned with the process that underlies the creation of the final product of translation. The
objective of the Theory of Translation Studies, deriving from the empirical conditions of
the former, tries to establish general principles by means of which these phenomena can
be explained: these explanations can be formulated as theories a few of which are medium
restricted (theories of wri�en versus oral translation), area-restricted (theories relating to
specific language communities), rank-restricted (theories dealing with language as a rank
or level system), text-type restricted (theories relating to particular text categories such
as poems, technical manuals, etc.), time restricted (theories dealing with contemporary
texts or those from an older period), and problem restricted(for example theories
concerning the translation of puns, titles, idioms, proper names, metaphors, etc.
Finally all these theoretical elements were brought together in the 1970s when Itmar
Even-Zohar produced a synthesis of “structuralism,” “Russian formalism,” the “Com-
munication theory,” and semiotics to create the “Polysystem theory”, of literature and
culture. Polysystem Theory, which deals with all cultural, linguistic, literary, and social
phenomena, does not consider translations as single texts, but regards them as a system
functioning within a polysystem governed by the literary system in which translations are
done: “The polysystem is conceived as a heterogeneous, hierarchized conglomerate (or
system) of systems which interact to bring about an ongoing dynamic process of evolution
within the polysystem as a whole. [The hierarchy] is the means by which translations
were chosen, and the way they functioned within the literary system” (Even-Zohar 162).
Subsequently, Giden Toury construed the target-oriented theory from Zohar’s
polysystem as a complete subversion to the normative, synchronic, and Source-System
Oriented theoretical frameworks, arguing that “the object - level of translation studies
consists of actual facts of ‘real life’ - whether they be actual texts, inter-textual relation-
ships, or models and norms of behavior - rather than the merely speculative outcome of
preconceived theoretical hypotheses and models, it is undoubtedly, in essence, an em-

pirical science” (16). The central argument governing this theory was that a translation is
a translation in the target culture, not the source culture. The studies should be more
diachronic than synchronic. It also derives from the poststructuralist context of dissemi-
nation of knowledge. There is a shift in the balance of power from phonocentrism (
sound and speech) to graphocentrism (writing) ; the so called “metaphysics” of the original
as compared to the degradation of the ‘other’ holds no sanctity.Therefore, the translated
text, till now considered only of derived, secondary importance, acquires a position of
its own. And so the position and function of a translated text, is determined by consid-
erations initiating in the culture which hosts them. Toury also felt that centralizing the
role of the target text enabled a combination of the applied, pure and descriptive transla-
tion studies that makes any hypothesis, explicable and also verifiable. This also leads to
the widening of stable research methodologies: product-oriented based on individual
translations, process-oriented based on the thought processes that take place in the mind
of the translator while she or he is translating and function-oriented deriving from the
function or impact that a translation or a collection of translations has had in the socio-
cultural situation of the target language.
Gradually, language as a concept, was no longer associated with a monolithic geo-
graphical space but multiple power strcutures: for instance, the language of the colo-
nized as opposed to colonizers, or the language of the female as against phallogocentrism.
Thus, the concept of inter-literary reception was derived from to explain the effects of one
culture coming into contact with another are validated by translation. The likes of Andre
Lefevre have proclaimed translation as ‘rewriting’: “[T]ranslation is a channel opened
often without a certain reluctance, through which foreign influences can penetrate the
native culture, challenge it and even contribute to subverting it” (2). The theories of
polemical translations, free translations and carnival translations have come into being,
widening not only the practical application of the translator praxis but also its theoretical
repertoire. Hence, though the likes of Susan Basne�, reportedly went back on their words
about translation studies as one of the saviors of comparative literature, the scope of
refurbishing comparative literary theory through translation studies is a viable option. My
aim here is to apply the resources of the la�er to explore new territories (and not invalidate
older ones) without affecting any heirarchization with the fields of knowledge.
Rethinking Comparative Literary Theory through Concepts from TranslationStudies

Dissociating linguistic identities from strict cultural specifications:
National cultures, as of now, consist of linguistic identities; languages, therefore have
a validity of the national culture. Hence literary works produced through these lan-
guages will always have nationally sanctioned cultural validities. Comparative theories
of literature have followed, hence, a dual policy of subsuming boundaries yet being very
conscious about the existence of these boundaries. Even when a comparatist uses trans-
lated texts, a binary model (or multi-pronged model) of study is generally based on the
cultural specifications of the source-text. For instance, the comparisons between Pushkin
and Byron by Zhirmunsky contributing to the theory of typological analogies and inter-
literariness or the study of inter-semiotic translations of Shakespeare through the appli-
cation of the same theoretical principles derives from the linguistic vis-à-vis the cultural
vis-à-vis the national boundaries of such creations. However, the target-oriented
polysystem theory in translation studies shifts the emphasis on to the “translated” text
which leads to a state of flux in the linguistic identity of the text; thus, the semanticity of
the target language is used to express a different set of cultural values, and in the process
of internalizing it:
[The] linguistic systems between which translations move are designated as ‘natural’ or
‘national’ languages. However, these terms are anything but precise or satisfactory …. The
imprecision of these terms is in direct proportion to the the linguistic diversity they seek to
subsume. … The difficulty of finding a generic term that would accurately designate the
class to which individual languages belong is indicative of the larger problem of determin-
ing the principles that give those languages their relative unity or coherence – assuming,
that is, that such principles really exist. (Weber 66)
In such a situation no language can solely belong to certain cultural specifications, vali-
dated by national boundaries. And therefore, one language can be differentiated from
another not merely through the basis of its spatial associations but through under param-
eters like gender, age-group, social strata etc. The vestiges of this notion are available in the
Derridian notion of translation and can be extended to the non-nationalism of translation:
Derrida’s aporia of deconstructs the nationalist nominalism of language games by locating
an always prior other within mono-lingual diction. The aporia loosens the national anchor
from the language name of a nation and the name of a language. . . . The contingency of
the subject suggests here that French speakers who are French nationals constitute one
possible world of French speakers among many.Once the national predicate is dislodged,
no speaker maintains exclusive ownership of language properties. . .” (Apter, 247)
Comparative literary theory, through the utilization of the above principle, can look be-
yond the solipsistic cultural connotations of a linguistic identity.This will broaden hori-
zons towards comparative studies of texts in a critical paradigm that is more concerned
with the personal rather than the cultural dimensions of the text: for instance, a compari-
son of George Eliot and Sharatchandra Cha�opadhyay’s texts will derive from socio-
cultural connotations placed in a given Victorian and post-independent social milieu
that dominates the technique and the purpose of their usage of language as cultural
identity; this will, make inevitable the comparisons of the colonized and the colonizer’s
socio-cultural circumstances by virtue of their linguistic identities. But through this new
theoretical formation, the variant gender of the two authors and their gendered aesthet-
ics may gain in emphasis, and the differences in treating a theme dissociated from its
contemporary social value may become viable.
This can be perhaps be�er understood in certain culturally enunciated situations where
national boundaries are not applicable; for example, comparative theories applied to
literatures in tribal language will always emphasize on the ‘tribal’ capacity of the lan-
guage and its aesthetic values in relation to this tribal understanding. However, the trans-
lator praxis through the target –oriented approach will focus on the literary aesthetics
and other concerns without the tribal context in mind. Therefore, comparisons between
a poem in any of the languages of the Indian tribes or the Australian ‘aboriginals’ with a
mainstream writer can be based on the stylistics of each language, the impact of the
stylistics on the thematic, rather than approaching the stylistics as a part of the cultural
validation. However, the a�empt here is not to negate socio-political values of literary
understanding but explore other avenues of comparison; or rather this new possibility
can be theorized as a subversion of the accepted norms where the cultural connotations
are not at the helm; rather, the hitherto ‘consequences’ of culture like poetics, thematics
or even stylistics, to a certain extent are considered as the primary concerns.
The possibility of a reception-oriented comparative theory:

This theoretical possibility extends from the strictly critical paradigm of comparative
literary theory and the chances of its modifications through the emphasis on the recep-
tive functionality of polysystem theory of translation studies. In the context of translatory
praxis, the reception-oriented approach takes into account the needs of the target cul-
ture-system and how the translator’s independent agency fulfils the needs of the system:
[The] translator’s skopos [is] a decisive factor in a translation project … [T]he skopos is a
complexly defined intention whose textual realization may diverge widely from the source
text as to reach a ‘set of addressees’ in the target culture. The success of the translation
depends on its coherence with the addressees’ssituation. Although the possible responses
to a text cannot be entirely predicted, a typology of essential guidelines may guide the
translator’s labor and the historical study of translation.” (Venuti, 229)
The above theoretical context bears affiliations with the readers-response criticism that
derives hugely from the aesthetics of reception; thus, understanding of a text is liber-
ated from the prescriptive formats; this was also enabled by the post-structuralist liter-
ary position that dismantled the particularity of meanings of a text or rather the ap-
proaches to the meanings of a text. In translation studies, comparisons between the source-
text and the target-text lose the parameters of measuring accuracy and also the shift of
cultural-ideological values. This leads to a cross-cultural interchange without any hier-
archical strengthening of the source-culture; rather the target culture comes into aca-
demic focus; the translated texts are studied not through the changes initiated through
translation but through the merit of the re-created aesthetic values of the text. The au-
tonomous functionality of the translated texts opens new avenues of interpretation, which
is otherwise hinges on the shift and its causative intermediaries.This leads to a compari-
son of translated texts without reference to the source-texts and the literary merit of the
translator becomes the central concern. Similarly while comparing multiple translations,
the source-text is merely a reference point and not a critical parameter.
Thus, comparativism vis-à-vis translated literature is greatly enriched by this stand
point. However, when applied to the theoretical position of borrowing of motifs, themes
or ideas or even ma�ers of stylistic between authors, mostly in a diachronic (but also
synchronic manner), the texts of the author who borrows assumes an independent func-
tionality. A film inspired by a novel will assume its own artistic value and the compari-
son will be in equilibrium, rather than between the master and the borrower. It will also
not look into the faithfulness of the inspired texts to the inspired ones but appreciate
both bodies of aesthetic endeavors as originals deserving a similar critical understand-
ing. For example, Christie’sThe Mirror Cracked From Side ToSide (1962) inspired Rituporno
Ghosh’s Shubho Mohorot (2003), a National Award Winning Bengali film based on Miss
Marple story. Ghosh borrows the revenge motive and the central characters but trans-
forms the nineteenth century British situation with Victorian remnants to a twentieth
century Kolkata with modern urban complexities in the personal space. The Bangla film
problematizes the concept of inter-semiotic translation. Ghosh does not merely create a
celluloid version of the crime thriller but was more interested in the human relation-
ships that often go beyond the mundane into the dramatic. Thus, a comparative theoreti-
cal position will depend on the differentiated treatment of a similar story-line. However,
an advancement in this theoretical position will be through the comparison of the stylistics
say of storytelling where Ghosh’s interpretation is not a response to Christie’s who-
dunit but a being of its own: rather the wronged murderess can be taken as a motif to
which Christie and Ghosh based on the dominant narrative factors respond to rather
than modification of the former by the la�er. Hence, genealogical considerations are
detached from the artistic image and comparative literary theory is based on the recep-
tion of the image rather than its origin and usage as was previously.
The detachment from the origin and reverting to the consequences as a mode of
comparativism, hence, requires conscious theorizing as it has often been merely been seen as
a possibility. Re-writing, rather than borrowing comes into focus through reception theory;
the phenomena is more complicated, with more researchable insights than presumed:
Rewriting … is a very important strategy which guardians of a literature use to adapt
what is ‘foreign’ (in time and/or genealogical location) to the norms of the receiving cul-
ture. As such, rewriting plays a highly important part in the development of literary sys-
tems. On another level, rewritings are evidence of reception, and can be analyzed as such.
These would appear to be two perfectly good reasons to give the study of rewriting a more
central status in both literary theory and comparative literature. (Lefevre 89)
So rewriting vis-à-vis reception theory is a mode of theorizing the subversive. Hence,
that which was hitherto considered secondary, duplicate, derived or imitated gains in
aesthetic validity. Therefore, the comparative theory, thus, formulated will create a bal-
ance of power and a text will not be considered a response to its chronological predeces-
sor because of certain similarities. Rather, the challenge is in inverting the structures of
comparison by approaching the hitherto original through what is considered derivative.
Comparative literature and its theoretical positions have long been concerned with
complementary synthesis of horizontal general literature and vertical history of ideas.
The use of reception theory envisages a different aesthetic avenue through which the
physical reality of a literary text is conceived, as if in a state of flux, so that each compara-
tive study has an internal logic that refers to material reality of the text but is not con-
structed in its entirety from it. For example, a comparison between Jane Eyre (1847) and
Wide Sargasso Sea (1966) will be governed by the notion of the la�er as a response to the
former, especially in the ma�er of usage of the “mad woman in the a�ic” motif. This is
not to say that Meyer’s work has not been acknowledged for its literary merit but in
relation to Bronte’s work it is always construed as a response. Hence, the alternative is to
see how Jane Eyre, too, is a possible Euro-centric response to Wide Sargasso Sea and how
Rochester has not been vilified in the later work but rather white-washed in the former;
or how feminist ideologies have not grown to be multi-cultural but rather was initially
white-middle-class like Jane; Bertha Mason is not therefore, an interpretation as such
but a creation. Thus, this theoretical position of Comparative literary theory is more
flexible as in it seeks both universal through particular, and vice-versa. On the other
hand, it also lends functionality to a triadic model of reciprocation that preserves
historicized aestheticism, universalized artistic possibilities as also possibilities explor-
ing through subverting existing norms.
Process-oriented comparativism or the motivations of a comparative study:
This arises from the process-oriented translation praxis theorized by James Holmes in
his Descriptive Translation Studies and later extended by Zohar’s Polysystem theory
where it had important implications in understanding the hierarchy discerned in the
heterogenous literary structure. For example, instead of ,merely focusing on the thought
processes of the translator during the translational praxis, the focus hence shifts to the
means by which translations were chosen, and the way they functioned within the liter-
ary system. Therefore, theorization of translation is very conscious about the cultural
and political implications of the translational process.
“Translated literature fulfills the needs of a young literature to put its renewed tongue in
use in as many literary genres as possible in order to make it functional as a literary lan-
guage and useful for its emerging public. Since, when it is young and in the process of
being established, a young literature cannot create major texts in all genres until its
polysystem has crystallized, it greatly benefits from the experience of other literatures,
and translated literature becomes, in a way, one of its most important systems.” (Even-
Zohar, 1981, 117)
Evidently then process-oriented translation praxis delves into the political connota-
tions of translation. This can be applied to the praxis of comparativism which hitherto
has generally been concerned with the end-product: the comparative study as a critical-
aesthetic paradigm of exploring literary values without much reference to the socio-
political implications of bringing together texts, the objective being: “the mutual illumi-
nation of several texts or series of texts, considered side by side; the greater understand-
ing we derive from juxtaposing a number of (frequently very different) works , authors
and literary traditions.” (Prawer 102 )
Comparative literary theories, has hitherto, not been conscious to the power structures
implied in a comparative study between two writers deriving from their cultural specif-
ics. There is a sense of globalization that subsumes all national boundaries, but only for
the purpose of aesthetic merits of a text.
In many ways, the rush to globalize the literary canon in recent years may be viewed as the
“comp – lit – ization” of national literatures throughout the humanities. Comparative lit-
erature was in principal global from its inception … . Comparative literature necessarily
works toward a non-nationally defined disciplinary locus, … especially in an extremely
globalized economy… . (Apter 42)
However, as shown earlier these national boundaries, often geo-political mostly exist,
often deliberately made invisible with the emphasis on literary sensibilities. This is, there-
fore, another possible theoretical position that is contrary to the one formulated in 3.1
and derives from the existence of national boundaries, rather than through its negation.
Hence, through process-oriented comparative study, the hitherto non-recognized fac-
tors like the political motive behind a comparative study or the effects likewise, the power
structures in juxtaposing two cultural structures or even a study solely focusing on such
effects rather than the aesthetic values of a literary text can be ordained. So, for instance,
the concerns of a comparative study between a modernist poet of a regional language in
India heralding the ers of ‘New Poetry’ in the Post- Tagorean Era , say Bishnu Dey, and
that of T.S. Eliot will inevitably be dominated by the ideas of debt incurred by the former
from the poetics of the la�er. Hence, the balance of power will always be tilted towards
the European predecessors; any negation of the European modernism will be perceived
as a form of subversion by the Non-European recipient, especially through the post-
colonial positions in comparative literary theory. On the other hand, a tribal writer will
be perceived through all the tribal social structures as opposed to a mainstream writer.
Now, what process-oriented approach derived from translation studies does is makes
the comparative study not only aware of the power structures as an influence over the
aesthetic elements but makes this power structures itself an object of study.
So the theoretical formulations will reflect how a certain comparative study affects the
academic position of a text, regional or marginalized through comparisons with a main-
stream literary piece. Again, the various modes of comparative study can be analyzed
and theories formulated on not just the functionality of these methods but the effects it
has on the academic validity of the texts especially in relation to each other. Thus this
comparative literary theory deals with more with effects of a comparative study rather
than its modes. Thus, a new space is created for the functionality of comparative studies
that is more in sync with the recent nature of literary studies beyond pure aestheticism
to aestheticism vis-à-vis power structures to power structures vis-à-vis aestheticism,
implying a change in focus. Evidently, “the literature around us is now unmistakably
planetary system. The question is not really what we should do – the question is how.
What does it mean studying … literature? How do we do it?” (More�i 148). This does
not however mean that the traditional elements of a literary work are discounted or
devalued. Rather they are re-evaluated as the load-bearing units of the politicized trends
within the academia. This, therefore, initiates a structural alternative in actualizing com-
parative literature where the socio-political subject is located not outside but inside the
comparative study of literature.
Metaphorics of gender in Translation studies for a gender-based comparative literary theory:
With the onset of the twentieth century, translation theories have come deconstruct
(and sometimes reconstruct) hegemonic systems especially in relation to linguistics, se-
mantics and socio-cultural connotations of language. The growing number of Feminist
translation scholars has hence structured a sexualized terminology of translation: Lori
Chamberlain, Susan Basne�, Sherry Simon have repeatedly used metaphors of “infidel-
ity” or alternative marriage contract while theorizing about translation (a detailed ex-
planation is provided in the Introduction). The consequences of reading fidelity to an
original/husband as a metaphor for translation led to reinterpretation of several models
of translation theories through the binary model of gender. For example Lori Chamber-
lain offers a re-reading of the hermeneuticist model of George Steiner, specifically as an
exchange in a man-woman relationship. This creates a semantic/cultural situation where
there is overt sexual politicization of ‘language’, which makes it a tool of gender expres-
sion: “Writingwithin the hierarchy of gender … the [gender]paradigm becomes univer-
sal and the male and female roles … are essential rather than accidental” (Chamberlain
313). So, the tenets of translation studies are conscious to the differences between the
male and the female language or rather the usage of language: a number of translation
theorists have based their studies of language on inferences drawn from differentiating
genders. Moreover, the metaphorics of translation as mentioned earlier reveals a tension
between an anxiety about the myths of paternity (or authorship and authority) and a
profound dichotomy in the role of maternity (as the secondary or the reproduced). Thus,
translation theorists reveal a remarkable consciousness about the binary constructions
of gender, with language as the means of articulation and exemplification. On the other
hand, the praxis of translator also distinguish between usages of language with refer-
ence to gender. Thus, George Steiner (1975), for example, vindicates a difference in choice
of phrases: “[W]omen’sspeech is richer than men’sin those shadings of desire and futu-
rity known in Greek and Sanskrit as optative; women seem to verbalize a wider range of
qualified resolve and masked promise. … Certain linguistic differences do point towards
a physiological basis or, to be exact, towards the intermediary zone between the biologi-
cal and the social.” (41-43)This differentiation between the male and the female lan-
guage is not primarily in anti-thesis to the feminist studies but rather develops in a dif-
ferent direction. Now,comparative literature though influenced to an extent by Feminist
discourses, is not really conscious to the binary model of comparing the gender values of
writing. Thematic comparative studies have explored representations of women or works
of women writers in relation to cultural and temporal dimensions. Susan Basne�, in “Gen-
der and Thematics” has expounded on the contributions of feminist literary theory in com-
parative literature but theoretical perspectives hardly ensure the comparison between
gendered expressions. From the tenets of translation studies, hence, comparatists can de-
vise means of juxtaposing literary works as gendered expressions beyond a feminist stand-
point. Therefore, comparativism can be devise a means of interrogating the masculinity
as a construct as much as femininity through comparative analysis of literary pieces
with reference to the gender of the writers. This may not be limited to a non-hetero-
normative framework and extend to ‘queer’ writings as well.
Evidently, the, this theoretical development is heavily dependent on the gendered us-
age of language as validated by translation theorists: but the exploration of the linguistic
usage can also be extended to the analysis of a differentiated treatment of a same situa-
tion or similar emotions or social concern by two different authors. This is different from
other comparisons based on gender because it does not derive from gender as a socio-
culturally produced ma�er but rather from the linguistic productions of gender/sex it-
self. This theoretical perspective investigates language as a biologically-sociologically
constructed choice: this helps in the reflections on the implication behind the usage of
synonyms that still retain elements of differentiation. For example the usage of the words
“puberty” and “adolescence” to denote the beginning of teenage vindicates different
authorial intentions. While comparative literary theory has other modes of studying the
above observation, it is not specifically compared through the gender of the author; or
rather linguistic behavior is never solely explored through the medium of gender/ sex
not through the exclusion of socio-cultural contexts but through exploring those areas
specifically in relation to biological identity of the body. This will enable comparative
studies of texts that require detailed reading not only for narratological or thematic con-
cerns but also the semantic aspects and the space between similar semantic entities.
Moreover, gender/sex is to an extent dissociated from socio-cultural or political con-
cerns, this creates a space of negotiation through which comparative literary theory cre-
ates a critical paradigm that provides a representational space for both male and female,
without being in contradiction to each other. Also, it provides newer avenues of looking
at gender as a means of production whereas the existing critical paradigm is primarily
concerned with gender as a produced space.
Conclusion: The Relationship: Future

In the given academic scenario, where both the disciplines need to explore newer av-
enues of knowledge as a means of sustenance, an inversion of the academic relationship
such as this, is an a�empt to contribute towards that very direction. Comparative Liter-
ary theories, while in application, has become a rather heterogeneous episteme leading
to the convergence of several modalities of knowledge like area studies, gender studies,
modes of reading cultures etc. The relationship with Translation studies, certain aspects
of which has been explored in this paper, is a mutually enriching one. The ba�les be-
tween mono-ligualism and multi-ligualism are slowly becoming outdated: as Apter ar-
gues the challenge of comparative literature in the contemporary world is to find a way
to reconcile untranslatable alterity with the need to translate nevertheless, rejecting both
the false pieties of not wanting to mistranslate the other, which result in monolingualism,
and the opposite globalism that “translates everything without ever traveling anywhere”
(Apter 91). Instead the theoretical developments of both the disciplines acquire more
potential when the methodologies of one are often applicable to the other. This will also
create the possibility of a more balanced relationship between the two disciplines. In-
stead of a power struggle, the equilibrium between two disciplines can counter hegemonic
formations of cultural politics that impede the study of connections between language
and literature.
Gokhale Memorial Girls' College, Kolkata, India
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Steiner, George. After Babel. London. Oxford University Press. 1975. Print.
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Press. 1963. (282-296) Print.
/ 57
In Search of Humanity:
A Bakhtinian Dialogic Study of The Sound and the Fury
YUE WANG
Abstract
W illiam Faulkner, as one most creative and influential American writers in the 20th
century, has ever a�racted scholars’ concerns. First published in 1929, The Sound
and the Fury is recognized as one of the most successful experimental American novels of
its time. The discussion on it has involved many issues such as race, time, gender, etc.
Mikhail Bakhtin proposes dialogic theory in Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics, which sug-
gests the characters should have their perspective which can parallel with the author’s
voice. And the un-finalizability of dialogue involves constant responses that will con-
tinue endlessly. This study will explore the humanity of moral and evil displayed in
different characters in the text through the Bakhtinian dialogue theory.
Keywords: The Sound and the Fury; humanity; dialogue; moral; evil; un-finalizability
Introduction
In The Sound and the Fury (1929), Faulkner successfully uses the multi-voiced narra-
tion, with four different perspectives telling the same story which forms a dialogic dis-
course. And its general feeling of time, loss, decay,and death are all present in The Sound
and Fury where that nihilism properly displays the people’s dilemma under the dis-
solved Old South1 social system. The first three sections consist of the different voices
and memories of the Compson children who are Benjy,a 33 years old idiot, speaking on
April 7th, 1928, Quentin, a young Harvard student, speaking on June 6th, 1910, and Jason,
a store worker, speaking again on April 6th, 1928. Faulkner tells the fourth section April
8th, 1928 in an omniscient voice, but focuses on Dilsey, the Compson family’s “Negro”
servant who has devoted a lot in caring for the children. In this family, the parents Mr.
Compson as an alcoholic, Mrs. Compson as a hypochondriac mother, both are irrespon-
sible for their children. Quentin, as the older brother, is a sensitive man, whose philo-
sophical thinking is exhibited deeply,Caddy is a rebellious and brave girl with kindness,
Jason is a mean guy who is cold and cruel to everyone, Benjy as an “idiot” does not
understand any feeling of time, always living at present, only depends on his sense to
feel his surroundings.
About the studies of the novel, scholars paid more a�ention to Faulkner’s modernism,
like Andre Bleikasten’sThe Ink of Melancholy: Faulkner’s Novels from the Sound and the Fury
to Light in August (1990). Particularly, on The Sound and the Fury, his analysis of Quentin’s
suicide and the three brothers’ desire for Caddy inspired readers to think deeply. With
the appearance of de-structuralism, his works are deconstructed and viewed as lacking
definite meanings. As Guan Jianming observed, “their interrogation of Faulkner’s status
of independence and transcendence has not only ushered in a much broader view in
Faulkner’s studies but also furthered our understanding of his works” (Guan 7). Concard
Ailen in “William Faulkner: The Novel as Form” explained the influence of the complex
sentences and called readers to feel the implications and the author’s creating process.
Noel Polk’s article “Trying Not to Say: A Primer on the Language of The Sound and the
Fury” analyzed the author’s inclination of hiding himself from the perspectives of word,
punctuation, and syntax.
Likewise, In China, Faulkner’s study has also achieved a great achievement. The Criti-
cal Reviews on Faulkner, edited by Li Wenjun collected the essays on Faulkner’s life, art,
and literary creation. In the book The Study on William Faulkner, Xiao Minghan analyzed
deeply the relationship between Faulkner’s creating and American southern society,the
southern Christianity culture, and western modernism school. On The Sound and the Fury,
his discussion on Quentin’s section, especially the imagined dialogue between Quentin
and his father has great enlightenment on this paper. In Faulkner’s Textualization of
Subalternities, Liu Jianhua through the question of woman’s promiscuity displayed the
class system of southern society. In Faulkner’s Text in Postmodern Context, Guan Jianming
explores the suspicion of the characters on the eternal pursuit and spiritual values against
the backdrop of postmodern time. The essay “On the Dialogue between Tradition and
Modern Time: The Study of William Faulkner’s Creating Art” by Wang Zuyou com-
ments the book from its dialogue and balance. Especially, the part of the dialogue which
has enlightened this paper to have further research on the function of this dialogue in
Faulkner’s revealing the humanity in The Sound and the Fury.
Humanity has ever been discussed by philosophers. Views in the first kind see human
beings as inherently good, as John Locke argues that people are born equal, and are
willing to treat each other as they would like to be treated. This “will” is known as
sympathy, the source of justice, and kindness. The Chinese philosopher, Mencius, holds
a similar point, declaring that humans are naturally moral but are corrupted by the so-
cial environment. The second kind sees human beings as inherently bad. According to
the Bible, there is the original sin; human beings are spo�ed by the sin of Adam and Eve.
Xuncius, another follower of Confucius, asserted that human nature is evil. Others stand
a neutral point and they believe that human beings’ behavior is determined by both
biological and social factors, and there is no clear boundary between “moral” and “evil”.
And this paper will not stay at the debate of humanity as above said, while, it will dis-
cuss the different humanity and its complexity according to the characters in this novel.
The Russian thinker Bakhtin’s dialogue theory enables us to see a dialogic discourse,
which is a form of resistance to the thinking that favors a single and absolute truth. In
Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics, Bakhtin considers that for the author “the hero is not ‘he’
and not ‘I’ but a fully valid ‘thou,’ that is, another and other autonomous ‘I’. The hero is
the subject of a deeply serious, real dialogic mode of address, not the subject of a rhetori-
cally performed or conventionally literary one.” (Bakhtin 63). In this novel, the four dif-
ferent sections tell the same story which forms the great dialogue in structure, “And this
dialogue- the great dialogue of the novel as a whole—takes place not in the past, but
right now, that is, in the real presence of the creative process” (Bakhtin 63). “Dialogue
has penetrated inside every word, provoking in it a ba�le and the interruption of one
voice by another. This is micro-dialogue [...] the author retains for himself no essential
“surplus” of meaning and enters on an equal footing with heroes into the great dialogue
of the novel as a whole” (75). The dialogic strategy makes a text as a polyphonic novel
A Bakhtinian Dialogic Study of The Sound and the Fury / 59
which creates not voiceless slaves, but free people, ge�ing an equal position with their
author and argues with him. Therefore, all the narrative forms, such as the heteroglossia2
or the double voice according to Bakhtin both are the dialogic forms in art. And the
characters are “not treated as the object of the author’s finalizing artistic vision” (Bakhtin
Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics 5). In another word, because of the unfinalizability3 of
dialogue, the novel is open to readers and always calls for readers’ different responses to
it. Likewise, Benjy, Quentin, Jason, and the author all give their responses about the
Compsons declination in this novel. This study through analyzing humanity in the novel
from Bakhtinian dialogic theory tries to reveal the complexity of humanity and the art of
dialogic narrative in this novel.
1. The “Morals” of Humanity

Humanity is complicated; it is hard to simply define a person as moral or evil. We only
can review him or her from the main trend of his or her characteristics. The morals of
humanity are displayed as kindness, honesty, loyalty, innocence, sensitivity, and kind-
heartedness as such. In this novel, the morals of humanity are mainly represented by
Benjy, Quentin, Caddy, and Dilsey.
1.1. Benjy’s Innocence: An Idiot’s Narration

Benjy, a 33 years old idiot, as one of voice, told the story which was full of confusion.
Faulkner’s choosing an idiot to tell a story just responded to the title and the theme of the
novel. In an interview, Faulkner said that:
“the only emotion I can have for Benjy is grief and pity for all mankind. You can’t feel
anything for Benjy because he doesn’t feel anything. The only thing I can feel about him is
a concern as to whether he is believable as I created him. […] Benjy is incapable of good and
evil because he had no knowledge of good and evil” (The Paris Review Foundation, No.12).
In Benjy’s world, there were no past and present and no evil and good as Faulkner said.
Although he was not rational enough, yet he could feel tenderness and love through
bellowing or crying expressing his feelings. Caddy as the sister is Benjy’s dependence.
Thus, it was the threat to tenderness and love that caused him to bellow when he felt the
change in Caddy that she lost the smell of trees which was instead of perfume. Because
she had grown up and fell in love and Benjy felt he no longer had Caddy his own; being
an idiot, he was not even aware that Caddy was gone. In the opening lines of the story,
Benjy’s pasture was lost to a golf course.
Through the fence, between the curling flower spaces, I could see them hi�ing. They were
coming toward where the flag was and I went along the fence.
“Here, caddie.” He hit. They went away across the pasture. I held to the fence and watched
them going away (The Sound and the Fury, 3).4
“Here, Caddie.”, but sister Caddy was not here. Faulkner made us understand an idiot’s
perception and horror. Benjy’s mental capacity is that of a 3-year-old and cannot reason
or explain. He experiences things through senses and reports them as such. Heard of
“Caddie”, he thought of Caddy, for the same pronunciation of both words, which re-
minded him of his dear sister. When Benjy caught a girl because he considered her as
Caddy after Caddy being disowned by his family, “I try to cry [...] I try to keep. [...]
falling the hill” (SF 53). The repeat “try to say” (SF 53) tells us: this girl is Caddy for him
and the deep love of Caddy for him. The call to a caddie, we eventually learn, agitates
Benjy, because his emotional life centers on love for his long-gone sister Caddy.
The most bewildering modernist disorder in time is the first narrative in The Sound and
the Fury, which in seventy pages shifts back and forth over a hundred times among eight
major moments between 1898 and 1928, sometimes in the middle of a sentence, as these
moments between merge in Benjy’s disordered mind. As Faulkner explained, “to that
idiot, time was not a continuation, it was an instant, there was no yesterday and no
tomorrow, it all is at this moment, it all is now to him. He cannot distinguish between
what was last year and what will be tomorrow, he does not know whether he dreamed it,
or saw it” (The Paris Review Foundation No.12). Faulkner indicated to the reader that this
idiot had no sense of time. As Guan Jianming observes that “[in] the total span of the
thirty years, the most important affairs included in his memory are [...] the care and love
from Caddy and his sister’s social intercourse and loss of virginity and marriage” (Guan
73). Benjy’smonologue is u�ered in 1928 when he is 33 years old but concerns chiefly the
years 1898-1912. Benjy’s mind makes endless memories of Caddy to miss up the loss of
her. It ranges over the significant events of his life dictated by a logic of continuity of
sound or sense only, registering everything except his own “white noise” of bellowing
or whimpering. This “tale told by an idiot full of sound and fury signifying nothing”
(Shakespeare Act V Scene5), signifies nothing to the idiot while the other family mem-
bers must put up with the sound and the fury from Benjy. In this whole family, only
Caddy loves Benjy and gives him warmth, Quentin’s indifference, Jason’s hatred along
with Mrs. and Mr. Compson’s coldness all displayed on this innocent boy. To some ex-
tent, Benjy can be regarded as a mirror of morality.
“A character’s word about himself and his world is just as fully weighted as the au-
thor’s word usually is; [...] It possesses extraordinary independence in the structure of
the work; it sounds, as it were, alongside the author’s word and in a special way com-
bines both with it and with the full and equally valid voices of the other characters”
(Bakhtin 7). Here, Faulkner tells the story of Compson family decline with an idiot’s
point of view, some fragments of his consciousness, and his real sense to the people and
his surrounding world. Including Caddy’s loss of virginity, Benjy’s sleeping alone and
Caddy’s using perfume all disturbs Benjy’s mind. And the only way to express his emo-
tion is to bellow or cry. “The position from which a story is told, a portrayal built, or
information provided must be oriented in a new way to this new world— a world of
autonomous subjects, not objects” (Bakhtin 7-8). From this section, through Benjy’ssenses,
the losses of childhood, time, love, and the property of the Compsons are displayed clearly
and the readers can feel the innocence of Benjy and Caddy’s deep warmth for him.
1.2. Quentin’s Thoughtfulness: Quentin’s Monologue

Unlike Benjy,Quentin is a normal man and is the most complex character in Compson
family.As a Harvard student, he is intelligent enough to understand what the family has
been in the past and too sensitive to cope with what it has become in the present.
When the shadow of the sash appeared on the curtains it was between seven and eight
o’clock and then I was in time again, hearing the watch. It was Grandfather’s and when
Father gave it to me he said I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire; …I give it to
you not that you may remember the time, but that you might forget it now and then for a
moment and not spend all your breath trying to conquer it (SF 93-94).
Heavily influenced by his father, who has taught him that “all men are just accumula-
tions dolls stuffed with sawdust swept up from trash heaps” (SF 175). Quentin’s narra-
tive shows his father’s words mingling with his own. This dialogue does not happen
between his father and him but happens to himself. For Quentin, Caddy’svirginity is the
most important honor; when Caddy lost her chastity, he suddenly felt that the family
honor was stained and could not be rescued which finally led to Quentin’s commi�ing
suicide. The concept of honor brings Quentin into an eternal struggle with time. In
Quentin’s mind, the sense of the Southern past is noble, courageous, and honest which is
opposite the present deceit and dishonor. What’s more, Quentin is often reminded of his
weakness to defend his sister’s honor according to notions of chivalry and family pride.
Because of Caddy’s deprivation, he emotionally breaks up which makes him lose his
mental strength to continue living.
Unlike the idiot’s helpless dependency on Caddy, the relationship between Quentin
and Caddy is much more complicated. “Benjy’s love for Caddy hardly strikes us as ab-
normal once we know that he is fated to perpetual childhood; Quentin’s, on the other
hand, develops into a morbid passion whose outcome can only be despair and death”
(Bleikasten 71-72). Quentin lives in the past all the time, the honor, the nobility, the pu-
rity of the southern woman has rooted in his mind. “What the confusion thus achieved is
meant to render is, of course, Quentin’s emotional turmoil, but paradoxically it also tes-
tifies to his greater intelligence” (Bleikasten 71-72). Part of Quentin’s reason for hating
and fearing clocks and watches is that he is so hurt by the passage of time. He wants to
stop time, and remain with Caddy in some eternal and changeless way: “Finished. If
things just finished themselves. Nobody else there but her and me” (SF 79). But this is
impossible. He can find only one final and changeless act, and that is suicide. Father to
him is very important whose occupation is over Quentin’s mind. Because he is unable to
protect the honor of family which Caddy stands for. Time for him becomes a barrier
which he wants to return to the past when Caddy was pure. And the terror of sexuality
makes him fall into a fantasy that his commi�ing incest with Caddy, returning the past
time when they were a li�le boy and li�le girl. As Toming said that:
“More importantly, Quentin internally argues with father’s nihilism. He speaks to his ‘Fa-
ther,’ Mr. Compson as if he were the Father in Heaven. The irony is obvious since Mr.
Compson, like the demi-god Silenus in Greek mythology,believes only in the nothingness
in life. To argue against his Father and to be with Caddy forever, Quentin, based on the
Christian belief in an afterlife, creates a story that his “wake” (death) as his “wedding”
with Caddy.Thus, doubly ironically,his disagreement with his Father’s nihilism leads him
to the nihilism of Christianity” (Toming 352).
Because of no way to stop time, Quentin determined to die with Caddy together, trying
to save her and the honor of the family. Quentin’s imagination of commi�ing incest with
Caddy is a ritual redemption for the honor and his self. His section begins his listening
to the ticking of his grandfather’s watch that his father gave him so that he would not
remember the time, but forget it. He desires to stop time even to return to the past days
when his sister Caddy was pure. While all these desires cannot be realized, finally, he
chooses to commit suicide to stop time.
I bathed and shaved. The water made my finger smart a li�le, so I painted it again. I put on
my new suit and put my watch on and packed the other suit and the accessories and my
razor and brushes in my handbag, and wrapped the trunk key into a sheet of paper and put
it in an envelope and addressed it to Father, and wrote the two notes and sealed them. (SF 81)
Quentin determined to leave everything in good order. His death shall be no mess which
is a kind of purity for him at least in his imagination.
Quentin’s sensitivity makes him refuse to accept his sister’s impurity. “Thus, he per-
suades himself and a�empts to persuade Caddy that her ‘infidelities’ were not commit-
ted of her own free will but forced upon her” (Bleikasten 172-173). Even his mood reached
a kind of crazy state:
do you love him
her hand came out I didn’t move it fumbled down my arm and she held my hand flat
against her chest her heart thudding
No no
Did he make you then he made you do it let him he was stronger than you and he tomor-
row I’ll kill him I swear I will father needn’t know until afterward and then you and me
nobody need ever know we can take my school money we can cancel my matriculation
Caddy you hate him don’t you don’t you
She moved my hand up against her throat her heart was hammering there (SF 150-151)
Here, the text without punctuation displays Quentin’s agitated emotion for her sister’s
loss of virginity. As an artist-like person, Quentin constantly reflects himself and his
surrounding world. Quentin looks at himself as it was in a mirror of another inner self
which forms this monologue, a unique dialogue, like Bakhtin says “His consciousness of
self-lives by its unfinalizability and its indeterminacy. The author constructs not a char-
acter, nor a type, nor a temperament he constructs no objectified image of the hero at all,
but rather the hero’s discourse about himself and his world” (Bakhtin 53). And from
Quentin’s point of view, the reader can know more about this family where is full of
coldness and distress. And his thoughtfulness and sensitivity in humanity and his con-
cern for family honor have been displayed clearly.
1.3. Caddy’s Love and Courage: Zero Narration

When discovering her pregnancy,the parents quickly marry Caddy to a banker, Herbert
Head who promises Caddy’sbrother Jason a job. However, after realizing Caddy’s preg-
nancy with another man, Herbert immediately divorces her and rejects Jason’sjob offer.
Thus, Jason always holds hatred to Caddy for the loss of the promised job for him which
later, in the scene of meeting between Jason and Caddy, Caddy has lost her usual rebel-
lion instead of much obeying to Jason, as Polk says that “The Caddy presented by Jason
is unfamiliar. No longer the bold child or the brazen adolescent, ... Even the practical
Caddy who ‘has to marry someone’ has ceased to exist when she stammers and pleads
with Jason to let her see her daughter” (Polk 45). All these images of Caddy are dis-
played by others’ voices. She leaves her “mark” through her brothers’ memory, though
she is reduced to silence in the structure of the novel. In the four sections, Caddy is
always the center of each story-teller and from whom “we recognize her in Benjy’sham-
mering bellow, in Quentin’s deafening, misogynistic rant, and in the endorsement on the
checks that her daughter may not view and that her mother destroys. Represented entirely
through male memory, Caddy as a mother is given textual status primarily in Jason’s ac-
count” (Polk 37).
What Caddy is seeking is recognized female identity and independence, social a�en-
tion to female voice, and control over her own life. In doing all these, she liberates herself
first from the traditional values on women’s sex bondage. Caddy takes her step to gain
female identity with more and more difficult and is finally submerged by adverse criti-
cism. But she is to some extent a winner: all the Compson brothers have no offspring,
Caddy’s daughter, Miss Quentin inherits her mother’s fearlessness and keeps up Cad-
dy’s rebellion. Faulkner once said of Benjy that “the only thing that held him into any
sort of reality, into the world at all, was the trust that he had for his sister, that he knew
that she loved him and would defend him, and so she was the whole world to him, and
these things were flashes that were reflected on her as in a mirror” (qtd. Gwynn and
Blotner 63-4 ). But Benjy can react to different kinds of things, whether a movement, an
object or a sound such as hearing the golfers shout “Caddie”. When he found Caddy’s
fiancé, he just cried and pulled Caddy’s dress.
“Hush, Benjy,” Caddy said.
“Why, Benjy,”Caddy said. “Aren’tyou going to let me stay here and talk to Charlie a while.”
Charlie came and put his hands on Caddy and I cried more, I cried loud (SF 47).
We can see Benjy’sreaction to Caddy when he saw her fiancé., Charlie. For Benjy, Caddy
is pure and he is not willing to lose her purity by this man. Though his language is crying
while it can express his feelings well and meanwhile makes Caddy understand. If peo-
ple treat Benjy kindly, they are morally good, and so is the opposite. In this way, the
passive character of Benjy becomes the most active moral guide for the reader’s response
to other characters.
Caddy is a source of warmth and vitality.Faulkner himself saw Caddy as “the beauti-
ful one, she was my heart’sdarling.” And she is associated with the masculine virtues of
daring and strength which Quentin so admires in his sister. Further, caddy through Benjy’s
associations of love and tenderness with the flames in the fireplace and the reflection of
light in the mirror. When she is about to leave the family as Herbert’s wife, her major
concern is still for the well-being of Quentin, Benjy, and their father. Caddy lived in a
family that lacks parental love; however, she was full of love, especially for her li�le
brother Benjy.
1.4. Dilsey’s Loyalty: An Omniscient Narrator

In the loveless Compson family,the black servant Dilsey is kind and sympathy to oth-
ers, becoming a spiritual pillar for the whole family.And she is the only one who under-
stands the Compson family well and knows the reason leading to falling of it: “I’ve seed
de first en de last” (SF 297). Her heart is filled with the innocent and honorable benevo-
lence. Opposite to Jason’s selfishness, cruelty, and coldness, she is, moreover, one of
Faulkner’s favorite characters, and was highly thought of by her creator. “Dilsey is one
of my favorite characters because she is brave, courageous, generous, gentle, and hon-
est” (The Paris Review Foundation No.12). On Benjy’sbirthday, she would manage to get a
birthday cake for him from her pocket, when the Compson family has already been
bankrupt. When the breadwinner and household master, Jason, taunts Quentin, she al-
ways stands up and offers the li�le girl maternal affection and protection.
Her way of treating people depends on her consciousness and principles. In the whole
Compson family, Dilsey is the only one who has a clear and healthy mind. Whatever
happens, she keeps calm, offers some quick solution, and moves forward. Even when
Jason calls her an old half-dead nigger, she does not refute, complain, or cry as Mrs.
Compson always does. She is wise enough to see through everything and she is tolerant
enough to bear everything. Throughout the novel, Dilsey always offers maternal love to
whoever needs it in the family. She is tender and loving towards Quentin, Caddy, and
Jason. The detailed a�ention which Faulkner pays to Dilsey’s spiritual uplifting in the
last section of the novel reminds us that despite all its anguish and pain, she still holds
love and belief in life.
2. The “Evils” of Humanity

Meanwhile, in contrast with the morals of humanity, the evils of humanity are dis-
played as cruelty, revenge, selfishness, coldness, and indifference as such. Jason, Mr.
Compson, and Mrs. Compson are the representatives in this novel.
2.1. Jason’s Cruelty: Jason’s Voice

The same as the first two sections telling the story of Caddy from the two brothers’
point of view, the third section is from another brother’s perspective to tell it. Thus,
through such a dialogic discourse can each story finds itself in intimate contact with
someone else’sstory.As Bakhtin says that “the very construction of the novel, the author
speaks not about a character, but with him. Only a dialogic and participatory orientation
takes another person’s discourse seriously and is capable of approaching it both as a
semantic position and as another point of view” (Bakhtin 63-64). Because the first two
sections are the stories told by the idiot, Benjy,and the over sensitive Quentin who both
are not normal in spirit and Faulkner thought it is not clear enough, thus the third sec-
tion arranged is Jason’s story.
Jason has been one of Faulkner’s nastiest characters, and he certainly reveals his con-
ceit, hypocrisy, and lust for power. Caddy’s marriage to Herbert is identified in Jason’s
mind with the fall of the family and his disinheritance, and young Quentin is a living
reminder of her sin. “Once a bitch, always a bitch” (SF 180), He allows Caddy a glimpse
of her daughter, burning the circus tickets before Luster’s eyes— are balanced by the
rarely glimpsed despair which afflicts Jason just as it did his brother Quentin:
“Whatever I do, it’s your fault,” she says. “if I’m bad, it’sbecause I had to be. You made me.
I wish I was dead. I wish we were all dead.” Then a door slammed.
“That’s the first sensible thing she ever said,” I say (SF 260).
“Once a bitch always a bitch, for her...” (SF 206).
“Another voice is heard now,harsh, petulant, sardonic; a hysterically self-assertive speak-
ing voice[...]He is in his pe�y provincial way an implacable man-hater, and in like fash-
ion, too, he takes the role of the satirist, venting his rancor in floods of invective and
sarcasm and exposing human folly with merciless eloquence” (Bleikasten 105-106).To
Faulkner, Jason represented, in his own words, “complete evil,” he added: “He’s the
most vicious character, in my opinion, I ever thought of” (The Paris Review Foundation
No.12). Jason, however, is a very disturbing and cruel villain. He cheats and steals from
his own family, and, driven by a bi�er spirit of revenge, he is without a single shred of
decent feeling. He uses cold and calculating logic as an excuse for his heartless behavior.
All these crazy things he did just show his cruelty to his families. When Caddy wants to
see her daughter, she begged him with money:
“I’ll give you a hundred,” she says. “Will you?”
“Just a minute,” I say.“And just like I say.I wouldn’t have her know it for a thousand dollars.”
“Yes,” she says. “Just like you say do it. Just so I see her a minute. I won’t beg or do any-
thing. I’ll go right on away.”
“Give me the money,” I say.
[ ...]
I could see her running after us through the back window (SF 203-205).
He only loves himself and concerns his benefit, thus, he is indifferent to others unless
there something involving money. In Jason’s monologue, what Jason feels for Caddy is
hatred for his loss of the job in a bank resulted from Caddy’s misconduct. The child she
had to leave him as a hostage has therefore become “the symbol of the lost job itself” (SF
355) and it is on his niece that he will take out his hatred.
Jason devises an ingenious scheme to steal the money Caddy sends to support her
daughter Miss Quentin’s upbringing, indeed, “For Jason, Miss Quentin is simply a com-
modity in the system that he controls: “I never promise a woman anything nor let her
know what I’m going to give her. That’s the only way to manage them” (SF 193). He
extorts money from his gullible mother; ... he sells Caddy the right to glimpse her daughter
for one hundred dollars; and he torments li�le Quentin, withholding money and le�ers
from her mother” (Polk 47). Thus, without a mother’s love and living in a cold family,
Miss Quentin grows up unhappily in the atmosphere of coldness and cruelty which his
unpleasant character creates.
When li�le Quentin steals his money, which should have belonged to her, Jason be-
comes crazy and running for her. On the way to chasing her, he met a sheriff:
“What do you aim to do with that girl, if you catch them?”
“Nothing,” Jason said. “Not anything.” I wouldn’t lay my hand on her. The bitch that cost
me a job, the one chance I ever had to get ahead, that killed my father and is shortening my
mother’s life every day and made my name a laughing stock in the town. I won’t do any-
thing to her,” he said. “Not anything” (SF 304)
As Bleikasten says that Jason senses “treachery and thievery everywhere, suspects eve-
ryone and regards the whole world as his personal enemy” (Bleikasten 110). Even to his
own families, he has only the coldness and orders for them. He con-tempted Dilsey and
lowered her as a fool, when he asked the key from her, he cried that “Give me the key,
you old fool!”(SF 281) When looking for li�le Quentin, he asked a man whether his niece
was there, he felt the man was lying, “He said they were not here. I thought he was
lying” (SF 312). For Jason, there is no trust and belief between each other and his mind is
full of hatred and suspects to the world which he uses his cruelty to resist. As Bleikasten
argues that “Of [the] four children he is undeniably the one most like her in his mean-
spirited egoism, his imperturbable smugness, and his petit-bourgeois concern for propri-
ety” (Bleikasten 109). The third section lively produces a greedy and cruel figure of Jason.
2.2. Mrs. Compson’s Indifference: Others’ Voices

Mrs. Compson, as a mother, cannot understand Caddy’s solicitous wish to see her
daughter, instead of driving her out of town and forbidding her name to be mentioned
in the house. Had Quentin not been deprived of maternal love, his life might have taken
a different course: “If I have could say,Mother. Mother” (SF 108), or again “if I’d just had
a mother so I could say Mother Mother” (SF 197). And the same poignant sense of aban-
donment is revealed by Quentin’s remembrance of the picture in the story:
When I was li�le there was a picture in one of our books, a dark place into which a single
weak ray of light came slanting upon two faces lifted out of the shadows. ... I’d have to turn
back to it until the dungeon was Mother herself she and Father upward into weak light
holding hands and we lost somewhere below even them without even a ray of light (SF 198).
Quentin’s projection of the family situation onto this scene of darkness and confinement
is eloquent evidence of parental neglect. The cold, egotistical Mrs. Compson has become
a lightless prison-womb to her children, keeping them captive, as securely as she would
have by possessive love, through what she denied them. Or, to borrow another of Quentin’s
metaphors, she poisoned them once and for all: “Done in Mother’s mind though. Fin-
ished. Finished. Then we were all poisoned” (SF 116).
“You’d be�er do as he says,” Mrs. Compson said.” He’s head of the house now.It’s his
right to require us to respect his wishes. I try to do it, and if I can, you can too.” Mrs.
Compson said to Dilsey” (SF 278). Mrs. Compson considered Jason as her only child and
the head of this declining family and she was blind to Jason’scruelty.After Caddy losing
her chastity, she secretly married her to a banker regardless of Caddy’s own emotion
and, when the marriage was broken, she drove her out and ordered the whole family
never to mention her name. All these displayed the corruption of humanity within the
Compson family. This loveless and repressed family dooms the children abnormal who
are like four specters on this wasteland-like environment.
2.3. Mr. Compson’s Irresponsibility: Others’ Voices

As the head of the whole family, Mr. Compson does not take his due responsibility for
his children. He is a weak nihilistic alcoholic, whose pessimism pervades Quentin’spart
of the story, “because no ba�le is ever won [he said]. They are not even fought. The field
only reveals to man his folly and despair, victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools”
(SF 76). This greatly strengthens his son’s despair of ultimate failure which leads to his
commi�ing suicide finally.When Caddy is divorced by her husband, he rejected to take
her back home. Besides, Quentin’s monologue echoes with Mr. Compson’s cynical re-
marks on women, and for all his protests and denials he has come to acknowledge the
bi�er truth that “women are never virgins” (SF 116)
Because women so mysterious Father said. The delicate equilibrium of periodical filth
between two moons is balanced. Moons he said full and yellow as harvest moons her hips
thighs. Outside of them always but. Yellow. Feet soles with walking like. Then know that
some man that all those mysterious and imperious concealed. With all that inside of them
shapes an outward suavity waiting for a flabbily filed ge�ing the odor of honeysuckle all
mixed up. (SF 128)
We can see his father’s contempt a�itude toward women and his carelessness for his
children. When Caddy is pregnant, he does not give her warmth and help but disown
with her, whose carelessness and coldness to Caddy lead to her later complete depriva-
tion. When Quentin facing problems, Mr. Compson does not give good advice but spreads
his distress and despair to his son, “Father will be dead in a year they say if he doesn’t
stop drinking and he won’t stop he can’t stop since I since last summer and then they’ll
send Benjy to Jackson ...” (SF 124), whose knowledge does not help him to find a way
out. Above all, Mr. Compson’s wisdom is knowledge of death, not of life which just
affects Quentin to fall into despair, too.
As for Jason, he holds the hatred to his father and when the father dies, he takes the
place of him. Through each figure’s voice, we can see the image of an irresponsible fa-
ther. The voices in The Sound and the Fury are miscellaneous which sometimes are double
direction and sometimes are the secret soliloquy of one’s own. Faulkner endows his
figures full freedom and independence to form the dialogic text and he acts a role of
observer or recorder to represent their complex humanity.Dong Xiaoying views that the
relationship of dialogue is the relationship of agreement and objection, affirmation, and
supplement, asking and answering in two different subjects’ discourse. (Dong Xiaoying
46) in another word, in a dialogic novel, the author is not in the position of “God”, which
gifts fully independent voices opposite -center position.
3. The Exploration of Humanity

The Bakhtinian dialogic theory explains a multi-perspective, multi-valued world and
dialogue is the essence of humankind’s existence. Its meaning is far beyond the literary
theory itself. Dialogue in literary texts is featured as independent, un-finalized, and poly-
phonic. As to humanity in terms of polyphonic, it is complex which synthesizes sense,
sensibility, desire, imagination, and will. Humanity concretely displays such as kind-
ness, honesty,justice, tolerance, and sympathy in morals, and cruelty,deception, selfish-
ness, revenge, and greed in evils. Thus, human beings integrate divine and devil.
3.1. The Complexity of Humanity

In The Sound and the Fury, Caddy is the typical one who realizes her free will and never
loses the ability to love others. The light of humanity is embodied in her fully. Jason,
loses his free will and is servile to money-worship, as a result, he loses his freedom and
the ability to love, becoming cruel and revengeful to others. Likewise, Mr.Compson and
Mrs. Compson both lose their love and their responsibility for their children, and hu-
manity has fallen from them. Also, this concrete humanity fell and the abstract one got
the superiority which could drive people to over pursue the material richness, becoming
much snobbish and selfish. Perhaps, people like Jason, Mr. Compson, and Mrs. Compson
were not aware of their loss of humanity. They do not know what should love, hate,
respect, and contempt and humanity is fluid and can be distorted for the situation of
society at any time. It is worthy to note that Quentin is the most complex character and
his mind is full of struggle. As an intellect and artist-like character, he cannot get rid of
the restraint of the past value and finally he escapes from reality through commi�ing
suicide. However, Quentin does not lose his love ability and keeps sensitive to the out-
side world, who is like a philosopher observing and meditating his surroundings. This
character owns timidity and ambition, honesty and deception, nobility, and shame on
which displays Faulkner’s deep exploration of the complicity of humanity.
The multi-perspective in The Sound and the Fury has broken through the framework of
the story itself. Faulkner is full of sympathy for Caddy who is created as the center of the
whole novel. The four sections all relate the same story on Caddy and each one shows a
different aspect of her and the narrator’s humanity. Therefore, after reading the text,
always, many aspects of humanity are left on the reader’s mind. It involves innocence,
sensibility, love, loyalty and cruelty,revenge, greed, and indifference, etc. On the eternal
humanity, what the author wants to note is that humanity is a gifted duality which inte-
grates the images of angel and devil. The author speaks highly of human virtues, such as
Benjy’s innocence, Quentin’s sensitivity and philosophical thinking, Caddy’s considera-
tion for Benjy and her encouragement, and Dilesy’sgenuine loyalty to the whole family.
Likewise, he also reveals Jason’s coldness and cruelty, Mr. Compson’s irresponsibility,
and Mrs. Compson’s indifference to her children which all expresses his critique for the
evils of humanity.
3.2. The Reasons for the Declination of Humanity

The complex humanity corresponds to the dialogic narratives of this novel. In struc-
ture, the four perspectives form a great dialogue, where each voice is open and argues
with others. As Bakhtin says that “they hear each other constantly, call back and forth to
each other, and are reflected in one another” (Bakhtin 75). In this polyphonic novel, the
four different views together contribute to the displaying of complex humanity.
3.2.1. The Loss of the Ideal

Against the background of the influence of the north industrial civilization, the tradi-
tional south is gradually becoming the commercial modern south. Morality begins to
decline and the relationship between people becomes cold and indifferent. The old
lifestyle and social customs have gone away which leads to the disintegration of the
system of the existential value, the money-worship and direct dealing with money put
the southern people to the verge of collapsing which leads to the distorted and alienated
humanity. Faulkner uses the disorder of the time to tell the decline of the Compson
family, which is in line with each character, that is, Benjy, an idiot, has no sense of time;
Quentin lives in the past and desires to stop the time and Mr. Compson falls into
nihilism. For them, clocks and watches only make their lives confused, and their heart
panic. Thus, Faulkner does not use the order of time in this novel, but destroys the time
order and focus on the humanity of its characters. “Dialogism argues that time/ space
relation of any particular text will always be perceived in the context of a larger set of
time/space relations that obtain in the social and historical environment in which it is
read” (Holquist 141), through four section-narratives, we see the corruption running in
the Compson family.
3.2.2. The Pursuit of Utilitarianism

The Civil War destroyed many once-great Southern families economically, socially,
and psychologically. The northern capitalist industrial power and its value impact the
south deeply,which disintegrates the agriculture society and begins its modern progress.
Then, there is the conflict between the new and the old values. Faulkner deeply explores
the humanity of modern society. The Sound and the Fury reflects the history burden of the
Old South society spirit heredity and the distorted humanity in the process of pursuing
material richness and Quentin and Jason are both typical representatives of the two so-
cial situations. The novel displays the development of materialistic civilization and the
crisis of spirit civilization, and the falling of humanity, the conflict of the human being’s
mind, and the relationship between human beings, etc.
Conclusion
In The Sound and the Fury Faulkner tells the decline of the Compson family four times
from different voices in four sections. Both the exhibition of various humanities and the
form of narrative constitute a dialogic novel. Whenever someone else’s “truth” is pre-
sented in each novel, it is introduced without fail into the dialogic field of vision of all
the other major characters of the novel. Dialogue has penetrated inside every word, pro-
voking in it a ba�le and the interruption of one voice by another. Faulkner describes the
different humanity of people there and the present paper a�empts a detailed discussion
on the morals and evils of humanity and analyzes the reasons for the complication of
humanity. From his process of producing The Sound and the Fury and in its characteriza-
tion, we can observe Faulkner’s dialogic devices for engaging humanity.
Beijing Language and Culture University & Queen Mary University of London
Notes
1
The American south includes the southeastern states and the southern states along the Gulf of
Mexico. It is a region of extravagant color,of luxuriant foliage and bloom, and scorching sunlight.
Its pace is slow and its rhythm of social motion is passive rather than active. http://
thesis.lib.pku.edu.cn
2
Heteroglossia, the condition of being located external to other-languagedness, the condition of
containing many separate and different worlds. (Bakhtin, Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics:
EDITOR’S PREFACE xxxiii)
3
The hero knows that all these definitions, prejudiced as well as objective, rest in his hands and he
cannot finalize them precisely. His consciousness of self lives by its unfinalizability, by its
unclosedness and its indeterminacy. (Bakhtin, Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics: 53)
4
The Sound and the Fury, the followings will be abbreviated as SF.
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Aesthetics and Ethics:

Convergence and Divergence in Plato and Aristotle
SANGEETHA PUTHIYEDATH & SREEDHARAN T.
Abstract
T o explore the dialectic between aesthetics and ethics and the point of convergence
and divergence between the two is a fraught exercise. The difficulty is further
complicated by the lack of consensus in the interpretation of the terms ‘aesthetics’ and
‘ethics.’ For instance, the distance between the antimony of Kant’s view of morality as a
series of imperatives dictated by practical reason which considerably narrowed the scope
of morality by confining it to repeated actions and Wi�genstein’s aphoristic dictum that
“ethics and aesthetics are one,” is considerable. However, historically the teleological
argument regarding literature and aesthetic appreciation has been predicated on ethics
from the time of Plato. This paper is an a�empt to uncover the assumptions regarding
the relationship between aesthetics and ethics in the classical period through a
comparative study of the aesthetic theories associated with Plato and Aristotle.
Keywords: aesthetics, ethics, non-perspectival truth, artistic autonomy, ladder of love
To trace the origin of the word “aesthetic” is not difficult, but to excavate the origin of
aesthetic thought or philosophy might prove much more challenging. Even an
archaeological unearthing of the earliest surviving philosophical texts that deal with
aesthetics will only prove that the consciousness of the aesthetic predates those texts.
The philosophical discipline of aesthetics received its name only in 1735. Alexander
Go�lieb Baumgarten introduced the term in his Halle master’s thesis to mean epistêmê
aisthetikê, or the science of what is sensed and imagined (Guyer 2016). He elaborated the
term in Meditations on Poetry: “The Greek philosophers … have always carefully
distinguished between the aistheta and the noeta,” that is, between objects of sense and
objects of thought, and while the la�er, that is, “what can be cognized through the higher
faculty” of mind, are “the object of logic, the aistheta are the subject of the episteme aisthetike
or aesthetics,” the science of perception (Meditationes, CXVI, p. 86) (Guyer 2016).
The history of aesthetics in Western thought, can be traced back to the Classical period
in Greek antiquity.Aesthetic enquiry in Greece is as old as Greek poetry.In fact, even the
English term “poetry” owes its origin to the Greek verb poiein “to make,” and poetes
“maker.” Some of the early thought about literature in Greece can be drawn from the
tales about mythical poets-musicians, such as Orpheus and Amphion. Both these semi-
divine mythical characters occupy exalted positions and were considered teacher-poets,
inspired beings – even victims of divine creative fury – which allows them to access a
vision of cosmic harmony. The Greeks held Homer and Hesiod as belonging to that
Convergence and Divergence in Plato and Aristotle / 72
lineage. To comprehend the exalted position occupied by the poets in ancient Greece
one has to understand the position accorded to poetry by the Greeks. Poetry in the period
predating Plato, occupied a space akin to a religious text. The Greeks held that their
myths embodied universal truths and used them to educate, guide, regulate, and of course,
to entertain. Poetry was considered a source of secular and non-secular knowledge and
practice at the individual, social and cultural levels. However, over a period of time
poetry lost its pre-eminence and by the classical period in Greece, philosophy was
emerging as a strong contender and increasingly claiming exclusive access to Truth. It is
this rivalry that Plato underscores when he refers to the “ancient quarrel of poetry and
philosophy” (Republic 607b). Poetry was a formidable opponent to Philosophy,playing,
as Catherine Evere� remarks perceptively, “a part in Greek life comparable to the Bible
in the Christian era,” (2). In Evere�’s view, “It was against this combination of myth and
poetry, embodying an ancient and reverend outlook on life and interpretation of the
nature of things that the philosophers of the Greek Enlightenment, the Cosmologists
and Sophists, had to assert their claims” (2). Seen from that vantage, it is obvious that
poetry did not appear to philosophy as a work of art, to be subjected to critical scrutiny,
but a rival that claimed equality.
Plato does not focus on literature or poetry exclusively in his writings. Yet, one can
claim that he is the first critic in Western intellectual tradition who examined it as an art
form and interrogated the reasons behind its appeal. As such, he can be considered as
the originator of aesthetic thought in Western tradition. Though Plato’sfocus was not on
poetry, he repeatedly returns to it in many ‘Dialogues’ while discussing his abiding
concerns like education, morality, theology and metaphysics. The most extensive
treatment of the arts occurs in Book II, III, and Book X in the Republic. Because his views
on art are sca�ered throughout his works it is difficult to extract a coherent theory about
his approach to literature. This paper proposes to examine Plato’s critique of poets and
poetry and compare it with those of his immediate successor, Aristotle. It is also an a�empt
to uncover the assumptions regarding the relationship between aesthetics and ethics in
these two philosophers.
The Greek conception of art was quite different from present day understanding of it.
The word techne, which we translate as ‘craftsmanship,’ ‘craft’ or ‘art,’ was used to refer
to all skilful production from poetry to carpentry,saddle-making to weaving. The Greeks
did not possess a term that referred exclusively to fine arts. The Greek a�itude to those
who engaged in the arts was also complex. The artists or artisans were valued for the
knowledge they possessed, but they were disdainful of the toil involved in the production
of art, which in the eyes of the Greeks reduced the artist to the level of a skilled labourer.
For the Greeks the most natural division of the arts was into those that were free and
those that were servile, depending on the amount of physical exertion involved in its
execution. ‘Free arts’ – like poetry were esteemed more than the playing of musical
instruments like the lyre or singing.
When we look at the poetics that implicitly prevailed before Plato, we can see that
poets like Homer had considered the question of ‘pleasure’ that poetry generates and
Simonides made the insightful observation that painting is ‘silent poetry’ and poetry is
‘spoken painting.’ However, since the beginning of the classical period in Greece, aesthetic
thought existed within the larger framework of philosophy. This yoking of aesthetics
with philosophy brought within its ambit questions that are universally valid. Inflected
with philosophical concerns, the discussion of art was subsumed under the discussion
of its ethical import. This does not mean that the philosophical approach to art was
homogenous. There were as many approaches as there were different schools of thought
in philosophy during that time. For instance, the Sophists, being relativists, regarded
ethical norms and values contingently. Socrates, who challenged the Sophists, raised
humanist problems similar to those presented by them, but his focus or emphasis was
radically different. He (or what has been reported as Socrates’s views) was strongly
opposed to relativism. His student Plato, held absolute views on the question of ethics,
and his approach to aesthetics is infused with this concern. Plato’s writing is often akin
to poetry in its supremely skilful use of metaphor, myth, and rhetoric. Yet he viewed
poetry with suspicion and sought to devalue it. The reason is obvious. Plato (and Socrates)
considered the role of philosophy as of much greater value than of poetry. His writings
are a deliberate a�empt to oust mimetic poetry from its central role in the culture of his
day. The ultimate aim of Plato’s dramatic portrayals and his poetic use of language is,
however, not to bring pleasure or to engage the mind in emotional experiences. Rather,
it is to prompt independent inquiry into the truth by means of rational inquiry and
argument. Plato aims to supplant poetry in order to establish philosophy as a discipline.
In so doing, he raises profound questions about the relationship between philosophy
and art – questions that go into the nature and function of art itself.
Plato’s critique of poetry reflect his reservation about the nature of influence of poetry.
It could be observed that Plato views the ways of life guided by poets and poetry as the
“way of mýthos,” and the one guided by philosophy, the “way of logos.” According to
Plato, the way of the mýthos is the way of doxa or opinion, whereas, the way of logos, is
the way of Knowledge or Truth (epistemé), and wisdom (Sophia). While the former is the
way of the aesthetic, appealing to the imaginative and the emotional aspect of man, the
la�er is the search for the truth or the real, based on rational grounds. Plato’s objection to
the “way of mythos” is rooted in his a�itude to morality and ethics. He finds poetry
amoral, or indifferent to moral concerns.
Plato was not ignorant of the extraordinary appeal exercised by art. It was his recognition
of its power over people that urges him to question the nature of that power and its
desirability. Plato’s contemporaries considered poetry as manuals, providing guidelines
for right living, war, statecraft, even divinity. Plato questions the poet’s qualification to
represent things that he had very li�le knowledge of. In his works beginning from Apology,
through Ion and his later work Laws, he constantly harps on the fact that poets presume
to compose on subjects that they hardly know. He points out that when challenged on
this aspect, the poet responds by claiming that he is divinely inspired: “… when they
composed, they composed not by wisdom, but by nature and because they were inspired,
like the prophets and givers of oracles, for these also say many fine things, but know
none of the things they say” (22c). Plato finds this problematic, especially because the
Greeks looked up to the poets for guidance. As Robert Stecker remarks, “In Plato’sAthens,
poetry was thought to be a repository of both knowledge and wisdom. Plato questions
not only whether this reputation is deserved, but also whether poetry in particular, and
art in general, might in fact create a barrier to the acquisition of these goods” (Stecker 9).
Plato also considers the desirability of poetic stories in education. He does not question
whether, they should be a part of education, but deliberates on the kind of poetry that
should be excluded. Plato’s objection is on two counts. Firstly,poetry contains falsehood
about the nature of gods and the behaviour of heroes. Secondly,stories can instil harmful
a�itudes and can encourage negative dispositions. Plato feels that the preeminent
literature of ancient Greece – the Iliad and the Odyssey of Homer, the poetry of Hesiod,
the tragedies of Aeschylus – all had passages that should be expunged. He also objected
to death being portrayed as a great misfortune, evoking grief, expressed in wailings,
loud lamentations, and through other excessive expressions. Plato insists that this was
an entirely wrong approach to death and that if one lived courageously,one would place
death in proper perspective. He wanted poetry to infuse the right perspective by
representing role models such as heroes who possess such a�itudes. Plato would prefer
to exclude what he considers as negative portrayal, or,if included, to place such misguided
a�itudes in the mouths of characters who are not role models.
It is obvious that Plato is advancing a strict censorship of poetry. He does not want to
do away with the use of poetry in educating the young but advocates a stringent method
of selection of what is appropriate. Plato calls poetry,or all representational art as “pseudeis
logoi,” which could be translated as “false discourses” [or even as “fictional stories,”].
He equivocally states that it can be a source of illusion and false belief and is capable of
corrupting the psyche of the listener/viewer. To comprehend Plato’s antagonism to
representational arts, one needs to have an understanding of the role of human life, as
envisaged by him. “Plato pictures human life as a pilgrimage from appearance to reality.
The intelligence, seeking satisfaction, moves from uncritical acceptance of sense experience
and of conduct, to a more sophisticated and morally enlightened understanding,” (4)
observes Murdoch. Murdoch locates Plato’s antagonism to art in his emphasis on true
knowledge. “How is it that although sensa are in a flux we can have knowledge, as opposed
to mere opinion or belief?” Plato questions urging people to discover an “understanding”
which was beyond the fluctuating notions about beauty. Hence, his postulation of the
Forms (Ideas) as changeless eternal non-sensible objects which are separate from the
multifarious and shifting world of ‘becoming.’ These steady entities are guarantors equally
of the unity and objectivity of morals and the reliability of knowledge (Murdoch 4). This
aspiration appears to be the crux of Plato’s critique. Artists, Plato avers is more interested
in appearances, and ignore reality. They exhibit the lowest and most irrational kind of
awareness, eikasia, pursue entertainment and seek to entertain others. Artists are more
interested in portraying “bad men” because they are “various, entertaining and extreme”
while “good men” are “quiet and always the same”. Art both expresses and gratifies the
lowest part of the soul, asserts Plato, and feeds and enlivens base emotions that ought to
be left to wither.
Plato’s concept of beauty is intricately linked to what Diotima in a dialogue with
Socrates, refers to as “scala amoris” or “ladder of love” in the Symposium. Envisaged as a
metaphorical ladder leading to the Form of Beauty,this ladder has six rungs. Some scholars
section the six steps into two groups of three. “Sectioning them out into two groups of
three allows scholars to view the Ladder in terms of personhood vs. conceptual; the first
three – body,bodies, and soul – point the lover to connect with personhood. On the other
hand, the conceptual steps – laws, knowledge, and Beauty itself – direct a�ention to
conceptual ideas,” observes Kyle J. Keesling Jr. Plato examines the realisation of a true
understanding of Beauty through a dialogue between Socrates and Diotima in six steps.
One initially becomes acquainted with Beauty by falling in love with a particular person
(here the body). The second rung in Plato’s Ladder of Love finds a lover’s recognition of
the fact that beauty exists not merely in the lover’s body but in similar bodies. His
broadening vision is a movement from one to many. The third rung in the ladder leads
lover from the body towards the individual’ssoul. The lover recognises the lack of depth
in his a�raction towards the body. He realises that his love is for the other’s soul, not the
body.The fourth step of the ladder, sees the lover gradually expanding his circle of love.
He recognizes the value of the institutions and laws that created the beauty of the person’s
soul. The fifth rung guides the lover towards the idea of beauty.He comprehends Beauty
as knowledge. This will ultimately lead him to a philosophical understanding of beauty.
On the sixth and final rung, the lover reaches, the Form of Beauty, which is the final
destination. Once he reaches the final rung, he can appreciate true Beauty, devoid of
corporeal or conceptual representations (see Keesling).
Plato forwards a way of life located in philosophical understanding, the way of the
dialectic, as a counter to the way of the aesthetic. The Dialectical method involves a close
examination and interrogation of the constituent aspects of reality and the ideas associated
with reality while the la�er appeals to the imaginative and emotional aspects. Through
the former, man is able to ascend to a higher level of perception and understanding, to a
higher order of intelligence. The culmination of dialectical reasoning will lead man to
the absolute – an apperception of the oneness of goodness, intelligence and beauty.
Plato’s metaphysical presupposition that unity is necessary and desirable in the
individual as well as in the ideal state leads him to propose a rule of the Republic by
‘guardians’ specially nurtured and educated for the purpose. He takes some pains to
elaborate the kind of education he envisages for the guardians. The Guardians after their
initial study of music and gymnastics, must undertake the study of unity “as such” (VII
524e). They should also be trained in arithmetic, geometry and astronomy as these sciences
foster the use of reason rather than the senses. The most fundamental strategy towards
the political implementation of unity, Plato feels, is to unite the functions of ruler and
philosopher. Plato held the current dissociation of these roles responsible to a large extent
for the anarchic plurality and fragmentation that he could perceive in the Greek city
states. M.A.R. Habib comments:
Plato here unwi�ingly reveals that, if the movement toward knowledge and justice is
essentially a movement toward unity whether in individual or state, it is also a movement
of coercion. The ruling faculty in the soul and the ruling body in the state do not unify any
real differences: the unity Plato has in mind is achieved by suppressing all difference and
imperiously positing itself as the constant inner structure of a given type of variety in the
physical world. (Habib 35)
In the Laws, his last work, which describes a completely stable society,Plato is definite
about the role of art. He expounds the didactic use of art and the manner by which it
should be deployed. Music and song are to be sanctified and rendered changeless, as in
Egypt, where “the paintings and sculptures of ten thousand years ago are no be�er and
no worse than those of today”. Even children’sgames are to be controlled with the larger
purpose in mind (767 b). The citizenry will be ‘compelled to sing willingly, as it were’
(670 d). People will be trained from earliest years to enjoy only good pleasures, and
poets will be forced to explain that the just man is always happy (695d, 660 e).The most
important citizen in the state will be the Minister of Education (765 d). The best literary
paradigm for the writer to look to, will be the book of the Laws (975 d).
Plato appears to have understood that hegemony is not an automatic process that can
be taken for granted, but must be achieved through conscious and deliberate effort and
planning. In this he foreshadows Gramsci, who advocated the moulding of subjectivity
itself towards unconscious complicity with the aims of the rulers to pre-empt the need
for excessive and dangerously provocative coercion by law at a later stage. If the Republic
was sanitized from its inception, one can preclude the possibility of a future rebellion or
revolt. The meticulous system of censorship advocated by Plato in Laws and the Republic
almost echoes the absolute censorship effectively deployed by the Stalinists in Russia
and the Maoists in China. The enigmatic question why did one of the earliest experiments
in democracy also throws up one of the most extensive system of censorship ever
advocated by man is an interesting one and will have to be answered at some point.
Through his observations on the intersection of aesthetics and morality, Plato had
deliberately set to impose a closure on the question on the role of art and its place in
society. The history of aesthetics is in a sense an a�empt to answer Plato. Aristotle was
the first in a long line of thinkers who a�empted to re-examine the issues foregrounded
by Plato and to draw alternative conclusions from it. He endeavoured to pry open the
closure and reveal the fissure glossed over by the compelling arguments raised by Plato
using the very medium that he sought to warn people against – language.
“How does the objective validity of aesthetic judgments compare with the objective
validity of moral judgments and scientific beliefs?” (26) asks Richard W. Miller in his
article, “Three versions of objectivity: aesthetic, moral, and scientific”. He argues that
“aesthetic and moral appraisals both u�erly lack the cognitive authority of scientific
inquiry,” since the appraiser cannot be free of her own judgement.” However, he also
admits that there is a branch of philosophy that accords aesthetic and moral judgments
“the same cognitive authority as well-formed scientific beliefs, because in all three realms
the judgment maker is often in a position to assert a truth independent of her judgments”
(26). Aristotle would have concurred with the view that aesthetic judgement can aspire
to the cognitive authority of scientific laws. In fact, his approach to aesthetics was
predicated on this belief in the possibility of independent, rational judgement of art.
Ideologically,Aristotle occupies a position similar to that of Plato – he does not concede
even a provisional autonomy to art. (The question whether art can ever have autonomy
considering the fact that it is ideologically compromised even before its inception should
be temporarily suspended). Aristotle’s writings on art, Poetics has been called “the first
and most important work of a philosophical account of an art form” (Curran 21) because
it is the first text devoted to analysing art in western tradition. The Greek title, Peri poietikês
“On the poetic [craft]” identifies it as a work devoted to analysing the craft. From the
surviving text, it is clear that it was not conceived as an instructional manual aimed at
advising playwrights but as a guide for the student of philosophy to study these works
in order to uncover the knowledge that is implicit in the successful production of the
poetic craft. As Curran notes, “Aristotle’s goal is not practical, but philosophical, and he
draws on the views he has developed in other areas of his philosophy, especially
metaphysics, psychology, and ethics” (22).
Aristotle wrote two treatises on ethics: the Nicomachean Ethics and the Eudemian Ethics1.
He approaches what he calls “ta êthika” with a discussion of eudaimonia (“happiness”),
and the nature of aretê (“virtue”, “excellence”). Aristotle follows Socrates and Plato in
emphasizing the centrality of virtue to a well-lived life. Like his contemporaries, Aristotle
too was concerned with the socio-political implications of art and conceded that poetry
was capable of influencing people. However, he argued that its impact need not be
necessarily insidious. In fact, Aristotle’s Poetics, while it examines the ideas and issues
raised by Plato, focuses mainly on what is good art and deductively draws rules for
judging art from the existing texts. In his extant works, we can notice that he relies on
categorization and logical differentiation. The Poetics demonstrate Aristotle’s analytical
method, which is homologous to his examinations of biology or zoology. In the Poetics

Aristotle turns to the various categories of human artefacts, differentiating those made
in language. His focus is on poetry, especially the “species-specific” (87) traits of epic
and tragedy.Drawing on the rich and wide stock of existing literary examples, especially
Sophocles’ celebrated tragedy Oedipus Rex, Aristotle adduces six salient parts of tragedy
in order of their importance – plot, character, thought, diction, music and spectacle. He
then forwards a definition of tragedy, which is formulated at the start of the Poetics:
“Tragedy is the mimesis of a serious and complete action of some magnitude; in language
embellished in various ways in its different parts; in dramatic, not narrative form;
achieving, through pity and fear, the catharsis of such passions” (Poetics 1449b 24-28).
The cornerstone on which Aristotle built his entire defence of tragedy was on catharsis,
mimesis, action, and seriousness. These four concepts join together to produce the central
argument of the Poetics. Later centuries layered these words with meaning they originally
did not possess. Thus, catharsis, over time came to denote “purgation of excess emotions.”
Critics like Nussbaum, Halliwell and Curran, argue that this interpretation involves a
misreading of the original term and its meaning. They equate catharsis with ethical and
intellectual clarification2.
Aristotle held that tragedy,by rousing powerful emotions teaches man to feel pity and
fear. That understanding forms part of the groundwork for ethical behaviour, since
Aristotle’sethics connects ethical behaviour to well-trained emotions. The emotions that
Plato deplored are acknowledged as existing in tragedy, but they benefit ethical action
instead of subverting it.Aristotle does not challenge Plato directly.However, he implicitly
validates poetry by examining it as a legitimate branch of study. Plato’s assertion that
poetry raises treacherous emotions, which is dangerous for society, is logically refuted.
Aristotle sees poetry as a repository of universal knowledge of human behaviour. As
Curran insightfully remarks:
What the audience takes away from tragedy, then, need not be an understanding akin to
the study of essences that the philosopher examines, but some more modest insight about
human behavior, one that nonetheless has practical implications for how everyone –
ordinary people as well as virtuous persons – manages their emotions in real-life
circumstances. (31)
Another aspect, which Aristotle brings under critical scrutiny,is the idea of “mimesis.”
Aristotle states that mimesis is “natural to people from childhood” (Poetics 1448b 6).
While Plato considered image-making as a movement away from the real, Aristotle sees
it as a realisation of the natural propensities in man. He further argues that mimesis is
natural and pleasant because it is a way of learning and human beings love to learn
(Metaphysics I.1). Aristotle’s argument rests on a new conception of mimesis as an active
process of selective presentation. For example, a line drawing can show a thing’scontours
be�er than the thing itself. Plato conceptualized mimesis as something passive, as
automatic mimicry,even comparing it to the act of holding a mirror up to objects (Republic
596 d). Aristotle brings the effort back into poetry, as in his remark about plot: “A poet
must be a composer of plots rather than of verses, insofar as he is a poet according to
representation, and represents actions” (Poetics 1451b 27–29).
Aristotle bases his criticism of Plato’s ideal state on the fact that it was confined to
utilitarian ends. Aristotle’sown state, in contrast was directed towards the highest good,
enabling men to live “the good life”. In his Poetics he suggests that an integral aspect of
this good life is the leisure to engage in civilized pursuits as “unbecoming of those of a
broad vision.” Aristotle insists on an organic connection between pleasure (for example,
derived from music) and virtue. Virtue, says Aristotle, has to do with enjoying oneself in
the right way: liking and hating the right things. Aristotle’s psychological insight is evident
when he concludes that ethical regard forms an important basis for the reader’s reaction
to dramatic characters. Curran notes how “Aristotle recommends plot pa�erns that are
based on the likely ethical regard the audience will take toward the characters,” and
remarks that “Audiences feel pity and fear for good and decent characters who err, but
are not morally vicious; they feel moral confusion when an exceptionally good person
suffers due to no fault of her own; and they feel repulsed when a vicious person triumphs”
(31-32). In Poetics Aristotle claims that this sentiment is equally applicableto poetry.Since
music has the power to heighten certain positive characteristics, it must form a part of
education. Music is all the more valuable in educating the young, says Aristotle because
it is pleasant. Many critics including Horace and Sydney would later echo this sentiment.
Art according to Aristotle achieves its purpose when it gives pleasure. The pleasure
that art gives varies according to the character of art and the taste and age of the audience.
However, Aristotle is convinced that even the pleasure of rational enjoyment, which he
considers is the highest form of enjoyment art can afford, cannot be an end in itself. In
fact any ‘good’ that imitative art can furnish can be considered as an end in itself because
they are instrumental arts. Aristotle believes that the most authoritative art, which he
considers is truly the master art is the ethical and the political, which brings us back to
Plato’s “royal art of philosopher king” (Evere� 80). Catherine Evere� observes:
Aristotle thus emerges from his long consideration of the imitative arts, particularly music
and poetry, near the place where Plato takes his stand. The royal art of the statesman is for
both the ultimate authority in the disposing and regulating of the ministry to pleasure.
[However] Aristotle is slower than Plato in passing adverse moral judgment on popular
amusements. (81-82)
Aristotle differs from Plato’s view on other points as well. Malleability is a trait that is
censored by Plato. For him steadfastness of purpose and singleness of function were
desirable qualities and in his ideal state one man had only one function. For Aristotle,
malleability was a characteristic of both the poet and philosopher. According to him a
philosopher who is devoted to learning the truth of being can only do so by adapting
himself with infinitely graduated responsiveness to the peculiar character of stimuli.
Plato convincingly argued the differences between the philosopher and the imitative
artist, while Aristotle refuses to concede any such differences. Plato’s definition of the
philosopher as a spectator of universal truth is held by Aristotle as encompassing the
artist as well and while Plato castigates the poet for assuming a multitude of shapes and
asserts that the philosophers’ glory is his single minded nature Aristotle claims infinity
plasticity for both.
In his later years, Plato also appears to concede the importance of pleasure in effecting
change in human beings. In The Laws he dismisses his earlier stress on the pre-eminence
accorded to reason in guiding human beings and emphasises the need to fuse it with
pleasure:
As Plato grows older, he recognizes more and more that art is the specific for shaping
emotion, and that pleasures and pains, thus moulded to good ends, are the indispensable
allies of reason. In the Phaedrus Plato makes reason a charioteer who rules his steeds; later
in the Laws he makes reason a weak cord which cannot draw the human puppet in the
right way without the cooperating force of pleasure-cords (Evere� 44)
It should be remembered that when Aristotle proposes to examine poetry ‘in itself,’ he
is not proposing a twentieth century autonomy, wherein poetry could be looked at
independent of other factors. Aristotle’s universe is effectively a closed system where
each entity is guided by an internalized purpose towards the fulfilment of its own nature,
and ultimately towards realization of its harmony with the divine. The notion of poetic
autonomy as developed in modern times, the notion of poetry as an end in itself would
have been as meaningless to Aristotle as an individual’s claim to complete psychological
freedom. Therefore, if one asks whether Aristotle’saccount of poetry belongs within the
purview of aesthetics, a formalist aesthetician might raise objections. His argument would
be that Aristotle justifies poetry by appealing to its ethical and pedagogical effects. To a
formalist aesthetician, such an argument would be unacceptable as Aristotle’s grounds
for artistic success are non-intrinsic and is a distraction from a work’saesthetic properties.
Aesthetics theories originated in the Classical period in Greece and its history has
been determined to a large extent by Plato and Aristotle. One should also bear in mind
that the even in antiquity the aesthetic theories were not uniformly accepted. Some
concepts, like the theory that beauty depends upon the relation of parts, won common
acceptance. Other ideas like the value of art, however, caused extensive disputes. Still
others like the concept of autonomy of art underwent gradual changes. With the advent
of Christianity aesthetic theories underwent further transformations. Justification of the
arts, one can see was an abiding concern for both the theoreticians of antiquity and the
Middle ages. Whether it was Plato’s moralistic interpretation of art, or the Epicurean
Judgement based purely on utilitarian principles, or the mystical elements in late antiquity
or the spiritual element in the middle ages art was seen as a handmaiden to the larger
cause. The doctrine of orthotes, that is, of rightness or the guarantee of the excellence of a
work of art through its compatibility with universal laws, is one of the most enduring
contribution of ancient aesthetics.
The English and Foreign Languages University (EFLU), Hyderabad, India
Notes
1
Aristotle does not himself use either of these titles. The words “Eudemian” and “Nicomachean”
were added later, perhaps because the former was edited by his friend, Eudemus, and the la�er
by his son, Nicomachus. (Source: “Aristotle’s Ethics” Richard Kraut Stanford Encyclopedia of
Philosophy 2018)
2
The philosophical discipline of aesthetics did not receive its name until 1735, when the twenty-
one year old Alexander Go�lieb Baumgarten introduced it in his Halle master’s thesis to mean
epistêmê aisthetikê, or the science of what is sensed and imagined (Baumgarten, Meditationes
§CXVI, 86–7). Baumgarten’s Meditations on Poetry conclude with his famous introduction of the
term “aesthetics”: “The Greek philosophers and the Church fathers have always carefully
distinguished between the aistheta and the noeta,” that is, between objects of sense and objects
of thought, and while the la�er, that is, “what can be cognized through the higher faculty” of
mind, are “the object of logic, the aistheta are the subject of the episteme aisthetike or
AESTHETICS,” the science of perception (Meditationes, CXVI, 86).
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/ 71
Demystification of the “Innocent Eye”:

Nelson Goodman, Ernst H. Gombrich, and
the Limitation of Conventionalism
BOWEN WANG
Abstract
B oth literary and artistic historiography has been devoted to exploring the basic
relationship between the real world and the work of art, from the mimetic theories
of Plato and Aristotle to the contemporary theorists, i.e. Nelson Goodman and Ernst H.
Gombrich. Their a�empts to probe into the nature of pictorial representation mainly
respond to two questions: What is the relationship between representation and that it is
to represent (between picture and reality)? What is the mechanism of, or in an ontological
sense, what is representation? Guided by these two questions, my article will critically
investigate the models of Goodman’s and Gombrich’s representation theory on account
of convention rather than resemblance, expression, or imitation.
Keywords: representation; conventionalism; Goodman; Gombrich; innocent eye
The mimetic theory of representation presupposes a fundamental distinction between

the visual/pictorial and the verbal/linguistic representation. The former, as formulated
by Plato in his Republic at the beginning of western philosophy, is determined by the
resemblance of the perceptible world through the copying or imitating act of the absolute
Form in the Ideal world (63), whereas the mechanism of language operates in the
Saussurean sort of “semantically significant structures” (Hyman and Bantinaki) based
on a system of socio-cultural conventions. In the la�er part of the twentieth century,
however, Nelson Goodman and Ernest H. Gombrich have substantially challenged this
division and the Platonic theory of representation behind it. They argue for a
conventionalist view that all pictorial representation is conventional, which implies that
the art itself like philosophy and science can be viewed as a cognitive way of understanding
and a creative process of shaping the reality,rather than a mode of mimesis or imitation.
Both literary and artistic historiography has been devoted to exploring the basic
relationship between the reality and the work of art, from the mimetic theories of Plato
and Aristotle to the contemporary art historians and critics. Their a�empts to probe into
the nature of pictorial representation mainly respond to two questions (Wollheim 185-
90): What is the relationship between the picture as an artwork and the depicted in real
world? What is the apparatus of, or in an ontological sense, what is representation? Guided
by these two questions, therefore, my article will highlight the common idea of
conventionality in models of Goodman’s and Gombrich’s representation theories and
further identify their different stances toward it. Having compared their theoretical
frameworks, my discussion will move toward a main concern about the limitation of
their conventionalism. For Goodman, an “extreme relativist” (Mitchell 81), his limitation
can be discerned in his functionalist and formalist approach to a symbol scheme, and his
ahistorical and value-free interest in his theorisation of conventional representation, e.g.
his treatment of realism in opposition to the notion of great realism in the view of Georg
Lukács. Gombrich, on the other hand, shows his indeterminate a�itudes from the
conventionalist position, then to a revised stance in which he begins to question the reliability
of the convention and emphasise the naturalness of art. Finally,the value and the limitation
of their similar yet distinctive systems of conventionalism will allow me a conclusion.
Goodman’s and Gombrich’s Theories of Representation

Goodman’s Languages of Art: An Approach to a Theory of Symbols (1976) and Gombrich’s
Art and Illusion: A Study in the Psychology of Pictorial Representation (1960), both have shown
their ambitions to defend a conventionalist theory of art by establishing a systematic
knowledge of pictorial representation as part of the contemporary aesthetics, however
by different methods.As the title suggests, Goodman’smonograph bases on a “systematic
inquiry” (Languages of Art xi) by the structuralist linguistic approach, a tradition of analytic
philosophy,foregrounding the role of symbol in the representational relationship between
the artistic and the real world. To respond to Wollheim’stwo basic questions, Goodman
starts from dissociating representation from resemblance, namely a breakup from the
obsolete idea of mimetic theory by pulling out its roots. Resemblance is a “dyadic relation”
while representation is “triadic” (Files 405), for resemblance is merely a copy or physical
reflection between the representation-bearer and the representational object, but Goodman
argues that representation should involve the role of denotation as “the core […]
independent of resemblance” (LA 5). Goodman’s denotation here, is a requisite
relationship of symbolisation or reference between a picture and the object it stands for.
It is a cognitive agent in a conventional system of classification or symbols which embodies
how human beings accept and interpret the world. In this sense, convention plays a
significant role in understanding the relationship between the representation-bearer and
the representational object which the resemblance lacks, and that is why Goodman rejects
the imitation theory by summarising: “resemblance in any degree is no sufficient condition
for representation” (LA 4). For instance, neither the Duke of Wellington nor the
Marlborough Castle could represent their depictions, though the portrait or the Constable
painting of them can catch the likeness and represent in reverse order.
To Goodman, pictorial representation, is connected to a “conceptual framework”
(Giovannelli) namely a symbol system, in which a piece of artwork can be understood
and the viewer can get access to the visual world. In his review of Gombrich’s Art and
Illusion in the same year of the la�er’s publication, Goodman reaches an agreement with
Gombrich on the rejection of the “innocent eye” by regarding perception as a human
faculty that “depends heavily on conceptual schemata [and] the raw material of vision
cannot be extracted from the finished product” (Review of Art and Illusion 596). Their
idea of conventionalism a�empts to a�ack the dominant myth of the “innocent eye”
which presupposes that the human knowledge is a sensory process of receiving raw
materials without prejudices, affections, or instrumental interests. Goodman criticises
this naïve comprehension of human perception, and to him, the eye is rather capricious
and complicated apparatus that “selects, rejects, organises, discriminates, associates,
classifies, analyses, constructs” (LA 7-8). The copy theory of representation with this pair
of innocent, mindless eye, is unable to explain what is actually being copied and thereby
echoes the Kantian dictum “the innocent eye is blind and the virgin mind empty” (LA 8).
Demystification of the “Innocent Eye” / 83
Goodman’srepresentation theory in this Kantian tradition, implies that human perception

depends upon a prior knowledge of convention, which is guided and constructed by the
conceptual framework.
Compared to Goodman’s system of symbolisation in the socio-cultural dimension,
Gombrich’s conventionalist theory is based on what he defines as “schema” (Bull 208),
the cognitive presupposition of the world from a psychological point of view – also
implied by his subtitle of Art and Illusion. They both repudiate the myth of “innocent
eye” and then draw a�ention to the conventionality in the reception and interpretation
between the image and the viewer. Even though Goodman and Gombrich are concerned
about the representation processing between the artwork and the observer instead of the
mimetic relationship between the work and the object in Platonic philosophy of art, they
react quite differently: Goodman’s visuals representing a symbol or a code in a
conventional or symbolic system internalised by a socio-cultural entity, whereas
Gombrich’s schema theory working more like an active psychological process in human’s
cognition. As discussed above, Goodman’ssymbol system works as an extension of what
have been achieved in the realm of structuralist linguistics (Giovannelli), but his general
comprehension of symbols covers both linguistic and non-linguistic symbols, e.g. painting,
music, dance, as well as architecture, in order to contribute to systematically knowing,
understanding, and interpreting the entire world of human experience. The way to
approach the pictorial or other kinds of representation in this sort requires the preliminary
knowledge of the convention or the learning of the cultural context, so that the viewer
can realise the reference system in Goodman’s forms of denotation and exemplification
(Giovannelli; Moriarty and Kenny 236).
Different from Goodman’s position on art as language, Gombrich’s theory of pictorial
representation, more importantly, addresses the cognitively active processing between
the representation-bearer and the representational object. Some critics point out the
essence of Gombrich’s theory, noticeably under the influence of Immanuel Kant and
Ludwig Wi�genstein (Braembussche 22), is “his conception of the human being as an
active agent in forming his or her experiences in the world” (Kim 36), and his idea of a
ubiquitous schematic system expatiates on the psychological and perceptual involvement
between the picture and the spectator. This schematic system not only embodies a
Goodman’s scheme of symbol in the power of cultures and traditions, but also constructs
a system of transcendental knowledge in our mind to conceptualise the world that we
have seen. It is a sense of inseparability between the shape and the interpenetration, as
exemplified by Gombrich’s duck-rabbit image: the eye is not innocent at all but an
intellectual organism, and the viewer is always intellectually aware of the fact that we
need “a vocabulary before [we] can embark on a ‘copy’ of reality” (Art and Illusion 71).
Gombrich’s “vocabulary” never means a conventional system of arbitrary relationships
in terms of differentiation like Goodman’slanguage of art, but rather a conceptual schema
by which the spectator is able to approach or envision the real world. The psychological
effects emphasised here appear as a “presence” (AI 90), a perceptual tendency and
conceptual faculty in human nature. Hence, the relationship between the picture and the
reality is not passive but active, within a cognitive instead of a cultural structure.
Gombrich’s notion of representation is fundamentally grounded on the system of his
schemata, which are prior concepts of the object provided by the psychological thinking
of perception of human being (Bull 214). His schemata are a cluster of preconceptions, or
“a mental set” (AI 50) in a post-Kantian period of aesthetics. He directly quotes Kant’s
Critique of Pure Reason at the beginning of his chapter “Truth and the Stereotype” in Art
and Illusion: “The schematism by which our understanding deals with the phenomenal
world […] is a skill so deeply hidden in the human soul that we shall hardly guess the
secret trick that Nature here employs” (qtd. in AI 52). As he discusses afterwards, his
idea of schema is considered as “individual visual information [entered] upon a pre-
existing blank or formulary” (AI 60) which, either conceptual or inscribed, consists in
the psychological progress of recognition and production. In this way,how do Gombrich’s
schemata work to aid the representation to proceed and the image to come into being?
According to Bull, the structure of pictorial representation is embedded in the complex
interactions among three systems, i.e. (A) images related to objects, (B) schemata to objects,
as well as (C) schemata to images:
On [Gombrich’s] reading, the pictorial system (as opposed to the pictorial scheme) exists
through the elision of the pictorial scheme with the schematic scheme in perception. When
looking at the scheme of (A) we see the scheme of schemata and so create system (A) by
imagining that we are in system (B). It is thus by experiencing images as schemata that the
pictorial scheme becomes a system. (Bull 212)
To Gombrich’s psychological approach, the pictorial representation is an intellectually
active process between the object and the image, in the course of which the human mind
functions as a cognitive agent of transforming, interpreting, and reproducing. His
ingenious examples to substantiate this argument can be observed in his comparison
between Duerer’s woodcut rhinoceros and Heath’s engraving African Rhinoceros, and
another between different depictions of the natural scenery in Derwentwater by an
anonymous British romantic in 1826 and Chinese painter Chiang Yee in 1936. Although
both pairs of artists depicted the same representational objects, their representation-bearer,
or specifically speaking, their paintings are quite distinctive in manner and style.
Gombrich explains that it is because “[p]ainting is an activity,and the artist will therefore
tend to see what he paints rather to paint what he sees” (AI 69). In this sense, all art is
conventional and influenced by what Gombrich calls “beholder’s share” (AI 176). This
key term is equal to the conceptual schema in various forms of vocabulary, tradition,
technique, style, etc. Gombrich’sschema is to some extent related to Harold Bloom’scanon
or the anxiety of influence, a misprision of one’s actual sources and cultural traditions:
Bloom defines every poem as “a misinterpretation [misunderstanding, misalliance] of a
parent poem” (1658-59), while Gombrich discovers the role of illusion in the artistic creation
by claiming that “[w]hen we deal with masters of the past who were both great artists and
great ‘illusionists’, the study of art and the study of illusion cannot always be kept apart”
(AI 6). According to their psychoanalytic models, neither the verbal nor the visual
representation can be virginal between the perceptible reality and the artistic product,
but instead an aggressive and self-assertive challenge of the shared views.
A Debate on the Nature of the Convention

Goodman and Gombrich, in the similar manner of Bloom’s manifesto for antithetical
criticism in a Nie�schean destruction of the Platonic philosophical tradition, employ an
unorthodox and groundbreaking approach and problematise the dominant prevalence
of the mimetic theory in western culture derived from the 4th century B.C. in Greece and
revived in the 15th century Italian Renaissance (Kim 35-36). They disrupt the traditional
binary relationship of the pictorial representation between the picture and the object,
and critically identify the inevitable and significant existence of the convention, either in
Goodman’s term “symbol” or Gombrich’s “conceptual schema”. The binary structure of

mimetic view to understand the representation is based on the degree of likeness or
resemblance between the artwork and the depicted, as an accurate, realistic depiction
observed by the naked, innocent eye (see Fig. 1):
Representation- (Resemblance) Representational
bearer/Image object/Object
Figure 1. Model of the Mimetic Theory of Representation
Nevertheless, Goodman then declares that “[n]othing is seen nakedly or naked” (LA 8)
in a consensus with Gombrich on the denial of the “innocent eye.” What they believe in
the legitimate explanation of pictorial representation is the involvement of convention
(see Fig. 2), which renders all representation “indirect, conditional and mediated” rather
than “direct, unconditional and immediate” as a perfect copy of the external world
(Braembussche 26):
Representation- (A)
Representational
bearer/Image object/Object
(C) Interpretation/ (B)

Convention
Figure 2. Model of the Conventionalist Theory of Representation

The main divergence here, between Goodman’s and Gombrich’s conventionalism, is
different understanding on the nature of convention, namely what in fact forces the
spectator to gain this automatic interpretation to comprehend and shape the world. To
Goodman, he acknowledges that “the way we see and depict depends upon and varies
with experience, practice, interests, and a�itudes” (LA 10), and more precisely,his notion
of convention such as “experience, practice, interests, and a�itudes” is originated from a
culture-bound system of symbols which should be understood in semantic and syntactic
relationships in the same way to the language. Gombrich with other constructivist
psychologists rather takes the transcendental knowledge and the acquaintance of socio-
cultural codes or conventions for granted, and to a greater extent, he prioritises the
subjectivity of human perception in a cognitive processing to know and construct the
world, based on a very Kantian underpinning that human knowledge is a combination
of the productivity of mind and the information receiving from the reality.
In this way, it is reasonable to argue that the relationship between Goodman’s and
Gombrich’s conventionalist theories of representation is more a continuum than a
deviation. According to the model of the processing continuum from Moriarty and Kenny
(239), the philosophical idea of representation has experienced a development from
natural perception as an essentialist view dependent on inborn sensory faculty, to the
process of social or cultural conventions, and further to the cognitive activities based on
intricate information processing and mental manipulation. The continuity here witnesses
an increasingly self-conscious psychological involvement, turning out to be the main
difference between Goodman’s and Gombrich’s systems. The most complex model thus
should be the cognitive processing, which as formulated by Gombrich, is based on the
“interplay of perceptual and conventional activities” (Moriarty and Kenny 240), a
synthesis of the experiential knowledge of arbitrary symbols in cultural dimension and
the inherent learning of cognition in human mind.
The Limitation of the Conventionalist View

Nelson Goodman from his purely conventionalist or relativist view of representation,
succeeds in meeting his target at constructing a general grammar of system of symbols;
nonetheless, it is noteworthy to be on alert for his technical approach to functions and
relationships of sign. His structural linguistic analysis tends to be on the edge of a sort of
“linguistic imperialism” (Mitchell 56) which follows the Barthesian predominance of
linguistics over semiology – the general study of signs, by eliminating the primary
difference even between a picture and a map due to the reason that the “relation between
a picture and what it represents is thus assimilated to the relation between a predicate
and what it applies” (LA 5). Goodman then fails to differentiate the pictorial representation
from other symbol systems, even though he tries to use a “replete”/”undifferentiated”
structure for depiction to differ from a “disjoint”/”differentiated” (LA 148-54; 225-32)
one for description. What he responds to this problem is still grounded on his functionalist
and formalist way of thinking representation, neglecting any historical significance or
aesthetic judgement. Another more important account for Goodman called by Gombrich
as an “extreme conventionalis[t]” (“Image and Code” 14) must be his lack of perceptual
or psychological processing in his system, which is dependent on habits, conventions,
rules, and socio-cultural codes without an obvious cognitive efficacy. For these reasons
it is possible to predicate severe objections open to Goodman’s theoretical limits, in
addition to his self-repudiation of “questions of value [and] canons of criticism” (LA xi):
He professes no interest in the history of any of the arts, or even of the philosophical inquiry
he is pursuing. He has li�le to say about certain time-honoured topics such as censorship,
the moral or didactic functions of art, the issues of politics and ideology that enter inevitably
into the making and using of art. He doesn’t question, most fundamentally, the historicity
of the concept of art itself, and seems to proceed on the assumption that this is simply a
universal category that can be described from a neutral, analytic perspective. (Mitchell 71)
Goodman’s work in the manner of analytic philosophy and value-free science, also can
be seen in his version of realism. Different from Lukács with his Marxist treatment of
realism as the authentic literature of its period whose essential mission is to “seek out
the lasting features in people, in their relations with each other and in the situations in
which they have to act [and] focus on those elements which endure over long periods
and which constitutes the objective human tendencies of society and indeed of mankind
as a whole” (47), Goodman on the other hand, treats it merely as a ma�er of habit,
familiarity, and convention. His notion of realism cannot ask major realists to care about
the “progressive development of the masses’ own experiences” (Lukács 57) in a dialectical
view of history between evolution and revolution, for his ahistorical sense of realism is
“relative, determined by the system of representation standard for a given culture or
person at a given time” (LA 37). Rather than penetrating the underlying network of the
society and human life, Goodman considers realism to be a stereotyped or standardised
style that has been commonly accepted. Realism, at this point fails to be an ideological
reflection on the moral, cultural, and historical values of the society,and simply become
a “ma�er of habit”, a “plan of correlation” (LA 38).
As Goodman confesses that conventional is a “tricky term” (Review of “Perspective as
a Convention” 86) and he himself tries to avoid using it in late works like Ways of
Worldmaking, Gombrich similarly,exhibits an indeterminate a�itude toward the distinction
between nature and convention. The nature-convention opposition can date back to the
very origin of western philosophy in Plato’s Cratylus as a universal commonplace to
separate the mimetic theory of representation from the conventionalist view. Based on
this binary opposition, more and more conventionalists tend to deem the pictorial
representation as the prior knowledge acquired from socio-cultural rules and conventions.
Gombrich finds himself at times as an “arch-conventionalist” (Mitchell 77) who argues
for that “the study of art will be increasingly supplemented by inquiry into the linguistics
of the visual image” (AI 9), approving of a linguistic model to understand the
representation like Goodman. Nevertheless, as later criticising Goodman’s extreme
conventionalism, Gombrich realises that conventionalist point of view based on nature-
convention distinction “has led to certain difficulties” since “this distinction is unreal”
(AI 87). More radically, he undermines this traditional binary in his critique of the scope
and limits of conventionalism, where he recognises that “the traditional opposition
between ‘nature’ and ‘convention’ turns out to be misleading [and] what we observe is
rather a continuum between skills which come naturally to us and others which may be
next to impossible for anyone to acquire” (“Image and Code” 16-17). The limitation of
conventionalism here is the clash established between nature and convention, and to
Gombrich, the only difference between natural perception and conventional knowledge
is the degree of difficulties that human needs to learn how to use the sign.
The touchstone of the conventionalism as the boundary between nature and convention
thus eventually collapses, and Gombrich asserts that the pictorial representation should
be deemed as a continuum instead of a confrontation – as Moriarty and Kenny’scontinual
processing model reveals – which produces a combined knowledge of natural perception
of what we simply see, together with a more complicated and dynamic processing of
conventional codes in our mind. However, it is also supposed to beware of Gombrich’s
reconciliation, to a certain degree, as an ambiguous strategy of his uncertain, paradoxical
thinking about the conventionality and the naturalness of pictorial representation. In Art
and Illusion, he views the image as a conventional sign, since the comprehension of the
representation-bearer, or the work of art requires a transcendental knowledge learned
by specific techniques and skills, whereas in “Image and Code” he questions the reliability
of convention and emphasises the naturalness of art, for the reason that when seeing the
famous mosaic “Beware of the Dog” in Pompeii “we do not have to acquire knowledge
about teeth and claws in the same way in which we learn a language” (20). He is likely to
base this idea of image as a natural sign, pointed out by Mitchell, on the “consumption
rather than the production” (85), not on the relationship between the artist and the artwork,
but between that and the viewer. In spite of his indeterminacy between the nature and the
convention, Gombrich’s theory of representation, to a broad sense, apprehends the limits
of Goodman’s radical conventionalism and tries to overcome it with a psychologically
active processing in association with both sensory equipment and cultural tradition.
Conclusion
In conclusion, Goodman and Gombrich represent two similar but distinctive responses
to the conventionalist theory of pictorial representation based on commonly acquired
knowledge, in opposition to Plato’s mimetic theory dependent on resemblance or likeness
by the empirical perception on the external world. The contemporary perspectives thus
have experienced a shift from defining representation as something appearing between the
object and the artwork, to a conventional or cognitive processing between the artwork and
the observer. Against the presence of the “innocent eye”, the conventionality of the
representation here, as I have analysed above, should be understood into two different
directions. Goodman’s convention is a pre-existing grammatical or linguistic system of
symbols, functioning as Saussurean signification in an arbitrary relationship between the

represented/signified and the representing work/signifying. In contrast to Goodman’s
passivity of knowing, Gombrich regards this sort of convention as psychological effects of
the work upon the spectators in the course of reception, which can by no means avoid the
subjective judgement andinterpretation. More importantly,despite the fact that their theories
stand for a turning point in the aesthetic discussion of the western aesthetic philosophy in
the twentieth century, the limitation of their conventionalist point of view cannot be easily
ignored: (1)Goodman’sextreme conventionalism in a formalist method with few interests in
content, value, historicity, and ideology, which shows a noticeable disparity between his
treatment of realism and that of Marxist aesthetics; (2) Gombrich’s inconsistent arguments
from a conventionalist position then to a revised stance in which he argues for a cognitively
active processing as a continuum of both natural perception and socio-cultural convention.
In a word, this essay by means of contrast and comparison, has critically investigated values
and limits of the conventionalism that will be helpful to the contemporary literary and aesthetic
discussion on the concept of representation in a new epoch of intellectual history.
Trinity College Dublin, Ireland
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/ 79
The Present-Day Medusa: Foregrounding L’ecriture

Feminism in the Contemporary Retellings of Mythology
MUSKAAN KAPOOR
Abstract
T he myth of Medusa as the petrifying woman, a monster, who is herself decapitated

for her beauty and her powers to transfix has been circulated widely in western
mythology and culture. She has been allegorized as the figure of supreme feminine beauty,
sexual desire, of rebellion, punishment and inflicted terror. Helene Cixous in her essay,
“The Laugh of the Medusa” uses the myth of Medusa and counteracts the millennia of
misogynist depiction of women and their sexuality. In fact, it was mainly in this essay
that Cixous introduced the concept of L’ecriture feminine writing, which concentrates on
the representation of the feminine body and questions the male oriented thought process
which suppresses female voice. It is one of the most influential theoretical constructs for
women writing in the contemporary times, using which Cixous criticizes Freud’s
understanding of female sexuality as a lack and Lacan’s idea of phallus being the ultimate
signifier of authority and control.
Women, often believed to be “the other” gender has always been understood and
explained in terms of binary opposites, as whatever the man is the woman is not. In this
process of othering, myths are often used as the most powerful tools by patriarchy to
subordinate women. Many writers depend upon the ancient myths to negotiate such
patriarchal ideologies. As a result, women in literature, especially in mythologies are
either silent or have been largely misrepresented and portrayed negatively. The lack of
male characteristics and qualities make women inferior, according to the general
patriarchal beliefs but with the support and encouragement of various feminist
movements, many writers have made a�empts to rewrite and reinterpret these myths.
Such a�empts challenge the prevailing ambivalent or stereotypical representation of
women by fostering a feminist ideology that rejects patriarchal bias.
Throughout history, women have been excluded from any kind of writing that could
allow them to contribute in the making of history and culture. Being considered less
intellectual, women have been, over centuries tamed to be silent, especially when it comes
to expressing their needs in the dominant world of men. Therefore, one of the major
concerns of the feminist theory was the way,women’sability to speak gets silenced, both
in relation to sexist situations and to the way in which discourse itself is constructed.
Indeed, there has been a systematic deprivation of women; not only in life but also equally
in language and literature. Thus, in the light of efforts made by Helene Cixous and other
feminists, the paper highlights the phenomenon of increased production of retellings of
the ancient myths, which provides new representation of female subjectivities that break
the stereotypical thought process and emphasize autonomy. It a�empts to answer how
the present is shaped by the competing past and in doing so, it not only remakes the
present but also creates a new past. The paper offers a textual analysis of the novels,
“The Penelopiad” by Margaret Atwood and “Girl meets boy”by Ali Smith, explaining as to
how the aforementioned works a�empt to break the clutches of traditional orthodox
and rewrite female experiences through a new version of myths but somehow end up
consciously or unconsciously following the same heteronormative hierarchies.
Keywords: Myths, L’ecriture feminism, revisionist feminist fiction, female sexuality.
There is a voice crying in the wilderness, Catherine Clement and Helene Cixous say— the
voice of a body, dancing, laughing, shrieking, crying. Whose is it? It is, they say, the voice
of a women, newborn and yet archaic, a voice of milk and blood, a voice silenced but
savage. (Gilbert, 1)
Literature from time immemorial has represented women in a silhoue�e of gender
stereotype, be it in poetry,fiction, prose or in the genre of mythology.The forms of gender
discrimination have been almost universal and women have been a silent population
throughout the world. Men have always been projected as productive, intellectual,
rational, whereas women were relegated to a position of second-class citizen. The human
civilization has been strongly influenced and dominated by patriarchal thinking but at
the same time, there have been women fighting to free themselves from the clutches of
suffocating male oppression. The lack of male characteristics and qualities make women
inferior, according to the general patriarchal beliefs but with the support and
encouragement of various Feminist movements, socio-political structures and institutions,
the reinforcement of gender equality was initiated. Such a�empts challenge the prevailing
ambivalent or stereotypical representation of women by fostering a feminist ideology
that rejects patriarchal bias.
Although, women in literature, especially in mythologies are either silent or have been
largely misrepresented and portrayed negatively to negotiate the patriarchal ideologies
but the prolific works of various feminists encouraged and defended the political,
economic, social and personal rights of women. Therefore, one of the major concerns of
the feminist theory was the way, women’s ability to speak gets silenced, both in relation
to sexist situations and the way in which discourse itself is constructed. Indeed, there
has been a systematic deprivation of women; not only in life but also equally in language
and literature. Thus, while the various powerful waves of feminism championed the
cause of women by condemning gender difference and advocating equality in the so
called ‘men’sworld’, some post structuralist feminist like Helen Cixous, Luce Irigaray and
Judith Butler concerned themselves with the elaboration and deconstruction of gender
difference in particularly language. They assumed that the inequalities that exist between
man and women are not natural, but rather a social construct. It is preordained and is
created by men to retain their authority on women. The problem, however increased
when various male writers started generalizing these particular a�ributes, which they
associated with women. Even to the extent of portraying these inferior characteristics in
various literary works, novels and other media sources. This further led to the construction
of a particular image of the so called ‘ideal women’ and fused a bias in the mind and
a�itude of the human society. Thus, the main focus of these feminists was to refashion
the language and myths which assert women as inferior and humiliate their existence.
This effort is a method, employed by them to claim the male space for women.
Foregrounding L’ecriture Feminism in the Contemporary Retellings of Mythology / 91
The works based on mythology has continued to influence and fascinate people from
antiquity to the present day. Myths have been considered traditional sacred narratives
that intend to explain the relationship between the entire universe and the human
experience. A single explanation of myth is never adequate as its definitions vary
significantly. On one hand, myths are sacred or symbolic stories and on the other hand,
they are stories which misrepresent or are fictitious. But in both the cases, myths influence
the human life. It includes certain narratives which human mind takes to be crucial to
their understanding of the world, as it ostensibly relates events in the form of stories to
propagate certain practices, beliefs, rituals and other phenomenon. Often myths are
constructed, sanctified and circulated for legitimizing certain orthodox views and
practices. They become a means to naturalize particular world views, even if that harms
the society and promote gender discrimination. Indeed, myths are important part of
human civilization, as one feels culturally impoverished without them but the need for
myths is as real for women as it is for men. Yet the situation is asymmetrical because it
seems that while men have myths on their side, women have myths against them.
Therefore, such gender prejudice can be easily traced in almost all the tales of mythology,
for instance the famous myth of Medusa.
The myth of Medusa as the lapidifying woman, a monster, who gets beheaded for her
beauty and her powers to transfix has been circulated widely in western mythology and
culture. She has been allegorized as a figure of supreme feminine beauty,of sexual desire
and inflicted terror. Helene Cixous in her essay, “The Laugh of the Medusa” uses the myth
of Medusa and counteracts the millennia of misogynist depiction of women and their
sexuality. She contradicts Freud’s recourse to the myth as “a symbol of terror and
unintelligible feminine sexuality”. She rather presents her feminist critique through the
figure of a laughing Medusa, an effort to turn the myth of Medusa, the allegedly castrating
and decapitated women into a living Medusa, who mocks at this mythology and explores
femininity and her sexuality, outside the patriarchal registers and against the age-old
misogyny.Thus, her essay specifically refers and counter a�acks Sigmund Freud, reference
to Medusa and the theory of feminine sexuality that his psychoanalysis as well as Lacan,
following Freud had suggested.
Cixous interprets Medusa’s death as a masculine a�empt to silence the voice and end
the language of women. She a�empts to deconstruct Freud’s theory of the “Castration
Complex” in men during the Oedipal stage of psychosexual development and Lacanian
theory of Symbolic order in the development of language. Sigmund Freud in his short text
“Medusa’s Head” (1963) puts forth the idea that the decapitation of Medusa’s head is a
symbol that manifests the castration complex in males in the oedipal stage wherein
realizing the absence of the penis or phallus in the mother, the male child inevitably
identifies with the father and separates from his mother in the fear of castration. “To
decapitate = to castrate” (1963, 202). The “terror of castration” occurs when “a boy,who
has hitherto been unwilling to believe the threat of castration, catches sight of the female
genitals, probably those of an adult, surrounded by hair, and essentially those of his
mother” (202). The psychoanalyst Lacan, dwelling on Freud’s theory exclaims that after
the separation of child from his mother, he gets familiar with the patrilineal world,
constructed by his father. This new world which is systematized by concrete rules and
order is named as the ‘symbolic order’ by Lacan. His idea that the structure of language
is centered by the Phallus and that language within the symbolic order is representational,
where a single signifier is connected to a single signified is contested by Cixous as she
argues that the subject position of “woman” or the “feminine” is on the margins of the
symbolic and thus it is less firmly anchored and controlled by the phallus.
In fact, it was mainly in this essay that Cixous introduced the concept of L’ecriture
feminine writing, which concentrates on the representation of the feminine body and
questions the male oriented thought process which suppresses female voice. This
phenomenal work highlights the importance of women as writers. According to Cixous, it
is through the bodily experience that women can give birth to a powerful genre of writing
such as L’ecriturefeminism, which subverts the phallocentric discourse of masculine writing,
along with the logocentric representational system through which it functions.
In the spirit of L’ecriture feminism, various other writers, especially contemporary
fiction writers are engrossed with the art of feminist revisionist myth fiction, which
introduces the characteristics of modern-day medusa in each and every character. This
phenomenon of reverberating mythical past has gained immense popularity, all across
the globe. For instance, the “Canongate Myth series”, which is an initiative taken by
Jamie Byng, a Sco�ish publisher to collect short stories in which the ancient myths from
myriad cultures is retold by contemporary writers. Thus, the genre of revisionist
mythological fiction provides a platform to interrogate the cultural hierarchies and socio-
moral conventions. Many prolific writers like Margaret Atwood, Ali Smith, Jeane�e Winterson
and others have contributed to the success of the Canongate series by producing million
seller books like “The Penelopiad”, “Girl meets Boy” and “Weight”, respectively.
Atwood in her novella, “The Penelopiad” a�empts to highlight and rewrite female
experiences and their internal monologue through a revised version of the famous story
of Homer’s Odyssey and his wife Penelope. In the original text, the female characters
such as Penelope and her twelve maids are portrayed as the silent victim of the patriarchal
world but the character of Atwood’s Penelope is essentially more than a mere faithful
wife. She is wi�y, clever and a modern-day woman, who has her own individuality.
Atwood in the very introduction of the novella makes clear her intentions to rewrite the
tale of Odyssey. “The story as told in The Odyssey doesn‘t hold water: there are too many
inconsistencies. I‘ve always been haunted by the hanged maids; and, in The Penelopiad,
so is Penelope herself” (Atwood introduction xxi). In the original text, the character of
the maids is questioned, they are assumed to be treacherous but The Penelopiad provides
us with the other side of the story. They are portrayed as innocent faithful maids, who
were following the commands of their mistress, Penelope. They were asked to spy on the
suitors by all means, even if they had to flirt or sleep with them, for the safety of Penelope
and her son, Telemachus. “I told my twelve young maids – the loveliest, the most beguiling
- to hang around the Suitors and spy on them, using whatever enticing arts they could
invent. No one knew of my instructions but myself and the maids in question; I chose
not to share the secret with Eurycleia – in hindsight, a grave mistake. This plan came to
grief. Several of the girls were unfortunately raped, others were seduced, or were hard
pressed and decided that it was be�er to give in than to resist” (Atwood115). Although
later in the novella, Penelope does mention that the maids were not entirely faithful as
some of them did actually fall in love with the suitors but still this is the only version of
the tale, where the loyalty of the maids is presented. The reason of their unfortunate
death is due to the miscommunication and not the treachery of the maids.
Homer’s “The Odyssey” revolves around the achievements and struggles of the hero of
the novel, Odysseus but Atwood’s work a�empts to present a facet of female existence in
the patriarchal world. She gives importance to the so called less important characters of
the story, who obviously happens to be the women. She successfully depicts the life
journey of Penelope, who struggles from the very day; she enters the world as she was
always deprived of parental affection. “When I was quite young my father ordered me to
be thrown into the sea I never knew exactly why, during my life time, but now I suspect
he’d been told by an oracle that I would weave his shroud. Possibly he thought that if he
killed me first, his shroud would never be woven and he would live forever.” (Atwood 7)
Penelope’s childhood taught her to be self-reliant, strong and independent. Also, her
marriage was not based on love but on a property agreement between her father and her
would be husband, Odysseus. “And so, I was handed over to Odysseus, like a package of
meat”, says Penelope when describing her marriage to Odysseus (Atwood 39).
Penelope knew it very well that no ma�er how clever she is, she will always be treated
as inferior to her husband. “I was clever, everyone said so – in fact they said it so much
that I found it discouraging – but cleverness is a quality a man likes to have in his wife as
long as she is some distance away from him” (Atwood 29). Penelope was able to showcase
her intellect, strength and skills, only after her husband left for the Trojan wars. It is
remarkable, the way she uses her wit to trick the suitors and is able to delay their advances
towards her for years, as she cannot possibly stop them with her physical strength. “She
must complete a woven shroud for her father-in-law before she can choose a new husband.
She works on it all day and then at night she would undo her progress” (Atwood 112).
Also, she was wi�y enough to persuade her maids to spy on the suitors for their motives
and plans, as aforementioned in the paper.
Thus, in Homer’s Odyssey, her life background and perspective on her husband’s time
away is not shared. She is just portrayed as a devoted wife, who awaits for her husband’s
return, like a minor flat character but Atwood’s Penelope is much stronger and wiser,
who does not spend twenty long years, crying and awaiting for her husband’sreturn but
acts according to the situation and keeps away the suitors from fulfilling their treacherous
intentions. Her improvised character indeed resonates with Cixious’s modern day medusa.
Penelope’sside of the story makes clear that she is well aware of the artificial construction
of female myths by the patriarchy. She even exclaims this in the beginning of the novella,
“How they were turning me into a story, or into several stories, though not the kind of
stories I’d prefer to hear about myself. What can a woman do when scandalous gossip
travels the world? If she defends herself, she sounds guilty. So, I waited some more.
(Atwood 3) Thus, Atwood not only, successfully weaves the revised tale of Penelope but
also concentrates on the art of narration and introduces a new, alternative tradition of
women writing.
Similarly, Ali Smith rejiggers Ovid’s, mythological tale of Iphis and Ianthe from
Metamorphoses in her novel, “Girl meets boy”. She a�empts to reframe Ovid’s description
and perception of classical myths for the twentieth century readers by developing a new,
liberating queer feminist model. In the ancient classical period, the word “queer” was
used as an insult, as it was generally considered a colloquial term for homosexuals, which
was embedded by a strong homophobic significance but with changed times, the meaning
of queer changed as it lost its negative connotation. It not only referred to people, who
were a�racted to others of the same sex but also talked about their sexuality, bodies that
did not conform with the societal dominant norms. It turned into a movement of struggle
against the dominant heterosexual culture, which gave voice to those marginalized
sexualities that could not fit into the traditional discourse of gender and sexuality. There
are hardly any classical tales that projects homosexuality in a positive light, even Ovid’s
mythological tale of Iphis and Ianthe, accepts the homosexual relationship only when
Iphis is turned into a boy by goddess Isis. Smith through her version of the classical
myth a�acks this stereotypical notion and presents a beautiful love story of two girls.
She uses her writing as a tool to project a new,liberated thinking, which changes people’s
perception of gender and equality. Her work, “Girl meets boy” creates a fictional space,
which allows refreshing the ancient Ovidian theme of metamorphoses in contemporary
context. Smith mainly focuses on the metamorphoses of the characters, describing their
desires, the fluidity of their identities, according to their sexual preferences and societal
norms. She uses water as a metaphor to express this fluidity of identities, which gradually
broadens the mindset of the characters. It is precisely through the notion of fluidity that
queer theory formulates a new understanding of gender identity by rejecting the binaries
between men and women. The novel is divided into five parts and revolves around the
life of two sisters, namely Imogen and Anthea, who live together in the city of Inverness
in Scotland. Both the sisters’ work in a company called Pure, which manufactures bo�led
water.Anthea, unlike her sister does not like her job as she despises the company’sstrategy
of marketing and fooling innocent people. Another boyish looking girl, named Robin,
who is a graffiti artist, is introduced later in the novel, with whom Imogen gets
romantically involved and the love story of girl meets boyish girl evolves.
The theme of Ovid’s metamorphoses is highlighted in the novel, when Anthea sees
Robin for the first time. “My head, something happened to its insides. It was as if a storm
at sea happened, but only for a moment, and only on the inside of my head. My ribcage,
something definitely happened there. It was as if it unkno�ed itself from itself, like the
hull of a ship hi�ing rock, giving way, and the ship that I was opened wide inside me
and in came the ocean. He was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen in my life. But he
looked really like a girl. She was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen in my life “(Smith
44-45). Anthea, considered by her sister to be straight until now, falls in love.
She finds it difficult to begin to accept that her sister is ‘One of Them’ (Smith 55). Apart
from her some other characters in the novel, for instance, Dominic and Norman, her co-
workers at Pure, also show their dislike towards homosexuality and discuss lesbianism in
terms of ‘marked underdevelopment’ (Smith 69). Initially it becomes really difficult for
Imogen to make peace with the fact that her sister is not “straight” and is interested in the
same sex. She looks for categories to place her sister’s sexuality. “what’s the correct word
for it, I mean, for you? “, Robin replies simply,“The proper word for me … is me” (Smith76).
Smith highlights such taboo of constructed societal binaries, where it is essential for
everyone to fit in the category of either “straight-normal” or “gay-abnormal”. Her
understanding of gender is inspired from the prominent work, “Gender trouble” by
Judith Butler, which highlights the instability and fluidity of gender categories. Butler
asserts that such categorization of gender should be discarded. She supports her argument
with the theory of Michel Foucault and affirms that humans are social products, controlled
by societal norms and various power structures.
Smith projects the need for the society to accept and respect every kind of relationship
in its true sense, through her writing. It should not be like the myth of Iphis and Ianthe,
where Iphis had to transform her body to make things work. “Old stories repeat
themselves, but always to new ends and always to this end: a renewal of vision “(Smith
38). She clearly asserts through her writing that her purpose of reworking on the ancient
tale in the contemporary times was to force the readers to consider a different point of
view in the story. She transposes the ancient tale to the present time and depicts that love
cannot be caged in any category and same sex relations can be successful without the
transformation of one of the partners into the opposite sex. Thus, Smith’s retelling is a story
of love and fluidity of identities. She challenges the myth of fi�ing into societal categories
and creates an uplifting story about the importance of accepting oneself and others.
However, the purpose of my paper is not just to highlight the techniques and methods
employed by the aforementioned contemporary writers to provide an equal space in the
misogynist world but also to question whether the efforts put forth by these writers are
sufficient to find solution for the so called “Gender trouble” in our society? Are they
really successful in doing justice to their claim of providing freedom to the believed
oppressed characters in various ancient mythological characters? Indeed, to some extent
their respective works do contribute to the making of an independent, modern and
assertive individual, be it man or woman, homosexual or heterosexual. Their efforts do
contribute significantly in the trend of retelling of mythology, which inspire a lot many
people to understand the importance of individual rights and equality but somehow, I
feel their methods are not completely successful in deconstructing the performance of
normative gender roles.
For instance, Atwood’s novella, “The Penelopiad”, is believed to be the revised version
of the Odysseys tale, wri�en from a feminist perspective but still it consciously or
unconsciously leads to the social construction of gender. Women from their birth are
trained and taught to become faithful, successful wives or mothers and men being the so
called ‘most important gender’ for the society are trained for other important political,
social, economic works. Marriage for them is not even a concern; it is solely for the purpose
of their entertainment, pleasure and birth of their heirs.
Atwood’s characters unravel the myth of defloration, by their gendered performance.
According to the defloration belief and as mentioned in the novella, “the bride had been
stolen and the consummation of marriage was supposed to be a sanctioned rape…. A
conquest, trampling of foe, a mock killing”. (Atwood 44) Atwood presents the myth as an
act of play, where Odysseus tells Penelope, “forget everything you’ve been told’, he
whispered, ‘I’m not going to hurt you, or not very much. But it would help us both, if
you pretend. I’ve been told you are a clever girl. Do you think we can manage a few
screams?“ (Atwood 44). Penelope performs her femininity “in ways that were suitable for
the wedding night” (Atwood 48). In order to please him she even behaves in a “winsome
and flirtatious manner”. (Atwood 58) But why is there even a need for Penelope to pretend
or perform her gender? She forgets her own individuality in the process of maintaining
the myth and masculinity of her husband. She does not contest against the ritual of making
her a toy, objectification of her sexuality but chooses to ignore it and Atwood in order to
project her efforts in revising the old myth, tries to cover this evil by the caring pretentious
performance of Odysseus, who does not want to hurt his wife but also does not have the
courage to voice out against the wrong. Also, why it is only the duty of Penelope or any
other women to be faithful towards their partners and not expect the same faithfulness
in return. The society and its norms would have definitely questioned the character of
Penelope, if she would have agreed to get involved physically with any one of the suitors
but nobody questions the mighty Odysseus, when he sleeps around with several Goddess
and whores. His actions are considered to be part of normative masculine trait.
Atwood uses satire as her armor to hide Penelope’sconcern for her beauty and her jealously
towards her cousin, the beautiful Helen. In fact, the entire discourse of beauty is itself
sexist in the sense that women are supposed to become the perfect Barbie to gain importance
and a�ention of the world. Also, from the very beginning of her novella, Atwood seems to
be troubled by the killings of the maids in the original work but she does not provide any
reasonable answer to those killings in her work as well. The character of Penelope as the
courageous women did not voice out against the injustice done to her maids.
Although, Atwood in her novella a�empts to depict Penelope as an, intelligent, strong
women but still her efforts to manage her husband’s estate on the island of Ithaca for
twenty years, single handed are not appreciated, the way it should have been. Her
cleverness to keep the suitors away from her estate is not discussed much but rather her
cries and feeble nature, waiting for her husband to end the chaos is highlighted. Even
after enduring so much trouble, at the end her faithfulness is questioned but what about
the faithfulness of Odysseus, to whom the society provides all the rights to cheat his wife
and share the bed with other Goddesses and whores.
Also, Ali Smith’s work, “Girl meets boy” claims to depict the fluidity of gender, which
cannot be controlled or caged but does she really provide that much of freedom to her
characters to choose their own gendered identities? In fact, the title of the novella, itself
contributes in establishing the normality of heterosexual relationships and the abnormality
of homosexuality; it reads as “Girl meets boy” and not “Girl meets Girl”. Although she
asserts that her work is a tale of love and transformation, revelations, story of girls and
boys, girls and girls, an a�empt which hints towards the freedom of gender preference
and beauty of homosexual relationships but by providing masculine characteristics to
Robin, she herself restricts that freedom of love and gender preference. Her work is
believed to be a revised version of Ovid’s myth of Iphis and Ianthe and the very need for
this revision was because both these female characters were not given the freedom to
choose their sexual preference. In order to stay together, Iphis had to transform into a
man but Smith’s rewriting is no different from the ancient tale. Although, her characters,
Imogen and Robin does not undergo any transformation but still she a�ributes masculine
characteristics to Robin for their relationship to work. But why is there even a need for
one of the homosexual partners to behave or act like the opposite sex? Why can’t two
girls or two boys be happy together, having the same personality?
Thus, there is no doubt that the revisions of ancient myths by various contemporary
writers have contributed a lot to liberate the characters from the limitations of imposed
identities, as witnessed in the ancient myth world. The characters, that were represented
as oppressed and marginalized in the past are empowered and fore grounded in the
postmodern world.
Adrienne Rich mentions in her famous essay, “When We Dead Awaken: Writing as Re-
vision” that, “re-vision is an act of survival, consisting of looking back, seeing with fresh
eyes, entering an old text from a new critical direction”, in agreement to her statement, I
believe that surely there is yet a lot to be explored, analyzed and contemplated in the
retellings as well. The aforementioned and discussed works of Margaret Atwood and Ali
Smith reconstruct the classical myth and a�empts to invalidate the false knowledge of
the past to the best of their abilities. Such revised works employ the technique of L’ecriture
feminine writing to deconstruct gender roles and provide voice to the suppressed but
there is always a room for further analyses and further revisions to offer different suitable
versions of the events and the characters.
The English and Foreign Languages University (EFLU), Hyderabad

Works Cited
Atwood. Margaret, The Penelopiad (Toronto: Alfred A. Knopf Canada, 2005).

Bray, Abigail. 2004. Helen Cixous, Writing and Sexual Difference. Palgrave Macmillan.
Butler, Judith. Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity. New York: Routledge,
1999. Print.
Cixous, Helene. “The Laugh of the Medusa.” Signs. Vol.1; no.4 (1976) 875-893.
Cixous, Helene. “Castration or Decapitation?”. Signs, vol. 7; no.1 (1981) 41-55.
Cixous, Helene. 2001. The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Ed. Vincent B. Leitch. New
York: London: W.W Norton & Company.
Conley, Anderma� Verena. 1984. Helene Cixous, Writing the feminine. London: University of
Nebraska Press.
Gilbert, Sandra. “Introduction: A Tarentella of Theory”. Helene Cixous and Catherine Clement.
“The Newly born Woman”.Trans.Betsy Wing (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2001).
Homer. The Odyssey. Trans. Theodore A. Buckley, Cosimo Classics, 2007.
Lacan, Jacques. “The Mirror Stage as Formative of the Function of the I as Revealed in
Psychoanalytic Experience. The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Ed. Vincent B. Leitch et
al. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2001. 1285-90
Le�owi�, Mary R. “Women in Greek Myth”. The American Scholar, vol. 54 (1985): pp. 207-219.
Smith Ali, “Girl meets boy”. Paperback. Penguin Random House, 2007.
What Does It All Mean?
An Approach to Aesthetics of Ancient Chinese Poetry
WANG CHUTONG
Abstract
I n this essay, I will compare different translations of ancient Chinese poetry by Ste-
phen Owen and Xu Yuanchong. I will refer to Book of Poetry and poems from Tang and
Song dynasties as examples. I argue, different translation versions represent different
comprehensions of themes or aesthetics; and understanding artistic techniques of an-
cient Chinese poetry should be one of translation strategies.
Keywords: ancient Chinese poetry, translation, theme, aesthetics, artistic technique
Different Comprehensions of Themes

Many ancient Chinese poems are ambiguous in themes. Different translations may
represent different interpretations of their themes. In this part, I will focus on one poem
in Book of Poetry (Shi Jing 诗经)entitled Bei Feng (北风). In Stephen Owen’s version, the
title is translated as “North Wind,” while in Xu Yuanchong(许渊冲)’s version, “The
Hard Pressed.”
“North Wind”
Chilly is the north wind,
heavy falls the snow;
if you care and love me,
take my hand, we’ll go.
Don’t be shy, don’t be slow-
we must leave now!
Icy is the north wind,
thickly falls the snow;
take my hand, come away.
we must leave now!
No red but the fox,
no black but the crow;
take my hand, share my cart.
we must leave now!
(Owen 1996, p. 35)
An Approach to Aesthetics of Ancient Chinese Poetry / 99
“The Hard Pressed”

The cold north wind does blow.
And thick does fall the snow.
To all my friends I say:
“Hand in hand let us go!
There’s no time for delay,
We must hasten our way.”
The sharp north wind does blow
And heavy falls the snow.
To all my friends I say
“Hand in hand let’s all go!
There’s no time for delay;
Red-handed foxes glow;
Their hearts are black as crow.
To all my friends I say
“In my cart let us go!
There’s no time for delay;
(Yan 2020, p. 66)
《北风》
北风其凉，雨雪其雱。
惠而好我，携手同行。
其虚其邪？既亟只且！
北风其喈，雨雪其霏。
惠而好我，携手同归。
其虚其邪？既亟只且！
莫赤匪狐，莫黑匪乌。
惠而好我，携手同车。
其虚其邪？既亟只且。
Stephen Owen may understand the theme of this poem as love and elopement. A
modern Chinese poet and scholar, Wen Yiduo（闻一多）shares this understanding.
Under this theme, a maid is persuading her lover to run with her. She expresses her
eager desire that her lover should take her hand, share her cart and delay no more.
She is full of self-consciousness and female subjectivity just like Ellen Olenska in Edith
Wharton’s The Age of Innocence or Charlo�e Brontë’s Jane Eyre. This theme may also
lead readers to think about parental pressures on lovers, which have been frequent-
ly discussed in Shakespeare’s works, for instance, Egeus’s pressures on Hermia in A
Midsummer Night’s Dream, or Romeo and Juliet as star-crossed lovers due to family
relations. Owen may also understand the theme as marriage: a youth wants to take his
beloved girl home, and he tells her not to be shy and hesitant. Xu Yuanchong under-
stands the theme differently. He depicts the poem as hard-pressed people’s dissatis-
faction with tyrannical rules. They can bear political pressure no more and decide to
run away together. Zheng Xuan(郑玄), a prominent East Han scholar specializing in
ancient Chinese classics shares Xu’s understanding of the theme. I argue, there could be
different entryways to this poem and all interpretations will help it travel far. Different
translations show different comprehensions of its theme, and a comparative reading of
different translation versions will help us see the original poem from different perspec-
tives. Furthermore, every reading is already a translation.
Different Comprehensions of Aesthetics

In this part, I will focus on Owen’s and Xu’s different translations of a famous Tang
dynasty poet Li Bai(李白)’s Yue Xia Du Zhuo(月下独酌). They understand and depict
moonlight in this poem differently, which I believe represent different aesthetics.
“Drinking Alone by Moonlight”

(Translated by Stephen Owen)
Here among flowers one flask of wine,

with no close friends, I pour it alone.
I lift cup to bright moon, beg its company,
then facing my shadow, we become three.
The moon has never known how to drink;
my shadow does nothing but follow me.
But with moon and shadow as companions the while,
this joy I find must catch spring while it’s here.
I sing, and the moon just lingers on;
I dance, and my shadow flails wildly.
When still sober we share friendship and pleasure,
then, u�erly drunk, each goes his own way
Let us join to roam beyond human cares
and plan to meet far in the river of stars.
(Owen 1996, p. 403)
“Drinking Alone under the Moon”

(Translated by Xu Yuanchong)
Among the flowers, from a pot of wine

I drink without a companion of mine.
I raise my cup to invite the moon who blends
Her light with my Shadow and we’re three friends.
The Moon does not know how to drink her share;
In vain my Shadow follows me here and there.
Together with them for the time I stay,
And make merry before spring’s spent away.
I sing and the moon lingers to hear my song;
My shadow’s a mess while I dance along.
Sober, we three remain cheerful and gay;
Drunken, we part and each may go his way.
Our friendship will outshine our earthly love;
Next time we’ll meet beyond the stars above.
(Xu 2006, 300 Tang Poems, p. 355)
《月下独酌》
花间一壶酒，独酌无相亲。
举杯邀明月，对影成三人。
月既不解饮，影徒随我身。
暂伴月将影，行乐须及春。
我歌月徘徊，我舞影零乱。
醒时同交欢，醉后各分散。
永结无情游，相期邈云汉。
In Owen’s version, the poet begs for the moon’s company. The moon, the shadow,
and the poet gather randomly as three embodiments of solitude—loneliness has not
been alleviated, even strengthened. However, in Xu’s version, the moon blends with
seeming curiosity for human mind and world. The poet then happily invites her into
the group. Along with the shadow, they become three friends.
In Owen’s version, the moonlight, the shadow and the poet do not interact with one
another. “The moon just lingers on (emphasis mine)” when the poet sings. Conversely,
in Xu’s version, the poet sings and the moon then becomes an a�entive audience.
Owen’s version reveals that peaceful moments are often suddenly victimized by
an inevitable mutability and a profound solitude. In Owen’s narrative, the poet bears
deeply in mind that friendship is only shared on the condition of soberness, and that a
drunken spirit will finally go on its own way until it finds its doom. Xu’s version con-
trasts with this sobriety. The poet is blessed with an ethereality full of possibilities. The
moon, the shadow, and the poet as three friends share the happiness, which will later
evolve into an everlasting memory brewed into a fragrant wine. And each may find a
path, which leads somewhere and everywhere.
In addition to the prior point, in Owen’s version, secularity seems what the poet tries
to get rid of. In Xu’s version, it is something to experience and transcend. Owen depicts
the poet, the moonlight and the shadow as three wanderers to move beyond human
cares and find an eternal bliss outside secular boundaries. In Xu’s version, the three
friends cling satisfactorily to earthly love, and not without a wish that their friendship
will outshine the earthly presence. They are cheered up by a fantasy, though quite un-
a�ainable, that they should someday meet beyond the stars.
Moonlight as the focus of this poem plays a very important part in western and Chi-
nese aesthetics. Both western and Chinese poets like using moonlight as a metaphor,
though usually in different ways. In western literary imaginations, moonlight is seldom
connected with pleasant themes. For instance, in Romeo and Juliet, Juliet tells Romeo not
to swear by the moon because she fears the inconstancy of the moon will foreshadow
the variability of their love. In A Midsummer Night’s Dream, when Theseus threatens
Hermia with the prospect of being a nun, he refers to the moon as cold and fruitless.
However, for Chinese, the moon can symbolize transcendence and companionship. For
instance, a Tang dynasty poet Zhang Ruoxu（张若虚）once wrote “The Moon Over the
River on a Spring Night (春江花月夜),” which depicts the moonlight in the most tran-
scendent way. In Zhang’s imaginations, the moon, the sky, and the tide fulfil a poetic
landscape which transcends secularity. In his poetic imagery, the moonlight decorates
people’s dreams with an eternal bliss, and fills people’s hearts when they wish to reunite
with loved ones but cannot. The moonlight can also transcend space and time, which
reaches out to people in the most intimate way, and brings them well wishes from a
faraway land.
The two translation versions of Li Bai’s Yue Xia Du Zhuo (drinking under moonlight)
are two narratives, and their different depictions of moonlight show different aesthet-
ics. They both delete, add, misuse and appropriate some parts of the original poem. I
argue, the subtlety and exuberance of the poem dwell upon different readings, both
by people geographically nearer to the aesthetics, like Xu Yuanchong, and psycholog-
ically intrigued by the aesthetics, like Stephen Owen. An ancient Chinese philosopher,
Zhuangzi, once argues, “‘this’ is also ‘that,’ ‘that’ is also ‘this.’ When we cannot tell
from ‘this,’ we can tell from ‘that,’ and vice versa.” (Zhuang 2018, p. 67) He believes one
side, through which people project and express, and the other side, through which peo-
ple receive and take, will eventually help clarify and prove each other. Xu Yuanchong
reconstructs the poem from within-the-context, while Stephen Owen reimagines the
poem from beyond-the-context, which are both beneficial.
The Opening Image and Human Sentiments: How to Understand Their Connec-
tion?
Even though all entryways are beneficial, I argue we still need to know how ancient
Chinese poems were created in their own era, which will not help explain all, but ex-
plain more. In this part, I will discuss one artistic technique in ancient Chinese poetry:
‘Xing (兴).’ Many western scholars have been puzzled about arbitrary connections be-
tween opening images of Chinese poems and human sentiments. Stephen Owen is one
of them. He once commented: “In many cases the connection between the opening im-
age and the human sentiment seems arbitrary, perhaps an accident of rhyme or play on
an image that may have been associated with a tune or tune type.” (Owen 1996, p. 43)
But this is not the case. The connection is not arbitrary. Besides, it is deeply rooted in
ancient Chinese aesthetics known as ‘Xing,’ which literally means ‘evoking.’ In Wenx-
in Diaolong (Literary Mind and Dragon Carving文心雕龙), one of the most well-wri�en
works on ancient Chinese literary theory, one chapter is entitled ‘Bi Xing(比兴),’ which
deals with the concept and practice of ‘Bi (comparing)’ and ‘Xing (evoking).’ ‘Bi’ and
‘Xing’ are defined in the following way:
‘Bi(comparing)’ is to compare the characteristic of an object with that of another, while

‘Xing(evoking)’ is to evoke human sentiments. By ‘comparing the characteristic of an
object with that of another,’ I mean highlighting of the characteristic by drawing a con-
nection between two different things; by ‘evoking human sentiments,’ I mean the meta-
phorical expression of human sentiments regarding the subtle relationship between two
different things.
(Liu 1982, p. 307)
Zhu Xi（朱熹), a leading scholar in Song dynasty, wrote a book entitled Comments on
Book of Poetry (Shiji Zhuan诗集传), which has become a must-read for later generations
in Yuan, Ming and Qing dynasties. He sees many poems in Book of Poetry as marvellous
examples of ‘Xing,’ which he defines in the following way: “poets use ‘Xing’ when they
begin their poems with discussions of other objects, and then gradually elaborate their
main argument along with expressions of human sentiments.” (Zhu 2007, p. 2)
Many ancient Chinese poems begin with the discussion of seemingly random objects,
which in fact is not random at all. Since many western translators of ancient Chinese
poetry do not bear ‘Xing (evoking)’ as an artistic technique in mind, their translation
versions sometimes do not engage the opening image with subtly-expressed human
sentiments in a proper way. I will focus on a comparative reading of Stephen Owen’s
and Xu Yuanchong’s translations of Book of Poetry, to be�er explain ‘Xing (evoking).’
I will take three poems as examples. In Owen’s version, they are entitled “Fishhawk,”
“Peach Tree Soft and Tender” and “Gather the Fiddleheads.” In Xu’s version, they are
entitled “Cooing and Wooing,” “The Newly-wed” and “A Home-sick Warrior.”
“Fishhawk”
The fishhawks sing gwan gwan
on sandbars of the stream.
Gentle maiden, pure and fair,
fit pair for a prince.
Watercress grows here and there,
right and left we gather it.
wanted waking and asleep.
Wanting, sought her, had her not,
waking, sleeping, thought of her,
on and on he thought of her,
he tossed from one side to another.
right and left we pull it.
with harps we bring her company.
right and left we pick it out.
with bells and drums do her delight.
(Owen 1996, pp. 30-31)
“Cooing and Wooing”
By riverside a pair
Of turtledoves are cooing;
There is a maiden fair
whom a young man is wooing.
Water flows left and right
Of cresses here and there;
The youth yearns day and night
For the maiden so fair.
His yearning grows so strong,
He cannot fall asleep,
But tosses all night long,
So deep in love, so deep!
Now gather left and right
Cress long or short and tender!
O lute, play music light
For the fiancée so slender!
Feast friends at left and right
On cresses cooked tender!
O bells and drums, delight
The bride so sweet and slender!
(Yan 2020, p. 2)
《关雎》
关关雎鸠，在河之洲。
窈窕淑女，君子好逑。
参差荇菜，左右流之。
窈窕淑女，寤寐求之。
求之不得，寤寐思服。
悠哉悠哉，辗转反侧。
参差荇菜，左右采之。
窈窕淑女，琴瑟友之。
参差荇菜，左右芼之。
窈窕淑女，钟鼓乐之。
Many readers may ask, why does the poem begin with ‘The fishhawks sing gwan
gwan?’ What is the relation between the singing of fishhawks and a fair maid fit for a
prince? How does watercress function in this poem? What does it all mean? A quick ex-
planation: This is ‘Xing (evoking).’ In Zhu Xi’s Comments on Book of Poetry (Shiji Zhuan),
he explains with details why fishhawks (or turtledoves in Xu’s version) and watercress
make sense. ‘Gwan Gwan’ is the sound fishhawks make when wooing partners. They
make a perfect pair by the riverside, with sincere fondness and trust for each other. A
well-bred beautiful maid also fascinates a noble prince’s heart. How the prince wish-
es he could make a lovely pair with the lady, and witness the flow of time together
with her, just like these water birds! The watercress grows here and there waiting to
be picked out. The fair maid, who enlightens the prince’s imagination, and whom the
prince eagerly wishes to embrace even in dreams, also waits to be pursued, just like the
watercress expecting to be discovered by someone. (See Zhu 2007, pp. 2-3)
Owen’s translation does not draw a connection between fishhawks’ cooing and a
prince’s wooing. The collecting of watercress and the pursuit of a fair maid are also ar-
bitrarily connected in his narrative. But in Xu’s version, he sees how the sound of cooing
could be compared with wooing. He also makes each section of his narrative rhythmic,
which may arouse readers’ imaginations about in-built connections, as is suggested in
“Now gather left and right / Cress long or short and tender! / O lute, play music light! /
For the fiancée so slender!”
The next poem I will discuss is about a newly-wed maid, who shares something in
common with a soft and tender peach tree.
“Peach Tree Soft and Tender”
Peach tree soft and tender,
how your blossoms glow!
The bride is going to her home,
she well befits this house.
plump, the ripening fruit.
she well befits this house.
its leaves spread thick and full.
she well befits these folk.
(Owen 1996, p. 34)
“The Newly-wed”
The peach tree beams so red;
How brilliant are its flowers!
The maiden’s ge�ing wed,
Good for the nuptial bowers.
How plentiful its fruit!
The maiden’s ge�ing wed;
She’s the family’s root.
Its leaves are lush and green.
The maiden’s ge�ing wed;
On household she will be keen.
(Yan 2020, p. 8)
《桃夭》
桃之夭夭，灼灼其华。
之子于归，宜其室家。
桃之夭夭，有蕡其实。
之子于归，宜其家室。
桃之夭夭，其叶蓁蓁。
之子于归，宜其家人。
This poem describes the beauty of a newly-wed maid, which is also a great example
of ‘Xing (evoking).’ The peach tree beaming red represents a proper time for marriage,
and it pleases the poet’s eyes. A beautiful maid’s virtue, in the poet’s eyes, will well fit
her new household, and what she brings to the new family must be as pleasant as the
fragrance and elegance of the peach tree. Xu’s translation makes the focus of this poem
clearer, as he directly translates the title into “The Newly-wed.” And through a mas-
terful use of rhymes, Xu also helps readers see peach tree and a newly-wed maid not
randomly connected, but share characteristics in common: the flower beaming red sym-
bolizes the maid’s beauty; the plentiful fruit of peach trees may symbolize the maid’s
fertility and future contributions to the household; the lushness and greenness of the
leaves of peach trees also symbolize the future prosperity and harmony in the house-
hold. In Owen’s version, the above-said connections are vague, which may be because
of his repetitive use of similar sentence pa�erns like “well befits this house” and “the
bride is going to her home” without further explanations.
The following poem depicts a warrior in a foreign land, who is melancholic when
seeing fiddleheads around, and desperately wishes to go back home.
“Gather the Fiddleheads”
Gather them, gather them, fiddlehead ferns,
fiddleheads now start to grow.
We want to go home, to go home
for the year soon comes to a close.
We have no house, we have no home
all because of the Xian-yun.
No chance to sprawl, no chance to sit,
all because of the Xian-yun. …
Long ago we marched away

with willows budding in a haze.
Back we come today,
in falling snow, sifting down.
Slowly we walk the way,
we hunger and we thirst.
Our hearts are wounded with pain,
no man knows how much we mourn.
(Owen 1996, pp. 41-42)
“A Homesick Warrior”
We gather fern,
Which springs up here.
Why not return,
Now ends the year?
We left dear ones,
To fight the Huns.
We wake all night:
The Huns cause fright.…
When I left here,
Willows shed tear.
I come back now,
Snow bends the bough.
Long, long the way
Hard, hard the day.
Hunger and thirst
Press me the worst.
My grief o’erflows.
Who knows? Who knows?
(Yan 2020, p. 212)
《采薇》
采薇采薇，薇亦作止。
曰归曰归，岁亦莫止。
靡室靡家，猃狁之故。
不遑启居，猃狁之故。
……
昔我往矣，杨柳依依。
今我来思，雨雪霏霏。
行道迟迟，载渴载饥。
我心伤悲，莫知我哀！
In this poem, the poet describes the melancholy of homesick warriors: how they are
exhausted by wars and wish to return home to reunite with loved ones. The first stanza
is also a wonderful example of ‘Xing (evoking).’ Why does the poet begin with dis-
cussions of fiddleheads to evoke? According to Zhu Xi’s explanation, these warriors
gather fiddleheads and eat them when they are in a foreign land, and the fiddleheads
remind them of “long, long the way” and “hard, hard the day.” (See Zhu 2007, p. 123)
Therefore, they use what they see and eat daily to represent themselves, a despair, a
weariness, and a hunger to go back home. Again, Xu’s version makes the focus of the
poem clearer in the title. Besides, Xu interweaves the poet’s genuine and subtle senti-
ments into his translation, even adding some parts. For instance, he changes the last
part of the poem into a question—not only a statement of warriors’ profound grief that
“Our hearts are wounded with pain, / no man knows how much we mourn,” but also
a desire to receive a response, and a spontaneous overflow of concrete sadness, which
evolves into a poetic talent and drives them to ask “Hunger and Thirst / Press me the
worst. / My grief o’er flows. / Who knows? Who knows?” These lines also move future
readers’ heart.
How to Understand Scenery Depictions in Chinese Poems?

In this part, I will discuss another artistic technique in ancient Chinese poetry: the
connection between scenery depictions and emotions. I will focus on Owen’s and Xu’s
different translations of a famous Tang dynasty poet Du Fu (杜甫)’s Chun Wang(view in
spring春望) in particular.
In the poem Cai Wei (采薇 gather the fiddleheads) discussed above, the line about willow
is well-known among Chinese readers. Owen translates it as “Long ago we marched
away / with willows budding in a haze.” Xu translates it as “When I left here, / willows
shed tears.” ‘Willow (柳liǔ) in Chinese, is similar in pronunciation to ‘stay(留 liú).’ “Wil-
lows budding in a haze” is not a random depiction, but represents a melancholy when
people wave goodbye to each other—a secret wish to stay, even though not allowed by
actual circumstances. Readers can also get to know more about the metaphor of willow
in one of Li Bai’s poems entitled “Hearing the Flute on a Spring Night in Luoyang(
春夜洛城闻笛).” It goes like this: “From whose house has come the song of jade flute
unseen? / It fills the town of Luoyang, spread by wind of spring. / Tonight I hear the
farewell song of Willow Green. / To whom the tune will not nostalgic feeling bring?”
（谁家玉笛暗飞声，散入春风满洛城。此夜曲中闻折柳，何人不起故园情？）(Xu 2006,
300 Tang Poems, p. 143) In ancient China, people break a twig of willow when they part
with friends, which symbolizes farewell and nostalgia.
Wang Guowei（王国维）, a literary critic in Qing Dynasty, once commented on the
relations between scenery depictions and human sentiments in the following way.
“When poets project themselves into objects in the surroundings, all these objects add a
colour with human sentiments. When poets a�empt to be absent from objects in the sur-
roundings, the boundary between poets and objects becomes blurred” (Wang 1998, p. 1)
Wang refers to two poetic lines which represent ‘projection into objects in the surround-
ings.’ One is from Ouyang Xiu（欧阳修）’s “Bu�erflies in Love with Flowers（蝶恋
花）.” “My tearful eyes ask flowers, but they fail to bring / an answer, I see red blooms
fly over the swing（泪眼问花花不语，乱红飞过秋千去）.” (Xu 2006, 300 Song Lyrics,
p. 195) The other is from Qin Guan（秦观）’s “Treading on Grass（踏莎行）.” “Shut
up in lonely inn, can I bear the cold spring? / I hear at lengthening sunset homebound
cuckoos sing（可堪孤馆闭春寒，杜鹃声里斜阳暮）.” (Xu 2006, 300 Song Lyrics, p. 319)
Most poets in ancient China tend to project themselves into objects of surroundings,
and human sentiments are in a metaphorical way well-expressed through scenery de-
pictions. We may thus get to understand Du Fu’s Chun Wang (the view in spring) be�er.
“The View in Spring”
A kingdom smashed, its hills and rivers still here,
spring in the city, plants and trees grow deep.
Moved by the moment, flowers splash with tears,

alarmed at parting, birds startle the heart.
War’s beacon fires have gone on three months,
le�ers from home are worth thousands in gold.
Fingers run through white hair until it thins,
cap-pins will almost no longer hold.
(Owen 1996, p. 420)
“Spring View”
On war-torn land streams flow and mountains stand;
In vernal town grass and weeds are overgrown.
Grieved over the years, flowers make us shed tears;
Hating to part, hearing birds break our heart.
The beacon fire has gone higher and higher;
Words from household are worth their weight in gold.
I cannot bear to scratch my grizzled hair;
It grows too thin to hold a light hairpin.
(Xu 2006, 300 Tang Poems, p. 147)
In Owen’s version, flowers can splash with tears and birds can startle the heart. He
creatively vivifies and personifies flowers and birds. In Xu’s version, there is a more
intimate connection between sceneries and emotions. Flowers can make people shed
tears, and birds’ song can speak to people’s heart. The poet projects himself into objects
around him when thinking about the past splendours of the nation, the mutability of
fate, the good old days which gradually sink into oblivion, and his own patriotic heart
beyond any doubts. Scenery depictions and human emotions are interwoven. Both Ow-
en’s and Xu’s translation versions are faithful to the poet’s subtle and profound senti-
ments.
A Tentative Conclusion
In this essay, I have talked about how different comprehensions of themes and aes-
thetics result in different translation styles and strategies; the artistic technique ‘Xing
(evoking),’ and the connection between scenery depictions and human emotions. I have
argued all entryways to ancient Chinese poems are beneficial; readers may get nearer
to aesthetics of original poems with more knowledge about literary contexts and tech-
niques; and different translation versions represent different aesthetics. There are many
other aspects of ancient Chinese poetry worth discussing, which include picturesque
and musicality. I hope I could have a future chance to write about them. Chinese aes-
thetics could and should contribute to the vastness of literary imaginations shared by
humankind, and hopefully this essay may enlighten more discussions.
Tsinghua University, China

Works Cited
Liu Xie. Wenxin Diaolong (Literary Mind and Dragon Carving). Nanning: Li River Press, 1982.
（刘勰.文心雕龙.南宁：漓江出版社，1982.）
Owen, Stephen. An Anthology of Chinese Literature: Beginnings to 1911. London: W. W. Norton &
Company, 1996.
Wang Guowei. Renjian Cihua (Comments on Chinese Poems and Lyrics). Shanghai: Shanghai Ancient
Classics Press, 1998.
（王国维.人间词话.上海：上海古籍出版社，1998.）
Xu Yuanchong, trans. 300 Song Lyrics. Beijing: China Translation & Publishing Corporation, 2006.
（许渊冲（译）.宋词三百首.北京：中译出版社，2006.）
Xu Yuanchong, trans. 300 Tang Poems. Beijing: China Translation & Publishing Corporation, 2006.
（许渊冲（译）.唐诗三百首.北京：中译出版社, 2006.）
Yan Hong. Yanyan Yufei: Meide zhixide Shijing (Swallows Flying Together: Beautiful Book of Poetry).
Trans. Xu Yuanchong. Wuhan: Changjiang Literature & Art Publishing House, 2020.
（闫红.燕燕于飞：美得窒息的诗经.许渊冲（译）.武汉：长江文艺出版社，2020.）
Zhu Xi. Shiji Zhuan (Comments on Book of Poetry). Nanjing: Phoenix Press, 2007.
（朱熹.诗集传.南京：凤凰出版社，2007.）
Zhuang Zhou. Zhuangzi Jinzhu Jinyi (Translations and Comments on Zhuangzi). Beijing: The Com-
mercial Press, 2018.
（庄周.庄子今注今译.北京：商务印书馆, 2018.）
Right to Untranslatability
and Hospitality of World Literature
TINGWEN XU
Abstract
F or translation studies, untranslatability has long been deemed as an obstacle which

engenders linguistic and cultural loss of the source text. In terms of world literature’s
development, however, untranslatability can be regarded as the right of non-English
literature to resist the Anglocentric literary mainstream. By examining the Chinese texts
chosen for translation after 1949 and studying the untranslatability of literature from
assorted trajectories within the Chinese context, this paper discusses the possibility
for Chinese literature to enjoy the right to untranslatability in the international literary
sytem that seems to be Anglocentric, based on which exploring the hospitality of world
literature at present.
Keywords: untranslatability, world literature, literary hegemony, Chinese literature.
Speaking in narrow terms, translation is to find the equivalent expressions of the source
text in the target language. On account of the linguistic and cultural differences, it is
almost unavoidable to encounter, for instance, terms, concepts or styles that cannot be
rendered, the phenomenon of which named by Catford (1965) as untranslatability. In
translation studies, untranslatability has long been regarded as an obstacle that hinders
the process of translation. However, it is such untranslatability that enables translation
to mark the peculiarity of the source language-culture(s). By retaining the exclusive
features, non-English writings can emphasize their linguistic and cultural identities in
the domain of world literature. In this sense, untranslatability can be deemed as a way
of resisting the Anglocentric literary mainstream. Hence, it seems to be increasingly
essential to have a discussion about the right to untranslatability and the role translation
plays in strengthening the position of various non-English literature.
To translate Chinese literary works into English is always a challenge, encountering
difficulties such as polysemy and realia. With the more frequent interlingual and cross-
cultural communications between the east and the west, untranslatability has become
a popular topic in the studies on the exportation of Chinese literature. Fan Min (2007),
for instance, examines the cultural issues in translating Chinese idioms in Honglou Meng
(Dream of the Red Chamber). Laurence Wong (1997) and Helena Wu (2012) discuss
respectively the untranslatable elements in wuxia xiaoshuo (martial arts fiction) which
is a unique genre of Chinese literature. These researches, as well as other studies from
similar perspectives, stress more on the cultural connotations hard to translate and the
strategies used to ameliorate the untranslatability of Chinese literature. But it might also
be intriguing to discuss the possibility of preserving such untranslatability in Chinese
literature, especially when the monolingual understanding of world literature is meant
to be eliminated.
Right to Untranslatability and Hospitality of World Literature / 111
1. Liberty of the Source Texts

The right to untranslatability, as is interpreted in this article, refers to the liberty of
Chinese literature and other non-English literature to choose what to be (un)translated
and the way of translation such as strategies employed to render a text into English. Since
the global literary system seems to be Anglocentric, it is essential to first have a discussion
about whether Chinese literature is now enjoying the right to untranslatability. Back
in the middle of the twentieth century, non-western textual traditions made their first
appearance during the decolonization era. However, such engagement of non-English
literature has been made through the “philological Orientalism” which is incorporated
“in a genealogy of cultural power that current theorizations hide [partially] from view
(Mufti 2010: 459; 461)”. The world literary system, although seemingly diversified, is in
essence still operated in a monolingual way. Such point of view can be fortified through
the study of the English translations of Chinese literature. To some extent, the hegemony
of English literature is reflected in the selection of the Chinese texts. Instead of being
decided by Chinese authors or translators, Chinese literature’s right to be (un)translated
seems to be often in the hand of western sinologists or the market of English literature.
“Many Chinese writers claim that what gets translated into English are not the most
representative works, but the works most accessible to the understanding of Western
readers (Balcom 2008: 19)”.
If one looks up the archives of English literary reviews such as Times Literary
Supplement, it is easy to conclude that the Chinese works translated into English since
1949 can be divided into the following categories, namely ancient Chinese classics, novels
concerning the turmoil of revolution and few contemporary ones written by Chinese
authors recognized by the western academia. Contemporary Chinese literature with
less ideological concerns or written by less-known authors seem to be ignored to a large
extent. Some might argue that such phenomenon results from the fact that there are no
excellent literary works from China in the modern times. This can be partly confirmed by
the negative comments on contemporary Chinese literature back in the 1950s to 1970s. For
instance, in the 1955 volume of TLS, the literary pieces published in Chinese Literature, an
influential literary periodical of China, were criticized as “deadly dull”1. To some extent,
the deficiency of contemporary Chinese literature in the English literary domain could
be ascribed to the lack of Chinese masterpieces during that historical period. However,
the untranslatability of Chinese literature as was mirrored in such deficiency was also
the deliberate choice of the English-speaking countries in consideration of both market
demand and ideological struggle. Such conclusion was drawn because the situation of
contemporary Chinese literature in western countries did not change in the following
decades even when Chinese literature reached its peak in the 1980s.
During this prime time of Chinese literature, Foreign Language Press of China published
“Panda books” that compiled the English versions of the qualified Chinese literature
selected from all historical periods. Nevertheless, this book series failed to arouse the
interest of the western audience. The readers had no interest in the “dull” life of China,
but were fascinated more by “the many bestselling memoirs and real-life horror stories
that have come out of post-Mao China” such as Life and Death in Shanghai (1986) by
Zheng Nian which records the author’s personal experiences during the Great Cultural
Revolution (1966-1976). The “Panda books”, with the intention to imitate the “Penguin
books”, were “more like introductions to university texts and school readers” (Kneissl
2007: 204). Yet even in the academic context, Chinese authors and translators still failed
to enjoy the right to decide what to be (un)translated. Ancient Chinese literature seemed
to be more popular than the contemporary pieces in Sinological studies. The Golden Casket
(1965), a collection of traditional short stories from ancient China chosen by sinologists,
was published in English in the 1960s despite the fact that it might not be “academic”
enough since the stories are “weak in characterization and realistic detail…[and] poorly
constructed”. Obviously, Chinese intellectuals tried to select texts according to Chinese
aesthetics, but the right to untranslatability was still seized by the Anglocentric literary
system. Chinese authors were not influenced by such trend, but “surely it affect[ed] what
gets translated and published”(Kinkley 2002: 275) because Chinese translators then had to
render ancient Chinese classics “to attract foreign readers to have a look at contemporary
Chinese literature” (Ni 2012: 25)2. Nowadays, Chinese literature is still struggling for
such right. Howard Goldblatt, an American sinologist that dedicates to the translation
of contemporary Chinese literature, used to say that he has a standard for translation,
i.e. to translate only the literature that is able to be published in the western countries3.
Although his excellent translation is believed to have helped the Chinese author Mo Yan
win the Nobel Prize, it is still difficult for him to find a place in the western market for
other contemporary Chinese writers such as Liang Xiaosheng.
2. The Invisible Source Language

The loss of the right to untranslatability of Chinese literature is also reflected in the
role Chinese language plays in the process of translation. There seems to be a strange
phenomenon that English-speaking translators who know nothing about Chinese
language can carry out the work of rendering Chinese literature. The Golden Casket, for
instance, was translated into English from not the original Chinese text, but the German
version. Such means of translating Chinese literature is “a roundabout way…that has
been tried before and has yet to be thoroughly successful”4. With the absence of the
original text, the English version of this book fails to follow the concise style of ancient
Chinese short stories. Its verbosity can be discerned in the following translation of the
story “Li Wa Zhuan (Story of a Singsong Girl)” written by Bai Xingjian of the Tang
Dynasty (618–907A.D.)
ST:
生忽见之，不觉停骖久之，徘徊不能去。
TT1:
Catching sight of her so unexpectedly, the young man involuntarily reined in his horse
and for some time stood rooted to the spot as if under a spell. Then he rode up and
down without being able to summon the strength of purpose to continue on his way.
(by Christopher Levenson)
TT2:
When he saw her, the young man unconsciously reined in his horse and hesitated,
unable to tear himself away.
(by Yang Xianyi and Gladys Yang)5
The original sentence only contains fifteen Chinese characters, while Levenson’s
translation is long-winded. Compared with the Yangs’ translation which is more accurate,
it is also apparent that Levenson’s version deviates from the source text. The most
obvious mistakes lie in the two underlined phrases which have never appeared in the
Chinese text. The absence of source language in the translation of Chinese literature was
a common phenomenon back in the 1960s because “only a handful of people will be able
to enjoy [Chinese literature] in the original” although there was “the mushrooming of
Chinese departments in universities.” It was then natural for the western literary circle
to witness the birth of Cathay (1915), a collection of classical Chinese poetry rewritten in
English by Ezra Pound, the translator again being utterly ignorant of Chinese language.
T. S. Eliot’s appraised, in the 1928 introduction to Selected Poems, that Ezra Pound was
“the inventor of Chinese poetry”. Such comment was literally true because the poems in
Cathay were “translated” on the basis of Ernest Fenollosa’s notes on the classical Chinese
poetry. Intriguingly, Fenollosa knew perhaps only little about Chinese language and thus
studied the poems with Japanese poets and scholars who used in teaching the method of
kundoku. The word means reading the Chinese characters using Japanese pronunciations
which allows those who lack the knowledge of Chinese language to study Chinese
poetry. Fenollosa’s notes on Chinese poems only encompassed, consequently, the original
Chinese text, the Japanese pronunciation of the Chinese characters and the English
meaning of each character. In other words, Chinese language was almost entirely excluded
in the whole process of creating Cathay. Predictably, Cathay was largely influenced by
Japanese and holds little fidelity to the original Chinese poetry. In the translation of the
following poem “Seeing Meng Haoran off at Yellow Crane Tower” by the Tang poet Li
Bai, it is noteworthy that Pound did a literal translation. The term “smoke-flower”, for
instance, is the word-to-word translation of the two Chinese characters “烟 (smoke)” and
“花 (flower)” while the connotative meaning of the Chinese phrase “烟花” should be the
beautiful scenery in spring. Moreover, the words “Ko-jin” and “Ko-kaku-ro” obviously
have Japanese origin, resulting from the kundoku teaching method. Pound also abandoned
Chinese poetry’s convention of using sentences of even numbers.
ST:
故人西辞黄鹤楼，烟花三月下扬州。
孤帆远影碧空尽，唯见长江天际流。
TT1:
Ko-Jin goes west from Ko-kaku-ro,
The smoke-flowers are blurred over the river.
His lone sail blots the far sky.
And now I see only the river,
The long Kiang, reaching heaven.
(translated by Ezra Pound)
TT2:
My friend has left the west where towers Yellow Crane,
For River Town while willow-down and flowers reign.
His lessening sail is lost in the boundless azure sky,
Where I see but the endless River rolling by.
(translated by Xu Yuanchong, a famed Chinese translator)
From the above examples, it can be indicated that not only does Chinese literature fail to
decide what to be (un)translated into English, it also encounters difficulty in using Chinese
as the source language in the process of translation which reflects from another perspective
that Chinese literature has been deprived of its right to untranslatability. Some might
say that such way of translation helps Chinese literature circulate internationally. For
example, although The Golden Casket is inadequate as for its translation, it has introduced
for the first time some ancient Chinese short stories never rendered into English. However,
one must be wary of whether the absence of the source language in translation is the
expedient to integrate non-English works into the global literary system or a means of
strengthening the monolingual hegemony of world literature.
3. Recapture of the Right to Untranslatability

It is apparent that the right to untranslatability as for Chinese literature is still grasped
by the Anglocentric literary circle. It is then worth considering whether there is possibility
for Chinese literature to get its right back and put into practice such untranslatability
at its own will in the Anglophone literary milieu. It seems to be a simple task: to resist
translating the literary works into English or to select the works based on the indigenous
aesthetics and translate them properly into English other than localizing entirely the
untranslatable elements. But in effect, the situation may be more complicated. The
former idea seems to be a drastic way of rejecting the Anglocentric understanding of
world literature and is consequently advocated by some authors who support strongly
non-English literature. The Welsh poet Twm Morus, for example, has refused to have his
works translated into English in order to be “in solidarity with a beleaguered culture”6.
Similar point of view is adopted in terms of the translation of African languages into
English. Such translation is regarded by some scholars as “a form of containment” or as,
in a metaphorical way, a “colony” (Coetzee 2013: 383-4). Translation can be, as is believed
by Niranjana (1992: 2), “a practice shapes, and takes shape within, the asymmetrical
relations of power that operate under colonialism”. It is hence deemed as a resort to
“marginalize the original utterance or text” and consequently “serves to extend and
confirm monolingual privilege” (Coetzee 2013: 383; 388). Thus, it seems necessary to
oppose such translation with the purpose to “destabilize the hegemony of English” (ibid.:
383). But such refusal, if interpreted from another perspective, can be regarded as a kind
of silence. Instead of resisting the current inequality in world literature, such refusal
is actually handing over the right to untranslatability of non-English literature to the
Anglophone groups, being “an inadvertent running-dog for the Anglocentric narrative”7.
The latter idea of choosing literature for English translation on the basis of the aesthetics
of the source language-culture may sound familiar. This was exactly what the “Panda
books” did and the result of such effort is clearly mentioned in the previous discussion.
Although there might be difficulties from both linguistic and cultural aspects, the
translation of Chinese literature is not a job that cannot be completed. However, it will
be pointless to do so if no one has the interest to read the rendered Chinese works. To
include Chinese literature in the world literary domain means more than a self-complacent
monodrama with translation employed as the main “playwright”. According to some
existing examples of translating Chinese literature into English, even for those works
that taking into consideration both Chinese literary aesthetics and western standards, it
is still grueling for them to fully establish themselves in the Anglocentric system of world
literature. The works of Mo Yan, said Howard Goldblatt, attracted the attention of the
English readers only within the first three months after the author acquired the Nobel
Prize for literature8. Professor Goldblatt is an experienced translator of contemporary
Chinese literature, and therefore it can be inferred that he knows well the needs of both
the Chinese and English sides. However, the translated Chinese works only enjoyed a
transient success in the English-speaking countries.
The Three Body Problem trilogy which has been awarded the Hugo Prize in 2015, is
another “popular” Chinese literature in the West in recent years. It has faced a situation
similar to Mo Yan’s works. Although this sci-fi series received positive comments from
icons in non-literary areas such as Cameron who was “stunned and blown-away” by the
novels and Obama who “ended up in really liking [the story]”, it was undeniable that
the trilogy was more popular in countries like Japan than in the western countries.9 Liu
Cixin, the author of this sci-fi trilogy, is the successor of the literary aesthetics of Arthur
C. Clarke, the well-renowned British sci-fi writer. Liu said that all his works are the
poor imitation of Clarke’s 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968). Science fiction is a literary genre
that roots deeply in western popular culture which makes it easier for The Three Body
Problem to find a place in the English market than other canonized Chinese literature.
Although Liu’s trilogy starts with the Great Cultural Revolution which is of Chinese
flavor, most of its designs as for characters and plots can be integrated in the English
sci-fi system. If such novel which is connected closely to English literature is still under
strain in the domain of world literature, it will no doubt be difficult for other Chinese
fictions to recapture the right of untranslatability. Qin Qiang (Qin Opera), for example,
is a representative novel written by Jia Pingwa, a famous author in China. The novel is
about a unique kind of local Chinese opera and the profound changes in the rural area
during the reform and opening-up period of China. It is now deemed as a contemporary
classic in China. His translator Howard Goldblatt, nevertheless, suspected whether this
book would have readers in the English world. Chinese literature with high quality but
low market expectation is experiencing difficulty even in finding a publisher in the West,
let alone enjoy the right of untranslatability in the Anglocentric literary system.
Likewise, strategies such as foreignization can certainly be adopted as for the linguistic
and cultural parts which are untranslatable in the Chinese texts. However, such attempt
may only be regarded as a means of adding an exotic touch to the target text because the
English-speaking readers perhaps cannot be bothered to dig up what is buried under
the untranslatability, especially when footnotes are not commonly applied in English
literature. Regrettably, “there has never been a Chinese [literary] blockbuster in an
overseas market (Kinkley 2002: 274)”. For a long time, “the majority of translations of
[Chinese] fiction…[has been] done by sinologists for other sinologists” (Kneissl 2007: 205).
Such phenomenon seems to echo the above argument that only those experts (usually
sinologists) who are interested in China and its culture will have a positive attitude
towards the untranslatability of Chinese literature. The Golden Casket, Pound’s Cathay
and Mo Yan’s translated works, for example, all raised more attention in the English
academic circle than in the western public. To take back the right to untranslatability may
sound easy, but it is in effect an arduous and complex task for Chinese literature. It then
becomes significant for those who are concerned with the international development of
Chinese literature to find out the reasons behind this plight in order to fight for equality
in the Anglocentric literary system.
4. Hospitality as the Foundation

The rationale behind such difficulty may lie in the fact that the English literary circle
lacks the foundation for accepting Chinese language-culture. Translation, as an activity
including both linguistic and cultural transfer, can be deemed as an important way
of spreading foreign cultures. By adapting and adding the “foreign import” to the
“indigenous culture”, traditions of the recipient can be changed which, from time to time,
is even reckoned as a “driving-force of history” (Eisenberg 2005: 99-100). Nevertheless,
such acculturation through translation will be affected by factors such as the willingness of
the target audience to accept the source language-culture. From the previous discussion,
it can be indicated that the global literary system with an Anglocentric narrative is not
that hospitable to non-English literature. Difficulty in creating the diversity of world
literature is then inevitable because the success of such aspiration not only calls for the
participation of the source language-culture, but also requires the efforts of the target
language-culture. Chinese wuxia xiaoshuo (martial arts fiction), contains possibly more
untranslatable elements than other Chinese literary genres because of its strong Chinese
characteristics. However, websites such as “Wuxiaworld” has been established by the
foreign fans of this Chinese genre. Despite the challenges in translation, the aficionados
have translated voluntarily and successfully some wuxia fictions. It proves that the right
to untranslatability can be enjoyed when readers from the recipient countries are ready
to welcome the source language-culture. Another attestation of such argument is related
to the translation of Buddhist sutras in ancient China.
Back in 68 A.D., White Horse Temple was established by the feudal government of the
Eastern Han as the first Buddhist temple in China. Since then, Buddhism has played a
pivotal role in the spiritual life of Chinese people. The admiration of Buddhism reached
its peak in the Six Dynasties (222–589A.D.) and the Tang Dynasty (816–907A.D.). The
well-known Chinese monk and translator Xuanzang (602–664A.D.) travelled to India in
the seventh century, bringing back plentiful Buddhist classics which were then translated
into Chinese by him and his disciples. The translation of Buddhist sutras into Chinese
in ancient times, just like the translation of Chinese literature into English at present,
has generated different opinions as for the translation strategies. Yancong (557–610A.D.)
argues that the Sanskrit text should be read as it is without being translated into Chinese,
while Xuanzang refutes such viewpoint by putting forward the translation theory of
“the five untranslatable” (Fu 2012: 61). Under Xuanzang’s standards, transliteration
was used for some Sanskrit terms even if they could be translated literally into Chinese.
For instance, Prajñā was translated as “bōrě” instead of “zhìhuì (wisdom)” in Chinese to
show respect for Buddhism10. Although such transliteration makes no sense to Chinese
readers, it was appreciated in ancient China and remains alive nowadays amongst the
Chinese people who believes in Buddhism. Terms translated liberally into Chinese
were also welcomed, although Chinese people were unacquainted with such Buddhist
concepts. Due to their similarities to native Chinese phrases, such terms have been used
more widely in China since their creation. For instance, zhízhuó (Upādāna) and fāngbiàn
(upāya)11 are now applied frequently in Chinese people’s daily life.
With the hospitable attitude towards Buddhism, the influence of this new philosophical
school on China has been immense; Buddhist notions have been applied broadly in
Chinese literature, music, painting and so on (Yan 2020). Compared with the acceptance
of the untranslatability of Buddhist sutras in ancient China, the Anglocentric narrative in
world literature shows little hospitality to non-English works such as Chinese literature. It
is on account of such inhospitality of the global literary system at present that disenables
Chinese literature to take back the right to untranslatability. Hence, the calling for the
participation of the English literary circle in promoting Chinese literature should be
paid more attention to since it is the basis for enriching the diversity of world literature
which is currently monolingual.
5. Conclusion
The language and culture of the minority have attracted increasing attention
throughout the world. Many countries have formulated anti-discrimination policies
for those languages and are making efforts in the translation field to popularize their
literary works. The EmLit Project: European Minority Literatures in Translation (2003), for
instance, compiles the translated works from nineteen minority languages in Europe. The
population base using Chinese is larger than many languages and hence there may be a
chance for Chinese literature to be neglected when talking about protecting the diversity
of world literature. But to some extent, Chinese literature can also be considered as a
kind of “minority”, taking into consideration the status quo of its translations within
the somewhat Anglocentric structure of world literature. This is a problem encountered
not only by Chinese literature, but also by other non-English literature. According to the
discussions in this article, it can be inferred that the global literary system is currently not
that hospitable to literary works written in other languages. The right to untranslatability,
as a means of resisting the Anglocentric literary milieu, is in fact not in the hand of
Chinese literature as well as its non-English companions. In spite of all the efforts, Chinese
literature is still struggling for the right to decide what to be (un)translated and the way of
translation in the Anglocentric literary circle. Such difficulty may derive from the fact that
the English-speaking readers are still reluctant to embrace non-English language-culture.
Without such basis in the monolingual literary field, it will be strenuous for non-English
literature to introduce itself to English readers. Hence, the effort from the Anglophone side
should also be called for because the enrichment of the heterogeneous world literature
is a task that should not accomplished only by non-English literature, but also by the
target readers from the English-speaking environment. Although it is perhaps difficult
for Chinese literature to recapture the right to untranslatability at present, it should be
emphasized that Chinese literature needs not refuse to be translated into English. It may
sound plausible for non-English literature to remain untranslated because even the best
translation of such literary texts will inevitably engender linguistic and cultural loss.
However, the refusal of translation can be misunderstood as a sort of silence. Instead of
fighting against the Anglocentric way of understanding world literature, the absence of
such literary works in the English form gives up the right to untranslatability. Chinese
literature and other non-English literature which is facing the similar situation should
be insistent on choosing and translating works based on the indigenous standards.
Afterall, the emphasis on the differences between the traditions of English literature
and the assorted literary aesthetics as is embodied in non-English literature is the very
foundation for mutual understanding.
University of Leicester, UK
Notes
* Hanyu Pinyin system of Chinese transcription is used in this article where appropriates; the
surname of the Chinese authors, translators and scholars is placed before the given name
to conform to the Chinese tradition.
1
From The Times Literary Supplement, Issue 2774, April 1955, p.35.
2
Translated from Chinese into English by the author of this article. For the original Chinese
text, please refer to Ni, Xiuhua. “A Survey of English Translations of the ‘Seventeen-year
Chinese Literature’ by Foreign Languages Publishing House.”, Chinese Translators Journal,
no.5, 2012, p.25.
3
“Howard Goldblatt: Mo Yan does not speak foreign languages, which is not good for
publicity.” The Beijing News, 15 Oct. 2013, http://epaper.bjnews.com.cn/html/2013-10/15/
content_471083.htm?div=-1
4
From The Times Literary Supplement, Issue 3350, May 1966, p.5.
5
“Li Wa Zhuan (Story of a Singsong Girl)”, in Yang Xianyi and Gladys Yang. Tang Dynasty
Stories. Foreign Languages Press, 1986, p.71.
6
“Against the Current: An Interview with Gwen Davies.” PEN Transmissions, 27 Aug. 2019,
https://pentransmissions.com/2019/08/27/against-the-current-an-interview-with-gwen-
davies/
7
Ibid.
8
“When will Chinese writers get the Nobel Prize again.” people.cn, 15 Oct. 2013, http://politics.
people.com.cn/n/2013/1015/c70731-23204643.html
9
“Economic adviser reflects on 8 years of serving Obama.” MSNBC, 15 Jan. 2017, https://
www.msnbc.com/weekends-with-alex-witt/watch/economic-adviser-reflects-on-8-years-of-
serving-obama-855354947575; see also “James Cameron Dialogue Liu Cixin: Why not take
a three-body?” YouTube, uploaded by leon copper, 18 Feb. 2019, https://www.youtube.
com/watch?v=iaFWxHRQ8jk
10
In Chinese, the words should be written as “般若” and “智慧”.
11
In Chinese, the words should be written as “执著” and “方便”.
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2020, pp.5-16.
Yang Xianyi and Gladys Yang. Tang Dynasty Stories. Foreign Languages Press, 1986.
/ 95
Revisiting Bernard Rose’s Frankenstein:

Ugliness and Exclusion
MRIDULA SHARMA
Abstract
M ary Shelley’sa�empt to present what Ellen Moers labels as a ‘female gothic’ seems
to endorse rigid notions of beauty: the transgression of socially approbated ideals
of beauty leads to textual disposal in Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus. Frankenstein’s
desertion of the creation, for instance, testifies to the writer’s conscious effort to portray
the beautiful and the ugly within the ambit of societal expectations of physical
a�ractiveness. It is interesting to study the representation of the narrative in cinema
because the transposition of Mary Shelley’s description into characters played by actors
in reality is further influenced by the director’s perceptions of the textual reading as well
as his presumptions of beauty.Bernard Rose’sfilm titled, Frankenstein (2015), appropriates
the original text for public consumption: the monster’s initial corporeal beauty is
transformed into supposed hideousness due to Frankenstein’sa�empt to further augment
his creation’sphysical strength. The insertion of the monster’s Oedipal desire for Elizabeth
supplements the investigation in the element of romance that is somewhat governed by
the internalisation of conventional ideas of beauty.This paper endeavours to critique the
contrast between the textual and cinematic portrayal of Frankenstein’s monster by
examining the duality in the promotion of beauty in Rose’s film and contrasting it with
the narrative space within Mary Shelley’s 1818 edition.
Keywords: Mary Shelley, Frankenstein, Bernard Rose, Monster, Ugliness, Exclusion.
Introduction
The creations of Mary Shelley’sFrankenstein and Rose’sFrankenstein have been referred
to as the ‘monster’ in the article. By using this reference, I do not seek to ignore the
politics of monstrosity as discussed by several critics in context of Mary Shelley’s 1818
novel, titled Frankenstein. Since the film manipulates the viewers’ gaze at Frankenstein’s
creation by using the word ‘monster’ in its subtitles every time he creates an incoherent
sound, I a�empt to approach the cinematic text by taking into account the outcome of
Rose’s usage of visuality.
Paul O’Flinn1 suggests that Frankenstein2 (1818) undergoes ‘alteration and realignment’
through the operation of criticism, as a function of the shift of the text from one medium
to another, and as a result of the unfolding of history itself. This leads toward the
conclusion that the textual space within Frankenstein can be made to mean different things
with the passage of time because of philosophical and cultural developments in the social
realm. Irrespective of authorial intention, the interpretation of the text can be reconstructed
after the adoption of a different outlook.
The recent scholarship around Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein has positioned the novel
within moral fable, political allegory and dystopian science fiction enveloped with Gothic
traits. The interpretative scope of the story has transgressed generic divides to establish
its oeuvre in various appropriations of drama, cartoon and cinema. In this article, I a�empt
to study the perpetuation of idealised notions of beauty in Bernard Rose’s Frankenstein3
(2015) to enable the comprehension of the theological impulse of interlinking the ugly
with the evil, and further examine the monster’s body under the arena of social anxiety.
Frankenstein (2015) is one of the many contemporary a�empts at adaption of the
novelistic discourse within Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818). The narratology within
the film has been simplified since the monster’s outlook is the only narrative agent that
dictates the discourse on the altered story to the modern viewers. My argument focusses
on social a�itudes towards physical appearance, particularly the film’s divergence from
Kantian4 and Burkean aesthetics, and interweaves within its analysis a series of references
to the Oedipal complex.
The modifications introduced by Rose in the contemporary cinematic adaptation
engineer a distinct addition to the module of Gothic theory. Mary Shelley’s darkly
brooding protagonist with his haunted past is replaced by Rose’sbrooding monster who
narrates the misfortune of his existence to the film’simplied viewers. The materialisation
of the novel’s story into the audio-visual mode of cinema that is supported by advanced
technology augments the paraphernalia of horror.
More importantly,the film redefines contemporary understanding of the Gothic. Ellen
Moers5 aptly observes that Mary Shelley introduced the process of birth in her fiction as
an element of Gothic fantasy, not a component of realism. Rose’s film refashions the
process of narration to diametrically shift the viewers’ reception of this phenomenal
story: it ventures to experiment with the narrative to inaugurate novel critical analysis of
Mary Shelley’s 1818 edition as well as Gothic studies.
In this article, I examine two primary strands: first, I endeavour to explore the process
and impact of transformation of the monster’s physical features from the supposed domain
of beauty to that of ugliness. I undertake the inspection of the scientific acquisition of
seemingly ugly bodily features as a consequence of Frankenstein’s desire to increase the
physical strength of his creature and remove his external deformity.
Finally, I discuss the significance of inserting the character of a prostitute for the
monster’s sexual satisfaction. Malthusian6 assertion of the association of the sexualised
body with dirt in juxtaposition with the Victorian7 positioning of the prostitute as a
‘sewered’ body complicates the procedure of examining the sexual activity between the
prostitute in the film and the monster. This leads to the interrogation of standardised
notions of beauty by inspecting the distorted body of the monster and the sexually
exploited body of the prostitute. Using these arguments, the article illustrates Rose’s
significant addition to the existing scholarship around Frankenstein.
The Transition from Beauty to Ugliness

Rose’s Frankenstein (2015) deviates from Mary Shelley’s 1818 novel by engaging in the
exhibition of a distinct process of the monster’s birth. Frankenstein works with a ‘team’
to materialise his scientific ambition into reality but keeps the breakthrough of the
methodology of giving life to the initial residue with himself. The decision to disconnect
from the textual establishment of Frankenstein as an isolated being aids the reconstruction
of his graphic character: the renewed portrayal for the twenty-first century viewers reveals
Revisiting Bernard Rose’s Frankenstein / 122
a man who works with a team in spite of his will to preserve a certain degree of secrecy
related to the construction of his monster.
The teamwork is effective in the production of a creature that conforms to socially
approbated ideals of beauty. Elizabeth, the first human whom the monster encounters
after gaining consciousness, whispers, ‘So beautiful’ while holding his ‘beautiful’
countenance in her hands. Her characterisation of the conscious monster as ‘beautiful’ in
juxtaposition with Frankenstein’s skepticism about the actual possibility of
accomplishment of his professional ambition results in an ambiguity while simultaneously
leading to the perpetuation of patriarchal ideals.
Frankenstein’s suspicion of the monster’s consciousness as a movement consequent of
what he perceives to be ‘muscle spasms’ is puzzling because he is expected to be excited
at the prospect of his success. Further, the fact that Elizabeth can sense the monster’s
consciousness while Frankenstein cannot, not only reinforces the popular discourse of
maternal sensitivity, but also depletes Elizabeth’s professional capacity as a research
scientist by shifting the central focus to her maternal responsibility.
The initial projection of the monster as a beautiful creature thematises ugliness as an
acquired phenomenon. Textual notions of beauty are dismantled because of the capability
of scientific advancements to manufacture and manoeuvre physical appearance of living
beings. While the monster’s social circumstances in the novelistic tradition are congruous
to the conditions that immediately precede the classist rejection of Gallagher’s potato8
by the English bourgeois because of its association with the proletariat population, the
monster’s circumstances in the film are not. The idea of accuracy in the accomplishment
of Frankenstein’s objective is perhaps translated into cinematic reality because of the
potency of scientific developments in the contemporary age.
The physical appearance of the monster in the film undergoes manifold transformations
by the insertion of multiple narratorial tools. The combination of Frankenstein’sinterest in
the monster as a mere scientific experiment and the eruption of a scarlet-coloured pimple-
like protrusion that ultimately resembles a pus-filled boil lead to the monster’s biopsy and
concludes in the expansive replication of the boils across his entire body. Frankenstein’s
impatience with a minor, seemingly ugly and abnormal protrusion incites him to extend
the magnitude of scientific experimentation with his initial enterprise. This contributes to
the nullification of the cinematic incorporation of Frankenstein’steam that plays the role of
diminishing his isolation in the pursuit of his endeavours. Rose, like Mary Shelly, is
successful in presenting and appropriating the portrait of an overambitious scientist who
fails to recognise the ramifications of a�empting to transgress the limitations of humankind.
Since the shift of the story from the novel to cinema necessitates a change in the plot even
before the consideration of content and its politics, the insertion of new events in the film
is inevitable. However, the construction of a ‘beautiful’ creature and his transmogrification
after biopsy into a seemingly hideous being entails the introduction of a pressing question
within critical analysis: has the meaning of scientific transgression evolved with time?
The possibility of production of a living being after scientific intervention was viewed
as transgression of nature in the Romantic age because of the improbability of such an
occurrence. The dynamic advancements in science and technology from the la�er half of
the twentieth century are responsible in making the appearance of the idea of such a
procedure plausible: the possibility of contemporary scientists to replicate and materialise
fabricated ideas in science fiction necessitates the investigation of the notion of
transgression. For the twenty-first century viewer, transgression of nature is not the act
of creation of the monster, but rather the persistent need to beautify the monster. This
bears witness to the evolvement of the meaning of what constitutes violation of natural
laws imposed upon humankind.
The need and impact of the procedure of ‘de-beautifying’ the monster are fundamental
to comprehend Frankenstein’s professional expectations as well as his repulsion with
the subsequent outcome of deviation from societal expectations of beauty, despite the
fact that the onus of the monster’s physical transformation lies with his own impatience
with imperfection. On witnessing the aftermath of biopsy,Frankenstein remarks, ‘I don’t
want talk about it right now,’and leaves the room with Dr Marcus. Later, he tells Elizabeth
that ‘this is not what I [he] intended.’ His conversation exposes the intention of his
experiment: the success of his extraordinary pursuit remains unsatisfactory until the
product becomes presentable to the society in terms of external appearance. This advances
the examination of the proliferating discourses on contemporary consumption of external
appearance keeping in mind the body’s physical a�ractiveness.
The manner in which the textual and the cinematic spaces deal with Frankenstein’s
aversion to the monster varies notably. The repulsion of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is
influenced by his realisation that the fiction of his unified self in the mirror stage is
identifiable with something outside his self, making him lose, as Mladen Dolar argues,
‘that uniqueness that one could enjoy in one’sself-being.’9 Incorporation of psychoanalytic
criticism makes the revelation of Frankenstein’s horror at witnessing the monster come
to life explanatory. In the film, Frankenstein’s character is denied the opportunity to
exercise the employment of a similar reason to escape the label of myopic disposition.
Rose’sFrankenstein, in contrast, refuses to acknowledge that the monster is a ‘conscious
entity’ by arguing that he cannot listen. When the monster murmurs ‘Dad' while looking
at him, he turns toward Elizabeth and says, ‘They’re just sounds. Crude sounds. Babies
make them and we ascribe meaning to them.’ Frankenstein’s first response to the initially
‘beautiful’ monster highlights the fact that the unnatural birth of the monster is sufficient
to isolate him from the human world despite the transient possession of external beauty.
External beauty fails to become a denominator that ignites his affection as a parent,
leading to the conclusion that the success of the monster’s biopsy and his complete
beautification after the removal of the scarlet-coloured protrusion would have still not
changed Frankenstein’s apathy toward him. Considering the extent of his emotional
detachment, it is rather evident that he perceives the monster’s articulation of affection,
as ‘crude sounds’ after the biopsy is unsuccessful.
Further, Rose’s Frankenstein is, unlike Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein who is simply an
ambitious student of natural philosophy and chemistry,a qualified doctor working with
scientific tools to accomplish his task of patrilineal creation. Burke10 asserts that the ugly
is that which the beautiful is not: Rose’sFrankenstein’s eventual repulsion with the hideous
body of the monster is influenced both by Burkean interpretation of ugliness and the
culmination of his scientific project into a diseased body.
He cannot be content with a distorted body because the disfigured body is representative
of a permanent sickness that a qualified doctor in the twenty-first century finds difficult
to approve. In fact, Kantian approach transforms Burke’s empiricist aesthetics, but
maintains his fundamental assumption of the ugly. Thus, while the grounds of rejection
in the text do not transgress beyond Frankenstein’srepulsion with Burkean understanding
of ugliness, the rationale of abortion of scientific pursuit in the film also inculcates
Frankenstein’s outlook toward his creation from the lens of a professional doctor.
Dr Marcus and Dr Pretorius are assigned the responsibility to dispose the monster’s
unconscious body after the unsuccessful biopsy due to cell replication and circuitry issues.
The former decides to keep the monster’s eyes, each of which took about six months to
print, and the la�er starts sectioning the cranium to make the access to the eyeballs easier.
The process is aborted after the monster wakes up and kills them both. However, the cut
marked on his forehead because of the drill makes his face extremely bloody. The
combined appearance of boils and blood creates a ghastly-looking creature, the sight of
which becomes abominable to humankind.
Whenever his skin comes in contact with water, the blood vanishes and subsequently
his skin’sincreased whiteness and wrinkles augment the hideousness of the boils on his
countenance. His injuries appear even more grotesque when a dog licks his face in delight.
After he takes a bath in the hotel room as per Wanda’s instruction, some boils appear
enlarged, suggesting the possible absorption of water. Finally, the evaporation of water
primarily functions to visually enhance the whiteness of the monster’s skin.
The monster’s description of his temporary stay in a nearby forest after escaping from
the laboratory is equivalent to the Homeric ‘retarding element,’ a term coined by Goethe
and Schiller in the late eighteenth century. It provides an escape from the gory imagery
created earlier within the laboratory and manages to relax the tension within the narrative
by serving the purpose of a digression. The projection of the carefully fashioned story of
the monster’s unexpected sojourn with the accompanying subtitles, which form a part of
the film’s narration, assists Auerbach’s process of externalisation11 of the phenomena to
leave no scope for obscurity. Thus, Rose effectively employs the backdrop of natural
landscape against the unnatural body of the monster to manoeuvre the resultant pathetic
fallacy toward the process of retardation.
Lastly, the study of Freudian vocabulary of repression distinguishes the ugly from the
uncanny by positing that while the uncanniness of an object is subjective to perception,
ugliness is universally offensive. The consolidation of cinematic tools in Rose’sFrankenstein
impels the constitution of the monster’s ugly body that stimulates fear by virtue of its
diseased appearance.12 Therefore, even though the monster is not opposed to those
qualities that are not opposed to ugliness, his transformed appearance becomes opposed
to those qualities that constitute beauty.This can be reaffirmed by Gigante’sinterpretation13
of Burkean thought in the aesthetic discourse within the context of Mary Shelley’s
Frankenstein. The representation of beauty in Rose’s film is therefore supremely inter-
twisted in spite of the absence of literary or cinematic intertextuality that is otherwise
abound in the 1818 edition.
Ugliness, Filth and Exclusion: The Monster and the Prostitute

A blind African blues singer named Eddie replaces Mary Shelley’s De Lacey family.
The necessity of retaining a visually disabled character during the process of substitution
of the De Lacey family stems from the need to conceal the monster’s apparent external
hideousness. Eddie’s first interaction with the monster leads him to conclude that the
monster can barely communicate in English. The monster’s inability to initiate proper
conversation and Eddie’s blindness binds them together on account of their disability.
Rose’s film ventures to add the character of a prostitute within the narrative framework;
the monster is acquainted with Wanda when she meets Eddie, her old friend.
The role of the prostitute is essential toward the comprehension of what constitutes
the making of Lacquerian modern body.Corbin’s14 assertion that the prostitute is compelled
to enter the domain of filth because of the connection between sexual activity and sanitation
helps to foreground the comparison of ugliness between Wanda and the monster, and
their exclusion from conscious participation in the society as a consequence of having

undesirable bodies. Wanda’sbody is thus a ‘sewer’ for the society’s carnal excretions.
She asks the monster to take a bath before she can engage in sexual intercourse with him
because she presumes that his visible filthiness might somewhat diminish after it gets in
contact with a purifying liquid like water. Her assumption stems from the social premise
that one of the many functions of water is to act as a means of purification. When she sees
the monster’s naked body after his supposed purification, she is instantly repelled by the
expanse of seemingly contagious boils on his body. Her resistance to his purified body is
symptomatic of the societal rejection that he continually encounters since he is viewed as
an outsider who threatens to contaminate the normative physical substratum of humankind.
The fact that a prostitute, who is excluded from societal transactions on account of the
symbolic interconnection between the sexualised body and dirt, refuses to engage in
coital activity with the monster, who is epitomised as a symbol of human transgression
of natural phenomenon, complicates the degrees of exclusion for those who have been
shifted to the periphery after the process of otherisation. If the bodies of both Wanda and
the monster are key narratives in a cinematic text that focusses on the marginalised, then
what markers of differentiation can be employed to separate one excluded body from
another? Wanda’srejection of the monster gains significance since it displays his continual
exclusion even within the faction of the othered.
The monster’s desire for Elizabeth resurfaces in his private conversation with Wanda
before he takes a bath. After Wanda shows him a video of sexual intercourse and the
process of delivering a baby,he supposedly becomes educated about the politics of sex,
realises that he cannot remember his childhood, and proceeds to look at Elizabeth’s
identity card that he had taken while escaping from Frankenstein’s laboratory.
His gaze can be interpreted as an outcome of Wanda’s a�empt at sex education, and
the subsequent outburst of his desire to engage in sexual intercourse with Elizabeth.
When Wanda notices him gazing at Elizabeth’s picture and asks if he wants to ‘fuck’
Elizabeth, he gives an affirmative answer. However, his gaze can also be read as an
indication of his yearning to inquire about his apparently lost childhood and discuss the
process of his birth with his maternal parent.
Insertion of pornographic clip that only focusses on the portrayal of the sexualised
female body is interesting because of its deliberate deviation from its original purpose to
suit the context of the film. Pornographic video, which is produced for titillating the
sexual desires of the viewers, serves to function as an audio-visual tool that enables
Wanda to educate the monster about sexual intimacy.The nudity in the videoclip explicitly
operates to eroticise the female body.
Therefore, Rose disintegrates the dualism of exclusion that is distributed amongst
Wanda and the monster and adds the figure of the naked woman in the pornographic
clip to complicate the multiplicity of the layers of exclusion within the text. Ironically,
even though the sexualised body of the woman in the videoclip is sufficiently appealing
for the objective of creating pornography,it is still excluded from the social realm because
of its engagement in an activity that monetises the act of intercourse by making the filmed
video available for public consumption. Rose’s addition of certain sections of the
pornographic videoclip supplements the element of irony because he too is interested in
capitalising on the eroticised portrayal of the female body within the video.
In the film, Frankenstein’s process of deformation makes the monster’s body a non-
form, which augments the human impulse to associate the ugly with the evil. This
association makes him an undesirable social companion and leads to his abandonment
even within the division of minority of which he becomes an unwilling component.
Rose’s Frankenstein resembles Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein for the reason that both fail
to employ the Kantian concept of ‘categorial imperative,’ which is first mentioned in
Kant’s Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals.15
Further, Wanda’s rejection assumes the rationality of popular action of social exclusion
and manifests her adherence to what is perceived to be human norm. It raises an integral
question for the monster’s prospects, if any, in the human world: does Wanda’s rejection
imply universal desertion of the monster by offering the moral economy of explanation
that repeatedly advances the argument of his repugnant physical appearance? Though
the film does not venture to provide a conclusive answer, it does hint at the monster’s
state of perpetual loneliness by depriving him of human companionship and destroying
the few relationships, which he is able to temporarily sustain.
Conclusion
The prohibition of the monster’s admission in the societal realm becomes inevitable
after Rose’sFrankenstein completes his unsuccessful biopsy that leads to the metamorphosis
of the monster’s skin. An unexpected eruption of scarlet-coloured boils leads to the
a�achment of the label of monstrosity to the monster. He is unsuccessful in retaining the
initial acceptance by his creators, especially by Frankenstein. Frankenstein aborts any further
a�empts to remodel his creature’s physical appearance for social sanction.
The only lasting relationship that he manages to establish is that with a dog, who remains
with him after his escape from the laboratory and is eventually killed by a police officer
during a dispute. The film seems to subtly suggest that the monster cannot expect to find
a human companion who will accept him after viewing his physical deformation. Eddie,
his temporary companion, is unable to gauge the extent of physical damage that restricts
the monster’s social advancement. Wanda refuses to engage in copulation with him in
spite of his supposed purification by water. The only companion that the film allows him
to have is a dog, which cannot perceive and understand the world from human imagination.
Frankenstein’s monster therefore becomes the object of detestation because his body
performs the synecdochical function of representing the aesthetics of ugliness. Rose’s
film utilises the popular myth of the ugliness of pimple-like boils, and projects it upon
the monster’s skeleton to underscore universal repulsion. Societal exclusion fails to
become a common denominator to bind Wanda and the monster because of the difference
in the degree of disgust that their bodies evoke.
Maternal affection, too, becomes ambiguous when Elizabeth’s stance on the monster
appears blurred in the narrative. His appearance is sufficient to eradicate the
materialisation of his phantasmagoria and consequently the possibility of his union with
Elizabeth. Any probability of their relationship is anyway undermined by the politics of
belonging which governs the landscape, but the addition of the monster’s repulsive
physicality makes the idea of their romantic partnership diametrically improbable.
University of Delhi, India

Notes
1
O’Flinn, Paul. ‘Production and Reproduction: The Case of Frankenstein.’ Popular Fictions: Essays
in Literature and History. London: Methuen, (1986): 194-213.
2
Shelley, Mary. Frankenstein. Ed. Maya Joshi. New Delhi: Worldview Publications, 2016.
3
Rose, Bernard. Frankenstein. Alchemy. 12 April 2015, h�ps://www.netflix.com/in/, accessed 1 June
2020 on Netflix.
4
Kant, Immanuel. Critique of Judgement. Translated by Werner Pluhar. Indianapolis: Hacke�, 1987.
5
Moers, Ellen. ‘Female Gothic: The Monster's Mother.’ New York Review of Books, 1974.
6
Malthus, Thomas. An Essay on the Principle of Population. London: J. Johnson, 1798.
7
Hwang, Haewon. ‘Underground Revolutions: Invisible Networks of Terror in Fin-de-Siècle
London.’ In London's Underground Spaces: Representing the Victorian City, 1840-1915:159-200.
Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2013.
8
Kunce, Catherine. ‘Review of Practicing New Historicism, by Catherine Gallagher and Stephen
Greenbla�.’ Rocky Mountain Review of Language and Literature 56, no. 2 (2002): 124-26.
9
Dolar, Mladen. ‘“I Shall Be with You on Your Wedding-Night”: Lacan and the Uncanny.’October
58, 1991: 5-23.
10
Burke, Edmund. ‘A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and
Beautiful.’ Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014.
11
Auerbach, Erich. ‘Odysseus’Scar.’In Mimesis: The Representation of Reality in Western Literature - New
and Expanded Edition.’ Translated by R. Trask,Willard. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2003.
12
Bazin, Andre. What Is Cinema? Translated by Hugh Gray, 2nd edn., California: University of
California Press, 2004.
13
Gigante, Denise. ‘Facing the Ugly: The Case of “Frankenstein".' ELH 67, no. 2 (2000): 565-87.
14
Corbin, Alain. The Foul & the Fragrant: Odour and the Social Imagination. London: Papermac, 1996.
15
Kant, Immanuel. Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals: A Critical Guide. Scotland: Cambridge
University Press, 2010.
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/ 125
The Production of Space and Representation of Culture:

A Case Study of the Opening Ceremony
of Beijing Olympics
YUYING LIANG
Abstract
T he construction of the Beijing National Stadium is a larger project of spatial practice.

As a modern marvel used as the main venue of the 2008 Beijing Olympics, it entails
numerous distinctive characteristics that modern public architectures exhibit, such as
unique appearances, spacious architectural spaces, complex spatial architectonics, sense
of aesthetics, etc. The production of the spaces of the Stadium facilitates the activities of
cultural practices, making possible the presentations of the traditional Chinese culture
on the stage of the opening ceremony. The traditional Chinese cultural elements such as
scroll painting, Peking opera, Kunqu and traditional Chinese costumes like Hanfu are
wonderfully displayed to showcase the world the rich, brilliant and profound traditional
Chinese culture. This reflects China’s cultural strategies in holding this epoch-making
event, and meanwhile reveals that China as an emerging superpower is eager to show
the world its cultural confidence in the new historical period of development.
Keywords: Spatial Practice; Modern Stage-Space; Traditional Cultural Elements; Artistic
Performances; Representational Practice; Cultural Representation
Introduction
The cultures and ideologies in the western world had experienced significant changes
in the 20th century. There were assertions about the end of various traditions. Within
these phenomena and representations, the major shifts occurred had resulted in changes
in ways of questioning, manners of speaking and modes of explaining, and thus brought
about phenomenal alternations in the contemporary cultural and ideological paradigms.
And people term these shifts as “turn”, for example, turn of phenomenology, turn of
ontology, turn of linguistics, turn of culture, turn of human body, turn of post-colonialism,
turn of post-modernism, etc. Amongst these phenomena, issues related to space have
been increasingly prominent, and therefore theoretical thinking on space has become an
irresistible trend in the contemporary academic and intellectual world. People regard
this phenomenon as the spatial turn. As one of the important events in the areas of social
life, culture, politics, academic research and philosophical thinking, and many more, the
spatial turn has posed urgent demand for scholars to look at contemporary humanities
and social sciences with new dimensions, a�empting to bring shifts on paradigms to these
subjects and hoping to exert seminal impact on the studies of contemporary philosophy,
sociology, the science of history, culture, etc. In particular, spatial thinking has been
increasingly involved in sociological, philosophical, cultural and literary research.
Journal of Comparative Literature and Aesthetics, Vol. 44, No. 1, Spring 2021 [128-143]
Admi�edly, One of the most important dimensions in spatial thinking is to study space
in the context of spatial practice, which involves the production in space as well as the
production of space, specifically referring to the production of a variety of things and a
set of social relationships in space, and more importantly to the ma�er regarding the
production of space itself. It is meant to study space as a social product, and especially
aimed at exploring the intrinsic connections between the production of space and the
representation of culture – that is how spatial practices carried out by humans help shape
and re-shape spaces and endow them with new meanings and implications. As Henri
Lefebvre elaborates in his influential spatial work entitled The Production of Space, “We
may be sure that representations of space have a practical impact, that they intervene in
and modify spatial textures … Representations of space must therefore have a substantial
role and a specific influence in the production of space. Their intervention occurs by way
of construction – in other words, by way of architecture, conceived of not as the building
of a particular structure … but rather as a project embedded in a spatial context and a
texture which call for ‘representation’ …” (42). Therefore, to understand the relationships
between the production of space and the representation of culture, it is necessary to
clarify the term “representation”. Stuart Hall, a British cultural theorist and sociologist,
in his book REPRESENTATION: Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices, defines
representation as a kind cultural practice which endows things with values and meanings.
According to Hall, representation is a form of cultural practice which aims to signify
symbolic meanings by using a system of signs. Thus, cultural practice is also called
representational practices. Just as Hall points out, “The embodying of concepts, ideas
and emotions in a symbolic form which can be transmi�ed and meaningfully interpreted
is what we mean by ‘the practices of representation’. Meaning must enter the domain of
these practices, if it is to circulate effectively within a culture. And it cannot be considered
to have completed its ‘passage’ around the cultural circuit until it has been ‘decoded’ or
intelligibly received at another point in the chain. …” (Introduction 15). To make it clearer,
Hall goes on to argue that “It is by our use of things, and what we say, think and feel
about them – how we present them – that we give them a meaning. In part, we give
objects, people and events meaning by the frameworks of interpretation which we bring
to them. In part, we give things meaning by how we use them, or integrate them into our
everyday practices. It is our use of a pile of bricks and mortar which makes it a ‘house’;
and what we feel, think or say about it that makes a ‘house’ a ‘home’. In part, we give
things meaning by how we represent them – the words we use about them, the story we
tell about them, the images of them we produce, the emotions we associate with them,
the ways we classify and conceptualize them, the values we place on them. Culture, we
may say, is involved in all those practices which are not simply genetically programmed
into us …” (3). Based on these arguments, Hall concludes that the understanding of the
concept “representation” has historically adopted three approaches: reflectionism,
intentionalism and constructionism. Constructionism taken by Hall as an approach for
his theoretical research highlights cultural practices and meaning construction of the
representation, which seem to reveal that the practices conducted by humans can be
seen as cultural practices or signifying practices. This also implies that all humans’ material
production practices and the outcomes of these activities are both representational. That
is to say, the production process of anything is the construction process of its meaning
through representation. For instance, home is not only a physical existence, but penetrated
with emotions of its users and through whose experiences of the space to help construct
The Production of Space and Representation of Culture / 130
meanings for it. In this sense, home as an abstract concept as well as a concrete place
within which meanings and values are generated through the free play of the agency of
the users, or in other words, through spatial practices or representational practices.
Designing Modern Spaces for the Beijing Olympics

Based on Hall’s theoretical elaborations, it is arguable that representational practice, as
a form of cultural representation, is an important part of humans’ spatial practices. In
this light, taking the space of the 2008 Beijing Olympics as a case study would echo
Hall’s claims. It is known to all that Beijing National Stadium (hereinafter referred to as
“the Stadium”), which was designed for use throughout the 2008 Beijing Olympics, had
been taken as a main venue for the event. The Stadium is also known as the Bird’s Nest,
due to its outward appearance whose shape resembles a bird’s nest. The Design was inspired
by the study of Chinese ceramics, in which numerous steel beams are put into use to support
the retractable roof of the Stadium. In so doing, it makes possible to shape the outlook of
the architecture looking like a bird’s nest. The initial visions of the design include taking
into consideration myriad requirements for enhancing the functions of the architecture
for the purpose of post-Olympic use. After the model of the “nest” proposal was approved
by the professional panel and subsequently selected as the top design, the nest-scheme
was thereafter officially adopted. The Basel-based architecture team Herzog & de Meuron
who was responsible for designing the Stadium reveals that they in the very first place
decided to bring something new into the design in part by spurning some of their
traditionally conventional practices. As the Wikipedia article “Beijing National Stadium”
says, “China wanted to have something new for this very important stadium”. On the
basis of these ideas and formulations, the design team has tried to make the Stadium
somewhat porous like a colossal vessel. And two independent structures were also built
in the process, which stand 50 feet apart with a red concrete seating bowl and the outer
steel frame around it. In an a�empt of discussing the ins and outs of the architectural
style of the Stadium, it is hoped to make a conclusion that its architectonics is very much
in line with the extraordinary features of modern public architectures.
Fig. 1. The dazzling appearance of the stadium under the night sky of Beijing (Source: Google)
As a modern marvel, the Stadium is organized in the styles of modern public

architectures, which lay stress on the use values of their spaces. The construction of the
modern spaces has taken into consideration particularly the performances and abilities
of the architectures. Hu Miaosheng, an eminent spatial critic in China, studies the
frequently-used organizing principles of spatial structures in modern architectures by
looking into the construction of the stage-space. Hu, in his book Reading Space: Aesthetics
of Stage Design, claims that a theatre space commonly adopts a multi-dimensional structure
in order to create spaces for implementing actions and aesthetic experiences of, and
psychological effect on the participants. Although Hu’s spatial studies mainly focuses
on the aesthetic values of the stage-space design, it is illuminating for the studies of the
Beijing National Stadium as a modern public architectural space. Subsequently, it is to
make an analysis of the modern features and multiple functions of the Stadium.
Analyzing the Features of Modern Public Architectures

Firstly, excellent spatial functions. Modernist architectures highlight the functions of
spaces. Modernist architects claim that creating spaces with multiple functions is one of
the most important missions that architects need to accomplish. Apart from designing a
gorgeous appearance for the Stadium, the design team of the Beijing Olympics, which
consist of the Swiss architects Herzog and de Meuron, China’s Architecture Design &
Research Group as well as Arup Group Limited, had a�ached great importance to deal
with the spatial relationships between the stand and the performance venue. What
psychological effect would the users of the space achieve when positing themselves within
it? This had become a major concern in the design scheme. Undoubtedly the essential
function of the Stadium is to serve the athletes and the audience. Thus, questions as how
to enlarge its capacity so that it can accommodate more people; how to enhance the
audio-visual effect of the space; how to achieve the best interactions amongst the users
of the space, and the like, had become major concerns for the designers in formulating
the nest-scheme design. Based on these considerations, the architects, Herzog and de
Meuron, designed the stand in a bowl- shape for the stadium. The round-shaped stand
enables the audience to reach visually every part of the venue during the performances,
and also makes possible the effective interactions between the audience and the players
within the se�ing. In addition, safety is an important indicator to show whether the
spatial functions are perfected. Accordingly, the escape system of the Stadium like other
key factors was prioritized in the whole design. In fact, the Stadium totally has 42 escape
tunnels which were designed in the pa�erns of the cloisters. With this design, the staircases
appear to be zigzag and not straight which can help prevent people from falling down
and suffering injuries while escaping in emergent situations.
Secondly, Beijing is an ancient capital city which once housed many dynasties in the
history of China. The Beijing city has taken the Forbidden City – which symbolizes the
centre of power and politics – as the central axis running south to north. The axis runs
through the Forbidden City and finally reaches the Olympic village. And the Stadium is
located in the northern end of the axis. To combine the classic culture which is passed
down through this Royal central axis with the sport spirits of the Olympic Games had
constituted a great challenge for the designers. To resolve the problem, Herzog and de
Meuron finally found out the solutions by studying the ancient Chinese containers, the
jades made in the early stage of history, the po�ery jars and porcelains appeared in the
Song Dynasty, and other items which are related to the formation of traditional Chinese
culture. The designers imagined the architecture of the Stadium as a container, so the
model of china wares is used for reference in the design of the Stadium. Moreover, they
are bold to make use of red colour, as red is the dominant tone of the Royal Chinese
architectures. Red thus is applied on the walls of the dispatch hall, the surface of the
stand, and even chairs are painted with brightly-coloured red in the Stadium.
Thirdly, generally speaking, space is shaped by the structure. When the functions of
architectures have been developed to such a level, it may raise higher demands for the
size of spaces – that’s to require for more spacious spaces. In the case of the Stadium, the
difficulty of constructing a larger space lies in the structure which is used to support the
roof of the architecture. In practice, the Stadium is made up of 12 reinforced concrete
core-tubes, and the shear wall structure consists of a number of beams, plates and columns,
some 14,700 pieces of prefabricated stand boards, large-span oblique beams and stands
which consist of a lot of profiled components such as oblique beams and cylinders, circular
beams, curving walls and many others. The steel structures that are composed of 24
truss gantries constitute the façade of the Stadium. Of which, most of them are straight
lines. The upper layers of the steel structures are the ETFE single-layer tensioned
membranes, and the under layers are the PTFE acoustic ceilings. The designers made
full use of two materials, namely ETFE1 and PTFE, in order to create desirable indoor
lighting effect. Furthermore, the reinforced concretes and steels in free and organic forms
are sufficiently used for the purpose of making into play malleability and tensile properties
of the two materials, for creating ordinary indoor spaces in the hope of exerting the
performances of the materials to the best. Meanwhile, advanced technologies also help
to solve the problems of the stands. Different from those used in general-purposed
stadiums, the stands specially made for the Stadium are segmented into three levels:
upper, middle and lower, and these three levels are firmly and tightly connected together
by using cantilever beams. In addition, these stands are expected to meet the need of
providing good acoustic effect in the Stadium, for the overlapping stands can help reduce
the distance between the first-row seating and the last one, aiming to enhance the
experiences of the users in the Stadium.
Fourthly, the beauty of the form. In the earlier days, the mise en forme of architectures
with large spaces failed to break the limitations of the technologies to create more
reasonable and lightweight architectural images, but the development of technologies
and the constant improvement of people’s aesthetic consciousness have motivated the
architects to try hands in constructing different kinds of structures for architectures.
They have realized that structures designed with modern concepts have in common
many avant-garde features and most majority of them are built with an appearance of
exquisite beauty. It has become a fashionable trend that the architects are in pursuit of
simpler structures, trying to abandon elements as thick walls, unnecessary materialized
parts, etc. In the principles of design, modernist architects like Herzog and de Meuron are
in favour of employing the technique of hollowing-out in their designs, which actually has
long existed in the traditional oriental craft culture, and here it is combined with advanced
technologies in an a�empt of building modern structures with hollowing-out style.
Lastly, the colour and texture of space. The colour of space is inseparable from its
texture. Only when the principles of colour-matching are addressed, can the problems
of texture be dealt with. The Stadium is undoubtedly a masterpiece which appears to
integrate Chinese traditional elements with internationally modern popular architectural
properties. With the mixture of different materials and styles, the architecture is created
with a multiple functions. For example, the internal and external structures of the Stadium
are covered with gray mineral steel meshes woven with transparent membrane materials.
Also, the inner and outer sides of the third and fourth layers adopt hidden-framing glass
curtain walls which are painted with glaze. The walls in the dispatch hall are made of
linens and painted with red coatings, and parts of the ceiling plates and the bo�om
surfaces of the stand boards are sprayed with black and red coatings respectively. Machine-
chopped stones are pieced together to lay the ground for the lobby.
Producing Fantastic Stage-Space for the Artistic Performances

Till now some analysis has been made on the construction of the space of the Stadium
as a materialized and concrete entity. As a classic modern architecture, the production of
the space of the Stadium is richly filled with the concepts and elements of modernity,
which can be seen not only from the structures but also the functions that the Stadium
itself displays. On this point, the theoretical hypothesis proposed by Hu can be used for
reference. In Hu’s spatial theories, the construction of the space of the Stadium exactly
reflects the theory of four-in-one spatial structure which demonstrates the fourfold
relations of motion space, perception space, aesthetic space and communication space.
Amongst these relations, the core value of space lies in its use value which can provides
coefficient of reference for space design. Motion space means that the actors carry out
their actions within a specific location. For example, a theatre is a motion space in which
the performers play out their activities; so a stage-space is the prerequisite for the actors
to implement their programmes. And this is the use value of the motion space which lies
in the heart of Hu’s theories. The Stadium was used as the main venue throughout the
2008 Beijing Olympics and the construction of the stage-space for the opening ceremony
has been considered as a big success, which had successfully facilitated the fufilment of
all prepared programmes. In this way, new meanings have been generated through the
implementation of the actions of the actors in spaces. This is a form of spatial practices in
relation to representation of space leading to signifying practices, which echoes Michel de
Certeau’s theoretical presumption, as he states in his famous work The Practice of Everyday
Life, “These ‘ways of operating’ constitute the innumerable practices by means of which
users re-appropriate the space organized by techniques by sociocultural production. …”
(13). With the help of modern stage technologies, along with other necessary tools and
equipment, a fantastic stage-space with practical and aesthetic values was produced to
make possible the performances presented in the opening ceremony of Beijing Olympics.
The stage-space is highly praised by people, especially the shapes, the colours, the lights
and shadows and other aspects created in this stage-space are prominent. Undeniably, the
magnificence, grandness and beauty of these performing scenes have won praises and
admirations of the world. One may ask how it is possible or what had made this happen?
A�empting to find answers to these questions would probably lead to some kinds of
solutions. The following is to continue using the four-in-one spatial theories formulated
by Hu to explore the principles of constructing stage-space out of the Stadium and aims
to connect this mode of production of space with the representation of culture, hoping to
bright forth some constructive insights of its own for this area of research.
New Features of Modern Stage-Space
Stage is not image but concrete space. This idea is overly emphasized in the work of
designing modern stage-space. With the changes occurred in the modern design
principles, modern stage-space has been designed with bizarre features, which is made
by the perfect integration of the architectural art and the stage technologies.
Firstly, at the level of architectural art. The architectural space and the stage-space
share some commons in terms of practicability and artistry. The form of the stage-space
is smaller than the architectural space’s, but the stage- space has more dynamic structures
than that of the architectural space. Thereby, the creation of stage always takes references
from the architectural design.
Secondly, at the level of stage technologies. With the penetration of high technologies
in the construction of both architectural space and stage-space, the two kinds of spaces
are integrated in terms of forms. When advanced technology equipment is put into use,
it can help create desirable stage-space, and in this case the forms of architectural space
is heavily relied on to bring into play their flexible modes of operation, and meanwhile
to make the performances to be presented in a be�er way.
The Values of Technologies in Constructing Modern Stage-Space
It goes without saying that performances are carried out in certain se�ings, or called
stages. The conditions of stages are very decisive factors that would affect many aspects
of the performances, for example, the performers’ movements, the performance itself,
the interactions between the audience and the performers, etc. Undoubtedly, the ranges,
pa�erns, styles and other aspects are determined by the forms and status of the stage-
space. The Beijing Olympic Stadium is a huge building with a massive ellipsoidal
structure, and has the capacity of accommodating more than 90.000 spectators. In order
to make the performances audible and visible to all participants, the design and creation
of the stage-space within it must be carefully handled. To achieve this goal, the designers
resorted to the image technology to project a virtual scroll painting in the centre of the
performing venue on which all the programmes unfolded accompanied with the rhythms
and melodies of the background music. Obviously, it is a very unique form of stage-space,
which fully demonstrates the creative features of the design. Simultaneously, the cultural
symbols like mountains, rivers, clouds, Chinese characters, Chinese ceramics, etc., elements
that are most frequently-used in Chinese ink paintings, were projected on the surface of
the scroll to showcase the world a beautiful picture laden with rich Chinese culture.
Fig. 2 A fantastic stage-space with perfect blend of colour and light. (Source: Google)
Exploring the Traditional Chinese Cultural Elements Displayed in the Performances

All the host countries take the opportunity of holding the Olympic Games to showcase
the world their cultures. The Beijing Olympics is not exception. In order to present its
age-old, rich, unique and profound traditional cultures, China spared no effort to create
a grand feast of visual culture. A variety of traditional Chinese cultural elements were
infiltrated in every detail of the whole performance, making the stage-space of the event
a platform for cultural representations and the event itself a cultural gala.
A Scoll Painting Serving as the Stage of the Performances
The three concepts put forward by the Beijing Olympics are “Green, Technology, and
Humanities”. To practice the concept of “High-tech Olympics”, the Beijing Olympics
had been highly technology-assisted, that is a variety of advanced technologies such as
aerospace materials, lifting stage, multimedia, LED system, high-tech equipment, etc.,
had been fully employed in the hope of constructing a desirable stage-space to present a
spectacular show. The scroll painting used throughout the performances in the opening
ceremony belongs to this kind of such high-tech product.
In general sense, scroll painting is an art form practiced primarily in East Asia. It
commonly refers to a painting on a scroll in Asian traditions, distinguishing from hand
scroll and hanging scroll. The scroll painting specially designed for the opening ceremony
of the Beijing Olympics and used as a stage is different from the traditional scroll paintings.
However, the model of the scroll is inspired by ancient Chinese scroll painting. There are
tens of thousands of LEDs embedded in the scroll to produce myriad-coloured light.
The lighting effect created by the LED system is closely matched with the performances
to make miscellaneous fantastic images on the scroll, and the fantasy made by the lighting
brings the audience into a dream world. Besides, power-driven devices are installed on
the scroll so that it can be unfolded or folded by remote control whenever necessary in
the proceeding of the performances. When unfolded, the scroll painting was turned into
a huge LCD screen, on which traditional Chinese cultural elements like mountains, rivers,
poems, ceramics – images that are commonly used in Chinese ink landscape paintings –
are displayed, which symbolizes the long history of traditional Chinese culture. Besides,
a clutch of images of “Auspicious Clouds”2 are turned into the cross-section of the scroll
painting, making it look like flowers in full bloom – a beauty which is beyond speech.
Fig. 3. A miraculous scroll painting used as the unique stage-space for the performances.
(Source: Xinhuanet)
Using the human body to draw on the scroll is a unique performance in the opening
ceremony. It has been considered as a distinctive performance art. In this form of art,
human body is used as medium, and through a set of actions executed by artists or other
participants, to produce artworks or perform for the purpose of art exhibition. Thus,
performance art is also known as artistic action, or body art and happening. Basically,
performance art entails four fundamental elements, namely time, space, the presence of
the actors, and the interactions between the actors and the public. Sometimes it is taken
as an avant-garde form of art in the category of visual arts. A number of performers in
the opening ceremony use their bodies as the medium to dance out a set of seemingly
casual but actually well-designed movements. On this occasion, the human body is used
as ink, while the scroll is a piece of drawing paper. A set of freehand dance acted out by
the performers, accompanied by music emi�ing from the string-plucked musical
instrument, generates a richly expressive Chinese scroll painting, even though with
relatively simple images such as river, mountain, sun, moon and other signifiers in natural
world. These themes are commonly expressed in the traditional Chinese art. This
performance art takes place in specific time and space – in the opening ceremony of
Beijing Olympics and on a virtual scroll painting serving as stage-space of the performance
inside the Beijing National Stadium, and with the support of a kind of so-called
improvisation and a sense of aesthetics, its goal is to arouse reactions in the public. A
scroll painting with images of sun and moon, mountains and rivers, is generated through
the dancers’ graceful movements and postures, showing a unique form of cultural
representation. This also shows the creative use of the scroll painting in the event.
Fig. 4 Using the human body to draw as an distinctive form of performance art (Source: Google)
Peking Opera: The Quintessence of Chinese Culture

Peking opera or Beijing opera, once known as Ping opera, is one of the five major
Chinese opera types. It emerged in Beijing in the mid-Qing dynasty (1636-1912) and
became fully developed and won its popularity by the mid-19th century. Hui opera is
the predecessor of Peking opera. Music of Peking opera can be divided into Xipi3 and
Erhuang styles, accompanied by Huqin and gongs and drums. Peking opera is a
comprehensive performing art, with an amalgamation of music, vocal performance, mime,
dance, and acrobatics. It takes singing, chanting, doing or performing, fighting or martial
arts, dancing as a whole to interpret a story through programmatic means. The roles of
the performers in the plays can be grouped into four major types: Sheng (the main male
role), Dan (any female role), Jing (a male role) and Chou (a male clown role). The characters
can be described as loyal and treacherous, beautiful and ugly, good and evil, etc. Each
image is vivid and lifelike. Facial makeup, in which colouring is very crucial, is one of
the most important techniques to be used for the purpose of describing the characters.
Due to its popularity and influence, Peking opera has come to be regarded as the
quintessence of Chinese culture, one of the cultural treasures of China. It is also known
as the “national theatre” of China. In 2010, it was selected into the “List of Representative
Works of Human Intangible Cultural Heritage”.
The performance of Peking opera in the opening ceremony displays the art of facial
makeup. Facial makeup is a unique art in Chinese opera. It uses the technique of
exaggeration in artistic expressions to combine realism and symbolism together to present
the appearances of curtain characters. Judged by the appearances, comprehensive
characteristics such as the character’s type, quality, personality, age, etc., can be suggested
or even revealed. With the formation and development of opera, the art of facial makeup
has become very colourful and magnificent. Based on the earlier studied conducted by
some researchers, it is suggestive that all the faces of the characters in the display must be
specially marked, and facial makeup must be outlined. In so doing, the characters need to
highlight their faces in order to shape their images. The display of the art of facial makeup
of Peking opera in the opening ceremony is based on a set of artistic, aesthetic as well as
cultural values. Meanwhile, facial makeup is an important part of stage modeling in
traditional Chinese opera, which will affect the overall effect of the stage art. The facial
makeup of Peking opera has some artistic characteristics peculiar to itself, mainly
including the following three points: decorative, procedural and symbolic, amongst which
the symbolic one is distinctive. In the facial makeup of Peking opera, the use of the
technique of symbolism is primarily reflected in two aspects, namely colour and shape.
Undoubtedly, colour is an essential constituent for the art of facial makeup in Peking
opera. Admi�edly, in the world every nation has its own understanding of and preference
for colour. China holds sorts of perception and predilection of its own. The colouring in
the facial makeup is closely bound up with the cultural traditions and the habits of life of
the Chinese people. Every way of applying colours demonstrates specific implications.
Colour rendering in facial makeup of Peking opera is extremely diversified. The frequently-
used colours as red, yellow, blue, green, purple, black and white to express different
symbolisms. To be specific, red colour, set as dominant tone, embodies the character’s
quality as loyalty, integrity, bravery, perseverance, etc.; when used as secondary colour, red
is endowed with such symbolisms as to indicate the tragedy of the characters. Yellow
usually symbolizes ferocity, cruelty, treachery, insidiousness, calculation. And other colours
are endowed with some specific connotations. Characters in Peking opera are not only
expressed through the tinting of facial makeup, but also revealed by the types of facial
makeup. There are 36 types of facial makeup in Peking opera, specifically a variation of the
full face and sub-types as upright three-tile face, pointed three-tile face, flowered three-tile
face, and old or faded three-tile face. Generally, the types of Peking opera are marked out
by three irregularly patches of colour to indicate the characters’ characteristics, their roles
in the plays, and many other aspects. The visual performance elements entailed in the
performance of facial makeup exhibits the glamour of Peking opera which has been seen
to follow other traditional arts in emphasizing meanings. The highest pursuit of the
performance is to put beauty in every expression. Here lie the artistic and aesthetic
characteristics of facial makeup art and it thus produces the cultural values of Peking opera.
Fig. 6. The performance of Peking opera on a movable stage in the opening ceremony.
(Source: Xinhuanet)
Fig. 5. A typical facial makeup in Peking opera (Source: Google)
Kunqu: An Ancient Form of Art of Traditional Chinese Opera

Kunqu, also known as Kunju, Kun opera or Kunqu opera, is an ancient form of Chinese
opera. It evolved from the local tune of Kunshan in the end of Yuan dynasty and the
early Ming dynasty in Kunshan County of Jiangsu province of China. It later became
extremely popular across the country from the 16th to the 18th century. Research on
historical materials reveals that, during the prosperous period of Tang dynasty, Kunqu
was adored by people of all ranks and classes, from the nobles of the court to hawkers
and pedlars in the street. The accompaniment instrument of Kunqu is mainly flute,
supplemented by percussion instruments such as Sheng4, Xiao, Suona, Sanxian, Pipa,
etc. The performance of Kunqu has its unique system and style. One of the features lies
in the fact that the performance is full of lyrical expressions, every motion of the performers
is tremendously delicate, and more strikingly the beauty of every movement can be achieved
through the dancing and singing figures of the performers on the stage, demonstrating a
beautiful stage performance form and pleasing to the eyes of the audience. Kunqu has
been listed as one of the Masterpieces of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity by
UNESCO since 2001. The Peony Pavilion5, the representative work of Tang Xianzu, is also
the representative work taking love as the subject ma�er in Kunqu.
Fig. 7. The stills of Peony Pavilion in Kunqu.

(Source: ChinaOpera)
Performers in the opening ceremony of Beijing Olympics sing a famous song in Kunqu
opera – that is “A Moonlit Night on the Spring River”. “A Moonlit Night on the Spring
River” is a famous poem composed by Zhang Ruoxu, a Chinese poet of the early Tang
dynasty. It has been taken as one of the most unique and influential Tang poems in the
history of China, for it has been frequently used on different occasions in different periods.
The poem depicts the intoxicating scenery of the moonlit Yang�e River in Spring Time.
Images, such as flowers in full bloom, a bright moon shining in the sky and reflected in
the water, constitute a fascinating picture of a night on Spring river. Wen Yiduo, an
influential Chinese poet, spoke highly of the poem, calling it “the poem of all poems, the
summit of all summits”6. The poem was adopted into Kunqu song by Zhou Luo7, a
contemporary national first-level screenwriter in China. The adopted version is a typical
classic work in terms of script, se�ing, programmatic music, performance, etc. In the
performance of the opening ceremony, the performers sing the first four lines of the
poem, which is translated into English as follow:
In Spring the river rises as high as sea,
And with the river’s rise the moon uprises bright.
She follows the rolling waves for ten thousand li,
And where the river flows, there overflows her light.
The unique performance, combined with beautiful melody of lute and dizzying stage
background, creates an emotional scene which is unforge�ably impressive. Moreover,
the costumes and makeups of the performers are perfectly matched with the simple but
elegant colour tone of the stage. What a forge�able creation it is!
Fig. 8. The affectionate

performance of Kunqu in the
opening ceremony (Source:
Xinhuanet)
Hanfu: An Iconic Symbol of Traditional Chinese Culture

A series of the so-called “Chinoiserie” presented in the opening ceremony of Beijing
Olympics has brought a great shock to the world in stunning ways, and costume design
is one of the highlights. Traditional Chinese costumes like Qipao8, Tangzhuang and Hanfu
are used in many performances, amongst which the amazing presentation of the
performers in Hanfu is particularly striking. Obviously, the use of the traditional Chinese
costumes in the performances is an important way to augment the expressions of the
traditional Chinese cultural elements in the opening ceremony, which aims to enhance
the spread of Chinese national culture in the world. This is an important goal that the
opening ceremony of Beijing Olympics a�empts to achieve as a large cultural event.
Du Fu, also called Tu Fu, a Chinese poet of Tang dynasty, in one of his poems entitled
“Ode to the Beautiful Ladies”, describes the delicate clothing style adopted by the high-
ups. There are two lines in the poem wri�en as “Glowing in the twilight of Spring are
their luxurious silk robes; Embroidered with peacocks in gilded threads and unicorns in
silvery yarn”, describing the elegant dress-styles pursued by the upper classes to reveal
the extravagant and luxurious lifestyles led by them. At all events, the poem more or less
shows that the ancients were very fastidious in their dress, and also indicates that
traditional Chinese clothing possesses specific cultural connotations and aesthetic
implications of their own, which over time have developed into a significant part of
traditional Chinese culture. As a unique style of dressing, Hanfu has been highly
recommended in a variety of occasions. As an English loanword, Hanfu refers to a type
of Chinese dress worn by the Han people in China. Traditionally, Hanfu consists of a
robe or shirt commonly worn as the upper outer garment and a pleated skirt as lower
garment. It is a remarkably noteworthy fact that the Han Chinese clothing has exerted
profound influence upon the traditional clothing of many neighbouring cultures, for
example, the Japanese kimono9 and the Vietnamese Ao giao linh. In the history of China,
the expression “Strong Han and Flourishing Tang” refers to the flourishing tines that
occurred in the Han and Tang dynasties. For this, Hanfu can be used as a spectacular
exhibition of these splendid and glorious periods in history. Hanfu is the carrier of the
traditional Chinese culture. The presentation of gorgeous Han costumes, along with a
large cast of performers, superb stage decoration, and accompanied by melodious classic
music, represents the scenes of prosperity in Han and Tang dynasties on the stage, and at
the meantime echoes the prosperous chapter of today’s society. Therefore, � has come to
a conclusion that the performance of Hanfu in the opening ceremony is a means that
China takes the Beijing Olympics as an important opportunity to showcase the world
and carry forward the rich and profound traditional culture of the nation.
Fig. 9. The brightly-coloured

Hanfu lighting up the
atmosphere of the scene.
(Source: Xinhuanet)
Conclusion
Based on the above analysis, this paper holds a view that the 2008 Beijing Olympics is
not only a spectacular event in sports, but also a grand cultural gala aiming to display
traditional Chinese culture. The Beijing National Stadium is undeniably a modern marvel,
serving as the main venue of the Beijing Olympics,. The construction of the space of the
Stadium reflects the spatial concepts of mega events organized by modern society. The
production of space lays emphasis on the selection of materials, the design of the
architecture, spatial architectonics, etc., which aims to pursue the practical as well as
aesthetic values of the spaces. Moreover, only when various tools and instruments, in
particular a variety of cu�ing-edge technologies, are employed, can the creation of an
ideal stage-space for the artistic performances in the opening ceremony become possible,
and this subsequently provides the possibilities for the presentations of a series of
traditional Chinese cultural elements: firstly, a virtual scroll painting, made of high
technological content and used as the central stage of the performances, itself stands for
the traditional Chinese scroll painting on the one hand, and on the other it is projected
with a stream of traditional Chinese cultural symbols like ceramics, tea, etc.; secondly,
the performance of the facial makeup of Peking opera provides another perspective for
the world to know more about the traditional Chinese culture, since Peking opera is the
quintessence of Chinese culture and one of the most precious cultural treasures of China;
moreover, Kunqu opera is another cultural heritage of the Chinese nation – with its
popularity and influence it helps to open up a new window for the world to peep at the
rich and profound cultural background and achievement of the Chinese people; last but
not the least, traditional costumes serve as the carriers of the traditional Chinese culture,
and Hanfu taken as the representative of these unique cultural symbols, fully demonstrates
an alternative aspect of the oriental culture which is characterized by the quality of
gentleness and delicacy – female performers in red colour Hanfu in the performance
truly impresses the world with the beauty and charming of the oriental women and this
constitutes an important aspect of traditional Chinese culture. All in all, China, as an
emerging superpower, tries to take this epoch-making opportunity to spread and carry
forward its rich and brilliant traditional culture, and the successful holding of the Games
has showed its determination and perseverance in doing the same.
Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU), New Delhi

Notes
1
See Wikipedia. ETFE is a shortened form of Ethylene tetrafluoroethylene, referring to a fluorine-
based plastic. The purpose of designing it is to resist corrosion under radical temperature. While
PTFE is the abbreviation of Polytetrafluoroethylene, which is a synthetic fluoropolymer of
tetrafluoroethylene that is widely applied in a variety of occasions.
2
See ZentralDesigns on Google: h�ps://zentraldesigns.com/products/copy-of-hollowed-out-chinese-
traditional-auspicious-clouds-sterling-silver-ring. In traditional Chinese culture, “Auspicious
Clouds” is given metaphorical sense, representing a beautiful symbol of endless luck. “Auspicious
Clouds”, pronounced in Chinese Pinyin as “xiangyun”, refers to the heavens and also good luck,
for the Chinese word for cloud is pronounced the same as yun meaning “luck” or “fortune”.
3
See Wikipedia. Xipi, literally meaning “Skin Puppet Show”, refers to the puppet show that
originated in Shaanxi province. In the context of Peking opera, Xipi refers to the musical form in
singing, which is believed to be derived from the historic Qinqiang by some scholars while
others believe it was retained from Kunqu. Erhuang is a musical form in Peking opera. Some
Scholars believe that Erhuang evolves from the blowing tunes. It is one of the accents in opera.
Distinct from Xipi, the musical form of Erhuang generally sounds more calmly stable and more
concise and serious.
4
See Wikipedia. The Sheng is a Chinese mouth-blown free reed instrument consisting of vertical
pipes. The Xiao is a Chinese vertical end-blown flute which is generally made of bamboo. The
Suona, also called laba or haidi, is a Chinese double-reeded horn. The Sanxian, literally translated
“three strings”, is a Chinese lute – a three-stringed fretless plucked musical instrument. The Pipa
is a traditional string-plucked instrument in East Asia, which has more than 2000 years history.
5
See Wikipedia. The Peony Pavilion, also named The Return of Soul at the Peony Pavilion, is a romantic
play wri�en in 1598 by Tang Xianzu, a playwright in Ming dynasty.
6
See Fengsao Guodu wri�en by Ma Xiaodong. The book covers areas of literature, history, art,
language, national conditions, places of interest, etc. In each area, 100 topics are selected for the
purpose of introducing the basic overview of Chinese culture in a plain and easily understandable
way and with lively writing.
7
Zhou Luo, born in 1981, is a young screenwriter in China. Zhou Luo has won many a China’s Top
Screenwriter Award, such as China Theatre Awards, Cao Yu Script Award, etc. She is the youngest
to receive these prizes.
8
See Wikipedia. Qipao, also known as Cheongsam, is a type of traditional dress of Manchu origin.
It is normally a high-necked and tight-fitting dress worn by women. The English word
“Tangzhuang” is sometimes translated as a tang suit or jacket. It is a kind of Chinese jacket once
worn by Manchu horseman. A straight collar is characteristic of this type of costume.
9
See Wikipedia. The kimono, literally meaning “thing to wear”, is a kind of traditional Japanese
clothing and taken as the national dress of Japan. It is a T-shaped, wrapped-front dress with
square sleeves and a rectangular body. The ao giao linh, literally translated as “cross-collared
robe”, was a type of traditional garment worn by the Vietnamese before the 19th century.
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20080815/n258876193.shtml. Accessed 27 Jan. 2021.
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University of California Press, 2002.
Ding, Bo. “kai mu shi deng guang zong she ji shi sha xiao lan – guang ying po mo shi jie zhi zui
(Sha Xiaolan, the Chief Designer of Lighting in the Opening Ceremony: China is the Number
One in the World in Dealing with Light and Shadow and in Splashing Ink).” SOHU.com, 9 Aug.
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2012.
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Ceremony of the 2008 Beijing Olympics: The Chinese Elements that the World Can See).”
ifeng.com, 8 Aug. 2008, news.ifeng.com/special/olympicsculture/. Accessed 27 Jan. 2021.
“Full Opening Ceremony from Beijing Olympics.” YouTube, uploaded by Throwback Thursday, 8
Aug. 2019, www.youtube.com/watch?v=bufV3EgyPGU&t=1531s&ab_channel=Olympic.
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Goodchild, Michael F., and Donald G. Janelle. “Toward Critical Spatial Thinking in the Social
Sciences and Humanities.” GeoJournal, vol. 75, no. 1, 2010, pp.3–13. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/
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(The Open University, 1997), edited by Stuart Hall, SAGE Publications, 2009, pp. 1-11.
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Reimagining the Notion of Imagination:

A Kantian Perspective
PRASHANT KUMAR
H uman beings are active receivers of external stimuli/representations and at the same
time they are active builders of new images and concepts through the external
stimuli/representations. Active receiver of external stimuli shows the participation of
the agent in order to collect a finite set of stimuli out of infinite set of stimuli/
representations. The finite set of stimuli/representations shows the relevance of them in
act of experiencing, that is, an active cognitive being is inclined to grasp a particular
object. The representations or stimuli itself do not have any faculty to unite themselves
and can present themselves as a self-woven concept, hence they depend on some other
faculty which can synthesize them. The “other faculty” is called as “Imagination” by
Kant. In the first section, the paper will engage with the role of Imagination in Kant’s
epistemological enquiry and show the reciprocal relationship between imagination and
faculty of understanding. In the second section, it will offer a general role of imagination1
in the aesthetic experience where imagination works to explore many possibilities and
relation of these possibilities in creation of a piece of art. It also offers a continuation of
the role(s) of imagination from epistemic enquiry to Aesthetic creation, which, in turn,
will broaden up the definition of imagination and fill the gap between epistemic and
aesthetic explanation.
I
In the first critique, Kant responds to the position propounded by the skeptic philoso-
pher, David Hume, that human subjects passively receive impressions and thus is de-
void of any spontaneity.Contrary to Hume, Kant establishes the spontaneity in the mind
to a�ain any sort of knowledge after the synthesis of the sense data. He states,
“Our knowledge springs from the two fundamental sources of the mind. The first is the
capacity of receiving representations; the second is the power of knowing an object through
representation.”2
The notion of “spontaneity” not only demonstrates the intimate and immediate rela-
tionship between subject and object but also brings Copernican revolution where mind
takes the central place in order to acquire knowledge. It shows that we, minds of human
beings, approach to objects. With the external stimuli/representations, we ultimately come
to know about them.
The question still remains unanswered – what makes us to experience the object lying
outside in the world? Kant suggests that human beings have pure sensuous intuitions
“space” and “time” which allows us to experience things. In order to explicate it further,
he delineates that “time and space, taken together, are the pure forms of sensible intuitions,
so are what make a synthetic a priori propositions possible.”3 One may infer that Kant
Reimagining the Notion of Imagination / 145
exhibits space and time the very first foundation to have any representation of the object.
He further writes,
“Space and Time contain a manifold of pure a priori intuition, but at a same time, are the
conditions of the receptivity of mind- conditions under which alone it can receive repre-
sentations of objects”4
The appearances never come to us as a unified picture. They always come to us sepa-
rately and individually. They come to us in a large scale of unstructured sensa and im-
ages.5 Kant further urges,
“Since every appearance contain a manifold, and since different perception therefore oc-
cur in mind separately and singly, a combination of them, such as they cannot have itself,
is demanded”6.
“Combination” here can be termed as synthesis, as Kant wields. So, it becomes im-
perative to understand what Kant means by synthesis. Kant very straightforwardly dem-
onstrates that if “this manifold of appearances is to be known, the spontaneity of our
thought must be required that it must be directed through in a certain way and con-
nected”7. He further explains,
“By synthesis I understand the act of pu�ing different representations together, and of
grasping what is manifold in them in one [act of] knowledge.”8
Let me explicate it with a simple example. A girl, G, perceives a street play in the
afternoon. This afternoon is quite noisy and crowded. The play itself emits many visual
senses and images, and at the same time it also produces numbers of audio sensa. All
these senses, audio and visual, are not similar in quality.In sort, they are not alike. These
noises occurred along with other simultaneous sounds in the auditory field and the visual
sensa along with other color-expanses in the visual field. Now,an active cognitive being first
discriminates some sensa from other sensa in every field; auditory and visual field. When
one is aware of one kind of sensum it calls up the associated sensa of the other kinds, and
so on. This is how the process of synthesis occurs in Kantian epistemology. Through the
process, the cognitive being receives one kind of unified sense experience in the form of
image that is categorically different from simply sense data and stimuli. Once the cogni-
tive being forms the unified image, multiple categories of understanding will be applied
to discern the object. Now,they are ready to be conceptualized. Kant may call it “empiri-
cal synthesis”9.
Sensa and images themselves do not have any faculty from which they can unite them-
selves. So, there must be a faculty exists within our mind that can synthesize different
sorts of sensa and impressions to form a unified picture. Kant titles this faculty “Imagi-
nation”10. Kant further clearly describes,
“Synthesis, in general, as we shall hereafter see, is the mere result of the power of imagina-
tion, a blind but indispensable function of the soul, without which we should have no
knowledge whatsoever, but of which we are scarcely ever conscious.”11
Imagination functions as the unifier of the all the appearances, sensa and images. Be-
fore the sense data encounters the faculty of imagination, objects are just there, unknown
to the knower. Imagination distinguishes it from other sense data and brings them to-
gether to make a platform to form a new knowledge of the particular object. This is the
first condition in order to get knowledge, as Kant argues. Therefore, imagination plays a
fundamental role in Kantian epistemology.
A close look at the usage of ‘blind function of soul’, one can infer that Kant at least have
two points in his mind. First, in order to synthesize all the appearances, imagination is
neither rule guided, nor law governed. Or at least, Kant does not have any intention to
make any rule for functioning of imagination. So, it can freely officiate. Another reason
is that our experiences happen, in Kant’s view, in a very systematic and categorical way.
In order to have such systematic and seamless experience, imagination has to perform in
a particular manner to bring all the diverse impressions and images. It seems that imagi-
nation works through certain inner systematic scheme for which imagination itself is not
conscious of. Not being conscious means, he is blind to follow other sort of synthesis
which does not necessary represent the same object, hallucination, for instance. To ex-
plain synthesis Kant, further, says,
“Synthesis of manifold is what first gives rise to knowledge, and therefore in need of analy-
sis. Still the synthesis is that which gathers the element for knowledge and unites them to
form certain content. It is to synthesis, therefore, that we must direct our a�ention, if we would
determine the first origin of our knowledge”. (emphasis added)
Faculty of understanding through which concepts can be applied to intuitions in the
form of thoughts12 can only become functioning when imagination makes all the mani-
folds unite and are presented to faculty of understanding. This shows that faculty of
imagination officiates in the very first, primal level in order to form a knowledge. This
does not only answer the objection13 raised by Zizek but also establishes the autonomy of
imagination in terms of its functioning.
Kant calls activity of imagination as an “apprehension”. The faculty of imagination
synthesizes in the spontaneous and immediate manner without following any pre-given
principle. It can be well observed after analyzing the distinction between productive and
reproductive imagination. Productive imagination is spontaneous and a priori (the im-
agination is itself a faculty of a priori synthesis; we assign to it the title, productive syn-
thesis14). On the other hand, reproductive imagination is subject to the empirical laws
like of association, which he calls is “association of representations”. Kant dismisses the
reproductive imagination by saying that it does not falls in the domain of transcendental
philosophy but of psychology. With this line of thought, he also decries the view of
Hume on imagination where he allows imagination to associate the impressions only in
order to form complex ideas.
If the association of apprehension does not have any objective reality,then it would be
impossible for imagination to synthesize all the appearances. It becomes very accidental
for appearances to come and unite. So, there must be an objective ground which Kant
terms as “affinity”15. Affinity also shows the belongingness of the knowledge to a par-
ticular experiencer who is in the process of understanding the object. “The objective
unity of all empirical impressions of the object in one consciousness, that of the original
apperception, is thus the necessary condition of all possible perceptions”16. “The affinity
of all appearances is a necessary consequence of a synthesis in imagination which is
grounded a priori on rules.”17
Imagination also functions to maintain a relationship between faculty of sensibility
and faculty of understanding. In this sense, after unifying all the sensa and impressions,
it sends them to the particular categories. The process is known as schematization. Kant
specifically takes up the problem of relation between the two faculties in the chapter on
Schematism, where he argues that there must be a “third” category which is homogene-
ous to the faculty of understanding on the one hand and the faculty of sensibility on the
other and makes possible the employment of the former into the la�er. Kant entitles this
faculty “Transcendental schema”. It is argued that imagination is the faculty which solves
Kant’s biggest problem to deal with the multiple relationships of these faculties. From
this line of thought, it would not be wrong to call imagination as a “mediator” and this
particular function “the principle of mediation”. Imagination does work alone but it
does not discount the fact that it cannot take any assistance from other pure intuitions. It
takes enough assistance from the inner intuition, time. While dealing with imagination,
one can also sense the existence of space and time. Kant writes,
“The (space and time) … cannot be apprehended, viz., taken up into the empirical con-
sciousness except through that synthesis of the manifold whereby the representations of
the determinate space or time are generated.”18
Let us recollect what we have discussed in the earlier paragraphs in order to form a
basic understanding of the notion of imagination in Kantian philosophy. Imagination
officiates to assemble all the bare appearances and send them to the particular categories
with the help of inner sensuous intuitions, that is, time. It establishes the autonomy of
imagination and shows its role as a mediator among faculties. However, there are cer-
tain serious second order questions which are completely ignored in the first part of
discussion in Kant. Let us pen down them first.
Can the contents of understanding itself be any object for further experiences? More
concretely – can concept be an object of further synthesization in order to form a new
concept? Can term “blind” be taken into more seriously in order to broaden up the un-
derstanding of imagination? In order to explain all these questions, let us take an exam-
ple. Person P is si�ing in front of her table and reading Kant’scritique of pure reason. She
reads all the words of its title, but she seems a bit confused about the usage of “reason”.
She reads “reason” because of her visual field. It is recognized as wri�en in the book, but
“reason” as a concept becomes an object for further analysis, namely, how it is used. It
implies that an impression in the mind can be used for further analysis. In this case,
“blind” in association with imagination seems very significant as it does not follow any
prior rule to synthesize. Thus, it provides us the possibility to put these concepts again
in different categories to make a blueprint of all possible arrangements of sensa and
images. From that perspective, it works as reciprocal with understanding.
II
“Here I sit, making men

In my images,
A race which shall be like me,
To suffer, to weep,
To enjoy and be glad,
And to ignore you,
As I do”19
These lines of the poem, indubitably, are the result of Goethe’s creative imagination. It
might occur to many to understand the activity of writing a poetry; what actually goes in
the mind of a poet when she pens down the beautiful lines of a poetry? The intention to use
“activity” is to say that imagination itself is a kind of action that Daya Krishna rightly
pointed out. “Imagination is an integral part of action.”20 It seems that we can agree to
Daya Krishna to a certain limit, but we must question the limits he sets up for imagination.
Here, imagination plays a reverse activity. Being a part of an action, not only it pro-
duces one sort of action, but it also facilitates another action. For another action, it just
plays a role as stimulus, as a trigger to move something which can be physical or mental
in nature. Discerning the nature of the activity,it is not only imaginative but also contains
a desire to go beyond this, to go beyond the absurdity21 of the pre-given world. It seems
to us that the desire to go beyond assists us to consider “concept” as a mere representation
in its primal level for imagination to develop a new concept. The desire can only happen
if and only if one has some primary knowledge of a particular concept as Naiyayikas put
it very clearly in their epistemic enquiry.So, unless and until we don’t have any knowledge
of object, it cannot be object of our desire. Thus, in any aesthetic creation, sense data and
concepts, can be treated as a mere representation for the imagination to further develop
new concepts.
What is the current situation of humans, at least, in epistemic sense? Is it not the cur-
rent concept which human establishes in order to understand the world and play with
it? This is the world; world with full of concepts, full of the values, functions a�ached to
a particular object, at least in our epistemic practicality. Other than this, the actual world
allows us to brood over diverse possibilities to replace the prevalent things, concepts
and values. The possibility is mere a result of imagination. In Aesthetics, these possibili-
ties are termed as non-conceptual because most of the aesthetic concepts are related to
“unshared” concepts. An artist imagines a new concept which she employs in her differ-
ent works of art, is also unshared in terms of its objectivity. Therefore, the observer can
also put her imagination into works and can feel it, sense it. If the concept is only to be
felt, to be sensed, and to determine it by some values would be an injustice to it as it will
prioritize the concept over and above the work of art. Hence, it does not qualify as a
conceptual concept.
However, in crucial circumstances, through a passionate aesthetic enquiry, desirous
human beings always try to go beyond the pre-given circumstances. This seems the rea-
son for Fri� Kaufmann to say – “it is imagination through which man lives in devising
new possibilities of life and world, transcending each state and dissatisfied even with
satisfactions that mark relapse inertia of pa�erned”.22 The crucial role of imagination,
here, boils down to devise diverse possibilities of life and world, epistemologically and
aesthetically.In this sense Imagination is deemed to show the further possibilities of life-
world. Daya Krishna used it in his epistemic enquiry of the society. He explicitly argues
that a society which has more utopias with the possible consequences is be�er society,at
least, in its future. In this line of thought, the preferable task of imagination is to discover
the new possibilities in society, which is nothing but different modes of synthesis of
representations, that is, sensa images and concepts. Thus, it displays the role of imagination
nothing but a unifier of representations or manifolds.
Kant is more interested in appreciation of art rather than in creation of art. So, it turns
out as a judgment of beauty. In this particular context, Kant says, “When we make such
judgments, our imagination and our understanding are in “free play”23. Free play, one
can argue, denotes to synthesizing the representations without having any pre-norms or
rule. Here, the role of productive imagination is not merely an association of ideas/im-
pressions/representations but of forming new worlds without any kind of concept at-
tached to it. The second reason might be at conceptual level; imagination may lose his
values and becomes mere a part of reason. This comes very close to Coleridge notion of
imagination where he distinguishes two types of imagination – primary and secondary
and argues that they are identical in terms of agency but differs in terms of activity and
degrees. He focuses more on the subjective power of creativity, and places artists at the
center. It is relevant in the sense that in epistemic enquiry imagination works in very
primal level but in aesthetics its degree of functioning increases and works as “creative
power”. From this perspective, it comes very close to Kant’s own explanation “a blind
but indispensable function of soul” but differs only in its degrees. So, from the earlier
discussion, it is quite clear that the notions of imagination in Kant, are not two different
concepts in his critiques. They function similarly but differ in the degrees of its function-
ing. Kant never tries to bind the real nature of imagination but put a particular function
in his epistemic enquiry, which gets extended in his third critique.
Kant’sway of dealing with imagination in his epistemic enquiry is quite different from
the traditional way(s) of engaging with it. One reason is that imagination was not in a
fashion to take it as an epistemic faculty.It was Hume who introduced it. And following
Hume, Kant just a�ached a new function to the imagination and differentiate himself
from Hume. To understand the notion(s) of imagination differently and assigning its
roles in the epistemic inquiry contrasted to the aesthetic inquiry would be a sheer mis-
take. Instead of comprehending the two notions of imagination different in kinds, the
present paper arrayed it in different degrees. In order to understand the real intention of
Kant, the usages of “free play” and “blind” must be further analyzed in order to show
the coherence in the two understandings of imagination.
Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi
Notes
1
There are positive and negative roles of imagination, but the paper confines itself only to positive
role of imagination. Its negative aspect is raised by Hegel in his book Janaer Real philosophie.
2
Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, translated by, K. Smith, p. 92
3
Ibid, Page no. 80
4
Ibid, Pg., 111
5
Broad, C.D. Kant an Introduction, p. 84
6
7
Ibid, p. 111
8
Ibid, p. 111
9
Broad, C.D. Kant an Introduction, p. 84
10
11
Ibid, p. 112
12
Ibid, p. 65
13
Objection is raised in his book, The Ticklish subject, p. 29
14
15
Ibid, p. 145
16
Ibid, p. 145
17
Ibid, p.145
18
Ibid, p. 145
19
Nie�sche, Friedrich, The Birth of Tragedy, p. 48
20
Daya Krishna, Civilization, p. 89
21
Kant used this term in his critique of judgment in order to show the artist creation. The absurd-
ity always pushes the experiencer to look beyond, to become uncomfortable with what is given.
22
Fri� Kaufmann and Fri� Heider. “On Imagination”, p. 370
23
Sheppard, Anna. “The role of Imagination in Aesthetic Experience”, p. 38
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Zizek, Slavoj. The Ticklish Subject, London: Verso, 1999.
Is it Easy to Forget Allama Iqbal? A Search for

Progressive Religion and Recrudescence of Reason
MONICA CHAUDHARY
Ye Hikmat-e-Malkooti, Ye Ilm-e-Lahooti Haram Ke Dard Ka Darman Nahin To Kuch Bhi Nahin.1

—Allama Iqbal (1877-1938)
I n different contexts confronted with challenges posed by traditional minds, men with
broader vision have tried to overcome it through inventory means of various kinds.
Longing to move towards a be�er age has been at the heart of all human ages starting
from the Greek civilization and cu�ing across through all other civilizations that followed.
In Europe, this craving to become progressive took off during the reformation and
produced an impressionable effect over all disciplines that got nurtured as well as
improvised. During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, science and religion gave
rise to a tumultuous debate as to what sort of reality is more plausible to the man. This
debate carried itself right into the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries in which
philosophers as well as poets a�empted to penetrate through the veil which they thought
was necessary to do.
Within these philosophical branches the age of enlightenment is one of the most
influential periods. In this age, one name which became a central a�raction is that of
Immanuel Kant who ventured to polish the very idea of enlightenment in order to get
away from the fundamental a�ributions that had governed the scene prior to his arrival.
He establishes the supremacy of reason in order to get his generations going on the path
of progress; in doing so he compressed concepts like courage and freedom which to his
mind are essential components of every being. Kant urged to move out of the “tutelage”
that discourages one from using our rationale.2 He advocated freedom of each and every
individual that comprises not only of physical but also intellectual freedom which could
be achieved only by channelizing the courage. In a similar vein, Iqbal advocated the
reconstruction of religion but unlike Kant, religion is of crucial import to his theory and
philosophy. At the same time, he prescribes a course of action to a�ain the objectives and
it is not merely at the level of abstraction that his theory exists. He envisions a brand new
empowered and intellectually aware community of Muslims by aiming at a holistic
development of the human kind. Iqbal transcends Pakistan and his poetry reaches beyond
the realm of aesthetic pleasure. But this process turns out not as simple as he probably
might have thought, since all that he had envisioned could not fall into place even in a
gradual manner. This paper, therefore, is an a�empt to highlight the very complications
which got ignored in Kant’s approach mainly towards freedom from orthodox doctrines
and are subsequently addressed by Iqbal. It also investigates the role of Iqbal in
instrumentalizing the relevance of reason within the realm of religion. For analysis, I
A Search for Progressive Religion and Recrudescence of Reason / 152
shall be taking into consideration Iqbal’s poetry and Kant’s 1784 seminal essay, “What is
Enlightenment?”, wherein he has explicitly dealt with the mechanism of assigning the
reason complete autonomy.
The purpose is to hint at the limitation that this project faces when it thinks of reason
as being the true representative of the human nature. To my mind, there is a fundamental
miscalculation here because historically as well as philosophically speaking, one cannot
create a model of enlightenment by excluding morals which belong to the sphere of
emotion as well as religion. The project of Enlightenment which required and which
should have aimed at the development of entire human race, remains incomplete without
the inclusion of religion in its entirety. History shows that most of the crisis that mankind
has got into has largely been through the distorted view of religion and in the absence of
an intellectual who could reinterpret this distorted version to the people.3 As a result,
the situation has always become even worse. In such a scenario, arrival of an enlightened
age will be almost next to impossible since the majority of the population would continue
to live in the world of deception and without knowing about any of the deceitful forces.
By assuming a neglectful a�itude towards realms of emotions and religious pa�erns,
Kant ends up somewhere along the path which is a dimly lit one.
As a representational framework, Kant’s idea of enlightenment presupposes equal moral
worth of each and every individual without much of a real justification. He epitomizes
this moral worth for the liberation of the human consciousness. Scholars have argued
that this kind of mechanism gets very close to the pragmatic predicament, as it encourages
a logical pushing up to a certain degree. I speculate, there is a paradox here because this
could be said after all that by departing from the religion and labeling it as a private
affair, one cannot encapsulate fully the sensibilities associated with the very idea of
enlightenment or development. If boundaries of the reason are pushed to the edges, it
might lead one to take a glimpse into the morality as a phenomenon but it cannot bring
down the falsities which have been damaging the human progress nearly forever. Iqbal
opines in “Bal-e-Jibril”-030-(Gabriels Wing), “Kya Sufi-O-Mullah Ko Khabar Mere Junoon
Ki, Un Ka Sar-e-Daman Bhi Abhi Chaak Nahin Hai” (What do these priests know about
my passion and craze, even the corner of their cloth is not yet torn) (“Allama Iqbal Poetry”).
Iqbal here expresses anguish over the priests, as they have hijacked the real Islam and
reproduced a distorted and mutated version of the Islam before the world.
For instance, in the subcontinent political ma�ers are thought of as principles which
lay a great deal outside from the common man’s grasp. This view is made even firmer by
the politicians, as they did not want to break out of the box to solve the political tensions
but rather choosing to keep to themselves and creating a political hierarchy of some sort.
It was only after 1935, when Progressive Writers Movement knocked at the locked political
door of the subcontinent, that issues which were political in nature became somewhat
comprehensible to the common man. Writers like Sadat Hasan Manto took it upon
themselves to blend the existential with the personal so much so that all other discursive
theories which had kept the political sensibilities out of the ordinary realm seemed inferior.
The idea here is to hint at the approach that has in view all the principal spheres of life in
order to create a developed society in the long run. It follows, that if humans
technologically move ahead or stumble upon the discoveries in the scientific realm and
at the same time get intimidated by the structures of religion which is to say that they do
not add anything to this sphere but leave it where it was three thousand years ago and
only replace the previous labels with some new ones, nothing is likely to happen.
At the outset, such a critical issue which has manifested itself in the very practice of the
people cannot be left untouched and if it is left so then dreams about the complete
development cannot be realized. The alertness and awareness of the reinterpretation of
the religion need to be predominant as far as the ambition to bring about change is
concerned. The repressive tools of the belief system which are se�led in the shared
imagining of the people ought to be pointed out. In other words, the falsities present in
the religious framework might be termed as a structural weakness which ought to be
cured in as daring a manner as possible. As in the context of the progressive writers who
remained masterful at their craft and did not give it up before they appealed and moved
the understanding of the middle class of the subcontinent.
One of the useful ways in which this consistent a�itude towards religion can be resolved
would be through establishing a kind of milieu where logic and emotion, physics and
metaphysics exist in an exemplary harmony. The idea is to explore the human
consciousness with a wholeness which is unavailable otherwise. This exercise can lead
humans and mainly the intellectual who undertakes it to absorb what Nie�sche terms
as “perspectivism”. That is, to look at human nature from all angles to come to a critically
formed judgment. In such a scenario, imagination and reason would complement each
other and mysterious things like religion would start taking coherent forms and shapes.
Such modified shapes would then open a true passage of joy.
To illustrate this point further, two examples one from the west and other from the east
should be able to suffice. Martin Luther’s negation of some of the dubious and ill-formed
laws in the catholic set of principles made it possible for him to inject ingenuity into the
realm which for a long time is perceived as permanent and not subject to change. It is
indeed a democratizing project as he made the rigid principles of the Catholic Church
congenial to the common man. His venture to translate Bible into regional languages
made it impossible for the mediators to control and sustain their power who had been
willfully doing so for many centuries. Scriptures became accessible to people and gave
rise to possibilities of multiple interpretations.
Something of the similar nature happened in the early twentieth century South Asian
Philosophy, when “poet of the east” (Shair-e-Maschrik), Allama Iqbal (1877-1938) quite
openly in his work advocated the principles which to his mind are necessary for the
religion of Islam in order to become compatible with the modern man. He rejected the
notion of injustice which is perpetrated by the mediators of Islamic belief system. His
modern interpretations suggest that concepts like secularism and democracy are an
integral part of the Islamic and Quranic teachings. Not only such practices install fear in
the minds of people, it offers a skewed understanding of religion, especially Islam. Islam
as a religion is fundamentally based on the concepts of Jadidiyat (modernity) and Ishtehaadi
soch (progressive thinking). There are many verses in Quran advocating the use of one’s
rationale, cognition and decisive thinking. He criticizes the ideas which are made popular
by one of the sects of the fundamentalists which is to focus on the life hereafter and not
to be affected by the worldly affairs. The note below is a reflection of Iqbal’s understanding
of the fundamentalists in Islam:
I know the Ulama of Islam claim finality for the popular school of Muslim Law. For fear of
… disintegration the conservative thinkers of Islam focused all their efforts on the one
point of preserving a uniform social life for the people by a jealous exclusion of all
innovations in the law of Shariat as expounded by the early doctors of Islam … Since
things have changed and the world of Islam is today confronted and affected by new
forces set free by the extraordinary development of human thought in all directions, I see
no reason why this a�itude (of the Ulama) should be maintained any longer…The claim of
the present generation of Muslim liberals to re-interpret the foundational legal principles, in the
light of their own experience and altered conditions of modern life, is in my opinion, perfectly
justified. The teaching of the Quran that life is a process of progressive creation necessitates that
each generation, guided but unhampered by the work of its predecessors, should be permi�ed to
solve its own problems”. (qtd. in Hillier and Koshul 8)
His efforts had shocking effects over the fundamentalists of his time who were
absolutely not prepared for such a reconfiguration of the system which they had been
pronouncing as perfect and unchangeable. Like Luther, he had to face the cruelest
criticisms one of which is to call his philosophy, non-religious. In fact, to this day many
of his poems cannot be put on air on radio or TV in Pakistan as the authorities feel less
confident for the reception that those poems might initiate.
The Iqbalian model, had a revolutionizing effect in some of the countries of the Middle
East and also within Europe. By penetrating into the religious veil, both Iqbal and Luther
succeeded in compelling the fundamental religious doctrines to go through a major
transformation which is appropriately captured in one of Iqbal’s own couplets in “Bal-e
Jibril”-046: “Na Tu Zameen Ke Liye Hai Na Asman Ke Liye, Jahan Hai Tere Liye, Tu
Nahin Jahan Ke Liye” (you live neither for the earth nor for the skies, universe is made
for you, you are not made for it) (“Allama Iqbal Poetry”).
So, by not talking in terms of “categorical imperatives” as Kant would have it but
linking reality of solid things with that of the feeling and emotion, we could be hopeful
of hi�ing upon at least two fundamental benefits. The first positive outcome could come
as a stabilizing force which would prevent our beliefs from becoming unreasonably
vulnerable to the external retaliations. It is to suggest that our beliefs in such an
arrangement could have a conviction and basis of their own. New doubts and questions
would not have a confounding impact since we would be fully aware of the fact that our
developed conviction is fully equipped to absorb or embrace any necessary change. This
is important because things which are bigger in nature and which last relatively for longer
periods of time can be redesigned only through a strong conventional framework. If this
is not the case, reconstructions in any domain of human life would seem like a far-fetched
and too ambitious a risk.
One might in fact say that in such a position, humans would be guided towards a
mature analysis. There would be a possibility to welcome any contrary remarks, knowing
that capacity to think and feel in a balanced manner is going to unfold in sensible and
impartial answers. It is referred to as a mature analysis because the stability that would
follow, would be operating from a holistic viewpoint. In other words, it would be creating
an inclusive enterprise to channelize our fluctuating principles. Historically, in the pa�erns
of conventional wisdom, this sort of outcome is usually associated with technical and
scientific domain. But interestingly, this understanding could be furthered by bringing
impartial behavioral pa�ern into the field of religious philosophy.
The second of the fundamental advantages would manifest itself in the moderate
tendency that would stop perceiving reason as an enemy of religious structures which
has been hitherto the case. Such change in these tendencies would be an equivalent of
embracing humanitarian values and a�ributes. A concept like secularism would become
more meaningful and plausible to the fundamental psyche in its pragmatic sense. It might
even furnish a process via which fundamental tendencies can be stopped from ge�ing
converted into extremist actions. For instance, the burning of the fifty thousand books in
the library of Baghdad is one of the darkest events in the Islamic history and it has been
justified on the basis of distorted and unreasonable manifestations of feelings. Abdulsalem
Abdulkareem (librarian) expresses grief as he says, “When the Mogols came here in
1258, they burned the libraries and threw so many books into the River Tigris that the
water ran black from the ink” (Westco�). Books are indeed one of the radical ways of
storing information and they do hold power to change the world. They are symbolic of
intellect and reason; and reason has always been at the core of Islam and this could be
testified from numerous verses in Quran. For instance, Surah Fatir: 35:1 state, “He adds
to his creation as He pleases”. Surah-ar-Rahman: 55:29 states, “Everyday some new work
employs Him”. These verses invoke creativity and newness. Apart from these, a slightly
deep linguistic venture would show many passages asking us to think, reflect and then
act. The problem is in Muslims who do read Quran but barely understand it in its true
essence. This might appear as astonishingly naïve interpretation of the problem, it is no
later when such simple issues take dangerous forms and violent shapes.
It is essential to assign vitality to the mechanism which would not let the fundamental
intentions to be transformed into the extremist ones since it is the only source that could
hinder the criminal and brutal destabilizing forces in their initial formation. In the absence
of such a rectifying tool, it is much less likely that the intellectual progression would
manage to defeat the unjust threats posed by the traditional blocks. This sort of moderate
solution holds a great relevance even in the contemporary universal bent where major
chunks of the population readily and willfully desire to engage each other in unjust and
violent actions in the name of some ideology or the other. In simple words, if extreme
views are left to run their course and to define what the universe should look like, the
complexity is only going to get multiplied. This implies that distortions and
misinterpretations which are socially and politically organized and even furthered, got
to be intellectually recognized and modified. If it is done, maturity in its complete sense
would be embraced and exercised. The event would be a life changing one. Iqbal,
especially makes even more sense today when a provocative, militaristic, chauvinistic
and belligerent nationalist narrative is at work. He becomes even more prominent in
contemporary scenario where ones understanding is inevitably colored by repressive
and monolithic political forces. The irony, however, is that importance of Iqbal is do
acknowledged in every influential debate on religion; but he is less read and understood
in terms of the core principles of his philosophical theology, in Islamic world. The truth
is that his poetry creatively incorporates ideas of resistance, protest and dissent. The
theoretical rooting of his ideas is so strong that centuries after his demise, his ideas
continue to usher change and inspire intellectuals only to create society which could be
perceived as more open and tolerant.
The English and Foreign Languages University (EFLU), Hyderabad

Notes
1
If all the wisdom, philosophy and celestial lore together cannot cure the ills of Muslims, it is sure
that they are worthless.
2
Kant uses the word ‘tutelage’ in his 1784 essay on enlightenment. He primarily blames man’s
“laziness and cowardice [as] the reasons why such a large proportion of men, even when nature
has long emancipated them from alien guidance, nevertheless gladly remain immature for life.
For the same reasons, it is all too easy for others to set themselves up as their guardians. It is so
convenient to be immature! If I have a book to have understanding in place of me, a spiritual
adviser to have a conscience for me, a doctor to judge my diet for me, and so on, I need not make
any efforts at all” (1). Kant basically implies that it is self-imposed tutelage that we are mostly in
hold of and overtly dependent on. It is primarily because that we consciously choose to keep
our rationale aside and let others choose and decide for ourselves. In such a case, it is very easy
for others to manipulate us.
3
The brouhaha over Rushdie’s infamous text, The Satanic Verses (1988) can be seen as a result of the
same distorted understanding of reality. The text gets banned in India even before it is released
here. It is said, that the controversy began when one of the compatriots of Ayatollah Khomeini,
the Iranian leader, informs him that the text allegedly contains blasphemous verses against
Islam and that it repudiates the religion almost to the extent of triviality. Rushdie himself confesses
in one of the interviews years later, that Khomeini on his death bed wouldn’t have cared to read
a 500-page book and that in all probabilities it is somebody else’s miscalculated understanding
of the book that led up to the chaos. He further adds, that if at all he wanted to criticize Islam he
would have done it in a line, he doesn’t have to write a five-hundred-page book in order to so.
This incident sufficiently explains the dangers of blindly following certain self-installed moral
guardians of society and culture. Also, not a single person bothered to read the book on its own
to decide if it genuinely contains, anything, if at all, blasphemous. Again, the same Kantian
notion of “convenient immaturity” is reiterated here. (see works cited for interview details).
(The couplets of Iqbal have been translated by the researcher for the article.)
Works Cited
Berkley Center. Poison or Cure? Religious Belief in the Modern World (with Christopher Hitchens
and Alister Mcgrath). YouTube, uploaded by Berkley Center, 23 July 2013, www.youtu.be/
Xc0kbM4tBYe.
Iqbal, Allama. Bang-e-dara.1924.
—h�p://iqbalurdu.blogspot.com/2011/04/bal-e-jibril-046-na-tu-zameen-ke-liye.html?m=1. Accessed
6 February, 2021.
—h�p://iqbalurdu.blogspot.com/2011/04/bal-e-jibril-030-dil-soz-se-khali-hai.html?m=1. Accessed
7 Feb 2021.
—h�p://iqbalurdu.blogspot.com/2011/04/zarb-e-kaleem-029-tasawwuf.html?m=1. Accessed 7 Feb
2021.
Iqbal, Muhammad: Essays on the Reconstruction of Modern Muslim Thought, edited by Hillier, H.C &
Koshul, Basit Bilal, Edinburgh University Press, 2015.
Kant, Immanuel. What is Enlightenment?.1784.
—Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals.1785.
Nie�sche, Frederick. Genealogy of Morals. 1887.
Rushdie, Salman. Salman Rushdie: Books, Affair, Biography, Controversy, Fatwa, History,
Influences-Interview (2010). YouTube, uploaded by The Film Archives, 30 Dec, 2013,
www.youtu.be/HRqLAGMWLXc.
Westco�, Tom. Where the books weren’t burned: Baghdads ancient library. Middle East Eye, 28
March 2018 07:23 UTC, h�ps://www.midd;eeasteye.net/features/where-books-werent-burned-
baghdada-ancient-libraray, last updated 2 years 3 days ago, Accessed 8 February 2021.
The Museum Today:

Towards a Participatory and Emancipated Heterology
CATARINA POMBO NABAIS
Abstract: Foucault had the foresight to point out the existence of “other spaces” of power
and to include the museum as one of the examples of these counter-places that are
heterotopias. Assuming its current crisis situation in a constructive, positive way, the
museum may declare itself as a heterotopic space, that is, a place of emancipation where
new regimes of visibility and sensitivity are shared. Endowed with its own space-time,
crossed by the multiplicity of the viewer’s voices, the museum can assert itself today as
a common, participatory heterotopy; as a space of collective knowledge resulting from
the actions of emancipated viewers.
Keywords: Museum, Heterotopy, Public Participation, Emancipation
“Above all, the museum is one of the places that offers the highest idea of man”
André Malraux, The Imaginary Museum (1965: 13)
M ichel Foucault has deeply thought out the relationship of institutions with the
structures of power. The military quarter, the school, the hospital, the prison are
institutions that respond to a same logic of power organization and functioning. They
were all designed in such a way as to have control over the bodies and life of the
individuals who inhabit them, subject-individuals because subjected to the norms, rules
and procedures imposed by these institutions.
Now, it is interesting to realize that, despite the critical and harsh Foucauldian idea of
institution put forward in Discipline and Punish (1975), it is Foucault himself who, almost
simultaneously,1 finds the possibility to circumventing this same space of power with
his concept of “other spaces” (“espaces autres”). Foucault is indeed a great thinker of
space. In his systematic cataloguing of the architecture of the city, where he identifies the
institutional spaces of the twofold power/knowledge, Foucault points out to other spaces
that are not properly free (since they belong to the organization of the city) but constitute
new ways of inhabiting and sharing the city. By distinguishing them from the utopias, as
imaginary and unreal non-spaces, Foucault defines these “other spaces” as heterotopias:
Real places, effective places, places designed in the institution of society itself, and which
are a kind of counter-places, a kind of utopias effectively realized in which the real places,
all the other real places that can be found within the culture, are simultaneously represented,
contested and inverted. A kind of places that are out of all places, despite being localizable
(Foucault 1994: 755-6).
The Museum Today / 158
What I want to underline is that, for Foucault, the museum is one of those “other
spaces”. As he writes, “heterotopias of the time that it accumulates to infinity (...);
museums and libraries are heterotopias in which time does not stop coming and landing
on itself” (Foucault 1994: 757). I will show how this same ambiguity may be grasped in
the very brief history of the idea of museum that I propose below.
Very Brief Notes on the History of the Museum

At the time of its invention in Ancient Greece, the museum begins as one of the
institutions of knowledge: the place for classification of the world beings and for the
organization of the world chaos. In this first moment, museum is above all an institution
linked to the construction and transmission of scientific knowledge and, therefore, in
close coordination with other cognitive institutions which are the “Republic of The Wise”
and the “School” (Pombo 2006: 161-200). The most paradigmatic examples of this
emerging figure of the museum are the Lyceum of Aristotle and Theophrastus, and the
Museum of Alexandria. These magnificent institutions, both dedicated to teaching and
research inspired by the muses, are determined by the “requirement of an exhaustive
classification (...) such as book collections, zoological, botanical and mineral samples,
le�ers, diagrams, paintings and all kinds of information gathered from fishermen,
politicians, sailors, etc.” (Pombo 2006: 165, translation added).
Later, with the re-invention of the museum in the Renaissance and in the Baroque
beginnings of modernity, the museum is configured as a place of disposition and
exhibition of objects of all kinds, from the most extravagant to the most erudite, from the
most banal to the most exotic and rare. These sets of objects were then collected in cabinets
of curiosity - first private and then progressively public – either by “collectors, amateurs
and curious”2 who decidedly aim to contribute for the large classificatory operation that
is then in its commencement, or by aristocrats or rich bourgeois eager to give visibility to
their authority or to their wealth.
It is however with the French Revolution that the museum fully acquires the status of
symbolic representation of political power. From this moment on, science and art
museums are going to diverge.3 Science museums will follow the path of the disciplinary
scientific advancements. Art museums will become the great allied of political power
whose determinations it expresses and internalizes. In complete harmony with the
academy of arts, the museum progressively acquires the authority that confers
consecration to works of art and determines the recognition of artists. The most
meaningful case is the Louvre, in Paris. First a royal palace, nine days after the fall of the
monarchy in the 10th August 1792 it became a public museum intended to allow all citizens
to share the previously private art collections and cultural values, now in the hands of
the new revolutionary regime (see Schubert 2000: 17-18).4
It is also such monumental theatricality of power in its promiscuity with art and
knowledge that is given to spectacle in the great universal exhibitions of the late nineteenth
century and the first decades of the twentieth century. The museum becomes an expression
of triumphant capitalism, symbol of modernity and civilization but also a place of
ostentatious power. According to Sloterdijk, “The gigantic Crystal Palace – the valid
prophetic building form of the nineteenth century (which was immediately copied all
over the world) – already anticipated an integral, experience-oriented, popular capitalism”
(Sloterdijk 2013: 175, official translation). Along with this political and economic
expressiveness, one witness the emergency of a new concept of museum as a gigantic
public space, popular, intensely decorated, involving a dimension of entertainment,

capable of a�racting all kinds of audiences, oriented towards the vivid and experiential
and, therefore, marked by a much greater proximity to the citizen.
However, it should be noted that, in the opposite direction to this “popular” tendency
of the art museum as a symbolic power institution, it is also at the end of the 19th century
that, in the field of arts, a scenario of resistance to the established power begins to be
configured with the constitution of what is called “independent system”. As Pierre
Bourdieu stresses, Zola invented the figure of the “intellectual”, that is, the figure affirming
the independence of art and all the cultural sphere: “the intellectual, constituted as such,
intervenes in the political field in the name of autonomy and of the specific values of a
cultural production field that has achieved a high level of independence face to the
powers” (Bourdieu 1992: 186, translation added). This is the moment where the first art
galleries facing the Museum institution were open. The artistic schools emerged too, as
an alternative to the centralized and standardized system of the Academy. In 1863, by
command of Napoleon III, in order to calm the revolt of the artists who were refused by
the Academic selection, the Salons des Refusés is open in clear opposition to the official
and academic Salons de Paris. They stood as the alternative halls in which the great names
of Impressionism presented their works. “The universe of artists ceases to function as a
hierarchical device controlled as a body and, li�le by li�le, was constituted as a field of
competition in the face of the monopoly of artistic legitimacy” (Bourdieu 1992: 191).
With the entrance in the twentieth century, and especially from the 1930s in the USA
and 1950s in Europe, the art museum begins to perform new functions. In large part, the
museum is shaken by the crisis of art face to visual culture and the global empire of
image empowered by photography and cinema. Hence, the museum, once reserved for
the exhibition of type standard specimens, prototypes, auratic originals, was forced to
open its doors to the copy, to let itself be conquered by reproduction, in a word, to
surrender to the civilization of image. An important symptom of this transformation
was the construction of MoMa guided by two fundamental determinations. On the one
hand, MoMa was invaded by image. Truly revolutionary in its concept, since the 1930s,
the Museum thought out by Alfred Barr, further modern painting and sculpture, displayed
“an unprecedented inclusion of photography, architecture, industrial design and cinema,
covering the entire spectrum of contemporary visual culture” (Schubert 2000: 45). On
the other hand, the new idea of a participatory art museum begins to be drawn. In Alfred
Barr’s own words, MoMA aspired to be “a laboratory where the public was invited to
participate in the experiences” (Schubert 2000: 45). This participatory dimension of the
museum will be reinforced by its increasing openness and permeability to the general
public that comes in large number to frequent its rooms 5. The museum does no longer
present collections filtered by its own institutional authority, in the context of a somehow
paternalistic conception face to a less prepared audience, but, on the contrary, it seeks
now to accept and implement the criteria, the tastes, the appetites, the wishes of the
public itself. In a word, what the museum loses in authority wins in democraticity. This
participatory tendency was shared by many museums all over the world. That is the case
of the Pompidou Center whose innovative character embraced emergent artists and new
publics. “Like MoMa, the Pompidou Center surrendered to revolutionary goals and
established itself by serving a growing and diversified audience” (Schubert 2000: 61).
Significantly, art market in the 1970s was marked by a clear split between, on the one
hand, the financial system that supports the “great” museums and its “major” artists,
and, on the other hand, artistic movements which struggle and resist to the economic
and speculative exploitation of art. Through a radical art and a “dirty aesthetics”, emerging
artistic movements declared themselves against the established art. Examples include
the libertarian movement Fluxus, which has affirmed itself as anti-art, contrary to the
reduction of the artwork to a trade entity; the Land Art which, being directly made on
the ground, cannot be exposed in any museum; or the Arte Povera, artisanal art that, by
the use of simple, natural, non-noble materials, never before acceptable by the museum,
intends to annulling the difference between art end everyday life or between nature and
culture. The dialogue between the most creative and experimental art movement and
the museums was broken. Even MoMa, which was open, since its foundation, to the
most contemporary art movements, lost, in the 1950’s, the will for meeting the most
irreverent art scene of New York.6
The Museum Crisis

In general, this transformation of the museum is thought out as a crisis: the
contemporary crisis of the museum. And this designation is intended to mark, either the
loss of museum’s authority and its consequent withdrawal from the most experimental
artistic movements, or its submission to the criteria of the wider public and the economic
power that underlies massification of taste (advertising, mass media). In fact, never the
economy took over the museum so much. What one has today is a tearing scenario: from
one hand, museums that seek to maintain the same criteria of excellence and taste that
have always characterized them and which, for this reason, see themselves empty and at
the border of ruin; on the other hand, large public museums, with highly successful
exhibitions, which do not mind exposing plastic dinosaurs to a�ract entire families on
rainy days. Never have this kind of museums had so many visitors. “Nearly 5.7 million
people visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York in 2011, the highest number
in 40 years and higher in 400.000 visitors to the previous year” (Jürgens 2012: 86). Never
have museums moved so much money and had so much projection in terms of blockbuster
productions and exhibitions to the general public.
However, if one witnesses such a strong financial bet on the “big” museums and
exhibitions of “great” artists recognized and promoted by the neoliberal system, never
the financial support (both public and private) has been so reduced in what regards
“smaller” museums, which prefer to expose “alternative”, emerging artists, as well as
museums and cultural spaces outside the capital. Given the severe budget cuts in culture,
many of these museums are at risk of closing. This contradiction forced the museums to
adopt commercial strategies in order to a�ract new audiences (marketing, cultural
tourism, etc.). The opening of museum branches at airports and shopping centres (e.g.
the Rijksmuseum at Amsterdam Schiphol Airport) are paradigmatic examples. This
will of the museum to meeting the needs of mass civilization, may be seen, for example,
in extending the opening hours to a night regime, in selling the already customary
pass that allows entry into several museums; in the invention of educational services,
or in the rehabilitation of abandoned urban spaces (as the case of the industrial space
where the Tate Modern was made, as well as the Hamburguer Banhof train station or the
Matadero, the former slaughterhouse of Madrid). Now, it is worth asking: What is the
meaning of this transformation? How can the museum be redefined today? How can the
museum be a place of resistance to the imperatives of market? How to resist capitalism
through art and museum?
Museum Strategies for Overcoming the Crisis

I believe that, more than resigning to the condition of an institution in crisis, the museum
may stand on the side of resistance, as a collective device, allied and giving strength to
small artistic movements, contributing to the emancipation of the spectator and to the
formation of a new community of equals. This means that the museum could take over
the paradoxes of its current situation in a constructive and positive way, by affirming
itself as a heterotopic place, and by le�ing itself be crossed by the multiplicity of voices
that visit it. This hypothesis is based on the Rancierian thesis according to which:
The politics of art cannot therefore solve its paradoxes in the form of an intervention outside
their own places, in the ‘real world’. There is no real world outside of art. What exists are
folds and doublings of the common sensitive tissue where the politics of aesthetics and the
aesthetics of politics join and disjoin. (...) The real is always the object of a fiction, that is to
say of a construction of the space where the visible, the expressible and the feasible
intertwine (Rancière 2008: 83, our emphasis).
My proposal involves thinking about the museum as that “fiction” where the collective
voices of enunciation and action may be heard. Maintaining its status of institutional
place for representation and knowledge, the museum could also be the place of
presentation, experimentation, affirmation of its own contingency as a space of collective
knowledge, that is, of a knowledge produced in the action of the emancipated spectator.
Only so, and following Rancière once again, could the museum be, in fact, a democratic
place, since democracy is “the power of those who no longer have a title either to govern
or to being governed (...). The scandal of democracy… is to reveal that this title can only
be the absence of title, that the government of societies cannot ultimately rest but in its
own contingency” (Rancière 2005: 54). Basically, my proposal is about finding new
existing museological forms and trying to identify and intensify them. In fact, the crisis
and the restructuring of the museum have always been accompanied by the constitution
of lines of escape and resistance, that is, knowledge devices based on understanding
art as a place of knowledge. And that is true at the level of the spectator, the curator and
the museum itself.
Today, it is indeed possible to identify a new way of inhabiting museums. The experience
and involvement of the spectator is now tendentiously personalized. The cultured and
demanding visitor also became an emancipated, active visitor. He/she is endowed with
the status of an independent producer of meaning whose commi�ed participation,
interests, and opinions are recognized and taken into account by both the curators and
the institution. Much more than a passive, inactive receptacle of the curatorial proposals
that are extrinsically suggested to him/her, the visitor increasingly participates in the
construction of the very meaning of the exhibition. This is true mainly in art museums.
However, it has been extended to science museums which tend to meet the visitors’
interests and tastes, inviting them to participate in a series of available activities. The
trend is all over: the museum shows/sells what the visitor/consumer desires to see.7
In the context of curatorial activity too, the emergence of democratic mechanisms is
today also very significant. These curatorial mechanisms which take the spectator as co-
curator of diverse activities and events are being put in practice by numerous art
museums.8 Other solutions increasingly adopted by museums go towards the constitution
of the visitors as partners in the economic effort that museums have to develop in dealing
with the lack of funding, namely in crowdsourcing exhibitions. There are many examples
of cross-cu�ing and interdisciplinary initiatives aimed at establishing bridges between
the museum, the civil society, the university and the artistic community. This is the case
of promoting free courses, seminars, conferences in partnership with universities as well
as the organization of artistic residencies. This is also the case of the creation of museums’
network, such as the Island of Museums in Berlin, or, more radically, the European museum
network l’Internationale that proposes a horizontal, non-hierarchical and decentralised
model of artistic internationalism and exchange among cultural agents, promoting a
more direct relationship between institutions and civil society.9
One is therefore facing a set of very diverse initiatives by which the museum aims at
giving voice to the community. As I will show next, these initiatives suppose the
emancipation of the spectator and the affirmation of the artist as producer of installations
and works in situ, as well as the experimental and participatory curatorship.
For a Museum to Come

The classical exhibition is directed at each of the visitors as singular, isolated, lonely
subject. It offers each one the possibility of confronting oneself individually with the
objects exposed thus opening up to personal aesthetic contemplation. But the
contemporary art installations create a diverse form of reception: the visitor is not alone
anymore but has now the opportunity to experiment his/her own collective dimension.
As Groys says:
Moving from one object to another, such an individual visitor necessarily overlooks the
totality of the exhibition’s space, including his or her own position within it. An artistic
installation, on the contrary, builds a community of spectators precisely because of the
holistic, unifying character of the installation space. The true visitor to the art installation
is not an isolated individual, but a collective of visitors (Groys 2010: 61).
The eminently political character of art is here in evidence. However, as Rancière warns,
it is necessary not to fall into the demagogy of a certain politics of art. It is necessary to
leave the vicious circle between what Rancière designates as “pedagogy of representative
mediation” (or the representative regime) and the “pedagogy of ethical immediacy” (or
the ethical regime)10. Art is political, yes, but not because it has a paternalistic role, either
in teaching and transmi�ing values (ethics), or in unveiling the horror of the world
(representation). As Rancière denounces:
Art is supposed to be political because it shows the stigmas of domination, or because it
puts the reigning icons into erosion, or because it leaves its own places to become a social
practice, and so on. After a century of supposed criticism of the mimetic tradition, it is clear
that this tradition is still dominant even in the forms that want to be artistically and politically
subversive. It is assumed that art makes us revolted by showing us revolting things, that it
mobilizes us by moving out of the artist’s studio or the museum and that it transforms us
into opponents of the dominant system by denying itself as an element of this system
(Rancière 2008: 57).
On the contrary, art is political when it opposes the idea that the enlightened and
emancipated subjects can indicate the pathway of liberation for the oppressed. Art is
political when it is based on the principle that any individual can compose the field of
the “distribution of the sensible”, by reconfiguring it, by reinventing it, by introducing
in it a new fiction and new set of possibilities. As Rancière explains:
Art and politics are linked together as forms of dissent, as operations to reconfiguration of
the common experience of the sensible. There is thus a politics of art that precedes the
politics of artists, a politics of art as a singular division of the objects of common experience,
which operates by itself regardless of the desires that artists may have to serve this or that
cause (Rancière 2008: 70-71).
Social emancipation itself led to aesthetic emancipation because the working class
produced a rupture in the way of feeling and thinking. The workers themselves, in their
emancipated condition, broke the hierarchy that reduced them to the figure of a-
theoretical, a-intellectual, a-artistic people. Against the vertical and causal logic in which
one class of individuals explains and governs the other as if respecting a logic of difference
between surface and subsoil, Rancière proposes a horizontal, rhizomatic model, according
to a principle of indifference between the subjects. A principle according to which anyone
can reconfigure, at any time, the distribution of the sensible regime, thus establishing a
dissident and controversial “other space”. In Rancière’s words, “workers do not oppose
practice to utopia; they conferred upon the la�er the characteristic of being ‘unreal’, of
being a montage of words and images appropriate for reconfiguring the territory of the
visible, the thinkable, and the possible. The ‘fictions’ of art and politics are therefore
heterotopias rather than utopias” (Rancière 2000: 65).
Once again, Foucault’s concept of heterotopia echoes here. For Rancière, politics is the
invention of a neutral space-time. It is the result of a dissensus, of a rupture with the
prevailing and dominant system:
If the aesthetic experience touches upon politics, it is because it is also defined as an
experience of dissension, opposed to the mimetic or ethical adaptation of artistic productions
for social purposes. Artistic productions lose their functionality there, they leave the network
of connections which gave them a destination by anticipating their effects; they are offered
in a neutralized space-time, also offered to a gaze which is separate from any defined
sensorimotor extension (Rancière 2008: 67).
Emancipation is the emergence of a form of existence separated from the dominant space-
time. It is the emergence of an other-space-time, a new regime of making, of visibility, of
perception of the multiple voices hitherto inaudible, anonymous. Emancipation is an
action that involves the breaking, the dismantling and the collapse of the dominant
enunciation regime in order to bring up, from it, new regimes of discourse, of visibility
and of possible achievements.
[Emancipation] begins when we challenge the opposition between viewing and acting;
when we understand that the self-evidence facts that structure the relations between saying,
seeing and doing themselves belong to the structure of domination and subjection. It begins
when we understand that viewing is also an action that confirms or transforms this distribution
of positions. The spectator also acts, like the pupil or scholar (Rancière 2008: 19).
What is interesting to emphasize is that, for Rancière, not only emancipation is the
affirmation of heterotopia, but this heterotopic neutral space is the museum. As he writes
in The Emancipated Spectator (2008):
What forms a revolutionary working body is not the revolutionary painting, whether
revolutionary in the sense of David or that of Delacroix’s. It is rather the possibility that
these works can be seen in the neutral space of the museum, in reproductions of cheap
encyclopedias, where they are equivalent to those which yesterday told the power of kings,
the glory of ancient cities or the mysteries of faith (Rancière 2008: 69).
Now, I think it is possible to combine Rancière’s theses on the spectator with Groys’s
point of view on the installation and, from this conjugation, to affirm that the installation
is the place par excellence of the emancipation of the spectator. As Groys writes:
The artist who designs a certain installation space is an outsider to this space. He or she is
heterotopic to this space. But the outsider is not necessarily somebody who has to be included
in order to be empowered. There is also empowerment by exclusion, and especially by
self-exclusion. The outsider can be powerful precisely because he or she is not controlled
by society (Groys 2010: 68).
According to Groys, the installation space let us perceive a controversial dimension of
democracy: a place where the artist is both sovereign and excluded. Artist’s freedom
comes, precisely, because the artist has the power of self-exclusion, because he/she can
create a heterotopic place, under his/her own rules. The artist then becomes an
independent power from institutionalized power. In fact, as he states:
The installation space is where we are immediately confronted with the ambiguous character
of the contemporary notion of freedom that functions in our democracies as a tension
between sovereign and institutional freedom. The artistic installation is thus a space of
unconcealment (in the Heideggerian sense) of the heterotopic, sovereign power (Groys
2010: 69).
What Groys underlines is precisely the fact that, in an installation, that is, in the
exhibition of the artist’s private space within the public space, the spectator is confronted
with his/her own character of a dislocated. The spectator is him/herself heterotopic:
The space of an artistic installation is the symbolic private property of the artist. By entering
this space, the visitor leaves the public territory of democratic legitimacy and enters the
space of sovereign, authoritarian control. The visitor is here, so to speak, in foreign ground,
in exile. The visitor becomes an expatriate who must submit to a foreign law – one given to
him or her by the artist (Groys 2010: 59).
Heterotopia is here thought out in its most radical form: as a forced exile of the spectator.
And democracy is exposed as a common space caused by the artist. Democracy rises as
the emergence of a private ethos within a public topos. Democracy is the public space
made private of the artist who is seen, in the installation, by the public eye. Democracy is
thus born in the artistic gesture of installing an “other space” in the common space. In
the words of Groys:
The author of an artistic installation is also such a legislator, who gives to the community
of visitors the space to constitute itself and defines the rules to which this community must
submit, but does so without belonging to this community, remaining outside it. And this
remains true even if the artist decides to join the community that he or her has created
(Groys 2010: 60).
Also, for Rancière, politics is made in the construction of a “other space” within the
community and it is by the affirmation of this point of dissensus that art is political.
The effectiveness of art does not consist in transmi�ing messages, in giving models or
counter-models of behaviour or in learning to decipher representations. It consists first of
all in the displaying of bodies, in the cu�ing of singular spaces and times which define
ways of being together or separated, in front of or in the middle of, inside or outside, close
or distant (Rancière 2008: 61).
Final Note
“The politics of emancipation is the politics of the self as an other.
The logic of emancipation is a heterology”
Jacques Rancière, On the Shores of Politics (1998: 85)
Foucault, as seen above, had the clairvoyance of pointing out to the existence of “other
spaces” of power. Spaces that, however, were still co-extensive to the power because
somehow, they preserved it, they saved it from its ruin. On the contrary, what I want to
defend is that the museum can affirm itself today as a communitarian, a participatory
and an assertive heterotopy. In other words, the museum can be constituted as an
expression, not of power and its tricks, but as an enunciation device of the strength
belonging to emancipated citizens. In view of the multiple utopias which exist in their
condition of mere possibles that act virtually in the real, the museum is a space with a
local, unique, actual topos which, by its nature, can be a force of resistance to the prevailing
power. As a heterotopic device, endowed with its own space-time, the museum can be
an “other space” of public freedom, that is, a space of distributing new regimes of visibility
and sensitivity. As Rancière says:
It is because the museum – understood not as a simple building, but as a form of division
of the common space and specific mode of visibility – is constituted around the disused
statue that, later, it will be able to accommodate any other form of disused object from the
profane world. This is also why the museum can, in our days, accommodate modes of
information circulation and forms of political discussion which try to be opposed to the
dominant modes of information and to the discussion about common affairs (Rancière
2008: 65).
The artist can also function as a revolutionary trigger. In his/her uniqueness, in his/her
occupation of space, the artist goes beyond his/her condition as a singular, private
individual. More than a personal signature, the artist is the one whose production is a
collective enunciation. His/her work points to the creation of a community to come.
It is time to give the floor to Deleuze and Gua�ari. In their last work, What is Philosophy?
(1991), they thought art as the composition of affects and percepts that are beyond any
and every subjective sphere and that belong to the collective dimension, calling to the
constitution of a people to come11. The art’s plan of composition can therefore be
designated as the constitution of a people. Like art, the revolution is also the creation of
a composite of actual events that, due to their consistency, assert themselves as a
monument. With Deleuze and Gua�ari, one understands be�er what art is by reading
what they write about the revolution and its immanent strength as a monument:
The success of a revolution resides only in itself, precisely in the vibrations, clinches, and
openings it gave to men at the moment of its making and that composes in itself a monument
that is always in the process of becoming, like those tumuli to which each new traveller
adds a stone. The victory of a revolution is immanent and consists in the new bonds it
installs between people, even if these bonds last no longer than the revolution’s fused
material and quickly give way to division and betrayal (Deleuze, Gua�ari 1991: 167).
Such as the revolution, the success of art lies in the sensations that the artist has managed
to make expressive. Sensations which, even if they do not last longer than their ma�er,
they will always and forever function as a fusion between individuals, as the creation of
a monument-event, as a universal compound in permanent becoming.
Heterotopia as dissensus happens in the new common and unfilled discursive space of
the oppressed. That is where politics really is done. Quoting once again Rancière when,
in his master work on emancipation, he speaks about the production of the heterotopic
dissensus of emancipation: “This is the meaning of the paradox of the ignorant master:
the student learns from the master something that the master himself does not know. He
learns it as an effect of the mastery which forces him to seek and he verifies this research.
But he does not learn the knowledge of the master” (Rancière 2008: 20).
The museum can be this place of collective discursive and expressive practices of an
ignorant master. And, since politics is a form of fiction, one could thus say that the
emancipated spectator can enter in a becoming-muse of the museum!
Universidade de Lisboa, Portugal
(The author is a Scientific Researcher at the Department of History and Philosophy of Sciences,
Faculty of Sciences, University of Lisbon, Portugal. This work is financed by national funds through
FCT – Fundacao para a Ciencia e a Tecnologia, I.P., within the scope of the I&D Unity of the Centro
de Filosofia das Ciências da Universidade de Lisboa (CFCUL), Project with the Reference FCT I.P.:
UIDB/00678/2020 and UIDP/00678/2020 and of the Transitory Norm - DL57/2016/CP 1479/CT 0063.)
Notes
1
I refer to the text wri�en in 1967 – “Des Espaces Autres” (“Of other spaces”) - whose publication
Foucault only authorized in 1984, in the magazine “Architecture/Mouvement/Continuité” and
which, subsequently, in 1994, came to be included in the volume IV of Dits et Ecrits (Writings).
2
This is precisely the title of Krzysztof Pomian’s classic work (1987) Collectioneurs, Amateurs et
Curieux. Paris, Venice: 16th-18th century.
3
In what concerns science museums, the amateurs and curious will be slowly substituted by the
naturalists, botanists, zoologists or geologists whose aim is not to reunite exotic objects and
beings anymore, but to give reason of the infinite variety of species (See Pomian 1987: 249-252).
4
This was not the case of the British Museum, founded in 1759, which was above all an exhibition
space for collection of books and manuscripts. Indeed, in the British Museum “there was initially
no clear separation between the library and the departments of natural history and archaeology,
everything was managed by a librarian and two assistants” (Schubert 2000: 17).
5
As Karsten Schubert writes, “three developments have finally brought massive changes to
museums across Europe. Post-war reconstruction and economic recovery were effectively
completed in the West in the early 1970s [...]. For the first time, there was money for neglected
museums. The second factor was the emergence of mass tourism and the corresponding leisure
culture of the 1970s [...]. More than the availability of funding and the advent of mass tourism,
it was the cultural changes of the 1960s that culminated in the events of 1968 that affected so
deeply the fate of the museum” (Schubert 2000: 56-58).
6
As Elena Volpato says, “the conviction of artists that it was in no way possible for institutional
machines such as MoMA to represent contemporary experimentation, or, in the interests of
their trustees, to have nothing in common with the ideas and beliefs of the movement of American
and international art” (Volpato 2010: accessed 10th August 2020).
7
As Rodney signalizes, “this situation is (partly) provoked by the evolution of consumerism and
by a revolution in marketing: visitors (as consumers) and museum (as a merchant) co-create the
meaning to be lived during the visit” (Rodney 2016: accessed 3 March 2019).
8
“The Museum Stedelijk from March to September 2014, presented drawings made collaboratively
by visitors during their stay in the museum. In August 2014, the Frye Museum of Sea�le launched
#SocialMedium, an exhibition consisting entirely of selections made by visitors using social media
(...). The Portland Museum of Art was involved in a similar project in 2014 entitled
#captureParklandia which was composed of photographs tagged, taken with electronic devices,
from Portland city parks, transmi�ed via Instagram to the museum’s website dedicated to the
project. The Boston Museum of Fine Arts used a popular vote to select the paintings to be included
in an exhibition entitled “Boston Loves Impressionism”. In the United Kingdom, similar projects
were carried out at the London Museum, the British Museum, the Victoria and Albert Museum, the
Royal Pavillion and Museums of Brighton and Hove” (Rodney 2016: accessed 3 March 2019).
9
See h�p://www.internationaleonline.org/confederation.
10
See Rancière 2008: 58-62.
11
For a more detailed analysis of this major thesis of Deleuze and Gua�ari, see Pombo Nabais
2020: especially 341-353.
Works Cited
Bourdieu, Pierre. Les Règles de l’Art. Genèse et Structure du Champ Li�éraire (‘The Rules of Art.
Genesis and Structure of the Literary Field’). Paris, Seuil, 1992.
Deleuze, Gilles and Gua�ari, Felix. Qu’est-ce que la Philosophie? (What is Philosophy?). Paris, Minuit,
1991.
Foucault, Michel. Surveiller et Punir. Naissance de la Prison (Discipline and Punish. The Birth of the
Prison). Paris, Gallimard, 1975.
Foucault, Michel. Dits et Écrits (Writings), Vol IV. Paris, Gallimard, 1994.
Groys, Boris. Going Public. Translated by Steven Lindberg and Ma�hew Partridge. New York,
Stendberg Press, 2010.
Jürgens, Sandra Vieira. ‘State of Museums. Successes and Failures of Cultural Tourism’, Arq./a –
Revista de Arquitectura e Arte, 102 (May/June), 2012, 86-89.
Malraux, André. Le Musée Imaginaire (The Imaginary Museum). Paris, Gallimard, 1965.
Pombo, Olga. Unidade da Ciência. Programas, Figuras e Metáforas (Unity of Science. Programs, Figures
and Metaphors). Lisbon, Duarte Reis, 2006.
Pombo Nabais, Catarina. Deleuze’s Literary Theory. The Laboratory of his Philosophy. Preface by Jacques
Rancière and English translation by Ronald Bogue. New York/London, Rowman & Li�lefield,
2020.
Pomian, Krzysztof. Collectioneurs, Amateurs et Curieux, Paris, Venice: XVI-XVII siècle (Collectors,
Amateurs and Curious. Paris, Venice: XVI-XVIII century). Paris, Gallimard, 1987.
Rancière, Jacques. Aux Bords du Politique (On the Shores of Politics). Paris, La Fabrique, 1998.
Rancière, Jacques. Le Partage du Sensible. Esthétique et Politique (The Politics of Aesthetics. The
Distribution of the Sensible). Paris, La Fabrique, 2000.
Rancière, Jacques. La Haine de la Démocratie (Hatred of Democracy). Paris, La Fabrique, 2005.
Rancière, Jacques. Le Spectateur Emancipé (The Emancipated Spectator). Paris, La Fabrique, 2008.
Rodney, Seph. ‘The Evolution of the Museum Visit, from Privilege to Personalized Experience’,
Hyppoalergic, 2016. h�p://hyperallergic.com/267096/the-evolution-of-the-museum-visit-from-
privilege- to-personalized-experience/?wt=2, accessed 3 March 2019.
Schubert, Karsten. The Curator’s Egg. The Evolution of the Museum Concept from the French Revolution
to the Present Day. London, One-Off Press, 2000.
Sloterdijk, Peter. In the World Interior of Capital. For a Philosophical Theory of Globalization (trans.
Wieland Hoban). Cambridge/Malden, Polity Press, 2013.
Volpato, Elena, “The Art Workers’ Coalition” in Mousse Magazine, n. 25, September–October 2010,
h�p://moussemagazine.it/art-workers-coalition-elena-volpato-2010/, accessed 10th August 2020.
/ 153
Hugo, Hegel, and Architecture

JOSÉ LUIS FERNÁNDEZ
Abstract
T his essay aims to contribute comparative points of contact between two influential
figures of nineteenth century aesthetic reflection; namely, Victor Hugo’s artful
considerations on architecture in his novel Notre-Dame de Paris and G.W.F. Hegel’s
philosophical appraisal of the artform in his Lectures on Fine Art.Although their individual
views on architecture are widely recognized, there is scant comparative commentary on
these two thinkers, which seems odd because of the relative convergence of their
historically situated observations. Owing to this shortage, I note that, while certainly not
identical, Hugo and Hegel share an aesthetic family resemblance in how they hold similar
ideas on architecture’s symbolic function, cognitive content, and, ultimately, how the
artform’s ability to remain a standing paragon of meaning was razed by successive modes
of cultural communication. Consequently, the essay works to show some congruent
aesthetic affinities between these two great figures, but which appears to be overlooked
in the literature.
Keywords: Architecture, End of Art, Hegel, Hugo, Notre-Dame de Paris
Hugo and Notre-Dame de Paris: The Work Hangs Interrupted

Published on 16 March, 1831, and more commonly known to readers outside of France
as The Hunchback of Notre-Dame, Hugo blended fictive and reflective voices to write in,
and of, Notre-Dame de Paris:
No doubt she’s still a sublime and majestic edifice, the cathedral of Notre-Dame de Paris.
But however much of her beauty she may have retained with age, it’s hard to avoid groaning,
it’s hard to avoid growing angry at the countless degradations and mutilations that have
been inflicted on this venerable monument by time and humanity, without any respect for
either Charlemagne (who laid the first stone) or Philippe Auguste (who laid the last) (Hugo
2004b, 53).
On 15 April, 2019, groans turned to cries as all the world watched the 850-year-old
Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris burn to ruin, which seared in our minds the indelible
image of its roof and spire in a towering geyser of flames.1 Draped by a darkening twilight,
the nightmarish catastrophe appeared as if the infernal waves of Phlegethon, as could be
imagined in the mythological mindsets of the ancient Greeks,2 still profluent in Virgil’s
moat of rolling fire and Dante’s retributive river of boiling blood,3 and from which Hugo
himself drew as the incendiary metaphor on whose ashen shores washed up the as yet to
be baptized foundling Quasimodo (Hugo 2004a, 143), ensured that Our Lady of Paris’s
story will need further retelling over time.
Hugo’s telling of Notre-Dame de Paris was itself a transitional narrative that imagined a
sixteenth century tragic romance from a nineteenth century political perspective, and it
not only skyrocketed his career, but its widespread popularity also fulfilled the author’s
ulterior motive to propel fervent demand for the renovation of the then withering
cathedral. Although Hugo had already appealed for Notre-Dame’s restoration six years
earlier in his 1825 remonstrative pamphlet Guerre aux démolisseurs! (War on the
Demolishers!), ‹‹ Quelquefois on sauve une admirable église en écrivant dessus ›› (Sometimes
you save an admirable church by writing about it),4 he continued to use his novelistic
skills to amplify the intersecting lines of aesthetic and political obligations, thus offering
a kind of architectural apologetics which gave action to his convictions.
Hugo’s 1831 belief in Notre-Dame de Paris over the power of art to ameliorate the rupture
between the present and the past, thereby presenting a connecting chronology of French
struggle, unity, progress, and purpose remained a guiding thread in his work, as we see
confirmed in the 1862 epigrammatic Preface to Les Misérables wherein he adopted an
encompassing, far-seeing historical viewpoint to reassert his confidence over the utility
of art and the agency of artists to effect social transformation.5 Hugo, perhaps the most
extolled novelist France ever produced, writes with the fervor of a religious revivalist
who viewed the great cathedral not only as a revered House of God to restore solemn
adjuration in the multitudes but, even more so, as an accretive reflection of French history:
“Notre-Dame de Paris isn’t what could be called a complete, definite, classifiable
monument….Every side, every stone of the venerable monument is a page not only of
our country’s history, but also of the history of science and art” (Hugo 2004b, 63).
The surfaces and partitions of Notre-Dame, its many blocks and subdivisions, are taken
by Hugo as carefully curated précis of human progress, each one communicating a brief
hypothesis, an experiment, a conclusion, or perhaps evoking a judgment of taste.
Accordingly, the multifaceted building of the famous cathedral displays an amalgam of
activity which Hugo believes can bridge the gap between “the history of science and
art,” or what C.P. Snow called the “two cultures,”6 by builders and spectators perceiving,
as described by George Steiner, how architecture can construct a relation in which
“Archimedes joins Michelangelo”7 in polymathic union: “While Daedelus, who is force,
measured, and Orpheus, who is intelligence, sang, the pillar which is a le�er, the arcade
which is a syllable, the pyramid which is a word, simultaneously set in motion both by a
law of geometry and a law of poetry, formed groups” (Hugo 2004a, 190).
For Hugo, the story of human progress, from brutish nature toward civil society, is a
rich, multilayered roman d’apprentissage (or Bildungsroman) always working through the
growing pains of increasing experiential stages: “The social instinct succeeds the nomadic
instinct. The camp gives place to the city, the tent to the palace, the ark to the temple….The
human intellect is always on the march, or, if you prefer, in movement, and languages
with it.”8 Architecture communicates the growing complexity of human experience as a
coming-of-age story disclosed not only in ideas and words, but also in the assemblage of
deeds; moreover, the fragmented, ongoing construction of great monuments like Notre-
Dame captures the continuity of Hugo’s proleptic optimism in how it entails that the
parade of ideas, words, and deeds is constantly forging ahead: “Progress is the mode of
man. The general life of the human race is called Progress; the collective advance of the
human race is called Progress. Progress marches on” (Hugo 2013, 1232).
At their best, great monuments, like great societies, serve as visible symbols of our
progressive history to give us a fuller socio-cultural reading of the past to be�er
Hugo, Hegel, and Architecture / 170
understand the stories we tell about ourselves in the present. As Hugo told them, with
architecture as foreground, these stories are anything but straightforward by calling our
a�ention to how the commingling of science and art produces an ever-emerging historical
hybrid, an artifact whose distinctive contributions supervene on a constitutive whole
that is always more than the sum of its features:
So Romanesque abbey, philosophical church, Gothic art, Saxon art, heavy round pillars
reminiscent of Gregory VII, hermetic symbolism of the kind that made Nicolas Flamel a
forerunner of Luther, papal unity, schism, Saint-Germain-des-Prés, Saint-Jacques-de-la-
Boucherie, are all fused and combined and amalgamated in Notre-Dame. This central,
seminal church is a sort of chimera among the old churches of Paris: it has the head of one,
the limbs of a second, the rump of a third–bits and pieces of all of them (Hugo 2004b, 63).
Hugo’s extraordinary passage aims to convey the transition from Romanesque to Gothic
architecture as a magnificent mélange, whose collected traits are equally retained and
nullified in the grand synthesis called Notre-Dame. It also speaks to the power of art and
science to collect and communicate knowledge and understanding of specific historical
stages of human activity.
Grand architecture does not stand independent of its builders and spectators, who are
both children of their times, and thus articulate systems of belief, visions du monde or
worldviews, in how it codifies narratives of human history in which no one voice can
claim final authority:
Indeed, many a massive tome and often the universal history of mankind might be wri�en
from these successive weldings of different styles at different levels of a single monument.
The man, the individual and the artist are erased from these great piles, which bear no
author’s name; they are the summary and summation of human intelligence. Time is the
architect, the nation the builder (Hugo 2004a, 129).
The visions du monde expressed by monuments are agglomerations of human community;
they join together, rather than isolate. Hugo sees architecture as showing discrete packets
of time collected into a visual artform that conveys prevailing ideas, atmospheres, and
feelings. It is an interpretation that found a resonant echo in Martin Heidegger’s
association of architecture with World.9 For Heidegger, the notion of World serves as a
frame of reference for a community’s experience, and can be interpreted as a nexus of
relationships and organizing framework that reveals historically situated being. Just as
with Hugo’s exhibition of the French Catholic cathedral as a structure that can bind (religare)
communal living, Heidegger uses the example of the Greek temple, which he views as an
object that “sets up” or structures the values, beliefs and worldviews of a given culture to
itself, “The temple-work, standing there, opens up a world.…The temple, in its standing
there, first gives to things their look and to men their outlook on themselves.”10
As World, the temple opens up a first look to how Dasein, Heidegger’s term of art for
the unique existential state of human self-consciousness, relates to itself and its needs as
historically situated being. Karsten Harries puts it as follows, “So understood, architecture,
as opposed to mere building, has an essential public function: its task is to help gather
sca�ered individuals into a genuine community by presenting the powers that preside
over its life.”11 Thus, in the case of the Greek temple, Heidegger argues that the structure
conveyed to the ancient Greeks their own particular onto-semantics, that is, what it is-
means to be an ancient Greek.
Similarly, to appreciate Hugo’s metaphor for recognizing the accumulative deposits of

French history in Notre-Dame’s “standing there,” requires a kind of onto-semantics
revealed by the ability to see above and beyond the proximal altitude and ambit of one’s
eyes: “When you know how to look, you can discover the spirit of an age and the
physiognomy of a king even in a door-knocker” (Hugo 2004a, 149). Thus, in order to
read the prevailing Zeitgeist,12 one must be able to see from an elevated standpoint that
can discern the “successive weldings” of the many Geister summed up in an age.
However, this is no small task. Because historical human activity is both interspersed
and blended in paroxysmal fits of construction, Hugo relates that epochal shifts are never
clean and neat. The lines of demarcation that would subtend the opposing sides of one
age from another must be drawn light and thin rather than dark and thick, and the study
of transitions weaves a guiding hermeneutic much like an Ariadne’s thread which, instead
of leading out of a vertiginous maze, reminds us that our work in the labyrinth of time is
always unfinished:
Each wave of time lays down its alluvium, each race deposits its own stratum on the
monument, each individual contributes his stone. Thus do the beavers, and the bees; and
thus does man. The great symbol of architecture, Babel, is a beehive. Great buildings, like
great mountains, are the work of centuries. Often architecture is transformed while they are
still under construction: pendent opera interrupta, they proceed quickly in keeping with the
transformation. The new architecture takes the monument as it finds it, is incrusted on it,
assimilates it to itself, develops it as it wants and, if possible, finishes it (Hugo 2004s, 129).
Notre-Dame, like the novel itself, is an encyclopedic work, incorporating a vast
collection of ideas that, while a�empting to explain the world, will always find itself
inadequate to the task of capturing its growing complexity, thus requiring periodic
updates and revisions.13 The phrase “pendent opera interrupta” or “the work hangs
interrupted” appears in Book 4 of Virgil’s Aeneid, and speaks to this ongoing project;
specifically, when Queen Dido, possessed by her increasingly beguiled and blinding
passion for Aeneas, neglects due a�ention to Carthage’s fortifications, leaving towers
and walls half-built.14 For Hugo, the phrase speaks to the fundamentally incomplete
nature of human society, which, though always struggling to overcome impediments to
progress, cannot afford to forsake its obligation to build on its legacies. Ignis aurum probat,
and it will also presently test our capacity and determination to contribute our “own
stratum” in the renewal and reinvention of Notre-Dame.
Fortunately, the transformation of the majestic cathedral is underway. Aline Magnien,
director of the Historical Monuments Research Laboratory (LRMH), the organization
charged with conserving all of France’s monuments, claims with optimism that, “Notre
Dame will be restored! Its artwork, stone, and stained glass will be cleaned; it will be
more luminous and beautiful than before…Notre Dame will come out of this experience
enriched…And so will we.”15 Petit à petit l’oiseau fait son nid (li�le by li�le, the bird builds
its nest). Notre-Dame’s radiant beauty will shine again because it was, and is, more than
a standing colossus of old stones and picturesque glass. Hugo’s admiration of the
monument has, on my reading, always reflected the Goethean commission rendered so
eloquently by the historian Jaroslav Pelikan, “What you now have as heritage, now take
as task, for thus you will make it your own.”16 Although it was recently besieged by a
harrowing Covid-19 interruption, the task to rebuild and preserve Notre-Dame is newly
taken and guided in the early twenty-first century by the enduring spirit of French and
worldwide human resilience with French President Emmanuel Macron projecting a
reopening in 2024 to coincide with the celebration of Paris hosting the Summer Olympics.17
Hugo and Hegel

As we have seen, for Hugo Notre-Dame was more than a towering mise-en-scene in
which to situate his story of the doomed Esmeralda and her sympathetic bellringer. It is
a monument that stands before us as a mirror of its architects, builders, and caretakers,
with all of its “fused and combined and amalgamated” historical elements consolidated
for sublime philosophical reflection and promotion of sensible practical maxims. With
this dual power in mind, in Les Misérables’ many narrative digressions Hugo writes
exuberantly about the power of philosophy to turn theory into practice, “Socrates should
enter into Adam and produce Marcus Aurelius—in other words, bring forth from the
man of enjoyment the man of wisdom—and change Eden into the Lyceum” (Hugo 2013,
516). The metamorphosis from Eden into the Lyceum depicts man’s departure from nature
to spirit, from impulse to thought, and from mechanism to freedom. Sensuous
amusements might well befit non-contemplative dispositions, but human self-
consciousness pursues a higher pleasure fueled by the capacity of philosophical thinking
to contemplate and then actualize “the ideal.”
This activity, whose results might come to nothing, is still experienced as a joyous
a�empt to reveal how elements which seem materially dispersed can still be cognized as
a totality. Moreover, Hugo considers that “Philosophy is the microscope of thought;
everything wants to escape it, but nothing can. Turning your back on it is futile. What
side of yourself do you display when you turn your back? The shameful side” (Hugo
2004b, 397). Within Hugo’s lifetime, various philosophers did not turn their backs on
a�empts to unify disparate forces of human experience. Immanuel Kant (1724-1804),
who died two weeks before Hugo turned two, applied the regulative use of transcendental
ideas as heuristic guides beyond experience to formulate standards of historical
phenomena in their totality,18 as well as positing the possibility of unified aesthetic
judgment in his notion of sensus communis.19 However, the nineteenth century philosopher
who is perhaps most famous for a�empting an understanding of ourselves and our world
as a unified whole is G.W.F. Hegel.
At first blush, Hegel and Hugo would seem like strange bedfellows which might explain
the scant number, if not a lacuna, of comparative commentary.20 On the one hand, we
might have the greatest dialectician among philosophical system builders, but maybe
the “ugliest” prose stylist in the German language;21 on the other hand, perhaps we have
the most belletristic of modern French novelists, but also, as noted by Graham Robb, a
writer whose “idiom…was a model of the world of opposites he had grown up in,
characterized, notoriously, by its heavy use of antitheses.”22 Antitheses, tensions, polarities,
the beautiful and the ugly, the bestial and the spiritual, the holding together of opposites
were all constitutive, poietic elements not only of art but also of society. Hence, it would
appear that chance has a taste for forging unexpected, yet suggestive, connections between
historical contemporaries who imprinted the stamp of their belief in the elevated products
of human self-consciousness and keen observations of antisyzygous relationships on
their monumental works. We note, for example, that Hegel (1770-1831) died when Hugo
was twenty-nine, near the end of the same year that saw the novelistic birth of Notre-
Dame de Paris.
However, more importantly, Hugo shared with Hegel the sentiment that architectural
monuments disclose crucial steps toward an understanding of ourselves and our world
through a dialectical birth of cultural formation. Hugo’s keen observation of the formative
dynamics behind a culture’s architecture, and his acknowledgment that monuments collect
the residual deposits of a communal language, comports with Hegel’s identification of

the same artworks as formative products (bildenden), and more fully as the results of a
process of “formative education” (Bildung) (Hegel 1977, 16).23 Hugo took seriously the
idea that architecture possesses a kind of readability. In the sixteenth century, Galileo
famously introduced the metaphor that the book of nature is read through the language
of mathematics.24 Hugo considered that before this point, the legibility of humanity was
wri�en most clearly within the old stones of monuments. Before books there were
buildings, so the elucidation of humanity begins with architecture:25
In fact, from the origin of things up to and including the fifteenth century of the Christian
era, architecture was the great book of mankind, man’s chief form of expression in the various
stages of his development, either as force or as intelligence (Hugo 2004a, 189: my italics).
For Galileo, the universe was an enormous book; for Hugo, humanity was an enormous
edifice of spatio-symbolic associations etched in buildings that served as reflective texts.
Architecture, and indeed the plastic arts in general, presages prosaic modes of
communication tat write and speak to us but not by actually writing or speaking. Instead
of offering literal communication, the language of architecture, far more than merely
weaving narratives of symbols, words, sentences, and stories, worked to form visible
paradigms of figurative meaning. In this sense, Hugo relates how he viewed architecture
as offering a combination of descriptive accounts (narratives) and explanatory models
(paradigms) of discursive activities by which the primary means of cultural
communication was conveyed through a legible system inscribed in stone. Thus historical
works of architecture represent eloquent legacies of art and history in which the sum of
their figurative parts, their covers, spines, bindings, and pages are unified in a meaningful
idea of a whole text.
Before Hugo, Hegel also understood architecture as straddling the illuminating grounds
of art (Kunst) and history (Geschichte) by standing against us as discursive objects
(Gegenstanden) of past cultural experience for our reflective contemplation. Architecture
reveals edifying narratives whereby common bonds and normative modes of human
transaction were formed, which is exemplified in Hegel’s rendition of cultural
homogeneity before the great sca�ering from the Tower of Babel (Hegel 1975b, 638).
Although Hegel does not share Hugo’s assessment of architecture as the chief form of
fifteenth century cultural expression, along with Hugo, he also perceives it as possessing
a certain kind of legibility, in fact, as the first artform (Kunstform) to inscribe the story of
humanity (Hegel 1975a, 83-84).
For Hegel, the deciphering of this symbolic form of art is performed by a dialectical
hermeneutic which begins to tell a story about the need of Spirit (Geist), i.e., of rational,
self-conscious, self-determining humanity that gradually develops in history by gathering
greater knowledge of its essential freedom, to come together in community. Initially, as
the first of the arts,26 architecture’s formation is a mix of function and harmonious rules
of geometrical “regularity and symmetry;” namely, the gathering of nature’s resources
to safeguard Spirit.
Individuals and communities seek to rise above the precariousness of natural life by
gathering within the shielding integument of cultural enclosures. Thus, for both Hegel
and Hugo, the legibility of architecture discloses the needs of human communities. This
perceptive reading reveals both the goal and the task for Spirit. The goal is revealed
insofar as a work of architecture gives shape to the external environment of Spirit. As
primitive representations of art, Hegel argues that buildings signify culture (Bildung),
but only in its outer or external form, which bespeaks only to Spirit’s inchoate needs.
However, in its final stages of development, architecture, specifically temples and
churches adorned with higher arts (e.g., sculpture, painting, and music), will gesture
toward the immaterial and spiritual, which suggests the inherent freedom of Spirit to
ultimately transcend any encasement in inorganic form.
In this respect, human engagement with architectural forms is experienced not only
with an understanding of their protective and unifying social utility, but also, if received
by spectators capable of performing a certain kind of hermeneutic excavation, for aesthetic
and philosophical profit. As an example, with regard to his artful addition of formerly
missing passages in an updated volume of Notre-Dame de Paris, Hugo imagines his ideal
readers as philosophically interested. Although art can be experienced and enjoyed in
various ways, for Hugo, as for Hegel, artifacts are never truly separated from human
understanding, but are always standing open for “willing” interpreters who can
“complete” the artwork by raising to consciousness a deeper, hidden stratum of meaning:
“Each tradition was sealed beneath a monument” (Hugo 2004a, 189).
As an example of unearthing the meaning concealed beneath appearances, Hegel
observes how the Egyptian Pyramids express two-aspects, one is external, the other is
internal.
Here Hegel utilizes an archeological hermeneutic to disclose a kind of hidden presence
lying underneath the magnificent appearance of Pyramids; namely, a necropolis of tombal
associations that can help us grasp the whole meaning of an artifact, thus bringing to
light what he terms the Unconscious Symbolic (Die unbewusste Symbolik).27 However, the
work of having to call to presence what is hidden or secret is a major drawback in
architecture’s aesthetic form, e.g., by the Pyramids concealing their real purpose as one-
sided monuments of the pharoahtal afterlife, it is stuck at a stage of aesthetic development
that is too alien, uncanny, and impoverished to convey to Spirit its more immediate
content of self-understanding.
Hegel argues that because architecture, at any stage of development, cannot ever shed
its utility as a structure for some purpose other than its own, it is incapable of aesthetically
reflecting the self-sufficient Idea, i.e., the perfect harmony between ma�er and Spirit. As
a result, architecture is judged as inadequate to the task of bringing Spirit before itself.
Although it usefully reflects mind, it does so only symbolically. For Hegel, the stamping
of symbolic meaning is not without value but is only a first stage of shaping the exterior
world to reflect inner Spirit, however inadequate to the task. Moreover, consonant with
Hugo’s view that monuments express visions du monde, Hegel notes how some structures
disclose worldviews that outlast the times of their productions. Architecture has always
held value for its extant expression of the needs and values of historical beings, if merely
symbolically. Similarly, Hugo also relates the commensurate development of architecture
and mind as a beginning stage in which mind inscribed symbols to read itself:
“Architecture thus evolved along with the human mind; it became a giant with a thousand
heads and a thousand arms, and fixed all this vacillating symbolism in a form at once
palpable, visible and eternal” (Hugo 2004a, 190). Like Hegel, Hugo never abandoned the
notion that architecture is an expressive means of conveying cognitive content and cultural
value. However, both thinkers also came to the same conclusion that this mode of
meaningful conveyance has historically run its course.
The Pastness of Ar[t]chitecture

With regard to the conveyance of cognitive content, specifically, human self-conscious
reflection on itself, both Hegel and Hugo propose theses over the so-called deaths of art
and architecture, in which contents of Mind are handed off to more modern modes of
cultural communication. Hegel’s thesis is more complex than Hugo’s and requires some
technical explication. At the heart of Hegel’s moribund assessment is the view that art
can be studied as a philosophical science which is capable of revealing truth (Wahrheit).
In this sense, philosophy and science are inextricable. Philosophy is a science insofar as
its purview is conceptual thought (what Hegel calls the Concept or der Begriff). Hence
artworks lend themselves to scientific study, but only as objects (Gegenstände) that
exemplify Concepts (Begriffe) for Spirit’s reflection into itself. Artistic truth (künstlerische
Wahrheit) arises out of the concomitant mediation between an object and its constituent
Concept, and if an artwork exhibits truth, it does so by revealing to Spirit the Concept in
its presentation as a sensuous object.
The triune interrelationship between Gegenstände, Begriffe, and künstlerische Wahrheit
cannot be overemphasized in a study of Hegel’s aesthetic theory. For the unity of Hegel’s
artistic trinity explains not only the reason Hegel thinks that there can be a systematic
inquiry of truth in “the wide realm of the beautiful,” but also why definite aesthetic
truth is had at the expense of “the beauty of Nature” (Hegel 1975a, 1) which, being driven
by external forces, provides reason with criteria that are too indefinite, too arbitrary, and
too vague, to comprise the proper subject ma�er for a science or Wissenschaft of art.
Artistic truth necessarily reflects Spirit and is not found in the one-sided domain of
nature, which by itself is wholly characterized by chance and transience.
Thus, scientific discussions of art cannot be made under the aegis of accidental, arbitrary,
and “bad, transitory world” (Hegel 1975a, 11), whose substantial element is grounded in
external and contingent forces. Rather, scientific discussions of art are able to reveal truth
only under the Gestell of Geist, that is, under the rational frame of the philosophy of
Spirit. For Hegel, only Mind is capable of grasping truth by recognizing the necessary
mediation between Gegenstände and their corresponding Begriffe. Therefore, since a
Wissenschaft of art cannot ensue from studying the accidental and contingent, its destitute
and Mind-forsaken “sensuous element” precludes the scientific discussion of artistic
truth. By Hegel’s lights, the truth that art expresses can only be shone by objects that
embody conceptual thought, and whose categorical truth is capable of being apprehended
by self-conscious subjectivity, which by reflecting on the mediation between object and
concept recognizes itself.
The ‘three in one’framework of Gegenstände, Begriffe, and künstlerische Wahrheit discloses
the fundamental logical structure of a given artistic, indeed historical, period, and this
triad is exactly what Hegel takes architecture, in any of its developmental stages, to
lack. Architecture, comprised of stone, clay, and metals, is not the proper medium to
reflect Spirit.
At most, architecture hints toward, but does not embody, the Concept of Spirit.
Consequently, we come to Hegel’s famous conclusion that not only architecture, but also
artworks in general, no longer serve as torchbearers of cultural value:
[I]t is certainly the case that art no longer affords that satisfaction of spiritual needs which
earlier ages and nations sought in it, and found in it alone, a satisfaction that, at least on the
part of religion, was most intimately linked with art….Consequently the conditions of our
present time are not favourable to art….In all these respects art, considered in its highest
vocation, is and remains for us a thing of the past. Thereby it has lost for us genuine truth
and life, and has rather been transferred into our ideas instead of maintaining its earlier
necessity in reality and occupying its higher place (Hegel 1975a, 10-11).
The time when artworks had the power to convey substantive ideas has long since passed
the torch to philosophy (Hegel 1975a, 13). Not only is the art of the past incapable of
revealing to Spirit its inner truth, but so too with contemporary works of art:
Thus the ‘after’ of art consists in the fact that there dwells in the spirit the need to satisfy
itself solely in its own inner self as the true form for truth to take….This is the case in our
own time. We may well hope that art will always rise higher and come to perfection, but
the form of art has ceased to be the supreme need of the spirit (Hegel 1975a, 103).
In the development of Spirit, ar[t]chitecture served its purpose, it helped to point the
way to self-conscious awareness of self-determining freedom, but it was left behind by
higher cultural forms like religion and, ultimately, philosophy. Spirit created art, but
ultimately replaced its pride of place in society by outgrowing its representation in
materially available media.
Similarly, though much less technically, Hugo articulated a similar shift in aesthetic
and cultural influence in the fifth chapter of Notre-Dame de Paris, titled “This Will Kill
That” (Ceci tuera cela). Using the villainous perspective of Claude Frollo, the archdeacon
of Notre-Dame, architecture’s ability to convey meaning is mournfully anticipated:
The archdeacon contemplated the gigantic cathedral for a time in silence, then he sighed
and stretched out his right hand towards the printed book lying open on his table and his
left hand towards Notre-Dame, and looked sadly from the book to the church: ‘Alas,’ he
said, ‘this will kill that.’ The book will kill the building….It meant that one art was going to
dethrone another art: it meant: printing will kill architecture (Hugo 2004a, 187-89).
This (the capacity of the printing press to disseminate ideas) will end that (the power of
massive stone monuments to capture and direct the collective mindset). On my reading,
instead of announcing a ‘death of’ or ‘end of art thesis,’ both Hegel and Hugo actually
posit a senescence of art thesis without really proclaiming the finality of its demise. Hegel,
as we have seen, hoped “that art will always rise higher and come to perfection” (Hegel
1975a, 103), which does not so much certify art’s death rather than reposition its weakened
cultural value. For his part, Hugo view of architecture likewise refrains from pronouncing
the former while also announcing the la�er:
This is not to say that architecture will not now and again have a fine monument, an
isolated masterpiece…The great accident of an architect of genius might occur in the
twentieth century just like that of a Dante in the thirteenth. But architecture will no longer
be the social, the collective, the dominant art. The great poem, the great edifice, the great
creation of mankind will no longer be built, it will be printed. And in the future, should
architecture accidentally revive, it will no longer be master (Hugo 2004a, 200).
Thus, for both Hegel and Hugo, the move is one of displacement rather than of effacement.
With Hugo, this shift reflects a modern gesture toward a growing literacy that can
understand itself through books as used to be done through architecture. Moreover, this
new etching of humanity into the bible of paper is, as Hugo viewed Notre-Dame, a
“prodigious edifice [that] remains perpetually unfinished” (Hugo 2004a, 201). However,
for all of their aesthetic resemblances, it is exactly here that a comparison of similarities
between Hugo and Hegel must come to an end. For Hegel, the end of ar(t)chitecture is
indelibly inscribed in stone and in paper, while for Hugo, it should be noted, the rise of
the book is not without its own drawbacks, sounding the alarm for a potential second
Tower of Babel (Hugo 2004a, 202). In heralding this caveat, the artful novelist uses his
own inscription within the bible of paper to hopefully usher in a consequent age in
which architecture can again take center space in the town square of human discursive
practices not through a recycling of the past, but rather, because the “ceaseless” and
“indefatigable” work hangs interrupted (pendent opera interrupta), there is still hope that
a perpetually engaged process of architectural progress can capture and approximate
toward the goal of humanity as I am sure he would see taking shape in the current efforts
to revivify his beloved Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris.
Fairfield University, USA
Notes
1
An electrical malfunction is suspected to have started the destructive flames.
2
Pyriphlegethon, the flaming river of Tartarus. See, Plato, Phaedo in Plato: Complete Works, ed. John
Cooper, trans. GMA Grube (Indianapolis: Hacke�, 1997), 96.
3
Virgil, Aeneid, trans. Frederick Ahl (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 146; Dante, The
Divine Comedy: Inferno, trans. Charles S. Singleton (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1970),
149.
4
Later published in Victor Hugo, “Guerre aux démolisseurs,” Revue des dex mondes 5 (1832), 607-
22.
5
Victor Brombert, Victor Hugo and the Visionary Novel (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1986),
12, argues that Hugo “believed that writers had a mission, that they were the educators and
leaders of the recently awakened peuple (people), that they were to regenerate society, prepare
the future, and write, as it were, on paper and in life, the immanent epic of humanity’s progress.”
6
C.P. Snow, The Two Cultures (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998).
7
TheNexusInstitute. “George Steiner on How to Reform the Humanities. Universitas? Part III.”
Online Video Clip. YouTube. YouTube, February 22, 2013. Web. Accessed: December 2, 2019.
8
Victor Hugo, “Preface to Cromwell” in Romanticism, ed. John B. Halsted (New York: Harper &
Row, 1969), 102-03, 116.
9
Martin Heidegger, “The Origin of the Work of Art” in Martin Heidegger: Basic Writings, ed. David
Farrell Krell (New York & San Francisco: Harper Collins, 1977), 170.
10
Heidegger, “The Origin of the Work of Art,” 169.
11
Karsten Harries, The Ethical Function of Architecture (Cambridge: MIT Press, 2000), 279.
12
In his Introduction to Notre-Dame de Paris (2004a), John Sturrock relates how Hugo was
“preoccupied with what in recent years in France has come to be known as the ‘history of
mentalities’, or the state of mind of a population at a given historical period” (xiii-xiv).
13
Brombert, Victor Hugo and the Visionary Novel, 84, identifies a “dynamic of undoing that Hugo
reads into the processes of nature and creation,” which dwells on the notions of “ceaseless
reconstruction” (118).
14
Virgil, Aeneid, 79.
15
Christa Lesté-Lasserre, “Scientists are Leading Notre Dame’s Restoration,” Science Magazine,
March 12, 2020. doi:10.1126/science.abb6744.
16
“Was Du ererbt von Deinem Vätern hast, Erwirb es, um es zu besi�en.” Johann Wolfgang von Goethe,
Faust: Part 1, trans. Peter Salm (New York: Bantam, 1985), 54; Jaroslav Pelikan, Faust the Theologian
(New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), 28
17
Austin Horn, “Work is Started on Removing Damaged Scaffolding Around Notre Dame
Cathedral,” NPR.org, June 8, 2020. h�ps://www.npr.org/2020/06/08/872372221/work-started-on-
removing-damaged-scaffolding-around-notre-dame-cathedral.
18
Immanuel Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, eds. Paul Guyer and Allen Wood (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1998), KrV A771/B779. Kant appears in Hugo’s long poem L’Ane or The Ass in
which a seemingly immortal, worldly-wise donkey encounters “My old Kant” (mon vieux Kant)
and begins to recite his beast song (mon chant de bête brute) to, inter alia, denounce Kant’s
transcendental idealism, which can speak about scientific knowledge but remains quiet on the
experiential ma�er of knowing God. See Victor Hugo, L’Ane, ed. Calmann Lévy (Paris: Michel
Lévy Frères, 1880).
19
Immanuel Kant, Critique of the Power of Judgment, ed. Paul Guyer, trans. Paul Guyer and Eric
Ma�hews (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 5:293.
20
Jean Mallion, Victor Hugo et l’art architectural (Paris: PUF, 1962), briefly mentions certain affinities
in only four, sca�ered pages, the most substantial of which relates how Hugo joined Hegel in
thinking “le contenu de l’art es constitue par l’idée, représentée sous un forme concrète et sensible [the
content of art is constituted by the idea, represented in a concrete and sensitive form]” (558).
21
Robert Pippin, Hegel’s Idealism: The Satisfactions of Self-Consciousness (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1989), 5.
22
Graham Robb, Victor Hugo: A Biography (New York: W.W. Norton, 1999), 170.
23
Hegel employs the term Bildung to express rich connotations of culture, formation, and education,
all of which are interrelated. Bildung is as much a process of cultural development as it is a
product of cultural values.
24
Galileo, “The Assayer” in Discoveries and Opinions of Galileo, trans. Stillman Drake (New York:
Doubleday, 1957), 237-38.
25
Indra Kagis McEwen argues that “all of Western thinking was first grounded in architecture,”
and reminds us that Plato’s Socrates claimed his family’s lineage back to Daedalus the inimitable
architect, and that his father, Sophroniskos, was himself a skillful stone mason. See Indra Kagis
McEwen, Socrates’ Ancestor: An Essay on Architectural Beginnings (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1993),
130, 2, respectively. For the Plato, see Alcibiades (121a) and Euthyphro (11b-c) in Plato: Complete
Works, ed. John M. Cooper (Indianapolis: Hacke�, 1997).
26
In increasing dialectical order: architecture, sculpture, painting, music, and poetry.
27
Cf. F.W.J. Schelling, The Ages of the World: Book One, The Past, trans. Joseph P. Lawrence (Albany:
SUNY Press, 2019), 68.
Works Cited
Hegel, G.W.F. 1975a. Aesthetics: Lectures on Fine Art, Vol. 1. Trans. T.M. Knox. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
_______. 1975b. Aesthetics: Lectures on Fine Art, Vol. 2. Trans. T.M. Knox. Oxford: Oxford University
Press.
_______. 1977. Phenomenology of Spirit. Trans. A.V. Miller. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Hugo, Victor. 2004a. Notre-Dame de Paris. Trans. John Sturrock. New York: Penguin Books.
_______. 2004b. “From Notre-Dame de Paris” in The Essential Victor Hugo. Trans. E.H. Blackmore
and A.M. Blackmore. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
_______. 2013. Les Misérables. Trans. Lee Fahnestock and Norman MacAfee. New York: Penguin
Books.
Weaving Cityscapes with Oral Narratives:

A Study of Select Travel Narratives by Biswanath Ghosh
MUKULIKA DATTAGUPTA
Abstract: Despite of the fluidity in specifying the genre of travel writing, it documents a
place, its people and their stories. This paper has selected three books by Bishwanath
Ghosh – Tamarind City: Where Modern India Began (2012), Longing Belonging: an Outsider at
Home in Calcu�a (2014) and Aimless in Banaras: Wanderings in India’s Holiest City (2019).
The objective of this paper is to look into the use of oral narratives to collect the fragments
of the history of a city in the form of stories and how these responses to individual
memories lead us to a collective memory of a place.
Keywords: oral narrative, storytelling, memory, travel writing, cityscape
F rom Conquistadors to backpack explorers and pilgrims, throughout the ages travelers
of different types with different objectives have travelled far and wide across the
globe. Many such travelers have also kept an account of their journey and their experiences
of new places and people, making a significant contribution into the realm of knowledge
and in turn broadening its spectrum. Though for a long time travel narratives remained
quite neglected as a repository of history and information, but in current times it is seen
as one of the key components in the archive of historical information. On account of
current postcolonial trends of globalization travel and tourism has also emerged as an
important industry. Globalization has in turn helped to enhance the cross-cultural contacts
between people, places and cultures. The industry of travel and tourism has played an
important role in this whole phenomenon of postcolonial cultural contact. In this world
of globalization thus travel narratives have earned a relevant place for themselves. There
are travelogues, where the author is seen to rely on the oral narratives of the residents of
a particular place. Thus considering oral narratives as a source of first hand information
and identifying memory based individual stories as the path to reach out to the collective
postcolonial history and experience of a city.
While having a discussion on globalization many scholars might trace back its roots to
colonialism and the gradual rise of capitalism. The way travel narratives have responded
to the current economic, social and political debates of this globalized world has made
the study of travel narratives a prominent part in postcolonial studies. It is one of the
major objectives of postcolonial studies to investigate into the impacts which were made
due to the establishment of European colonies almost in all the continents, as it caused
displacement of a huge number of people of various communities and nationalities under
different circumstances and with different objectives. A study of various travel accounts
Weaving Cityscapes with Oral Narratives / 180
provides a very interesting path to trace the resultant cross-cultural interactions which
took place due to these willing or unwilling movements of people. During the process of
colonization oral narratives almost lost their importance to the emerging dominance of
the wri�en tradition. But again in postcolonial studies oral narratives seem to regain
their place of importance to which travel narratives respond spontaneously. Travel
narratives do recognize the importance of oral storytelling and also identify oral
narratives as a repository of information and history. Thus in a travel narrative many a
times these oral narratives turn out to be the contact point between the traveler and the
place. These oral narratives set a point of negotiation between the traveler and the
place. According to Carl Thompson:
“If all travel involves an encounter between self and other that is brought about by movement
through space, all travel writing is at some level a record or product of this encounter, and
of the negotiation between similarity and difference that it entailed.” (Thompson 10)
In Biswanath Ghosh’s works such a point of contact and further negotiations form at
both the cultural and linguistic levels. In the prologue of his book, the author justifies the
title as a response to his childhood memory and identification with the city of Chennai.
He associates with the oral narratives which he heard as a child from his father. He
writes, “…my first impression of Madras, was formed on the basis of his (author’s father)
accounts, was that it was a city of tamarind trees. No other detail registered because of
my inborn love for the taste of tamarind.” (Ghosh, Tamarind City xiv) As we have already
mentioned that how we generally tend to respond to our memories in oral narratives
based on our own identification and understanding of a travel subject. From the above
example it is clear that in such cases manyatimes we see a new place based on our memory
and this recognition may get reflected in a travel narrative as well. Regarding his response
to his memory of his father’s account of the city and the oral narratives which he heard
from his parents while growing up gave him a nostalgic impression on his arrival at the
city. He says, “At times, walking the streets of Chennai, I wonder if I am walking over
footprints left behind by my father way back in 1976.” (Ghosh, Tamarind City xiv).
In his works Ghosh has tried to establish a kind of previous connection with the city of
his quest. The connection seems to serve as the foundation for his works. He says, “As a
child I would pay a visit nearly every year with my parents to see my grandmother,
always taking the steam pulled Toofan Express from Kanpur, where I was growing up.
But I absorbed almost nothing of Calcu�a from those trips. The memories that I have
relate mostly to our stay in the homes of various paternal uncles and aunts, who were
sca�ered across the city and took turns in looking after my grandmother.” (Ghosh, Longing
Belonging 1) though he confesses, that “Calcu�a, at best, had been a piece of old furniture
stored away in the a�ic.” (Ghosh, Longing Belonging 1), but at the same time his book
relates his quest to understand the city by exploring its arteries and the people who are
invariable parts of it. In Aimless in Banaras: Wanderings in India’s Holiest City (2019) we
get the accounts from a boatman along with the renowned professors of the Banaras
Hindu University (BHU). From the stories and memories of ‘extraordinary’ people to
the most ‘ordinary’ people he tries to extract the story and the collective memory of the
city. In his travelogues Ghosh has tried to reconstruct the city in his memories. The
interviewees of his travel narratives have also tried to reconstruct the city from their
memories in their oral narratives which they have related to the author, be it Sunil
Gangopadhyay on Calcu�a or Kashinath Singh on Banaras or be it the comments of
Muthiah, the Madrasman, on Chennai and Colombo.
A journey begins when we set one foot beyond our door step. This one step is actually
our first step to run into a series of encounters of different tastes. By different, here we
would understand our difference with ‘the other’. At this juncture we may smell a sense
of stereotyping but with a sense of hope for negotiation which brings a positive rather an
optimistic note towards coping up with the cultural otherness. Ghosh talks about his
encounter with a Sikh gentleman in the train, who seem to have quite a lot of stereotypical
notions about the city of Chennai as well as about the people from the Southern states of
India. This gentleman seems to believe that there is no life in Chennai and thus it is
impossible to live there. He also seems to consider the case of civility of the people from
the south Indian states as timidity or cowardice. (Ghosh, Tamarind City xviii) But while
this whole conversation there is no display of aggression rather there is a possibility of
negotiation in case of a debate based on experience. The author being a journalist reports
this incident. He leaves it upon the readers to value judge the same.
Thus along with the sense of otherness there is also an understanding for that cultural
otherness whereas, while discussing his connection with Calcu�a, he emphasizes on the
process of retracing his childhood memories of visiting the city with his parents during
vacations. Thompson argues that this ‘principle of a�achment’ may work at different
levels and in different ways. He adds that generally travel writers find the use of simile
at their direct disposal and thus, make a good use of it. (Thompson 68) It sometimes
gives the readers a good ground for identifying and then assimilating the unknown with
the known experiences and encounters of the travel writing. Experience of places, people
and cultures could mostly be understood as a balanced blend of familiar and unfamiliar
aspects. It is impossible for a single traveler to narrate the complete picture of a place, its
people and culture. The narration of the traveler’s experiences and encounters of a place,
people and culture would thus tend to be a partial perception of the same. Thus we may
say that it would be foolish to generalize a particular place and the culture of the
communities of that place from the accounts of a traveler. But of course the importance
of reading a travel narrative lies in the fact that they are capable of giving us the part of
the larger picture of the unknown. In other words we may say that travelogues are not a
general or the whole representation of the world and its realities, but a representation of
a particular viewpoint which is just a part of the larger perspective of the reality of the
world which consists of li�le dreams and aspirations of the individuals of a particular
community, that in turn helps the reader to get the pulse of the place to a certain extent.
In his Author’s note Ghosh has mentioned very clearly that the book actually is the
documentation of his experiences and encounters of the city “between the spring of 2011
and the spring of 2013”. (Ghosh, Longing Belonging ix) These experiences and encounters
have helped the author to connect with the city of his memories and has also taken him
beyond that. He says, “I have never looked at Calcu�a that way. I have hardly known
Calcu�a for that ma�er. My visits to the city, first as a boy and much later as a son-in-law,
have been too brief and protected to look beyond the visible.”(Ghosh, Longing Belonging
12) He frankly admits the limitations of his childhood memories regarding the city and
also states the reason for that. Thus in his quest to understand the city he takes up the
journey to the places where he never went before. In his encounters with the people in
these places has helped him in weaving a cityscape based on the stories of past told by
the inhabitants of the city. He also refers to how the historical places become “the treasure
house of stories”. (Ghosh, Tamarind City 30) in this context a comment made by an army
officer seems to be very significant, who was posted at Fort St. George in Chennai, he
says that the life of an army officer is full of travelling and thus is like a repository of
anecdotes from different parts of the country and from the different communities they
mingle with in the due course of their transferable job. (Ghosh, Tamarind City 15) Thus
stories are seem to be everywhere and as a traveler to get hold of the bigger story of the
city it becomes important for the traveler to learn to read a city through the stories and
anecdotes that are related to it.
Both Individual memory and collective memory are dynamic in nature. Memory of
any kind involves real experiences and events along with an understanding of the same
in the current context. It could be very well argued that manyatimes memory also displays
a kind of selective nature in terms of what to remember and thus is liable to any kind of
change, but at the same time “acknowledging memory as subjectively (or socially)
reconstructive does not mean that it is per definition unreliable and that the notion of
truth is inapplicable.” (Altanian 13) In other words we might say that memory could be
a truthful account of past and thus is deeply related to the history, which in turn makes
it responsible towards the past it is relating to. We must not neglect the fact that memory
refers back to certain social relations and events like memory related to certain dates and
events. For instance, in his interview to Ghosh, Sankar mentions his experience of war
during 1942, he then refers back to his early memories of public transit in Chennai and
then tries to compare it with the current scenario and he follows the same process while
comparing the current education system with the previous one. (Ghosh, Tamarind City
208-209) Sankar reconstructs the city from his memory on the basis of these points of
social references and he follows the same pa�ern while comparing the city of his memories
with the current cityscape of Chennai. In this case the stored memory functioned as a
storehouse of knowledge. This knowledge refers to the postcolonial history of a particular
cityscape and gives the listeners a firsthand record of the previous cityscape of the same
city. With the narrator of the story based on his/ her memory the audience/ the reader
gets the chance to stand face to face with both past and present and in the process
establishes a connection with the narrator. Story telling by responding to one’s memory
is a medium to establish a direct social connection between the narrator and the listener.
Traveling experiences might sometimes turnout to be quite bewildering for the traveler
as they might be drastically different from what the traveler might have experienced till
date. This could be truer when it comes to the travelling of a completely unknown place,
people and their culture, but sometimes it could be true for the cases where the place
may be not so unknown to the traveler. Thus travel experiences even to a considerable
known place might also turn out to be estranging some times. This estrangement might
take place in different forms ranging from horror, despair to a sense of absolute delight.
According to Carl Thompson under such circumstances the traveler sometimes looses
the language and fails to express himself/herself while documenting such an experience
or encounter. Ghosh says, “…even planned books rarely go as per plan.” (Ghosh, Aimeless
in Banaras 47) Thompson also adds that at this juncture the author faces “two challenges,
of comprehension and of communication..” (Thompson 67) The objective of a travel writer
is to make sense of his/her own experiences and to relate the same experiences and
encounters of the travel to the reader in an identifiable manner.
While we discuss and talk about stories of experiences and encounters in terms of their
importance as the historical repositories the question of authenticity haunts us, as the
postcolonial world comfortably tends to deny any possibility of oral documentation.
Thus the authenticity of once memory and hence one’s story are always brought under
scrutiny. To deal with the issue of truthfulness and authenticity travel writers generally
tend to use the phrases like ‘I went’, ‘I saw’, ‘I spoke’ and many such first person verb
forms. From the above quotes it is clear that Ghosh’s words are also not an exception in
this regard. The use of first person verb forms help the authors to exercise the capacities
of an eye-witness, by emphasizing the presence of the author at the very moment he/she
is trying to discuss. In other words this could be considered as a process to claim an
ownership of the experiences and the encounters of the author as a traveler. Despite the
efforts of the author to prove his/her narratives as the authentic one the sense of suspicion
remains till the end. But on the other hand reading a travel narrative may also engage the
reader with the author on the basis of belief and trust. Also through this use of first
person verb forms the narrator tries to articulate the world of his/her own thoughts and
feelings. For instance Ghosh makes an ironic comment relating physical labor with being
poor and rich. (Ghosh, Aimless in Banaras 20) He makes several significant comments on
life and death in his works. While discussing the cremation grounds of Banaras and
Calcu�a especially in the context of Banaras he relates his meditations and philosophical
understandings of the human cycle of life and the concept of Shiva in this regard. During
his conversation with Kailash, who says, “…sometimes I carry burning wood (from a
pyre) home even to cook. Only last night we cooked rice and daal and chokha on wood
from a pyre.” (Ghosh, Aimless in Banras 114) and on hearing the author reacts, “…I would
say you are Shiva!” (Ghosh, Aimless in Banras 114)
In the process of preserving, telling and listening stories language plays an important
role, also language cannot be considered separately from the cultural aspect. In fact
language is not just a means of communication but also a cultural vehicle of the respective
community. While discussion on travel narratives how can we ignore the linguistic aspect
of the new encounters and points of negotiations. Ghosh gives us a glimpse of this
otherness of the language according to the place and the people who use it. He talks
about a simple English word ‘Mansion’. The general impression related to the word
does not match with Ghosh’s encounter with it on his arrival at Chennai. He relates,
“The mansion, I discovered, is the common name for a lodge meant for bachelors and
single men. I subsequently got to learn that there were scores of single men in Chennai
who had a�ained old age living in these mansions.” (Ghosh, Tamarind City xx) Similarly
there are stories regarding the origin of certain words for instance the word dubash has
come into existence from the word dobhash or the interpreter. (Ghosh, Tamarind City 49).
Similar is the case of origin of the word nautch that came from the simple word naach.
(Ghosh, Longing Belonging 197) These instances highlight the stories of postcolonial
linguistic formation of new words and new connotations of the words of our day-to-day
understanding of the postcolonial linguistic experiences and encounters.
Travel narratives are too fluid a genre to have a specific definition of its own. Also its
fuzzy boundaries as a genre liquefy it in terms of specifications. Many travel narratives
carry certain geographical details to emphasize on the aspect of authenticity of the
narrative. This is not a new practice. As there are some evidences of travelers to keep a
record of the geographic details of the places they have been to. This reminds us of
travelers like Al-beruni, who has recorded every geographical detail of the place he got
to visit in India. He has also added description of a particular geographic location as
described by many ancient Indian scriptures and texts. For example, he says, “The holy
much venerated ponds are in the cold mountains around Meru. The following information
regarding them is found in both the Vâyu and the Matsya Purâòas…” (Sachau 551) In the
case of geographic description Ghosh’s works are also not an exception; in his works he
has given a vivid description of the roads and streets. Ghosh not only give the proper
geographic location of the street or lane or road he is talking about, but at the same time
he describes his feelings and experiences on seeing the events taking place in a street
once at a time. Following is the description of what he saw on a Pongal afternoon near
his mansion within a few hours of his arrival in Chennai, “That afternoon, when I ventured
into the adjacent street in search of a mobile phone connection, I ran into a sea of people.
…The men look menacing with their thick moustaches. The women wore flowers in
their hair and on their faces sweat-smudged talcum powder or a yellow tan left behind
by turmeric paste. I had never thought the term ‘rubbing shoulders’ could be so literal. I
began to feel giddy. …I felt like a child lost in a village fair who was desperately trying to
spot his parents. …The main road turned out to be South Usman Road, and the street
branching off it, which nearly choked me, Ranganathan Street.” (Gosh, Tamarind City
xxi) Such city mapping seems to be a prominent feature of Ghosh’s works. In another
instance he is giving a brief postcolonial mapping of Dharmatala and says,
“DHARMATALA is one of the first neighborhoods to come up in Clive’s Calcu�a,
separated from the calm of the Maidan by the busy Chowringhee Road. …The taxi drops
me at Metro Cinema on Chowringhee Road. From there I turn into SN Banerjee Road
and begin my search.” (Ghosh, Longing Belonging 75) Ghosh also refers to some
monuments and buildings and locations looking for the postcolonial history that is
preserved in architecture. Bi�er and Weber would say, “ARCHITECTURE CAN CARRY
MEANING, hold memories, and make history….Such histories live most tangibly at the
scale of the city, but they are also expressed at a national level, where architecture can be
deployed to reinforce or to challenge collective social memory.” (Bi�er and Weber 39). In
his quest to trace back the ever changing postcolonial cityscapes of India like Chennai
and Calcu�a he has referred to the history of forts like Fort St. George of Chennai, where
he found the evidences of the beginning of postcolonial India and Fort William of Calcu�a
that witnessed so many ups and downs in shaping the postcolonial cityscape of Calcu�a.
Ghosh has also taken a look into churches and cemeteries that too had a story of
postcolonial India to narrate.
Ghosh has talked a lot about certain landmarks of a city, from the ‘holiest’ to the
‘unholiest’ in his books. In Aimless in Banaras he talks a lot about Vishwanath Gali, the
lane which leads the pilgrims to the famous temple of Kashi Vishwanath, in Longing
Belonging he speaks of Sonagachhi as well as of College Street and in Tamarind City he
elaborates Mylapore. He describes Mylapore through smells and scents and says, “I smell
the flowers and the vegetables even before the autorickshaw driver has deposited me on
the edge of one of the four streets that form a rectangle around the Kapaleeswara temple.”
(Ghosh, Tamarind City 126). In a similar fashion he describes the Kalighat Road of Calcu�a
and says, “…the road, which is lined up with shops selling items of worship, shops
selling musical instruments, shops selling household needs, such as umbrellas and steel
trunks, hawkers selling vegetables…” (Ghosh, Longing Belonging 69) While waiting for
his turn to enter the Vishwanath temple he narrates his experience in the queue and says,
“Cha�er fills up the alley containing the queue. My ears can tell that Tamils, Telugus and
Bengalis – in that order – outnumber the others. The voices, irrespective of the language,
betray impatience…” (Ghosh, Aimless in Babaras 12) All these streets and lanes have their
own distinct smells, population and above all their own signature stories of pain and
pleasure to tell, hidden by a façade of their face value. In the documentation of Sonagachhi
of Calcu�a the author comes face to face with the story of origin of the street which says,
“I introduced myself, upon which he (an elderly taxi driver at the taxi stand) had put the
news paper aside and smiled. ‘The street has a name, Durga Charan Mitra Street, but
people know it as Sonagachhi. Do you know why it is called Sonagachhi?’ ‘No, I don’t.’
‘That’s because at the other end of the street is the mazaar’ – tomb – ‘of an Islamic preacher
called Sunaullah Ghazi, who was known by the locals as Sona Pir Baba. It is because of him
that this place came to be known as Sonagachhi…’” (Ghosh, Longing Belonging 276-77) This
instance depicts the fact that an oral narrative holds the history of a place and how every
landmark has a story to tell. In the same section of this book when the author engages in
a further conversation with the same taxi driver, Shankar, he relates his story as well as
the stories of the people of this particular street. He also shares a lot of his experiences
and encounters, with the author and in the process we get to see how the author connects
himself and his readers with the oral narration of one’s experiences and encounters which
manyatimes turn out to be a part of the bigger history of a particular street.
Such landmarks also include places like Coffee House in Calcu�a and Pappu’s Tea
Shop in Banaras, where stories are born. Both spots are famous as adda zones. While
talking of Coffee House the author writes, “The Coffee House too is an institution by
itself; not just because it belongs to College Steert, but also because it has institutionalised
the Bengali’s favourite pastime: adda. …your credentials as a Bengali intellectual aren’t
impressive enough if you haven’t done adda at Coffee House at some point in your life.
…Many a famous Bengali had once upon a time has spent his evenings in Coffee House…”
(Ghosh, Longing Belonging 47-48) This landmark of postcolonial Calcutta is quite
comparable to Pappu’s Tea Shop which is also considered as “an institution” (Ghosh,
Aimless in Babaras 195), where the intellectuals of Banaras like Kashinath Singh come to
have a cup of tea and then pen down the stories about the city in the books like Kashi ka
Assi, that is weaved around the characters of Banaras whom the writer had encountered
at Pappu’s Tea shop. In search of story of the cities Ghosh has explored these landmarks
as well and have tried to dig into their history and the events which they have witnessed.
These stories took Ghosh to the families who have added to the history of the city of
his quest. The story of these families contains a big chunk of the history of the particular
city. Stories of the Appah family, told by one of the family members, contain the history
of the formation of the city Chennai. Appah family was the pioneer family which se�led
in Madras (Currently known as Chennai). The family history is very much like the grand
beginning and flourishing of a single family and then the financial decline of the same,
though it sounds like a very clichéd kind of a story but in the story of ups and downs of
a family contains the story of a child and his experiences of the city while he was growing
up depicting a picture of the ups and downs in the life of a city as well. (Ghosh, Tmarind
City 52-56) Similarly on the other hand the city of Calcu�a which is also known for its
signature sweets especially rosogolla, whose history is actually the story of the Das family.
Again the author speaks to one of the family members, who relates an oral history of the
family as well as the history of the sweet and thus a chunk of the postcolonial history of
the city which is still preserved in the form of family stories. (Ghosh, Longing Belonging
221-238) Be it the language, the landmark, the people, the locality, a family, an individual
or even food habits all these parameters are involved in understanding the history of a
place. Every story hidden in relation to all these parameters is one of the stories which
the particular place has to tell.
In Aimless in Banaras Ghosh points out, “Each man has a different story and different
ancestry, but right now they are collectively reaching out to their respective ancestors
through a priest who is guiding them through the rituals mechanically.” (Ghosh, Aimless
in Banaras 94) A city begins at a certain landmark and then gradually spreads whereas;
the place of its origin remains neglected. As a priest a traveler tries to unearth the stories
of the past form the neglected city as well as from the upcoming and emerging new
sections of a city. Ghosh as a traveler has tried to dig into the postcolonial construction
and reconstruction of a few Indian cities by collecting the fragments of history in the oral
narratives of the people and the places which came up while responding to their individual
memories to draw a bigger picture of collective memory of the city itself.
Adamas University, Barasat, Kolkata
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Chonology, Astronomy, Customs, Laws and Astrology of India about A.D. 1030. New Delhi: Rupa,
2002. Print.
Thompson, Carl. Travel Writing. New York: Routledge, 2011. Print
Interpreting ‘madwomen’: A Study of Charlo�e

Perkins Gilman’s “The Yellow Wallpaper”
and Pratibha Ray’s “The Eyes”
ANWESHA SAHOO
Abstract: This paper explores the theme of madness in two short stories by women writers.
Mental ailments like ‘madness,’ ‘hysteria’and ‘nervous condition’ are readily associated
with women. This paper aims to go beyond the actual illnesses and socially constructed
definitions to investigate the implications of ‘insanity’ and the causes that lead to a woman
being labelled ‘mad.’ While Charlo�e Perkins Gilman’s story “The Yellow Wallpaper” is
wri�en in the late nineteenth-century America, Pratibha Ray’s story “The Eyes” is situated
in Odisha in the late twentieth century. This paper would investigate the different yet
related concerns that these two authors address.
Keywords: Women’s writing, madness, feminism, female authors, marriage, female psyche.
M arriage and motherhood are supposed to be the ultimate source of happiness for
women, or at least that’s what society would have them believe. But what happens
when the men who were supposed to be their partners and provide love and
companionship, become the source of constant, subtle, or even explicit forms of
oppression, exploitation and psychological torment for women?
This paper offers a close textual analysis of two short stories by women writers who
delve into questions regarding women, their place in society, and explores very minutely,
their psychological spaces that inspire their thought and action. The first story I have selected
is “The Yellow Wallpaper” (1892), a semi-autobiographical work by the American author
Charlo�e Perkins Gilman, a ‘utopian feminist.’ The second story is “The Eyes” (1980) by
Padma Shri awardee Pratibha Ray, an Odia woman writer. The emphasis of the study is on
the theme of ‘madness’ when it afflicts women, and its causes. The stories deal with two
female protagonists who are trapped in a world that controls every aspect of their existence.
‘Madness’ has been a part of numerous pieces of literature over the centuries. The
Victorian era saw a rise in the trope of madness in writings by women authors. Helen
Small observes how a “madwoman’s doubly subversive literary potential (subversive
because she is mad and because she is a woman) proved very a�ractive to other feminist
critics.” In the nineteenth century, a number of women were suffering from mental
ailments like nervous breakdowns, hysteria and post-natal depression. Being hysteric or
developing a nervous condition became so common that these ailments came to be equated
with women. As a result, they were either confined to asylums or forced to lead a domestic
life in order to avoid any ‘excitement’ of their minds. Juliet Mitchell understands hysteria
as “the woman’s simultaneous acceptance and refusal of the organisation of sexuality
under patriarchal capitalism. It is simultaneously what a woman can do both to be
feminine and to refuse femininity, within patriarchal discourse.” When Gilman was
writing, America was heavily influenced by these Victorian values. Her works can be
read as a form of resistance against these oppressive ideological systems of morality.
Interpreting ‘madwomen’ in “The Yellow Wallpaper” and “The Eyes” / 188
“The Yellow Wallpaper,” published in 1892, is a first-person narrative in the form of a

series of journal entries by an unnamed woman protagonist. She and her husband John
have retired to a colonial mansion in America for her treatment. She has acquired a
“temporary nervous depression” post-childbirth, which we now know as ‘postpartum
depression.’ In the house, instead of a room that she likes be�er, she is confined mostly
to a nursery upstairs with bars for windows and a filthy yellow wallpaper that holds her
a�ention till the end of the story. The story traces her gradual spiralling from a “slight
hysterical tendency” to a woman who completely loses her grasp on reality by the end.
Pratibha Ray’s stories are set in the late twentieth-century Odisha. It was a crucial time
for the flourishing of women’s writing, may it be novels, short stories, poems or nonfiction
works. Post-independence, the 1970s and 80s saw an unprecedented rise in feminist works
in Odisha. Many of these works turned inwards and explored the female psyche and the
inner lives of women. While these women writers were influenced by the feminist
movements in the West as well as the movements close to home, their works were
informed by a culture that was unique to their experience. These writings were bold,
more vocal about gender issues than the earlier writings of the century, and aimed to
bring about social change.
“The Eyes” (Originally published in 1980 as “Akhi” in Odia) is a third-person narrative
account of a woman named Vimla. It is narrated by a teacher doing his research on
psychologically afflicted patients. She is a patient at an asylum in Odisha, and her eyes,
“from behind the railing” arrest the narrator whenever he enters the asylum. Vimla has
been admi�ed to the hospital by her husband for erratic behaviour, and her son Raju has
run away from home to wait outside the asylum for his mother, who he claims ‘is not
mad.’ By her own admission, Vimla is not mad, but that it’s only a pretence to escape the
“maniacal torture” she faced at the hands of her husband.
Both stories, though wri�en almost a century apart and situated in different socio-
cultural contexts, work around certain similar themes. This paper focuses on the ways in
which ‘madness’ has been used by these two authors to highlight concerns unique to
their particular se�ings as well as issues that travel across borders and time periods.
Resisting and rejecting the socially constructed definition of ‘madness,’ the two women
protagonists seek freedom from the oppressive societal conventions that they at first
conform to, but ultimately subvert, shocking and startling everyone around them,
especially the upholders and perpetrators of these laws. They are constrained physically,
emotionally as well as intellectually. Yet both of them feel a strain of unrest within
themselves regarding their incomplete lives. Neither is a passive, unthinking recipient
of her situation even at the beginning of the stories. The fact that there is an awareness of
something not being right itself speaks volumes. That is the first step of liberation; an
acknowledgement of the problem for being able to resolve it.
Charlo�e Perkins Gilman suffered from postpartum depression, a mental condition
that was not properly understood as an illness at the time. The popular remedy then was
the “rest-cure treatment,” which she found to be ineffective, contrary to what she believed
to be the cure: autonomy and ‘mental stimulation.’ She sent a copy of her story that was
inspired by this incident, to the doctor who treated her, Dr Silas Weir Mitchell, for perhaps
showing the treatment’s futility. Dr Mitchell had advised her to “live as domestic a life as
far as possible,” to “have but two hours’ intellectual life a day,” and “never to touch pen,
brush or pencil again as long as I lived.” This translated to complete avoidance of
intellectual stimulation like writing or any creative endeavours, thus stifling self-
expression. Similarly, the protagonist of “The Yellow Wallpaper” remarks, “[I] am
absolutely forbidden to ‘work’ until I am well again. Personally, I disagree with their
ideas. Personally, I believe that congenial work, with excitement and change, would do
me good.” Compartmentalization of ‘male reason’ and ‘female fancy’ seems to be at the
foundation of this treatment. Showalter uses the term “domestication of insanity,”
indicating a relation of madness with domestic confinement. The rest-cure treatment
proves to be futile and ‘counterproductive’ as it ends up making the narrator’s condition
worse. While she may have been a fictional or quasi-autobiographical character, such
harmful treatments constituted the reality of many women. In her autobiography, The
Living of Charlo�e Perkins Gilman (1935), Gilman calls her condition an “unbearable inner
misery” along with “ceaseless tears.”
In “The Yellow Wallpaper,” the in-laws, represented by John’s sister, check the unnamed
narrator’s behaviour at regular intervals by validating appropriate behaviour expected
from a woman. She dismisses her ‘fancy’ for journal writing, much like John does, and
then herself comes across as an ideal woman, the “angel in the house,” as Gilbert and
Gubar would say. She is placed in juxtaposition to the ‘sick’ narrator who is restricted to
a room in the house. The sister is the natural descendent of patriarchy, valorising its
definitions of womanhood and appropriating other women to fit into the moulds created
by their male ‘overlords.’ A distracted reader might miss the subtle hints from the very
beginning about the emotional unavailability and dismissive nature of the husband, John.
He is an oppressor who infantilizes his wife and is so discreet in his manner that to an
outsider, he would look like a loving husband, spoiling his wife, and calling her endearing
names. But what he actually is, is a cold, rational, calculating, practical doctor of mental
illnesses, commi�ed to his profession alone; a man of the world. Being her husband as
well as her doctor, John makes it more difficult for her to question him. “He combines
the diagnostic language of the physician… with the paternalistic language of the husband
to create a formidable array of controls over her behavior” (Triechler). Her brother too is
a doctor and supports John’s method of treatment. John constantly denies her wish to
move to another place where she would heal be�er. Her own views about her illness are
dismissed as fancies and seen as a result of her overthinking. He practically forbids her
from thinking at all, or worse, writing! Such restrictions show the deep-seated belief that
a woman’s thoughts are mere instincts, and a husband thus gets the upper hand.
Everything she does is defined by what “John says.” He puts himself in a position where
he alone can protect his delicate and sick wife. Maysoon Taher Muhi makes an interesting
observation in her critical essay. She rightly remarks, “it can be said that the husband
defines what sanity to his wife is, and what his wife feels and thinks as insanity.” The
norm has been defined by men, and if an individual deviates from it, it leads to alienation
and ostracization.
“The Eyes” was published at a time when conversations about domestic violence, dowry
and equal rights among other gender concerns were taking place in India. In this story, a
more explicitly violent male figure is presented. He subjects Vimla to both physical and
psychological oppression. It’s not difficult to find fault with the oppressor in this story.
On being asked about his father, Raju gets startled and takes a minute before “he felt
reassured that his father was not actually present.” It indicates the trauma and its memory
that still torments the child. Not to mention the mental trauma of such a childhood,
which would give way to him having a troubled mental state in the future. It is only
imaginable how much the wife would have had to bear the brunt of his rage, both on her
part and on the behalf of her child. There is a graphic description of the violence Vimla
has been a victim of. Raju recalls, “He would beat her till he drew blood. If we started to
cry, he would drag us out of our beds and beat us… To save us from thrashing, Mother
would stand and face him like a war goddess.” The husband calls her names like “you
bitch, you whore,” which shockingly is naturalized to an extent in innumerable homes
in Indian society along with facing physical abuse at the hands of the in-laws. Vimla
gradually loses her physical strength and starts spiralling into mental ailments. It is
somewhat unclear as to what extent she is actually ill. But it can’t be overlooked that
feigning to be psychologically afflicted indicates a more terrifying condition.
Vimla tells her story to the narrator and she claims to be sane, and that it’s only an act
to escape “the hell” at home, highlighting the bleakness of the situation. She questions
who can really be called ‘mad.’ She asks, “Do you think I was ever insane? There aren’t
any insane people inside this hospital. It is those on the other side that are deranged and
diseased… We can die for love just as we can kill for hatred. While you people are just
the opposite.” She remarks that the people outside who are pretending to be sad when
they are actually happy and the people who are making false promises out of greed and
malicious intent, are the ones in real need of help. Her ideas remind one of Manto’s
“Toba Tek Singh,” where the protagonist questions the boundaries and definitions of
madness.1 She declares that none of the inmates is actually mad, rather they are genuine
in their laughter, sadness and hatred, unlike the outsiders.
Both forms of violence, physical and psychological, leave an indelible mark on the
minds of the women in a different yet similar way. Both are victims. Both, to use the
Freudian term, give way to ‘repression.’2 Both then face the consequences of it. While
one actually faces a worsening effect on an already existing mental illness, another reacts
and lashes out in quite a different way. Vimla’s mind devises a method to escape the
oppression in an unconventional way, but something that would easily go unsuspected
by society. Society readily believes women to be prone to mental illnesses such as hysteria
and nervous breakdowns, while ironically, it fails to understand the causes behind it.
Hélène Cixous notes that hysteria is “the nuclear example of women’s power to protest.”
She goes on to say that “The hysteric is, to my eyes, the typical woman in all her force.”
The point of departure here is that, unlike “The Yellow Wallpaper,” where there are no
confidants for the woman other than her journal, in “The Eyes,” the figure of a caring
son, Raju, a companion to the protagonist, gives a strong sense of emotional support to
Vimla. In “The Yellow Wallpaper,” all the male characters, including the woman’s husband
and brother perpetuate male hegemony. While in “The Eyes,” the son breaks the chain of
ruthless men and stands as a light of hope for a generation of men with a more profound
understanding of women’s inner worlds. One can also extend this reading to say that
Raju is the reason why Vimla’s feet are still grounded in reality and she hasn’t become
completely ‘insane.’ But sadly, it’s insufficient. Even this bond is shaken by the taunts of
society, “naturally, if the mother is crazy, how can the son be normal?” So, now the only
fear she has is that Raju might also be forcefully admi�ed to the asylum.
The medical authorities at the asylum validate the healing effects that the care and
understanding of loved ones can accomplish on a psychologically afflicted person, but
Vimla’s husband, they tell the narrator, hadn’t “cooperated even a li�le bit.” So, there
was very li�le hope of recovery for this “madwoman” and others like her at the asylum.
Like Bertha Mason from Jane Eyre, by Charlo�e Bronte and The Madwoman in the A�ic, by
Gilbert and Gubar, many such women are locked up and have no other way of expressing
than displaying rage, breaking things, or as in the case of Bertha, burning the house
down.3 The woman in “The Yellow Wallpaper” does something similar. She too doesn’t
find a friendly ear in John, and ultimately stops a�empting to communicate. She even
goes a step further in claiming that perhaps he is the “reason I do not get well faster.” J.
Wolter notes, the protagonist “begins to decode the pa�ern (of her husband and his
world), destroys it, and constructs a reading and a world of her own.” Finally, in a
maddening rage, she tears off the yellow wallpaper, behind which she imagines numerous
women like her are trapped.
The use of metaphors and symbolism is abundant in both stories. Both have central
metaphors that run throughout the stories. In “The Yellow Wallpaper,” the woman’s
“changing reactions to the wallpaper” indicate the stages of her illness. The wallpaper
stands most significantly for its representation of patriarchy. Like patriarchy, it has
imprisoned thousands of women over the centuries. The protagonist visualises these
trapped women and tries to liberate them by peeling off the wallpaper. She increasingly
identifies herself with the ‘creeping’ women who are oppressed by societal restrictions
and with the woman in the wallpaper. Towards the end of the story, it seems that she
becomes one with her. In “The Eyes,” the complaints of women are reflected in the
description of the eyes of Vimla. These eyes are like lips that possess the ability to speak
of the oppression they have seen and faced. There are “complaints in those eyes.” They
are “burning” and “smouldering, harsh eyes.” They are also “pleading eyes,” that seek
help for liberation.
The “youthful dreams” (“The Eyes”) and the illusion of a happy married life that both
the women protagonists had, is sha�ered post-marriage. While the unnamed narrator of
“The Yellow Wallpaper” has her dreams of an ideal, understanding husband unfulfilled,
Vimla on the other hand, also has physical dimensions to her suffering. She feels like “a
beast of burden” who has to work without complaining, eating only the bare minimum
for survival, which makes the class difference between the two women evident. Her ‘insanity’
began when she concocted the idea that “if my hands got burnt, I could get some rest. I
thrust my hands into the burning coals and lost consciousness.” She’s doubly oppressed;
being a woman, she is oppressed by her husband, and being a victim of poverty, which
brings its own struggles for her, she additionally has to face the ire of a frustrated husband.
The class difference also becomes evident in the description of the respective husbands
and the family structure. It might also be a�ributed to a difference in cultural backgrounds.
The fact that John is a physician is an integral part of the story. On the other hand, Vimla’s
husband’s profession isn’t mentioned and neither does it seem to be significant. It suffices
to know that whatever li�le income he has, he uses to exploit his “evil habits” like
drinking. Vimla also has a meagre income which she saves for her children, but that too
gets snatched. She has four children to feed. Her body is put through an undesirable
number of births, while all she wanted was a small family, which would also have been
capable of maintaining financial stability. When she became aware of a fifth child, she
“a�acked him (her husband), pummelling and pinching his face.” She has been in and
out of the asylum since then.
The idea of motherhood is the other aspect of marriage that has been explored in
different ways in the two stories. In “The Yellow Wallpaper,” the new mother is hardly
ever shown engaging with the child, which doesn’t mean she’s apathetic towards it. The
child is mostly kept away from the mother, by the caretaker, which actually was the case
in most houses in America in the nineteenth century. For instance, the protagonist of
Katherine Mansfield’s “Bliss” loves her child, but does not get to spend as much time
together as she would like, because of other ma�ers she has to a�end to.4 On the other
hand, such a situation was unimaginable in twentieth-century India or even today. The
ideals of motherhood that consist of unconditional love and sacrifice are more strictly
adhered to. Vimla truly loves her son, protects him from his abusive father and also
opens up to him about her dreams. Raju reminiscences, “mother would hold me tight
and sob through the night.” She wants to make him “a great man,” who would be the
new ideal man, not butch, violent, cold, and rational, but tender, learned, and one who
can “discriminate between good and bad, justice and injustice.” No such alternative design
for man is provided in “The Yellow Wallpaper.”
The ending of both stories is bleak. They end with uncertainty regarding the fate of the
characters. “The Yellow Wallpaper” closes with the woman ‘creeping’ around the room
and over her unconscious husband, while in “The Eyes,” Vimla has no escape. Ray delves
into the lives of the asylum patients and sees the unbreakable chain, where once a woman
becomes a patient, there’s no returning to normalcy or acceptance by society. The “hospital
staff found it impossible to exercise control over her.” But is it really a place where she is
truly free? In some aspects, she might be, but she may never lead the life she had
envisioned for herself and her children. Vimla will forever be stuck at either her house,
where she would never be happy nor would society accept her as ‘normal’ or at the
asylum where she doesn’t truly belong. She is caught in the vicious circle of an endless
journeying back and forth. To add to the bleakness of the situation, her son is admi�ed to
the asylum for attempted violence with his father, who at the end, walks away
‘unconcerned.’ Helen Small’s observation here about Gilman’s protagonist, can also be
applied to understand Vimla’s dilemma, “she [the protagonist(s)] sees the complexity of
her situation, but is in no position to do anything about it (except escape it by retreating
into herself, by going mad). This reading of the story’s end is neither positive nor negative,
but ambivalent. ‘Madness’ is an escape from one kind of cage into another.”
“The faint figure behind seemed to shake the pa�ern, just as if she wanted to get out,”
observes the unnamed protagonist of “The Yellow Wallpaper.” The mode of ‘shaking’
the pa�ern of oppression could differ in each woman’s situation. The protagonist secretly
writes in her journal and the woman trapped behind the wallpaper tries to free herself
just as Gilman questions the norms and codes of conduct enforced on women through
her writing. By writing and voicing her concerns, she also encourages women readers to
question the ways in which they themselves are bound. Women’s writing in this respect
becomes all the more significant. It presents a perspective that was absent in the male
author’s representation of women. Unique and unexpected viewpoints come to the fore
when women start writing and unfolding their own experiences. It has the ability to
shock readers by defying their usual expectations of form and content from a piece of
literature, while also exposing a whole new way of viewing reality. Writing, thus, becomes
a potent mode of expression for women.
The point where both Ray and Gilman would join hands is the reason why they write.
Both confess to being harbingers of social change. Ray stresses the dire need for action
through Vimla, who tells the narrator how he can only write an article about her story or
give a talk on it that would bring applause, but that won’t actually solve her problem.
This is a social problem that needs more thought and effective solutions than sympathy.
Similarly, Gilman too gave precedence to the importance of social change and divorced
her husband who wasn’t supportive of her cause. She removed all such obstacles that
stopped her from accomplishing this goal.
Gilman, elsewhere, has also shown her distrust in the institution of marriage, whereas
Ray doesn’t shun the practice per se, but highlights the problems within it and hopes for
them to be remedied. Gilman’s other works like Concerning Children (1900), The Home
(1904), and Human Work (1904) investigate the position of women at home, who are
forced to lead a domesticated life, serving their families as wives and mothers and denied
any outlet for their intellect and creativity. In such circumstances, many female authors
often employ the trope of madness for expression. In The Madwoman in the A�ic, Gilbert
and Gubar observe that “by projecting their rebellious impulses… into mad or monstrous
women (who are suitably punished in the course of the novel or poem), female authors
dramatize their own self-division, their desire both to accept the strictures of patriarchal
society and to reject them. What this means, however, is that the madwoman in literature
by women is… an image of her (the author’s) own anxiety and rage… so that female authors
can come to terms with their own uniquely female feelings of fragmentation, their own
keen sense of the discrepancies between what they are and what they are supposed to be.”
The two writers take up the issue of women’s writing. Women see writing as a mode of
expression, freedom, vocalization of issues, or simply look for a confidant in their diaries
and journals. As opposed to the rationality of men, women find an instinctive connection
with nature and the mystical and they draw strength from them. Men seem to be threatened
by all these aspects and try to restrict women, like Gilman’s husband and John in “The
Yellow Wallpaper.” Luce Irigaray remarks, “[women’s] words are never heard… serious
scientific discourse and practice remain the privilege of men who have control of politics
in general as well as of our most private sphere as women. Everywhere, in everything,
men’s speech, men’s values, dreams and desires are the law. Everywhere and in everything,
men define the function and the social role of women, right down to the sexual identity
that women are to have or not to have. Men know, men have access to the truth, not us.”
The protagonist of “The Yellow Wallpaper” asserts, “I know John would think it absurd.
But I must say what I feel and think in some way—it is such a relief!” The fact that she is
nameless hints at the universality of women in similar situations who are forced to restrict
their voice. Grace Farrell notes, “all female ailments… were connected to the female
reproductive organs” and “it was suggested that women’s greater participation in
intellectual/ mental work would interfere with the proper growth of their reproductive
system and thus, affect their ‘primary’ role as procreators.” But actually, the exploration
of subjectivity that comes with writing, empowers women to overthrow power structures.
That is why Virginia Woolf talks about the necessity of having “A Room of One’s Own.” A
woman must have a creative and literal space all to herself and have economic independence,
which Woolf sees as essential in cultivating a feminine subjectivity.5 Gilman’s Women and
Economics (1898) also highlights the significance of women achieving financial
independence. Not only will it benefit women, but it will also contribute to the growth of
society as a whole. This would lead to more women like Gilman and Ray to write about
their lives, and those of other women, and tell their untold stories to the world.
Women and women writers who resist, transgress, rebel and dare to defy the norm,
always run the risk of being labelled as ‘insane,’ ‘dangerous,’ ‘hysteric’ or ‘unnatural.’
Being ‘abnormal’sets them apart from the community and isolates them. Elaine Showalter
observes in The Female Malady that “Biographies and le�ers of gifted women who suffered
mental breakdowns have suggested that madness is the price women artists have had to
pay for the exercise of their creativity in a male-dominated culture.”
Madness, thus, becomes much more than a bodily and mental ailment. For a woman or
a woman writer, madness can be an escape, a way of asserting self-identity, a medium of
turning inwards to discover the true self or a trope to expose significant issues and realities.
It can provide the space to speak and act in a way that could not have been possible in a
‘reality’ forged by men and male authors. It may be worthwhile to ponder on psychiatrist
Ronald Laing’s statement that “madness need not be a breakdown; it may also be a
breakthrough.”
Notes
1
Manto’s short story “Toba Tek Singh” (1955) employed the trope of madness to question the authorities
and draw points of comparison between the inmates of the asylum and those residing on the outside.
2
Freud used the term ‘repression’ as part of his psychoanalytic theory. It can be defined as “a
thought, memory, or feeling [that] is too painful for an individual, so the person unconsciously
pushes the information out of consciousness.”
3
Charlo�e Bronte’s Jane Eyre is a significant read for feminist scholars, not just because of the protagonist
Jane, but for the character of Bertha Mason, the ‘mad’ ex-wife of Rochester. Bertha Mason later
became a subject of intensive study by Gilbert and Gubar in The Madwoman in the A�ic.
4
Mansfield, Katherine. Bliss and Other Stories. (Reprinted). Constable & Co., 1923. The
protagonist Bertha Young lives in a polite society that places constraints on behaviour and defines
codes of conduct. She experiences ‘bliss’ when she sees her baby, but she is prevented from
closely nurturing and raising the child as it is supposed to be the Nurse’s job.
5
Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own (1929) is a seminal work in feminist criticism. She makes
the point that “a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.”
Works Cited
Cixous, Hélène, and Catherine Clément. The Newly Born Woman. Trans. Betsy Wing. Minneapolis:
University of Minnesota Press, 1991.
Farrell, Grace. “Engendering the Canon: Women’s Narratives, 1865-1914.” A Companion to American
Fiction 1865-1914. Eds. R. P. Lamb and G. R. Thompson. USA: Blackwell Publishing, 2005.
Gilbert, Sandra M., and Susan Gubar. The Madwoman in the A�ic: The Woman writer and the nineteenth-
century literary imagination. Yale University Press, 1980.
Gilman, Charlo�e Perkins, and Dale M. Bauer. Charlo�e Perkins Gilman: The Yellow Wallpaper. Bedford
Books, 1998.
Irigaray, Luce. “Body against Body: In Relation to the Mother” in French Feminism Reader. Ed.
Kelly Oliver. USA: Rowman and Li�lefield Publishers, Inc., 2000.
Laing, Ronald David. The Politics of Experience; The Bird of Paradise. Pantheon Books, 1967.
Mitchell, Juliet. Women: the Longest Revolution: Essays on Feminism, Literature and Psychoanalysis.
London: Virago, 1984.
Muhi, Maysoon Taher. “Much Madness is the Divinest Sense: Madness in Charlo�e Perkins
Gilman’s ‘The Yellow Wallpaper’.” 2010.
Ray, Pratibha. “The Eyes.” Salvation and Other Stories. Ed. Aruna Sitesh. New Delhi: Affiliated
East-West Press Pvt. Ltd., 2001.
Showalter, Elaine. The Female Malady. London: Virago Press, 2001.
Small, Helen. “Madness as a theme in women’s literature” in Literature and Gender. Ed. Lizbeth
Goodman. United Kingdom: Taylor & Francis, 2013
Triechler, Paula A. “Escaping the Sentence: Diagnosis and Discourse in ‘The Yellow Wallpaper’.” Tulsa
Studies in Women’s Literature, 3:1/2, 1984.
Wolter, Jurgen. “‘The Yellow Wallpaper’: The Ambivalence of Changing Discourses.” American Studies,
54:2, 2009.
Auerbach, Tanpınar and Edib in Istanbul:
Reinventing the Humanities and Comparative Literature
An Interview with Efe Khayyat on Istanbul 1940 and Global Modernity:
The World according to Auerbach, Tanpınar, and Edib
OĞUZ TECİMEN
D uring the last decade ground-breaking studies on Erich Auerbach have appeared in
English, reviving the interest in Auerbach’s extraordinary work worldwide. Kader
Konuk’s East West Mimesis (2010), for instance, demonstrates the historical, geographical
and academic circumstances that conditioned Auerbach’s writing of Mimesis in Istanbul.
Konuk aptly shows how Auerbach’s masterpiece is not just a work of exile, as Edward
Said and others once argued, but was thoroughly informed by Auerbach’s tenure in
Istanbul between 1936-1947. As another example, the collection of writings by Auerbach,
Time, History and Literature (translated by Jane O. Newman, 2013) along with James
I. Porter’s comprehensive introduction to the volume, covers Auerbach’s intellectual
trajectory from beginning to end, depicting Auerbach as a multifaceted intellectual
(philologist, philosopher, historian, literary critic), and revealing the relevance of
Auerbach’s work to comparative and world literary studies today. Despite these and
many other extraordinary contributions to Auerbach scholarship, there seemed to be
something missing in this ever-expanding corpus.
Did Auerbach not have any non-Western colleagues to work with in Istanbul? Did
he not have Turkish colleagues at Istanbul University in addition to Turkish students?
If Auerbach was the chair of Western languages and literatures at Istanbul University,
who taught non-Western literatures and cultures – Turkish, Arabic and Farsi, at least, or
English for that matter – at Istanbul University? What were those Turkish scholars doing
while Auerbach was working on his masterpieces? What would today’s comparative
and world literary studies look like if they were read together with Auerbach? Istanbul
1940 and Global Modernity (2019) addresses these questions by interpreting Auerbach’s
work together with the works of his most prominent colleagues during those years:
Ahmet Hamdi Tanpınar (1901-1962) and Halide Edib (1884-1964). Khayyat claims
that, despite the lack of evidence of interaction between these figures and despite the
differences concerning their subjects of study, Auerbach, Tanpınar and Edib had similar
concerns about the humanist tradition when, they all believed, it was threatened in
the East and the West alike by global modernity. Tanpınar was a scholar of Ottoman
and Turkish literature as well as a novelist. Edib was an international intellectual and
writer dividing her time between Istanbul, Cairo, Beirut, Paris, Delhi, London and New
York, among others. They were both born and raised during the last decades of the
late Ottoman era and lived through the years when the modern, Republican Turkey
took pains at negotiating its Muslim-Oriental past. They were intellectuals in-between,
Journal of Comparative Literature and Aesthetics Vol. 43, No. 4, Winter 2020 [195-206]
engaged with both Eastern and Western humanist archives. According to Khayyat,
this is what makes them interesting when read side by side with Auerbach, since he
argues that Auerbach’s account of Western realism, despite focusing exclusively on
the Western canon, points to a non-Western, non-Christian horizon with its vision of
gradual secularization and “de-Christianization.” Khayyat’s book not only traverses
various histories in the East and West, but also multiple languages from German and
French to global English, from Ottoman and modern Turkish to Arabic and Persian. It
is undoubtedly a work of history and literary criticism as much as a work of philology
and fiction in the spirit of Auerbach.
Before I met Khayyat in Istanbul, I had the opportunity to discuss Istanbul 1940 with
him via e-mail exchanges as I read the book. It was wonderful but also mournful to talk
about Istanbul 1940 in the city where Auerbach, Tanpınar and Edib met almost a century
ago. The following interview was conducted after these exchanges and via e-mail over a
few months (February-April 2019) between Istanbul where I live and New York where
Khayyat lives.
O.T.: Istanbul 1940 is a unique book, truly one of a kind. I agree with Martin Puchner’s
statement on the back cover: “This is a book only Khayyat could have written.” Could
you say a few words about the intellectual trajectory that brought you to Istanbul 1940?
E.K.: Thank you, Oğuz, for this opportunity and your kind words. I studied at Istanbul
University and in Rome at the Pontificia Università Gregoriana: English philology
in Istanbul (the department was founded by Edib) and philosophy in Rome. Once I
fancied myself a medievalist: the first thesis I wrote was on Duns Scotus. Writing on
Scotus and haecceitas, I came across Martin Heidegger, which was my introduction to
contemporary philosophy. Then I worked as a translator and an editor for a journal
of philosophy for years in Istanbul, published in cultural journals across Europe, and
organized numerous conferences and events. I was lucky enough to work with some
extraordinary intellectuals during my career in Istanbul, among them Murat Belge,
Ferda Keskin, Enis Batur, Aslı Erdoğan, Ali Akay, Hrant Dink... I also traveled a lot
before I decided to return to the university.
Then I received an MA in cultural criticism at Bilgi University before heading to New
York for my Ph.D. in Comparative Literature and Society at Columbia University. There
too I was fortunate enough to be with some extraordinary people. I spent six years with
Gayatri Spivak at Columbia; Marc Nichanian and Gil Anidjar have always been there
for me, and I worked with Friedrich Kittler in Berlin. David Damrosch was kind enough
to co-organize with me the first meeting of Harvard’s Institute for World Literature in
Istanbul in 2009. Şeyla Benhabib has always been incredibly generous… and then there
is Orhan Pamuk: we worked together both in Istanbul and in New York. Anyway, I
could continue to drop names, but let me stop here. You get the idea. I’m not entirely
sure what exactly these larger than life figures from different milieux contributed to
what you call my “intellectual trajectory,” but I know that I owe them, and that each
one of them marked the way I think. I traveled a lot after going back to the university
too: I taught in Germany and France before receiving my Ph.D. And since I started
teaching at Rutgers, I’ve lectured across the world: in the UK, India, China, Switzerland
and Serbia etc. Long story short, a circuitous route brought me to where I am, thanks to
number of coincidences and some luck, the generosity of many friends and colleagues,
and perhaps my inability to stay put.
Reinventing the Humanities and Comparative Literature / 197
O.T.: Istanbul 1940 is an extremely ambitious book that strikes the reader from the
very first sentence: “I wish I could start where Erich Auerbach left off and write a
book that, like Mimesis, ‘may be cited as an illustration’ of how history is better off
as fiction.” Let us start with where Auerbach left off. The final chapter of Auerbach’s
Mimesis deals with modernist fiction. Towards the end of the book, Auerbach suggests
that the fragmentary, perspectivist form of the modernist novel informs his own
historical-philological method as well. You show that he contrasts this method with the
totalizing methods of what he calls “historical sciences.” Totalizing and positivist social
sciences versus fragmentary and imaginative historical philology… It seems that this
is where Auerbach left off. But where, in your opinion, did Auerbach really leave off?
Considering the academic habitus that a scholar of comparative literature is currently
involved in, why do you think it is not possible to realize your wish today?
E.K.: You are right, I don’t think that it’s easy to start where Auerbach left off because
of the way we study culture today. The kind of literary criticism we practice and teach
today seems to me to be quite regressive and far less political. Think of his signature
style: that understated tone that marks all of his writings. I can tell you from my
classroom experience that those reading him for the first time often find his excruciating
attention to detail, accompanied by his monotonous, nonchalant voice, terribly boring.
I think all this is sheer irreverence and an expression of humility at once on his part. On
the one hand, he merely performs literary criticism, always with a keen eye on style,
like a well-behaving, if also a little boring, university professor. On the other hand,
his criticism draws conclusions that gradually shape an understanding of our political
history, an intellectual history of our global modernity. Moreover, literary history as
he conceived it, is at the same time history of religion. His attention to style teaches
us something new about the relation of faith and fiction to reality, and the relation of
politics to religion, not only in the modern world but since time immemorial! Critics
often observe that he wrote histories of mentalities, what they mean is that Auerbach
drafted an intellectual history of our present, of the modern subject – a genealogy of the
mental theatre of modernity.
Auerbach thought he could do this as a philologist or as a man of letters, but not
simply because he prioritized his field over and against other fields of study. It’s not
that philology is better or more truthful than philosophy, history, political science, or
sociology. His philology offered truths of a different order. He did consider his critique
an heir to Geisteswissenschaften, but at the same time he was completely aware of the
belatedness of such approach. In other words, he did not employ what you call the
“totalizing methods” of the nineteenth-century European mind, while still providing
a “total” view of things. He sought to avoid the loudness, the authoritarian certitude
of the nineteenth-century European mind by allowing his method for humanistic
inquiry to be informed by the literary in the modern sense, by inviting a degree of
fiction into his strictly historical account. That is what I find fascinating about his
ambitions and his understatements. For him, practicing modernist philology was to
do what Geisteswissenschaften once did, but without any claim whatsoever to scientific,
philosophical, or other authority or certitude. Practicing philology or literary criticism
in the twentieth century, then, is to step back from Auerbach’s perspective, to relinquish
scientific authority to claim the license to say anything and everything and in every
possible way. This is how Derrida once defined literature by the way, describing his own
somewhat literary technique as an effort “to say anything and everything and in every
possible way,” and pointing out that the modern institution of literature overflows,
opposes to, or even seeks to undo institutionality. There you see the reason why I take
Auerbach’s equation of his philological method to the method of the modernist novel
as essential in doing his work justice. Nowadays though, even in literature departments
where we assign bits and pieces of Auerbach’s writings to our students, disciplinary
organization and specialization are but sine qua non. Everyone wants to be loud, certain,
exact etc.
O.T.: Perhaps against this kind of disciplinary “institutionality”, you also state in the
opening paragraph that your book “involves a degree of fiction.” It may seem as a
shocking statement for a scholarly book of this caliber. Perhaps you gave us an off-the-
beaten-path and rather imaginative type of scholarly book like Auerbach’s? Except for
your tremendous endnotes and bibliography, of course.
E.K.: This is a book about three intellectuals – Auerbach, Ahmet Hamdi Tanpınar,
and Halide Edib (Adıvar) – who got together in Istanbul in the year 1940, working at
the same institution and pursuing the same goal for years, which was to modernize
and Europeanize that institution. In the nineteenth century, that institution, or the
Darülfünun, was conceived of as the non-European equivalent of the European university.
Its Europeanization at this point in time coincides with the darkest hour of European
history, accompanied by unrest, violence, and destruction taking hold of the entire world.
These intellectuals posed themselves as always looking at the larger world, the world
beyond Istanbul while writing their histories in pursuit of their common goal. Yet for
each of them that background of a larger world was something different. For Auerbach
it was the West, for Tanpınar and Edib it was the Orient, Muslim Orient or the East at
large. Although they worked together and they all worked to explain how and why
they had found themselves at their moment in (European or Europeanizing) history,
and even though they had similar methods, as the book shows, they did not and could
not feed one another intellectually, at least not on the surface.
We have hardly any comments in their writings about one another. This does not mean
that they did not complement each other, though. That is why being a little imaginative,
some digging into depths is necessary to place them next to one another retrospectively.
Bringing them together, interpreting their writings together today draws different
pictures of their lifeworlds and enables new ways of viewing their legacies. It provides
a more complete view of the world and the world-historical moment they approached
from different angles but from the common point of view of their meeting place in
Istanbul. It also provides a more complete view of what they took literature and critique
to be. All this, I believe, has a lot to teach our present in so far as the world historical
moment of these critics’ narratives has shaped and continues to shape our present.
O.T.: To begin with Auerbach’s take on the matter in question: he sets out to write a
millennia-long cultural history with a peculiar “synthetic perspectivism” (“conception
synthétique et quasi-métaphysique des forces historique” in Auerbach’s parlance),
which is his own brand of philological method, as you point out, “something akin to
a general Geisteswissenchaft.” This, you argue, “required him to write histories without
being a historian, develop a philosophy of history without being a philosopher, think
deeply about religion without being a theologian, elaborate on the social and political
conditions of life without being a sociologist, and so on.” It seems to me that your
statement about Auerbach perfectly describes the position of the comparatist in today’s
university.
E.K.: As I said, Auerbach sometimes strikes me as simultaneously irreverent and

humble. You are right in that the finest comparatists of our time occupy similar positions
intellectually, among them you could count Edward Said, who reintroduced Auerbach
to a global audience a few decades ago. There are many others, of course. But they
are all oppositional figures. They achieve what they achieve despite the institutional
constraints of the contemporary academia and all sorts of other institutionalized biases.
I mean, as comparatists, we do not work to train Edward Saids in the contemporary
university. Of course, great critics continue to emerge, but again, as figures of opposition.
My observation that it’s not easy start where Auerbach left off was meant to point out
the oppositional, irreverent aspect of his thought.
O.T.: I can see your point about Auerbach’s humility, despite his own totalizing claims.
But how was it possible for Auerbach to assign primacy to literature in “engaging
reality,” as you point out in the book, while heavily depending on other fields and not
prioritizing his own field?
E.K.: Auerbach interprets all sorts of texts, and all sorts of genres of writing,
in Mimesis and other works that I discuss. He reads sacred texts, history, philosophy,
fiction and autobiography, sociology and psychology etc. But he reads texts in terms of
their contribution to the development of realism. He views modern literature as a crucial
moment in the history of realist reception and representation, even as the peak of that
history. That history begins with the Bible, slowly evolves into literature in the modern
sense, which in turn paves the way to “historical sciences” – in his vocabulary – and
modernist fiction. It is the realism of modern literature, the “synthetic perspectivism”
that modern men and women of letters distill from Christian realism that informs our
contemporary realisms, including what Auerbach calls historical-scientific realism.
The Bible carries the seeds of literary realism, then, and the historical sciences
are an offshoot of literary realism, which is to say that the sciences of the social and
contemporary modernist literature are cross-breeds. While Christianity is one step
behind literature in its realism, historical sciences overshoot the destination. With
Christianity we lack perspectivism, which renders Christian realism tyrannical, and
with the historical sciences of modernity we lack the synthesis which renders historical
scientific knowledge fragmentary.
Regardless, again, modernist literature and historical sciences are nineteenth-century
cross-breeds, they are heirs to literary realism, in Auerbach’s mind. So he does not rely
on historical sciences, but rather either points at their shortcomings, or – while praising
them for their realism – shows how they could not have come to existence without
literary realism and its “synthetic perspectivist” imaginary. If this is still prioritizing
literature over other ways of accounting for reality, you should note what underlies
the literary method and the literary knowledge that it produces. Literary knowledge is
neither verifiable – i.e. it does not claim scientific authority – nor is it tyrannical. Nor does
the literary method – the way I describe it in different contexts in the book: regressive,
Dionysian, etc – lend itself to power-knowledge in a manner that is comparable to the
historical-scientific methods. This is to say that the priority of literature here is due to
the resignation it enables – resignation from power-knowledge.
O.T.: I agree that literature or literary knowledge taken in that sense does not
readily lend itself to power/knowledge, unless, perhaps, we take into account their
potential instrumentalization. More on this shortly. Let us first revisit Ahmet Hamdi
Tanpınar and Halide Edib’s take on the matter at hand. You claim that they display
an intellectual attitude similar to Auerbach’s. As his colleagues in Istanbul University

in the 1940s, having been disturbed by the “cultural erosion” accompanying Turkey’s
Europeanization, they “wrote histories of non-European humanisms.” Since there is
no direct interaction between them, what are your grounds for imagining affinities
between these three figures?
E.K.: Well, first of all, my goal was not to show or claim that these three intellectuals
influenced one another. Such an argument would not be worth making anyway. It
would have been difficult to prove too. After all, they studied different traditions. Yet
their ambitions and reservations mirror each others’. The impossible scopes of their
intellectual histories – from Homer to Woolf, or from the Mu’allaqat to Nâzım Hikmet
– mirror one another as well. Despite having directed their gazes in different directions
– Auerbach to the West, Tanpınar the Muslim Orient, and Edib at once further East
and further West – it is clear that they were responding to the same moment in history,
from Istanbul where they worked together, and with the same concerns. This is why I
thought it was even more interesting that they ignored one another – apart from some
general comments they made, which could as well be interpreted as anti-Semitic in
Tanpınar’s case, by the way, biased in different ways in Auerbach’s and Edib’s cases.
They were all in a hurry to salvage what they could from their respective archives
right where they all thought was the end of history. Perhaps that is why they didn’t have
the time to study each others’ works. Regardless, that is one of their meeting place in
their minds – right at the end of a world. But there are other meeting points. Another is,
I argue, the space of literature, of modern literature. Because as humanists and literary
critics, they all reacted to the methods of modern disciplinary history and social sciences
in the same way, and they all seemed to have a similar understanding of the literary
method, or literature as method, as it were. While working to recreate an outdated, still
very much “Oriental” educational institution in the image of the modern European
university, they had the opportunity to rethink the university and the humanities at
the end of times – right at the end of Europe from Auerbach’s perspective, at the end
of the Islamicate civilization from Tanpınar’s and Edib’s perspectives. I would go so
far as to argue that they together, that is, as a collective, even reinvented the European
humanities. Unfortunately only Auerbach’s portion of greater invention has reached
us to pioneer cultural criticism and comparative literature as we practice them today.
Imagine what comparative literature would have looked like if Auerbach had reached
us as part of the collective I study – or what other disciplines and fields of study would
have emerged if Tanpınar and Edib had reached us together with Auerbach. As you see
one must be imaginative to do these critics justice.
O.T.: Let us continue with Tanpınar. Tanpınar sets out to account for Turkey’s
Islamicate past when the modern Turkish Republic was making an enormous effort to
leave behind its Ottoman past. The most crucial development of this era was perhaps
the adoption of Roman letters (1928) and the “purification” of Turkish language that
followed, which would gradually deprive Turkish of Arabic and Persian influences.
All this meant the suppression of the Ottoman “archive,” archive in the sense of a
“civilizational library,” as you put it, one that articulates a particular way of “sensing
and feeling, thinking and telling.” You argue that Tanpınar wrote his seminal work on
Ottoman-Turkish literature, XIX. Asır Türk Edebiyatı (“19th Century Turkish Literature,”
1949), to inquire what remained – and perhaps could (not) possibly remain – of that
archive in European Turkey.
In Auerbach’s case what is at stake was the destruction of Western humanist tradition
(or “archive,” as you put it) and the leveling of cultural differences in a globalizing
world. In Tanpınar’s case what is at stake was the ambivalent presence of the Islamicate
past at the moment of a Westernized present without a history. Whereas Auerbach’s
Western humanist tradition begins with the Bible and ends up with gradual “de-
Christianization”, Tanpınar’s humanism not only affirms Western humanistic values,
yet it is also ambivalently informed by what he himself calls the “Muslim Oriental”
legacy. Tanpınar’s project seems to be much more difficult than Auerbach’s since he
tries to find the convergences between these two different – and somewhat antinomical
– traditions. Would you agree?
E.K.: These critics had to take into consideration the catastrophes – from the Holocaust
to the Partition, the Armenian genocide to pogroms, countless catastrophes taking
place around them as they figured out what shape the European humanities would
take in a new era in this part of the “Europeanizing non-Europe.” Neither modernity
nor tradition appeared the same during those tumultuous times. Modernity did not
appear to be capable of delivering its promises in the face of unprecedented corruption,
deceit, violence and destruction across the world. In the meantime, once looked-upon
traditions of the past came into view differently in retrospect. Long story short, from
the perspective of these critics, for better or worse, it was possible and perhaps even
necessary to view with a fresh eye modernity and the tradition, histories of technology
and religion, of culture, politics and fiction. Theirs is a moment of awakening, of a latter-
day-enlightenment, as it were, when they had to shed their inherited wisdom and all
their prejudices, and start from scratch as they set to work to interpret texts modern and
traditional – an entire human history dating back to time immemorial.
The kind of openness they nurtured and even developed into a method for literary
and cultural critical inquiry is just exemplary. It is because we fail to interpret the work
of this collective as what it is that the complete picture of the attitude in question has
long escaped our attention. Auerbach has long been accused of being Eurocentric, for
instance, while it’s really easy to accuse Tanpınar and Edib of conservatisms and biases
of all sorts. But I think Auerbach’s task was as difficult as Tanpınar’s, to address your
question directly.
Tanpınar and Auerbach both found convergences, as you say, or overlaps between
the promises of modernity and the horizon of the respective traditions they traced.
Both Auerbach and Tanpınar were ultimately interested in the political horizon of the
traditional, religious trajectories they traced. The Biblical revolution, in Auerbach’s
case, and the Quranic revolution, in Tanpınar’s (and to a certain extent Edib’s) case, are
turning points in the history of “the rise of more extensive and socially inferior human
groups to the position of subject matter for problematic-existential representation” (in
Auerbach’s very own words). But I think your hunch is right in that it is easier for
us to understand Auerbach’s core argument, while Tanpınar’s and Edib’s observations
on Islamicate pasts and presents are shadowed today by our prejudices and inherited
wisdoms. Tanpınar’s criticism is not available in English, there is that issue to begin
with: but XIX. Asır Türk Edebiyatı was published in French, recently, so Western (and
American) audiences are getting more and more familiar with his criticism. A Mind at
Peace (Huzur) and The Time Regulation Institute (Saatleri Ayarlama Enstitüsü) and some
other fictional writings came out in English recently, but his essays, which are crucial
to the story that Istanbul 1940 tells, have not been translated into any Western language.
O.T.: Let us go back to the late 19th century Ottoman literature then, to the period
that engendered the “crisis.” The section titled “Quixotic Turks” in your book opens
with Ahmed Midhat (1844-1912), arguably the greatest novelist of the Tanzimat era.
He wrote a novel titled Don Quixote in Istanbul (1877) that attempts to adopt Don
Quixote into Ottoman reality and morals, with a view to assimilate this European into
the Ottoman society or life-world. You argue that as a literary phenomenon Don Quixote
in Istanbul remained without much impact but Don Quixote himself would become a
crucial figure for the revolutionary Young Turks. After Young Turks seized the power in
1909, Ömer Seyfeddin (1884-1920) would rise in the literary scene to denounce Midhat’s
way of engaging Don Quixote as Hamletism. You show how Seyfeddin would go so
far as to embrace Don Quixote in opposition to Midhat’s and Ottoman intelligentsia’s
Hamletisms – his truly mad strategy culminating in his call to Turks “to become a
nation like Greeks, like Armenians, like Jews, or like any other nation on the face of this
earth.” This call would soon overshoot its destination as radical Turkish nationalism,
eventually leading to catastrophes for the Armenians, Greeks and Jews living in the
Ottoman territory. And as you point out: “the silent, literary writing of the sort Tanpınar
praises, the one that renders writing representing, would turn into literally writing –
writing on the ‘flesh of the world’ as Rancière would say.” This is one of the most
striking moments in your book that shows the political stakes of literary translation
and representation, of mimesis in a way. But taking my cue from your comments on
the Don Quixotism of Turkish nationalism, I would like to pose a somewhat related
question. Don Quixote, a fiction as he may be, does real things in Turkey. You argue that
the Orientalist fiction of the terrible “Turk,” i.e. the Turk as the fabulous and horrifying,
stereotypical Oriental, did real things in Europe and to Europe as well. What do you
mean when you say Europe has “also turn[ed] somewhat Oriental, somewhat Turk” in
the process of “Europeanizing the non-European world”?
E.K.: The section on Don Quixote in the second part of the book (which is at the
same time a discussion of Tanpınar’s ikilik), and the section on Hamlet in part three
(which is dedicated to Edib), both address the question of the political stakes of literary
representation. Part one (on Auerbach) addresses the same question more generally and
also with reference to Don Quixote and Hamlet in particular, so these sections build on
each other. The sections on Turkish Don Quixote and Hamlet also address the question of
the political (or politico-theological, if I may) stakes of literary translation. I look at the
relation of translation to conversion.
Remember that Mimesis displays an unwavering sympathy for and intellectual
commitment to the everyday, common life—to the life of the majority of the people
living on the face of the earth, or simply the “multitude.” For Auerbach, until the
Gospels, only the shiniest and the greatest – the strongest men, prettiest women, biggest
swords and longest beards etc – could make difference; only the shiniest could make
enough difference to be perceived as worth remembering. Only the shiniest made it
to the stories people shared with each other about themselves and one another. The
pagan mind simply lacked the means to do any better. First the Gospels overcome this
mindset. First the fishermen of Galilee climb up to the stage of (tragic) representation,
playing major roles in the greatest tragedy of all time, that of salvation. After that, the
more common life, or the life of the real and simple majority of humans, seeps into
human consciousness to mark our stories and books, the more realist those stories,
books, and our reception of ourselves become. This is how an entire Western-European
civilization evolves in Auerbach. First the fishermen of Galilee climb up to the stage, but
then come others – book by book other peoples and parts of the world climb upon the
same stage as the history of the European humanities evolves.
The story that Auerbach narrates after the Gospels is the history of the transformation
and adjustment of the Christian mind to the real, larger world. So we have a series of
conversions in Auerbach’s account of realism and its globalization: first conversion to
Christianity and out of the mental theater of antiquity at the dawn of Western realism,
and then a history of conversion out of Christianity as the history of Western realism all
the way to our present. Now both Don Quixote and Hamlet have important roles to play
in this latter history of what Auerbach also calls “de-Christianization,” but I will not get
into the details of this now. What I want to remind you here is that given what I have said
thus far, it must be clear that there is no history of Western realism, in Auerbach’s mind,
without the non-Christian. One of the things the book does is to show that Auerbach
quite often emphasizes the cathartic effects of the Christian-European exposure to
the non-European-Christian world. Christian-European civilization evolves in such a
way that it continuously embraces, accepts as is, “devours” as Valéry would say, or
incorporates the non-Christian, the non-European – by gradually “turning Turk,” to a
certain extent.
I know that you find this latter conclusion of mine rather imaginative, and you may
be right. It’s just that this is the only way I can interpret Auerbach, for the better or the
worse, and whether what I do amounts to “supplementing” rather than interpreting
or not. But there is more. How does this expansion of the European mind, this de-
Christianization work? Through real interventions: through exchanges, travels,
translations etc. Through contact with the non-Western world, first merely imagined,
and then real. Obviously these real and imagined “contacts” do not leave the non-
Western world untouched. This is to say that de-Christianization does not and cannot
take place in a vacuum of sorts, but has immediate implications beyond Christianity
and Europe that slowly engulf the entire world. From the perspective of Tanpınar’s and
Edib’s part of the world, this same space where Europe moves beyond itself is the space
of modernization, Europeanization, and to a certain extent, yes, Christianization. There
is then a correlation between non-Western modernization and de-Christianization, that
is if we must stick to this conceptual vocabulary of dichotomies etc. In reality what we
have is more identity than two correlating movements.
I look at Don Quixote and Hamlet in Ottoman-Turkish translation to show how
“Europeanization of non-Europe” is a moment in European history as it is a moment in
other cultural trajectories, on the one hand; and on the other to see how far the process
of de-Christianization could evolve in reality. One could use a different, perhaps
more academic vocabulary to make this same case – and it was indeed done in many
different genres of writing and academic disciplines. What our triumvirate (I guess
being Turkish, and studying Turkish modernity, I have a fixation on “triumvirates”)
enables me to do is to come up with a summary judgment in plain tongue (if I may)
after a bird eye’s view of the cultural history of globalization that these intellectuals
themselves produced in their criticism. I came to the observations on “globalization”
or global modernity (“in the singular,” as Dirlik taught us) that I share with you now
after reading Auerbach, Tanpınar and Edib along with their archives. I did write some
additional chapters that I could not include in full in the book: a chapter called “The
Quranic Revolution” that responds to Auerbach’s thought of a Biblical revolution,
another one called “Who Killed Beşir Fuad,” and yet another titled “Hiç” that traces
a cultural trajectory from calligraphic writing to Samipaşazade Sezai’s realism. These
chapters will be collected in another book, I hope. What Istanbul 1940 does is to interpret
Auerbach, Tanpınar, and Edib’s collective work as the tip of an iceberg.
O.T.: The conception of modernity or globalization in the singular also appears in
the title of your book: Istanbul 1940 and Global Modernity. I find it significant because I
believe that one of the implications of the – by now somewhat outdated – discourse on
“alternative modernities” is risking marginalization of the configurations of modernity
beyond Europe. From that perspective, it is so easy to interpret non-Western modernities
in isolation or as if they were not a matter of concern for the European, as if this process
called modernization were simply a unilateral dissemination from Europe to the rest
of the world. In other words, “modernities in the plural” may lead one to ignoring
the Western involvement in the history of non-European modernization. I believe that
taking modernity in the singular, the way Arif Dirlik and you do, is not reductive or
essentialist because it leads us to viewing modernity in transnational and translingual
contexts rather than as national and monolingual cases.
Now let’s turn to Halide Edib (1884-1964) to analyze the complexity of this singular and
global modernity. I too think that as an international public intellectual committed both
to the Eastern and Western humanist archives, she is the “liveliest” and at the same
time most challenging figure in your book. As you suggest: “[Her] world is larger than
Auerbach’s and Tanpınar’s combined and extends from her hometown of Istanbul to
Cairo and Beirut, and from there to Paris, Delhi, London, and New York. […] Edib’s
world-view is closer to the perspective we have today on the cultural history of global
modernity and world literature.” You add that although she, like Auerbach, was
interested in the “spiritual foundations of life in common […] her thoughts on the human
spirit risks reducing difference to mere masques.” She also nurtures many antithetical
ideas about modernization such as seeing “Westernization and nationalization being
simultaneously re-Islamization.” What kind of potentials and promises do you see in
Edib in particular?
E.K.: It is worth noting that Edib has a history of exile, like Auerbach, first in Europe
and then in the East as well – further East in India, where she taught alongside Gandhi
and Iqbal, among others. I think one of the most original aspects of Edib’s thought – but
also Auerbach’s and Tanpınar’s – on their common present, on that moment of global
modernity that they addressed from Istanbul, is that they perceived it critically while
resisting provincialisms and simplistic anti-modernisms. It is all too easy to view non-
Western modernity as a process whereby, for better or worse, alien elements, ideas,
and agents of European modernity affect (or infect, depending on how one feels about
things, I guess) traditional bodies. It must have been much easier to go that way for
Edib. But like Auerbach and Tanpınar, she provides us with a different model. The
book explains why and how, from Auerbach’s perspective, European Turkey is not
some prosthetic form but part of the European body. It is true that Turkish modernity
sometimes looks like a cancerous growth from Auerbach’s perspective, but I will not
get into that now.
Edib, like Auerbach, turned to the “spiritual foundations” enabling not only European
modernity but also non-European Europeanization, which is how she could think of
Westernization as simultaneously Islamization. This latter pattern of thought is as old as
Ottoman-Turkish modernity – already Young Ottomans thought that Islam was always
already democratic, that democratization was to be pursued in the name of the tradition,
in the name of Islam etc. Edib plays with that pattern of thought, looking at non-European
Europeanization from beyond Turkey, from a place very close to our moment of global
modernity. Her “Spirit” – human spirit – was born in the East, in India to be precise, as
pure spirit in time immemorial. As the Spirit travels Westbound on a journey to settle in
the world, it overshoots its destination in the history of an initially “spiritual” Christianity.
It turns into an “over-emphasis on matter,” in Edib’s terminology, on material gain and
worldly power, to shape the modern Western mind, colonialism, and politics over time.
But the pendulum continues to swing back Eastbound in the mean time, offering a
corrective to this movement, and finds an equilibrium point where human spirit settles
most comfortably in the human body with the Islamic moment in the history of the
spirit. Then again, the Muslim spirit gets caught in an Eastbound trajectory, ending up
with an “over-emphasis on the spirit,” forsaking the material world altogether over the
course of the history of Islam. This latter movement means handing worldly power on a
silver platter to colonial powers or Oriental despots. Edib says an Englishman once told
her that “‘Christianity was Eastern in essence (because of its emphasis on the soul), we
have Westernized it; Islam was Western in essence (because of its emphasis on society),
you have Easternized it’.”
Now, Edib lectured on Spirit in India – her history of Spirit is not only that of Christianity
and Islam, but it is true that she looks at these two “spiritual movements” as exemplary.
These exemplary moments have implications for all the peoples of the East and the
West in her mind. Regardless, working with this metaphor of a grandfather clock, I
wanted see where the pivot might be. I wanted to understand what exactly enabled
Edib’s thought of a global history of the human spirit, which provides an account of
the multiple cultural historical trajectories leading to the conditions she observed at her
own moment of global modernity. I soon noticed that being a woman of English letters
meant a great deal for her thought – what enabled her to teach in India, for instance,
was precisely her embeddedness in the Anglophone cultural universe. Remember that
she first wrote and published her memoirs in English (in 1926) – not French, Arabic
or Turkish. I can say more, but to make a long story short, soon I began to read Edib’s
writings as English literature. What the book does is to interpret Edib as perhaps one of
the first voices of global English, or as an early figure of “English as a cultural system,”
as Aamir Mufti calls it. So in the book, we move from European Turkey being a moment
in European history to Edib’s writings being English literature. While the history of
Turkish Europeanization was heavily marked by Francophile modernity, when we
meet Edib in Istanbul, we find ourselves in a new world whose center is no longer Paris.
I think Edib’s writings, but also her figure as an intellectual, are most instructive for an
in depth analysis of English as a cultural system, and its implications for South to South
relations. For instance, she enables me to give an account of Turkish Indias, of what
becomes of India in Turkish imagination over the course of Turkish Europeanization
and its different stages.
O.T.: To conclude, I would like to turn to Orhan Pamuk, since your account of global
modernity culminates in his work. It has almost become a commonplace to read
Turkish modernization through the concept of “belatedness,” which has been a major
influence on Turkish intellectuals’ interpretation of their own case since the appearance
of Gregory Jusdanis’s Belated Modernity and Aesthetic Culture (1991). However, you have
a different take on the concept of “belatedness.” You take your cue from the Turkish
expression “sonradan görme” with all its rich connotations (“literally ‘the one who has
not seen (it) before’” or more properly, “Johnny-come-lately, social climber or nouveau
riche, or better still arriviste”) to interpret Pamuk as a “newcomer” on the stage of global
letters. Pamuk leads you to a radical conclusion in the final paragraph of your book:
“What does it mean to be oneself, European, a novelist, modern or even ‘human’ […]
if not to pretend to be oneself, European, a novelist, modern or even ‘human’?” I think
this rhetorical question about the performance (and “the performative” more generally)
gives us the political horizon of your book. Can you say a few words about what
distinguishes Pamuk as a “newcomer” from his “belated” predecessors (Ziya Pasha,
Ahmed Midhat, Seyfeddin and Tanpınar) in your account of Turkish modernization?
E.K.: I write on the issue of late modernity in different contexts, first to juxtapose Faiz
Ahmad Faiz’s and Edib’s modernisms. With Pamuk I look at a different aspect of what
is deemed belated modernity, one that is not often of interest to critics. I assume you
would agree here if I said, telegraphically, that Ottoman and Turkish modernity was first
of all rushed – that everyone familiar with Turkish modernity can observe how alarm
and haste marked its entire history. So much so that even during the early republican
era one seldom comes across with the sort of calm that enabled Tanpınar, for instance,
to look back to see how far it had gone. I think Pamuk owes a lot, as he himself admits,
to Tanpınar’s calm – to Tanpınar’s pause, as it were, which I alternatively address as an
intellectual impasse. While Tanpınar’s cultural history is at once an act of mourning,
turning into some “intellectual directionlessness” (as Auerbach would say) at times to
paralyze his thinking on the future of Turkish modernity and even his own acts of
literature, the generations of writers and intellectuals following Tanpınar, including
Pamuk, managed to overcome Tanpınar’s melancholy.
So I treat Pamuk as a yardstick of sorts, if you don’t mind my saying so. Tanpı-
nar’s cultural history did recognize the enormity of the destruction and cultural erosion
that accompanied modernization in Turkey. His criticism and fiction also acknowledged
the radical changes still taking place in modern Turkey, along with their inevitability
within the logic of what appears to be a form of globalization. Yet even in Tanpınar there
is a sense of insufficiency and immaturity to Turkish modernity. Even in Tanpınar, it is
as if something were missing, some secret ingredient remained yet to be discovered for
Turks to turn properly modern and European. Walking, talking, thinking and feeling,
reading and writing like modern Europeans just did not suffice. Like his predecessors,
Tanpınar believed that Turkish modernity lacked authenticity, that it was all but
performance, merely pretense. What that secret ingredient might be, what was needed
for the authenticity of the sort they had in mind, we may never know. But we do know
that Tanpınar did not think that he himself had managed to become a modern man of
letters. In his diaries he also explains that things could have been different for him had
he been born somewhere in Europe. Regardless, I look at Pamuk’s and his predecessors’
writings to ask how Turkish literature might have overcome this issue of authenticity
and immaturity to pave the way to writers and thinkers such as Pamuk. I read Pamuk
to see what he has to teach us about being and pretending, doing and performing, belief
and deed. It is in this context that I ask, suggesting that Pamuk would have wanted us
to ask: “What does it mean to be oneself, European, a novelist, modern or even ‘human’
[…] if not to pretend to be oneself, European, a novelist, modern or even ‘human’?” I
think that this rhetorical question sums up Pamuk’s discoveries about modernity and
Turkish literature and explains what distinguishes Pamuk from his predecessors.
/ 207
Book Reviews
JOAN OF ARC ON THE STAGE AND HER SISTERS IN SUBLIME SANCTITY (Bernard
Shaw and His Contemporaries). By John Pendergast. Switzerland AG: Palgrave Mac-
millan, 2019. 281 pp.
J oan of Arc remains a personality who constantly creates a feeling of enigma and in
trigue among the literary historians and writers. It has been reported that when she
was first admitted to examination before a body consisting of clergy and administrative
officials before the Poitiers episode, she is said to have observed: “In the name of God, I
have not come to Poitiers to give signs; but take me to Orleans, and I will show you
signs” (“Pierre Duparc, trans., Proces en nullite de la condamnation de Jeanne d’Arc
(Paris, 1986), IV: 15). Interestingly, Archbishop Jacques Gelu of Embrun endorsed to her
point of view with a condition that Joan must wear men’s clothing if she were to live
among soldiers. This episode came to my mind while reading this book. The author has
made a mention of how his sister (also named Joan) “found a natural hero in Joan of Arc.
She dressed up as Joan of Arc when we were little, and I was very jealous of the sword,
shield, and banner my mother made for her”. (v)
The first chapter, ‘The Palimpsest of Euripides, Shakespeare, and Voltaire’, discusses
Schiller’s attempt to recreate a new perspective, reworking on the life of Joan. The Oxford
English Dictionary defines a palimpsest as a manuscript or piece of writing on which
later writing has superimposed or effaced earlier writing, or something reused or al-
tered but still bearing visible traces of its earlier form (OED, 2010). It is clear that a
palimpsest is the product of layering that results in something as new, whilst still bearing
traces of the original. Palimpsest was originally “A paper or parchment on which the
original text has been partly erased or effaced to allow a new text to be written, leaving
fragments of the original still visible” (Macey 2000: 288). Gerard Genette uses the term to
refer to Marcel Proust’s modernist novel A la Recherche du Temps Perdu as a form of
intertextuality (Macey 2000:289). The palimpsestic technique of writing means the writing
of a new text on the layers of the old, traditional (pre)text by the operation of which it
acquires a new meaning. Here Pendergast sets out to create “a more powerful character
who suffers at the hands of fate but changes history by sheer force of will”(2). The author
finds the use of the concept of “sublime sanctity” in Schiller’s depiction of Joan. Schiller
must have been inspired by the characterization of Iphigenia made famous by Euripides
in Iphigeneia among the Taurians and Iphigeneia in Aulis. To make things clear, Pendergast
has given the list of the primary sources that are discussed in the subsequent sections,
which include nine prominent authors who lived between 413 BCE to 1923 AD.
Referring to the historical evidences of Joan’s trial, the author specifically points out
the services of Quicherat to bring out the true story of Joan of Arc and the development
of research material on her public life. The writer establishes that Joan of Arc has much
in common with Iphigeneia at a structural level similarity. ‘A virgin is entrusted with a

mission by a virginal supernatural personality to put to death unwanted foreign visitors.
Regarding Shakespeare’s Joan, she cannot be considered a tragic protagonist and her
role is actually much more a stereotype, surviving from medieval miracle and mystery
plays. Pendergast observes that Shakespeare’s Joan is duplicitous and seems to contradict
herself in ways which make her character not only unsympathetic but also unbelievable.
The third part in this section deals with Voltaire’s Pucelle. The vicious satire centering on
virginity is also taken into consideration.
The second chapter, ‘Sublime Sanctity: Schiller’s New Tragic Joan’, discusses how
Schiller became well versed with the “Euripidean method” by learning the Classics and
how each Act of his play evolved out of his diligent work and meticulous research.
Pendergast has done a detailed analysis of each sequence with a specific focus on the
idea of sublimity that is revealed in the play. The analysis concludes with the statement
that “Johanna is not Joan, after all, nor does she need to be. Schiller created a character
who thrilled his audience, even as she thrills the other characters in the play with
her...Schiller is not trying to teach us history. He is, in fact, not trying to teach us at all. He
is showing us that we can learn. What we can learn from Johanna is that she achieves her
sanctity—and we perceive it—only after the sublime experience of her suffering.”(75).
The third chapter, ‘Lacuna and Enigma: Verdi’s Giovanna d’Arco in Light’, discusses
about the opera Verdi wrote based on Schiller’s Jungfrau von Orleans: Giovanna d’Arco.
One interesting question that he discusses is that “what prevented Germans from making
Schiller’s plays into operas”. He then moves on to the point raised by Wagner in this
context. “In Oper und Drama, Wagner offers at least two compelling reasons for his
avoidance of Schiller: He felt that Schiller tended to emphasize the details of history over
their potential dramatic impact, and even when he seized the dramatic essence, tended
to give greater priority to form than content” (86). The author adds, “Wagner seems to
mean that Schiller tended to avoid plots drawn from modern life, preferring to set
medieval histories in a form based on ancient tragedy, precisely because he believed,
unlike Goethe, that the purity of form would bring his material closer to the ideal” (87).
Pendergast provides us with the synopsis of Verdi’s Giovanna d’Arco in pages 96 to 100.
The musical aspect is given a detailed treatment and a comparison of the mode chosen
for expression is also discussed:” Verdi’s music for the angels, set as a soli of contraltos,
is serene even as it conveys a message of admonition; it does not jar the spectator out of
the action of the opera. The demons, on the other hand, sing their taunts with an
involuntarily infectious glee and vibrant Italian coloration”(101). The ‘beguiling’ music
for the demons in this portion of the Prologo “Tu sei bella” is attached along with the
edition in page 102. The writer refers to three operatic conventions that Verdi employed
successfully, which are all evident in Giovanna: (1) poetry in stanzas; (2) word-painting;
and (3) the so-called parola scenica (“theatrical word”). Pendergast also documents the
text, “T’arretri i palpiti,” which successfully appropriates the theme of the opera wherein
the music merges with the emotion. Further, the reference to the Soldiers’ chorus for the
scene in Act I in the English camp forbears the nationalistic sentiments engrained.
In chapter four, ‘Patriotic Elegy and Epic Illusion: Schiller’s Johanna in Russia’,
Pendergast gives prime importance to Vasily Andreevich Zhukovsky, who wrote the
translation of Schiller’s Jungfrau von Orleans, published in 1824 as “The Orleans Maid”.
Pendergast has brought out the quintessential classicist embedded within Zhukovsky,
especially documenting the evolution of Zhukovsky the artist. The writer says there is a
Book Reviews / 209
clear change in the approach to the (re)presentation of Schiller’s Jungfrau, when

Zhukovsky handles the theme. “Arguably, in a play about a girl who believes herself to
be heaven’s emissary, such connotations should be appropriate, but the themes from
ancient Greek tragedy, especially Euripides’s Iphigeneia plays, with which Schiller imbued
his play, become almost indiscernible in Zhukovsky’s version”. Further, the chapter also
gives details of the policies of censorship followed in Russia. The Second part in the
same chapter, ‘The Genesis of Tchaikovsky’s Orleanskaya Deva (“Maid of Orleans”),
Pendergast refers to Tchaikovsky’s notion of approaching the act of composing “in two
distinct modes, which he referred to as compositional types (vidy) or categories
(razryady)”. A lot of details about his life, his failed marriage, his orientation toward
homosexuality earn a mention in the chapter. The
Maid of Orleans, in 4 acts and 6 scenes (TH 6 ; ÈW 6), is Tchaikovsky’s sixth completed
opera, and it was composed between December 1878 and March 1879, and orchestrated
between April and August 1879, with revisions in December 1880, and September-October
1882. Regarding the study of the music employed and the divergences from the original
theme, Pendergast has made use of the incisive analysis made by David Brown, though
the originality of the argument is very much visible. In the analysis of the musical
composition from pages 202 to 215, Pendergast gives insightful comments on the sublime
levels that Tchaikovsky attained with consummate ease.
The concluding section, ‘The Skeptic Doth Protest Too Much, Methinks: Shaw’s Saint
Joan—Concluding Thoughts on Joan in the Twentieth and Twenty-First Centuries’,
Pendergast takes on Shaw and his observations on the previous versions of Joan of Arc’s
story. To quote from the book, Shaw says “The pseudo-Shakespearean Joan ends in mere
scurrility. Voltaire’s mock-Homeric epic is an uproarious joke. Schiller’s play is romantic
flapdoodle. All the modern attempts known to me are second-rate opera books. I felt
personally called on by Joan to do her dramatic justice; and I don’t think I have botched
the job” (237). Shaw had his own justifications about the way the play was to be staged
and how people need to read the situation, be it the miracles presented, the idea of Life
Force, the execution of Joan or the final part of revival of her stature. But Pendergast’s
insightful analysis of Shaw and his play tell us how the dramatist may not have achieved
the sublime heights that the other versions had achieved in terms of their profundity and
density. Just as the book has started with the biographical note, the culminating line also
rings something wonderful and interesting about the writer’s life: “Until that happens,
readers who yearn for the memory of Jeanne may delight in her semblance and take
pleasure in contemplating whether or not Iphigeneia, Johanna, Giovanna, Ioanna, and
Joan are all her sisters in sublime sanctity”(265). This critical study has successfully
delivered what it promised to offer at the beginning. This books surely deserves a place
in the critical scholarship based on Joan of Arc.
T.R. MURALIKRISHNAN
M.E.S Asmabi College, Kodungallur, Kerala
WOMEN WRITERS OF THE SOUTH ASIAN DIASPORA: INTERPRETING GENDER,

TEXTS AND CONTEXTS. By Ajay K. Chaubey and Shilpa Daithota Bhat (Eds.). Jaipur &
Delhi: Rawat Publications, 2020. 264 pp.
T he pluralities involved with the very construct of the body of South Asian Cultural
Studies repeatedly invite critical inquiries to locate and address the gaps existing
within its frame of existence. The trajectories of South Asian Studies in the post-human
era offers glimpses of fluid identities intrinsically posited within its construct from which
it is possible to negotiate on newer ideas or definitions of gender identity, politics of
narration and several other nuanced tropes, some of which Ajay K. Chaubey and Shilpa
Daithota Bhat (with a foreword by Mariam Pirbhai) in their publication, Women Writers
of the South Asian Diaspora: Interpreting Gender, Texts and Contexts (2020), has intensely
focussed on. The tradition of silencing women’s voices in the name of gender as well as
race has been supported by various agents and the situation only worsens when the
issue of migration is involved. The trauma of displacement has timelessly affected women
denying them of several things such as social position, cultural acceptance or even eco-
nomic empowerment. Many social developments have contributed towards providing
the female subjects their rightful voice but the struggle continues till today.
The world in spite of acquiring a global status with its ever increasing denominations
of an inclusive outer structure has failed to accommodate women and refurbish them
with equal rights. The world of hyper real with its idea of surplus, however, often fails to
even provide the women with their basic demands. The counter image of helplessness,
economic despair and emotional insecurity along with several other gaps which are
intrinsically linked with the lives of South Asian women are often left unaddressed or
even unvalued. While the paradigm shifts of the socio-cultural order of the world had
been accredited primarily by the school of postcolonialism, the gender issues were taken
into account by the postcolonial feminist school. Diaspora has always been an ever wide-
ning field of studies that has dealt with the issues of space, migration, dislocation and
fissured identities. In today’s academia, diaspora studies competently address the mul-
tiplicity of diasporic encounters, experiences and exchanges, gradually shifting away
from the former construct of its highlighted ideological definition. This book in particular
takes into consideration the women’s voices echoing multiple issues connected to the
broader field of diasporic studies. The editorial comment that sums up the focal point of
the book that, “this book interrogates diasporic issues of transplanted individuals through
the analysis of the works by South Asian women writers…” (2).
The volume, under review, categorically acknowledges the importance of recognizing
the otherwise marginal voices in a growing transnational world. Battling the crisis of the
homeland vs. hostland dichotomy, the editors have emphatically interrogated the politics
of reading texts articulated by diasporic women writers. It has remained a fact that their
spatial and geopolitical identity often has overruled their literary prowess. The identity
struggle of most of the diasporic writers run parallel to their desperate attempt of
negotiating their narratives along the thin lines of reality and imagination. The exploration
of male characters also provide the readers with novel perspectives, allowing them a
rather plural and nuanced portrayal of the gender troubles across the world at large. The
Book Reviews / 211
book speaks about the roaring popularity of select women writers from the Indian origin
and how even within the diasporic centre of literature, there exists marginal positions
for authors of other South Asian nations. These nuanced issues of diasporic women writers
have been addressed competently by several authors who have contributed their essays
in this book to make it a pertinent text within the academic field of diasporic studies. The
book targets to puncture the silences and the voids that prevail within the readings of
texts articulated by women transnational writers.
As acknowledged by the editors, it is due to the rising popularity of South Asian women
writers across global academia, several texts have been identified and their issues
rightfully addressed. Keeping in mind the existing plurality within South Asian literature,
the book has been divided into four sections. The first section of the anthology
appropriately named as ‘Diasporic Women Writers from India: Critiquing Trans-
nationalism’ opens with a brilliant essay focussed on South Asian American women
writers by Christiane Schlote that explores women writers such as Talat Abbasi, Meena
Alexander and several others, emphasising the utmost need to develop a comparative
approach to appropriate issues such as ‘identity politics and pan-ethnic ideologies’ (7).
The issue of identity in terms of cultural citizenship is addressed by Monalisha Saikia and
Rohini Mokashi-Punekar. The duo rigorously enquires into the text and the latent binaries
that exist within its body, laying threadbare Mukherjee’s immigrant politics while touching
upon the greater problem of exoticising one’s present and the past as per the requirement
of one’s situation, a convenient construct exploited by several other diasporic writers.
I. Watitula Longkumer and Nirmala Menon take upon the concept of ethnicity within
the versatile domain of North-East literature. The cultural nuances of individual tribes,
however could not be gauged sufficiently within the restricted frame of the essay.
However, it does pave way for future research as it implores the reader to probe deeper
into it. While Payel Ghosh offers a critique of the nuances of history when crafted through
the lens of nostalgia and what is lost and found in the process of imagining the past in
order to recreate within the palette of present, the last essay in this section, that has been
penned by Rositta Joseph Valiyamattam focuses on the more crucial off shoot of
postcolonial studies, the issue of neo-colonialism which allows the readers a scope of
looking at the rapidly transforming cultural and social politics within and beyond the
range of literary texts.
The second section of the book, ‘Women Writers from Pakistani and Bangladeshi
Diaspora: Contemporary Perspectives’ comprises of five spectacular essays. Although
the first two chapters critique Bapsi Sidhwa’s literary works, their points of argument
retain their individual readings. While the essay by Shirin Zubair focuses on the colonial
representation of the Eastern female in An American Brat, Moncy Mathew interrogates
the multiple factors that influenced the construct of the Parsi ethnic identity that struggled
vis-à-vis the cultural cauldron of Pre-independent India with reference to Sidhwa’s The
Crow Eaters. Sonali Maurya in this section offers her examination of ‘how one’s identity
is transformed from historical past to present through language and translation’ (8) in
reference to Kamila Shamsie’s Broken Verses. As her overarching critical tool, she uses
Homi Bhabha’s theory of cultural translation but somehow fails to comment on the trope
of space and time which Shamsie offers in her text. Addressing the issues of Islamic
feminism as appropriated in the body of Kamila Shamsie’s Offence: The Muslim Case,
Sania Iqbal Hashmi in her chapter incisively analyses how female writing offers alternative
reading of the changing dynamics of ‘religious and political ideologies’ (139). The next
chapter written by Sidney Shirley takes into account the issue of changing immigrant
narratives over the generations by focussing on Monica Ali’s Brick Lane.
The third section focuses on women writers from the Sri Lankan, Nepalese and
Bhutanese diaspora who have been formerly overlooked by mainstream academia. It is
within such a gap that Shashikala Muthumal Assella proposes her reading of Nayomi
Munaweera’s Island of a Thousand Mirrors and how it negotiates with the appropriation
of separate female identities and voices in dislocated spaces. A fresh attempt at a
postcolonial eco-critical reading is devised by Pallabee Dasgupta in this section as she
assesses Chandani Lokugé’s Turtle Nest. Her reading despite acknowledging the
connections between the social and environmental justice, however has overlooked an
opportunity of commenting on the ecoaesthetics and its much debated link with
ecotourism. Tamasha Acharya tracing along the biographical lines of Roma Tearne’s has
initiated in her essay a beautiful take on immigrant memory and transforming experiences
across three generations of Sri Lankan women. A critically crisp reading of Manjushree
Thapa’s Tilled Earth is offered by Khangendra Acharya who implores the readers to engage
with the text through content analysis method with special reference to hermeneutical
approach. Another text by Manjushree Thapa, Seasons of Flight, has been analysed
beautifully by Khem Guragain where the author has analysed the challenges of an
American dream that affects the immigrants and their aspirations. The last chapter
articulated by Nazneen Khan rightfully sums up the third section, bringing forward a
thorough critical inquiry of the rising female voice battling patriarchal resistance as
developed by Kunzang Choden in The Circle of Karma which is also read as a gynofiction.
The anthology maintains a steady academic charm and allows the reader to engage with
each of the essays. The closure is offered in the final section where a few South Asian
writers such as Chandani Lokugé and Manjushree Thapa are interviewed by Sissy Helff
and Sally Acharya respectively, where the writers have candidly graced the interviewers
and the readers with first hand critical perspectives on their respective works and the
experiences that shaped them as authors.
The book indeed offers a magnificent reading of South Asian women writers but also
reminds us to take into account the women poets of South Asian diaspora that has been
overlooked in this anthology. However, the volume appropriately contextualize the
experiences of South Asian Women’s literary creations in a rather steady manner,
appropriately addressing the multiplicity of themes, inviting a closer reading between
the lines as well as the gaps. The anthology offers a new age relevant take on the themes,
contexts, patterns and insights offered by select South Asian women writers and at its
closure, successfully paves the way for future academic and research endeavours.
RITUSHREE SENGUPTA
Patrasayer Mahavidyalaya, West Bengal
Book Reviews / 213
K.B. GOEL: CRITICAL WRITINGS ON ART 1957-1998. By Shruti Parthasarathy (Ed).

New Delhi: Tulika Books, 2020. 430+l pp.
I n the introduction to her book, Parthasarathy begins by drawing attention to K.B. Goel’s
responses to “the avant-garde and the postmodern” (xvii). She dedicates specific
sections to the discussion on Marcel DuChamp’s rejection of Modernism (xxi-xxii), Cubism
and Minimalism, working her way through Goel’s skepticism towards the computer-
ization of art and its subsequent ramifications that changed its traditional course (xxv).
Using Walter Benjamin as a launch pad, she notes how Goel raises but refuses to answer
the question on the inclusion of photography, and its contribution to art (xxxi). In the
final section, she displays his gradual conservatism from earlier political tendencies by
mysticizing his politically motivated criticism, referring to how his inclination for the
Ishopanishad defined the apparent transcendental standards of Eastern art (xxxix-xl). The
Book is divided into five sections. In ‘Artists’, Goel makes a few standard observations –
how Indian painters become repetitive in their methods, lacking an experimental zeal
(5), on the dispassionate nature of Jamini Roy’s paintings (23), the implications of angst
in postmodern art (in refutation of Modernism/s) (36), the manners involved in assessing
Hussain’s art outside the domain of “normally satisfying aesthetics” (48) and so on.
Furthermore, Hussain’s art becomes reminiscent of what Goel calls “ethnic memories”
(58), by which I understand a memory fed by sublated ethnic constructions. F.N Souza
contributes to the making of a modern day Hindu bewusstein nurtured on Intuitions,
although the author does not qualify which aspects of his paintings are singular and
immediate. Satish Gujral exhibits the extremities of an artistic enterprise, while the author
tracks a decisive lack of influence of Dada painters in Indian art. Goel makes a seminal
statement when he says that “Modernism in India came as an assertion against the all-
pervasive cultural nationalism as represented by the Bengal school of painters in the
pre-independence period” (144) – something that is worth investigating in all its umpteen
varieties. This section closes off with an attempt at critiquing photography as an aesthetic
medium of experience (158-161). In ‘Institutions’ an important contribution of Goel could
be considered his criticism of the Lalit Kala Akademi that faltered at several junctures.
His solution is to educate art enthusiasts in “art-history consciousness”(173) before
striving to remedy fundamental problems related with administration and funds. A
historical account of Western art draws flak when “provincialisms” (180) take the upper
hand. In ‘Triennale-India’, there are brief studies of art exhibitions across India. Here, he
praises Bhupen Khakhar for the factness of his art (211), ending with a brief paragraph on
Kitsch. In ‘Art and Ideas’, he studies Minimalism and the basis of its “semantic tease”
(223), reverting back to improvements for the LKA, such as an “anechoic chamber” (237)
which should enhance the values of aesthetic experience. Depression Years force artists
to come to terms with social realities, often mitigating them from pursuing what is truly
great, instead limiting themselves in exhibitions and business transactions. ‘Art’s distorting
Mirror of Consciousness’ is a reasonable explanation of everything argued for by Goel
in this section, barring explicit references to politics. The volume culminates with essays
on photography, Goel’s reviews and catalogues of solo exhibitions.
While the editor must be lauded for taking upon herself a task that is the first of its
kind, and while the reviewer concedes to the exclusion of ideas not directly pertaining to
art criticism, two criticisms of K.B. Goel’s commentary on art must not be overlooked –
first, there is a decisive lack of intense philosophical, aesthetic or literary reflection, causing
the reviews to be lightweight and subject to popular ignorance. Even the best of journalistic
criticism is often well-written than well-argued; second, the epigrammatic nature that
his writing takes refuge in functions as a bane in absence of true authenticity, missing the
nail and lacking any very deep impact from without. Nevertheless, the volume will serve
as an inspiration for art critics in the future.
SHOUVIK NARAYAN HORE

Vidyasagar University, India
THE DEATH SCRIPT: DREAMS AND DELUSIONS IN NAXAL COUNTRY. By Ashutosh

Bhardwaj. New Delhi: Fourth Estate India/Harper Collins, 2020. 269 pp.
A lready and rightly reviewed by others as a ‘genre-bender’ (Aditya Mani Jha, Hindu
Business Line) Ashutosh Bhardwaj’s The Death Script: Dreams and Delusions in Naxal
Country is undoubtedly a striking work of non-fiction, from the pages of which, however,
a fiction-writer keeps rearing his head, till the attuned-reader is left searching for the
artist within his art (perhaps much to the chagrin of T S Eliot!). Yes, celebrated journalist
of several years, the author, perhaps, at last, consciously seeks to break free from the
inevitable trammels imposed by the reticence required of journalistic writing, to
consciously cross over to the luxuries of emotional repose and stability offered by the
craft of the novelist. Is it a weary bid to escape the ‘corpses pinned to the tip of his
fountain pen’ (DS 240) or perhaps a final ‘death script’ to bury the death reporter within
him, forever? Is The Death Script then mere reportage of Maoist-Police skirmishes, or
rather the checkered journey of awakening, an internal rites de passage – of crossing the
threshold of comforting, and comfortable, lifelong-certainties into stark realities painfully
acquired? For one, The Death Script is a gripping narrative, with all the potential of a
künstlerroman, ready to sprout whenever the optimum conditions prevail, and, if one
may say so, even a brilliant swan song, for the purely journalistic self of the author, all
blended into one.
A book in its physical, tangible avatar, even in the age of Kindle-Readers and e-books,
still carries a lot of currency and meaning—as is the case with the hardcover edition of
The Death Script. The strategically placed black pages, which separate the different sections,
act as fitting palls for the legions of deaths and dead bodies that this author has been
witness to, in the years of reporting from the conflict-zone in Bastar – alternately labelled
India’s ‘Red Corridor’. One is instantly taken back to the artistry of the novel Tristram
Shandy, the eighteenth century English masterpiece by Laurence Sterne, which threw
intellectual challenges, in its own time, to its readers at critical junctures in the narrative
by inserting blank or black pages, and if not thoroughly performative like Tristram Shandy,
While the editor must be lauded for taking upon herself a task that is the first of its
kind, and while the reviewer concedes to the exclusion of ideas not directly pertaining to
art criticism, two criticisms of K.B. Goel’s commentary on art must not be overlooked –
first, there is a decisive lack of intense philosophical, aesthetic or literary reflection, causing
the reviews to be lightweight and subject to popular ignorance. Even the best of journalistic
criticism is often well-written than well-argued; second, the epigrammatic nature that
his writing takes refuge in functions as a bane in absence of true authenticity, missing the
nail and lacking any very deep impact from without. Nevertheless, the volume will serve
as an inspiration for art critics in the future.
SHOUVIK NARAYAN HORE

Vidyasagar University, India
THE DEATH SCRIPT: DREAMS AND DELUSIONS IN NAXAL COUNTRY. By Ashutosh

Bhardwaj. New Delhi: Fourth Estate India/Harper Collins, 2020. 269 pp.
A lready and rightly reviewed by others as a ‘genre-bender’ (Aditya Mani Jha, Hindu
Business Line) Ashutosh Bhardwaj’s The Death Script: Dreams and Delusions in Naxal
Country is undoubtedly a striking work of non-fiction, from the pages of which, however,
a fiction-writer keeps rearing his head, till the attuned-reader is left searching for the
artist within his art (perhaps much to the chagrin of T S Eliot!). Yes, celebrated journalist
of several years, the author, perhaps, at last, consciously seeks to break free from the
inevitable trammels imposed by the reticence required of journalistic writing, to
consciously cross over to the luxuries of emotional repose and stability offered by the
craft of the novelist. Is it a weary bid to escape the ‘corpses pinned to the tip of his
fountain pen’ (DS 240) or perhaps a final ‘death script’ to bury the death reporter within
him, forever? Is The Death Script then mere reportage of Maoist-Police skirmishes, or
rather the checkered journey of awakening, an internal rites de passage – of crossing the
threshold of comforting, and comfortable, lifelong-certainties into stark realities painfully
acquired? For one, The Death Script is a gripping narrative, with all the potential of a
künstlerroman, ready to sprout whenever the optimum conditions prevail, and, if one
may say so, even a brilliant swan song, for the purely journalistic self of the author, all
blended into one.
A book in its physical, tangible avatar, even in the age of Kindle-Readers and e-books,
still carries a lot of currency and meaning—as is the case with the hardcover edition of
The Death Script. The strategically placed black pages, which separate the different sections,
act as fitting palls for the legions of deaths and dead bodies that this author has been
witness to, in the years of reporting from the conflict-zone in Bastar – alternately labelled
India’s ‘Red Corridor’. One is instantly taken back to the artistry of the novel Tristram
Shandy, the eighteenth century English masterpiece by Laurence Sterne, which threw
intellectual challenges, in its own time, to its readers at critical junctures in the narrative
by inserting blank or black pages, and if not thoroughly performative like Tristram Shandy,
Book Reviews / 215
The Death Script is, along similar lines, a veiled meditation on multiple subjects including
the art of narration or story-telling! The mixing of genres, which the book effortlessly
combines – from the confessional mode of diary-writing to the remembered- reticence of
journalism, reminiscent almost of H.E. Bates, to the nascent saplings of novelistic prose
and finally the polyphony of voices – works wonders for readers from multiple walks of
life with divergent tastes and academic or professional training. Incessant churning out
of literary fiction, non-fiction, and bestseller-lists (as if from Vulcan’s own smithy!) in
recent times, prompted by the fiercely competitive publishing industry, often leaves
readers bedazzled. But it is still possible for the keen and sensitive reader to smell out a
book worth their investment in time and emotional involvement, from amidst the glitz
of advertising gimmicks and propaganda. The Death Script is one such good investment,
which will not often disappoint a reader.
Though several informative and insightful books1 have been published in the past on
the Maoist insurgency in general, and specifically in Bastar, the depth, sincerity and
empathy of this latest addition far surpasses that of its predecessors, marked by more
distanced analyses. And for many who have been hitherto unaware of such in-depth and
first-hand account of the struggles and bloodbath in the forests of Bastar, between Maoists
and the Police, the book is undoubtedly going to be an eye-opener, and yet never for
once force one to take sides or be judgmental. One of the earliest reviewers of this book
dwells on this quicksand quality of the work – of its uncanny ability to suck the readers
into its ‘exorcism’, almost unawares, thereby making them realize, as if with a jolt, how
deeply ‘implicit’ they too are in this bloodbath, sold in instalments as news (Supriya
Nair, Mumbai Mirror).
Divided into seven sections, preceded by a ‘Pre-Text’, the seven sections are in turn
arranged around the pattern of abstractions and felt-realities (dream, delusion, death script,
displacement, but not always in that order!). The book records with accuracy the four
years (2011-15) of the naxalite upheavals, when Bhardwaj was posted in Bastar precisely
for such reportage. The journalist-author’s, life among naxals in the remotest areas of
Abujhmad forest, his daily encounters with the deprivations and the idealism which
drove the revolutionaries and his sense of complicity in the State’s apathy to towards the
marginalization of the adivasis, is woven in a fabric of facts, undistorted, though filtered
through the perceptions of a city-bred man who at every point grapples with the
challenges of giving voice to the dead, the voiceless and the subaltern. But, what perhaps
appeals most to a literary reading in this work, are moments of subtle and unpretentious
confessions (‘Minutes after he (Joga) was murdered, a man deep inside me, who loves,
who yearns for love, a part of that man was also murdered’ 16), critiques of the limitations
of the journalists’ trade, the unconscious marks of fatigue that come from emotional
reticence demanded of a journalist: ‘A novelist may admit to it, but can a journalist ever
address the reader and say, “I was always in search of sorrow. My words sought a home
in the grief of others?” ’ (95), and also those which fire the assumption that there is
already a transition in process, perhaps imperceptibly, from the dispassionateness
demanded of journalism to the involvement expected of the novelist!
The book, if one is ready to pay close enough attention, beyond its depiction of bare
facts, is actually a site of remarkable composting—of the author’s extensive reading on
the one hand of European writers, classics and imbibing of diverse global/cultural artifacts,
and on the other of his deep attachment to Hindi litterateurs as Krishna Baldev, Nirmal
Verma, and others who go to make a strong bilingual writer. Each of these influences has
inextricably, and effortlessly, woven themselves into the thoughts and prose of the book
organically. The influences of Calvino, Kundera, to name a few are evident at places,
while the forests of Abujhmad, where ‘[r]eturn becomes impossible’ (100) shall instantly
remind one of the mysterious Hotel California where ‘you can check out any time you
like, but you can never leave!’
Between those folds of carefully arranged sub-sections hovering between dreams,
displacements, deaths and the scripting of the deaths, the factual reports of state
oppression and bloody Maoist retaliations, what stands out and remains etched as one
closes the pages of this fascinating book are the silhouettes of some unforgettable
characters. The sixty-two inches tall inconspicuous lady police officer ‘whose voice carries
the fragility of dewdrops’ (53), the young working mother exiled in Varanasi whose
words find momentary refuge in the audience of the author, a stark stranger (26), the
unexpressed loneliness that fills the narrative at the strange disappearance of ‘Tutuji’ the
Frog, the daughter of naxal parents, whose email id is unexpectedly and incongruously
romantic (‘jaabili … full moon in Telugu’ 227), the absolute stranger whose ritual feast the
author is compelled to partake of (‘feasted in the memory of a dead man’ 253), Joga and his
dreams of life with Varalakshmi ‘in a distant city’ (13). These are characters that might
resurface from the depths of the author’s memory, to haunt the reader for a long time
afterwards, and also, perhaps, become protagonists in future tales he chooses to weave.
The Death Script is a quiet implosion, an empathetic portrayal of poverty, death, and
even a paean to dangerous beauty of the uncharted forests of Abujhmad it certainly is;
but above all else it is, perhaps, the manifesto of the struggles of this author to find an
equipoise from the often-contentious dualities present within himself as a Journalist and
a writer of fiction, of straddling two almost opposed worlds. It is also a quiet means to
escape the almost morbid compulsion of finding ‘sources’ and ‘news’ in people he meets,
or perhaps to hit the pause button to the incessant clatter of the death script typing itself
out within him. As a proficient bilingual writer’s first book in English, The Death Script
raises the bar for contemporary Indian non-fiction, as it also challenges the accepted moulds
of fiction. By all means, it is a must read for all who value courage and conscience in
journalism and also for those who look for poetry in the midst of the prosaic and mundane!
Notes
1
Other significant books on maoist insurgency, in several parts of India including Bastar
that have riveted readers before this are, Anuradha Chenoy and Kamal Mitra Chenoy’s
Maoist and Other Armed Conflicts, India: Penguin, 2010; Nandini Sundar’s The Burning
Forest: India’s War in Bastar, India: Juggernaut, 2016; Alpa Shah’s, Nightmarch: Among India’s
Revolutionary Guerillas, London: Hurst, Chicago: University of Chicago Press; New Delhi:
Harper Collins, 2019.
OINDRILA GHOSH
Diamond Harbour Women’s University, Kolkata
Book Reviews / 217
EXPLORING GENDER DIVERSITY IN THE ANCIENT WORLD. By Allison Surtees and

Jennifer Dyer. UK: Edinburgh University Press, 2020. 264 pp.
T he volume Exploring Gender Diversity in the Ancient World challenges the

heteronormative, cisgendered and masculinist readings of the ancient world by using
queer, feminist and transgender studies to open up conversations about our
understanding of gender diversity in classical and contemporary society. It attempts to
trace and identify the varied intersections of gender identity, expression, roles, sex and
sexuality with factors such as race, ethnicity, class and socio-political milieu in the Greco-
Roman world. Along with re-reading popular figures of antiquity, the volume also
investigates the presence of gender-diverse and transgender people, marginalised due
to the politics of representation. The essays critically analyse and reinterpret classical
texts, literature and material culture. The authors avoid homogenising, essentializing or
universalising gender identities.
The editors Allison Surtees and Jennifer Dyer analyse the Olympian Gods Athena and
Dionysus in the introduction. Athena, the goddess of strategic warfare, is assigned female
at birth but assumes a male identity by opting for masculine gender expression and roles
through her actions, comportment and clothing. Dionysus has an ambivalent shifting
gender identity, alternating and blending male and female roles and performances. Such
instances of gender fluidity among fundamental figures of the Greco-Roman world
challenge and destabilize social constructions of power and hierarchy.
The volume is divided into four sections consisting of essays focussing on specific but
overlapping and interconnected aspects of gender diversity. The first section titled
“Gender Construction” begins with Walter Penrose discussing “female masculinity and
male femininity” by establishing courage, boldness and intelligence as markers of gender
diversity in the ancient world. The terms ‘androgynous’ and ‘kinaidos’ were often used
pejoratively to refer to men who lacked courage or ‘feminine men’ and intersex or male-
to-female transgender persons like the Enarees who were said to have the ‘female disease.’
The women who demonstrated courage and intelligence were seen as an anomaly and
called ‘masculine women’ (not equated with lesbianism), like Clytemnestra, who ruled
Argos in Agamemnon’s absence and sought revenge on him.
Tyson Sukava’s essay focuses on ancient physicians’ interest in the physiognomy of the
body. To simplify their understanding, they considered bodies as constituted by different
proportions of fluids (blood, phlegm, yellow bile and black bile), which resulted in a
spectrum of human natures between maleness and femaleness. A person’s gender identity
was also determined by the blending of secretions contributed by each parent in varying
degrees. While such theories were influenced by socio-cultural power dynamics of gender
construction, they also simultaneously acknowledged the overlapping of the male and
female anatomies. Anna Uhlig reinterprets and reflects on the ‘crafted’ body of Pandora
by analysing her “birth by hammer.” She reads Pandora’s composite body as a combination
of ‘nature’ and ‘artifice,’ which is ‘organic’ and ‘constructed’ at the same time, thus, opening
up our existing understanding of corporeal boundaries. The last essay of this section by
Kelly Shannon-Henderson analyses ‘real-life’ incidents of sex change where women
spontaneously transitioned into men and subsequently began performing male gender
roles in society. Shannon-Henderson proceeds to reveal the ancient understanding of

gender categories as either male (superior) or female, where a transformed person has to
belong to either of these categories instead of an intermediate one.
The second section’s thematic focus is on gender fluidity. The first two essays analyse
the figure of Hermaphroditus. Linnea Åshede utilises Karen Barad’s posthumanist theory
to reinterpret the visual representations of Hermaphroditus where she is ‘surprised’ by
the discovery of her genitals. Hermaphroditus is perceived as “youthfully androgynous”
and gender-fluid, at times “more or less woman, boy, both and neither to individual
viewers” (Åshede 90). Peter Kelly analyses the fusion of the bodies of Hermaphroditus
and the nymph Salmacis in Ovid’s Metamorphoses in a way that destabilizes gendered
corporeal distinctions, ontological and epistemological boundaries, along with the notion
of a fixed cosmological and human evolution.
Rebecca Begum-Lees explores gender fluidity in Ovid’s Metamorphoses through the
character of Iphis, who desires to marry Ianthe. Iphis is assigned female at birth, raised
as a boy, and ultimately transformed into a man in order to marry a woman. Begum-Lees
argues that Iphis undergoes a transformation of ‘social gender’ (outward and performative
markers of gender) rather than ‘biological sex,’ indicating that hir metamorphosis remains
unresolved. Ze resists binary gender classification both before and after hir transformation.
This section ends with Jussi Rantala’s analysis of Emperor Elagabalus’ portrayals in the
historical accounts of Cassius Dio and Herodian. The Emperor’s ‘controversial’ religious
activities and gender expression make Herodian see him as an exotic Easterner who painted
his face with make-up, engaged in “laughable rituals and wore only the most expensive
clothing and jewellery” (Rantala 121). Unlike Herodian, Cassius Dio condemns Elagabalus
for his transgression of gender identity, which he saw as unbecoming of a true Roman.
The third section explores transgender identities in the ancient world. Dalida Agri
takes up the themes of gender ambiguity, gender liminality and moral reasoning through
the figure of personified Virtus in Statius’ Thebaid and Silius’ Punica. Since Statius and
Silius are contemporaries, Agri engages in cross-reading passages from the two works to
determine how one may have elaborated on the other. In the next essay, Lisa Hughes
analyses the ancient visual depictions of Omphale and Hercules in Pompeian Dionysian
Theatre Gardens. The theatrically staged presence of the cross-dressed pair near or in
the garden areas honoured the gender-fluid deity, Dionysus. Through performative
gender blending and reversal, this pair subverted conventional social and gender roles
in domestic and public spheres.
Evelyn Adkins highlights the ‘politics of representation’ through the transgender
identity of the priests of the Syrian Goddess in Apuleius’ The Golden Ass. Adkins juxtaposes
the narrator Lucius’s derogatory description of the priests using male grammatical forms
with the priests’ own identification as female using female grammatical forms. While
the priests use direct speech to assert a shared feminine gender identity, Lucius denies
and misgenders their transwomen identity by reading their gender expression as proof
of effeminacy. The final essay of this section by Rowan Emily Ash analyses the intersections
of sex, gender, identity, class and ethnicity in Lucian’s Dialogues of the Courtesans. The
character Megillos is assigned female at birth but identifies as male and easily passes off
as Megilla (female) in public. To understand his blurred gender identity, Ash interrogates
his identity in the light of gender dysphoria, which is defined as “the distress that may
accompany the incongruence between one’s experienced or expressed gender and one’s
assigned gender” ([American Psychiatric Association] 2013: 451).
Book Reviews / 219
The fourth section consists of three essays focussing on female masculinity. Brian P.
Sowers and Kimberly Passaro evaluate sexuality in the early Christian sacred texts. They
examine Thecla’s ‘allusive and elusive gender’ through biblical intertextual connections
with Mary of Bethany’s veneration at Jesus’ feet and Ruth’s seduction of Boaz. Thecla is a
cross-dressing apostolic leader who abandons domestic obligations, adopts ‘masculine’
traits, crosses the oikos and travels in the public sphere. Her fluid, plural and nuanced
sexual identity enables her to become an idealised disciple.
Mary Deminion examines a trio of women orators who transgressed gender boundaries
by entering the male space of the Roman courtroom and effectively employing rhetoric
and public oratory that otherwise excluded women. Valerius Maximus describes the
orator Maesia as an androgyne, condemns Gaia Afrania as a monster and praises Hortensia
as the living image of her illustrious father. Public speech is related to self-representation,
power and patriarchal political dominance. Thus, by speaking on their own behalf, these
gender non-conforming figures triggered male anxiety and Roman morality. The volume
comes to an end with Denise Eileen McCoskey’s insightful comparison of Artemisia’s
portrayals in Herodotus’ Histories and Zack Snyder’s film 300: Rise of an Empire (2014).
Herodotus represents her as a ‘woman fighting,’ who is outside the codes of Greek
femininity and applauds her courage, andreia (manliness), autonomy and ‘wondrous’
subjectivity along with her cunning escape at the end. The film, on the other hand, creates
a narrative of rape-revenge and racial otherness before casting Artemisia as an extremely
violent villain to be hated by the audience. Here, it is the male protagonist who offers her
an escape that she refuses, choosing a bold death in combat instead.
The volume reveals that classical Greco-Roman history is “the history of all genders”
that includes gender fluid, non-binary, intersex, transgender, gender bending and blending
identities (Surtees and Dyer 2). The figures discussed in these essays subvert and bend
gender expectations by separating maleness and femaleness from masculinity and
femininity. These ambiguous gender identities have faced various forms of subjugation,
violence, objectification and erasure. Thus, by exploring varied forms of gender expression,
gender identity, assigned sex, perceived sex and physical sex, the volume alters our
understanding of gender diversity in the ancient as well as the contemporary world.
ANWESHA SAHOO
A LIVING ISLAMIC CITY: FEZ AND ITS PRESERVATION. By Titus Burckhardt. Jean-
Louis Michon and Joseph A. Fitzgerald (Eds.). Translated by Jane Casewit. Bloomington,
IN: World Wisdom, 2020, 104 pp.
T he Moroccan city of Fez, founded in the ninth century, is an unparalleled treasure of

Islamic culture and civilization. Titus Burckhardt (1908–1984) was an expert on Islam,
Islamic arts and crafts, and its mystical dimension, Sufism. For more than forty years he
worked to document and preserve the artistic and architectural heritage of Fez in particular
Book Reviews / 219
The fourth section consists of three essays focussing on female masculinity. Brian P.
Sowers and Kimberly Passaro evaluate sexuality in the early Christian sacred texts. They
examine Thecla’s ‘allusive and elusive gender’ through biblical intertextual connections
with Mary of Bethany’s veneration at Jesus’ feet and Ruth’s seduction of Boaz. Thecla is a
cross-dressing apostolic leader who abandons domestic obligations, adopts ‘masculine’
traits, crosses the oikos and travels in the public sphere. Her fluid, plural and nuanced
sexual identity enables her to become an idealised disciple.
Mary Deminion examines a trio of women orators who transgressed gender boundaries
by entering the male space of the Roman courtroom and effectively employing rhetoric
and public oratory that otherwise excluded women. Valerius Maximus describes the
orator Maesia as an androgyne, condemns Gaia Afrania as a monster and praises Hortensia
as the living image of her illustrious father. Public speech is related to self-representation,
power and patriarchal political dominance. Thus, by speaking on their own behalf, these
gender non-conforming figures triggered male anxiety and Roman morality. The volume
comes to an end with Denise Eileen McCoskey’s insightful comparison of Artemisia’s
portrayals in Herodotus’ Histories and Zack Snyder’s film 300: Rise of an Empire (2014).
Herodotus represents her as a ‘woman fighting,’ who is outside the codes of Greek
femininity and applauds her courage, andreia (manliness), autonomy and ‘wondrous’
subjectivity along with her cunning escape at the end. The film, on the other hand, creates
a narrative of rape-revenge and racial otherness before casting Artemisia as an extremely
violent villain to be hated by the audience. Here, it is the male protagonist who offers her
an escape that she refuses, choosing a bold death in combat instead.
The volume reveals that classical Greco-Roman history is “the history of all genders”
that includes gender fluid, non-binary, intersex, transgender, gender bending and blending
identities (Surtees and Dyer 2). The figures discussed in these essays subvert and bend
gender expectations by separating maleness and femaleness from masculinity and
femininity. These ambiguous gender identities have faced various forms of subjugation,
violence, objectification and erasure. Thus, by exploring varied forms of gender expression,
gender identity, assigned sex, perceived sex and physical sex, the volume alters our
understanding of gender diversity in the ancient as well as the contemporary world.
ANWESHA SAHOO
A LIVING ISLAMIC CITY: FEZ AND ITS PRESERVATION. By Titus Burckhardt. Jean-
Louis Michon and Joseph A. Fitzgerald (Eds.). Translated by Jane Casewit. Bloomington,
IN: World Wisdom, 2020, 104 pp.
T he Moroccan city of Fez, founded in the ninth century, is an unparalleled treasure of

Islamic culture and civilization. Titus Burckhardt (1908–1984) was an expert on Islam,
Islamic arts and crafts, and its mystical dimension, Sufism. For more than forty years he
worked to document and preserve the artistic and architectural heritage of Fez in particular
and Morocco in general. He is the author of numerous works, his book Fez: City of Islam
(Fez, Stadt des Islam) first published in German in 1960 is regarded as one of his
masterpieces. Burckhardt lived for many years in Fez and was an integral part of the
Moroccan government’s successful preservation of the ancient medina of Fez as a UNESCO
World Heritage Site in 1981. Moreover, in 1999 the Moroccan government sponsored an
international symposium in Marrakesh in honor of Burckhardt’s distinguished work.
This book consists of four distinct chapters that have been refashioned from newly
translated lectures, delivered while Burckhardt was living and working in Fez: “Constants
of Arabo-Islamic Urbanism”; “Saving the Medina”; “Permanent Values of Maghribi Art”;
and “Traditional Craftsmanship: Its Nature and Destiny”; and also contains “Appendix
I: Sanctuaries of the Medina” and “Appendix II: Key Thoughts”. Throughout this work
Burckhardt explores how the historic city of Fez can be preserved without changing it
from a living organism into a dead museum-city, and how it can be adapted and updated
using the sacred principles that gave birth to the city and its way of life. Supported
through photographs and sketches made during the passage of Burckhardt’s lifetime, he
articulates what it means to be a living Islamic city.
Burckhardt explains the magnitude of this historical city in the context of the Islamic
tradition as a whole, “Fez is not only the history of Morocco, it is also the history of the
Arabo-Andalusian world and ultimately of all of Muslim civilization.” (p. xvii)
Fundamental to this is the recognition that that “Fez is not a museum-city: it is an intensely
living organism, well fitted to the measure of man” (p. 14). In contrast to most cities of
the highly technological and mechanized world, which are very much dehumanizing,
the old town of Fez has an intrinsic rhythm which engages the fullness of the human
experience. After all it is “the sunnah [that] provides above all the models for practical
life.” (p. 3) Burckhardt elaborates on this essential principle: “The sunnah is ‘realistic’ in
the sense that it always envisages the integral nature of man, who is at once body, soul,
and spirit— bodily gestures having their repercussion in the soul and spiritual convictions
being reflected in outward behavior.” (p. 3) In fact, Burckhardt, claimed that “No other
city in the entire Arab world manifests so homogenously what one could call Islamic
urbanism.” (p. 17) To preserve the city of Fez’s irreplaceable monuments and essential
characteristics requires respect for the city’s historical structure. As Burckhardt points
out, “adaptation necessarily involves modernization but, at the same time, it must be
inspired not by European [or other] models but by what we might describe as the urbanism
inherent in the ancient structure of the city.” (p. 14) Burckhardt’s intention is not to deny
that certain contemporary developments could be of benefit here but to emphasize the
need to situate any such developments within the traditional norms of the culture. Within
the Islamic tradition, cultural norms are rooted in Divine Unity, as Burckhardt
acknowledges when he insists “Everything, in the art of Islam, is attached to tawùîd.” (p.
46) This is exemplified by the symbolism of light as indicated in the Koran: “God is the
Light of the heavens and the earth” (24:35). Within Sufism, this symbolism of the Divine
Light is also employed to demonstrate the Divine Unity that encompasses all of the
spiritual paths by which diverse human souls travel back to God. The Sufi sage and poet
Rümî (1207–1273) says, for example, “The Lamps are different, but the Light is the same,”1
further specifying that “[all] religions are but one religion.”2 This unity is palpable
throughout the city as Burckhardt writes, “All in all, what strikes the visitor of the
numerous sanctuaries in Fez is not so much the diversity of the architectural types as
their unity throughout the centuries.” (p. 62)
Book Reviews / 221
The human being engages in the creative act of making art yet remains anonymous in
this act for it is not actually he or she that produces the art but the Divine. “In its state of
perfection, ‘each thing praises its creator,’ and this creator is not the artist, but God.” (p.
51) The function of the human being is to undergo a transfiguration through the creative
process where he or she dissolves into the Divine Essence. The human being consists of
a tripartite composite of Spirit/Intellect, soul and body, known in Islam as Rüù (‘Aql),
nafs and jism. As Burckhardt explains, “man is still at once body, soul, and spirit. One
cannot, therefore, neglect any one of these modalities without harming the entire human
being.” (p. xix) Through this metaphysical rendering human diversity can be discerned
to include both commonality and uniqueness in the Divine without contradiction: “On
the one hand, all men are equal before God…. On the other hand, each man…is unique
in his inner nature, and it is in this transcendent uniqueness that his liberty and dignity
reside.” (p. 14)
As is the case with all traditional art, “there is no profane art in the framework of
Islamic civilization, which admits of no scission between the domains of the ‘sacred’ and
the ‘profane’” (p. 34). This is to say that: “In all traditional civilizations, art is never
disassociated from its practical goal, and craftsmanship is never limited to a production
deprived of beauty.” (p. 34) The meaning of beauty and its spiritual dimension is
illustrated in the Prophetic tradition: “Verily, God is beautiful and He loveth beauty.”
The role of the outer world in traditional societies and civilizations is central as it is
interconnected and an extension of the inner world, joining both the microcosm and the
macrocosm. Burckhardt notes, “What our ancestors put into the forms of their
environment, this acts anew upon us, their heirs; there is nothing that exercises a greater
influence on a man’s soul than the environment which surrounds him.” (p. xviii) This
metaphysical approach also facilitates an integral ecological vision, which is found across
the distinct cultures, “Water is the foundation of all life” and adds, “Water is necessary
for the body, soul, and spirit alike, and nothing could better illustrate the principle of
traditional town-planning than this triple use of water.” (p. 7) According to the Koran:
“From water We made every living thing” (21:30). The principle of unity in Islamic
civilization maintains a balance between the practical and the beautiful, without
diminishing either of these facets. Burckhardt warns about the harmful consequences of
art, architecture and crafts when dissociated from the sacred, “When quantity dominates
production, quality is killed—this is an inexorable law.” (p. 50)
The protection and preservation of all cultural treasures the world over is needed, not
only the city of Fez, as once they are lost, they can never be recovered. Burckhardt writes,
“certain perfect creations of the human spirit cannot be repeated, and are never replaced;
and yet, these works belong to man, to all of mankind—they are like aspects of our
soul,” he continues, “They are ours to the extent that we grasp their beauty and perfection.
Were they to disappear, something of our own soul would vanish; something of ourselves
would be forgotten.” (p. xviii)
This book is far from a blind or superficial call for a “return to the Middle Ages,” but
rather a call for a return to the sacred principles that underlie all sapiential traditions
and arts, crafts, architecture and sacred lifeways to understand them in their integral
nature. We are grateful that these important lectures have been made available as they
make for a superb contribution to Burckhardt’s already published work on the city of
Fez and Islamic art. Burckhardt concludes with a message conveying the transpersonal
blessing crystalized within this sacred city, “let us not forget that there still exists in Fez
what we would call a genius loci, or, more adequately, a barakah that will have the last
word.” (p. 14) We end this review with the well-known verse of the Islamic tradition:
“Unto God all things are returned” (3:109).
Notes
1
Rümî, “The One True Light,” in Rümî: Poet and Mystic, trans. Reynold A. Nicholson (London,
UK: George Allan and Unwin, 1950), p. 166.
2
Rümî, “2120 – Book III,” in The Mathnawî of Jalälu’ddîn Rümî, Vol. IV, trans. Reynold A.
Nicholson (London, UK: Luzac and Company, 1930), p. 118.
SAMUEL BENDECK SOTILLOS

California, USA
THE UNHINDERED PATH: RUMINATIONS ON SHIN BUDDHISM. By John Paraske-

vopoulos. Kettering, OH: Sophia Perennis, 2016, 252 pp.
“Buddha-nature is Tathägata … Tathägata is Nirväna … Nirväna is called Buddha-nature.”

–Shinran (quoted in the book)
I n these exceptionally uncertain and confusing times, making sense of the human
condition and what it means to live in this world becomes particularly challenging. By
honestly confronting this predicament, it soon becomes apparent that the solution lies in
a reality that transcends the limited sphere of human doubt and confusion. This requires
embarking on one of the time-worn paths of the world’s traditional religions. In doing
so, direct knowing, healing and integration becomes possible. This work exposes modern
audiences to the wisdom of the little-known Jõdo Shinshu school of Buddhism (the largest
in Japan) that was founded by Shinran (1173–1263).
A major difficulty that all religions face today is the secular undermining of anything
that pertains to a transcendent order of existence. Paraskevopoulos writes, “We live in a
world where higher truths are reduced to lower ones, where everything is considered
subjective and relative, and where the notion of anything being absolute is dismissed as
naïve.” (p. 19) He goes on to ask: “How can even the notion of truth be conceivable when
the very thing that makes it possible, namely objective reality, is declared to be a fiction?”
(p. 19) This describes the post-truth era that we currently inhabit bereft, as it is, of any
signpost to what is ‘true and real’ as Shinran would say.
The Buddhist tradition asks us to deeply ponder the meaning of our enigmatic existence.
A paradoxical feature of the human condition is the seeking of permanence in a world
that is transitory, yet the more firmly we hold on to what is ephemeral, the more it fades
away before our eyes. And yet, even if we acknowledge this truth, we nevertheless
frantically aim—albeit in vain—to keep the ‘restless winds of impermanence’ at bay. No
matter how insulated and engineered our personal or collective bubbles become, there is
no escape from this sobering fact about our lives. It is through the world’s religions that
what we would call a genius loci, or, more adequately, a barakah that will have the last
word.” (p. 14) We end this review with the well-known verse of the Islamic tradition:
“Unto God all things are returned” (3:109).
Notes
1
Rümî, “The One True Light,” in Rümî: Poet and Mystic, trans. Reynold A. Nicholson (London,
UK: George Allan and Unwin, 1950), p. 166.
2
Rümî, “2120 – Book III,” in The Mathnawî of Jalälu’ddîn Rümî, Vol. IV, trans. Reynold A.
Nicholson (London, UK: Luzac and Company, 1930), p. 118.

California, USA
THE UNHINDERED PATH: RUMINATIONS ON SHIN BUDDHISM. By John Paraske-

vopoulos. Kettering, OH: Sophia Perennis, 2016, 252 pp.
“Buddha-nature is Tathägata … Tathägata is Nirväna … Nirväna is called Buddha-nature.”

–Shinran (quoted in the book)
I n these exceptionally uncertain and confusing times, making sense of the human
condition and what it means to live in this world becomes particularly challenging. By
honestly confronting this predicament, it soon becomes apparent that the solution lies in
a reality that transcends the limited sphere of human doubt and confusion. This requires
embarking on one of the time-worn paths of the world’s traditional religions. In doing
so, direct knowing, healing and integration becomes possible. This work exposes modern
audiences to the wisdom of the little-known Jõdo Shinshu school of Buddhism (the largest
in Japan) that was founded by Shinran (1173–1263).
A major difficulty that all religions face today is the secular undermining of anything
that pertains to a transcendent order of existence. Paraskevopoulos writes, “We live in a
world where higher truths are reduced to lower ones, where everything is considered
subjective and relative, and where the notion of anything being absolute is dismissed as
naïve.” (p. 19) He goes on to ask: “How can even the notion of truth be conceivable when
the very thing that makes it possible, namely objective reality, is declared to be a fiction?”
(p. 19) This describes the post-truth era that we currently inhabit bereft, as it is, of any
signpost to what is ‘true and real’ as Shinran would say.
The Buddhist tradition asks us to deeply ponder the meaning of our enigmatic existence.
A paradoxical feature of the human condition is the seeking of permanence in a world
that is transitory, yet the more firmly we hold on to what is ephemeral, the more it fades
away before our eyes. And yet, even if we acknowledge this truth, we nevertheless
frantically aim—albeit in vain—to keep the ‘restless winds of impermanence’ at bay. No
matter how insulated and engineered our personal or collective bubbles become, there is
no escape from this sobering fact about our lives. It is through the world’s religions that
Book Reviews / 223
we can take refuge in what transcends all change and dissatisfaction, as Paraskevopoulos
points out: “The spiritual traditions of the world have, each in their own way, endeavoured
to provide some kind of anchor to keep us rooted in what is, otherwise, a world of
shifting sands.” (p. 85)
Many are drawn to Buddhism because of its focus on the mind, yet it would be a grave
error to reduce it to what we understand today as the secular discipline of modern
psychology. Buddhist psychology, like all forms of traditional wisdom, is rooted in sacred
science, metaphysics and spiritual principles. For this reason, it is not only able to
accurately diagnose our fallen or saüsäric nature, but to treat it. The Buddha, who was
often described as a ‘great physician’ in that he dispensed the necessary ‘medicine’ for
our ailing condition, taught that we had a deeply flawed view of human identity. Rather
than viewing our everyday ‘self’ as an immutable reality that has any solidity, he described
our human constitution as a bundle (skandhas) of conditioned and unstable elements
comprising form, perception, feeling, volition and consciousness.
Because of our inability to discern the transpersonal dimension comprising our true
identity, we cling to the empirical personality as our real self. Paraskevopoulos writes,
“The many wounds we bear in our hearts are a sign of our radical incompleteness as
human beings.” (p. 9) Furthermore, “much of our suffering can be found within us …
[in] our own prejudices and false impressions that provide the fuel for sustaining our
endless anxieties.” (p. 66) At the same time, Buddhism upholds that, ultimately, “We are
made for happiness.” (p. 16)
Within the Buddhist tradition, we find the doctrine of mappõ or “the Decadent Age of
the Dharma.” Paraskevopoulos notes that “we are living in an age where spiritual life is
undergoing a gradual debasement.” (p. 71) In light of this decline, the author shows how
“Shin Buddhism is uniquely placed to offer a compelling antidote to the spiritual malaise
that afflicts us today and how it is exceptionally suited to give ordinary people the inner
resources to confront a world where the ‘three poisons’ of greed, anger and ignorance
are rampant.” (p. 85) He goes on to say that “the Pure Land is an upäya (or ‘saving
means’) for conveying the inconceivable nature of enlightenment through forms that are
immediately accessible and deeply attractive to us.” (p. 30)
A common misunderstanding of Buddhism is that it denies the idea of an Absolute;
however, this is not the case. Paraskevopoulos reminds us that “Buddhism does not
abandon the notion of an ultimate reality but refines and strips it of many of the troubling
limitations that so bedevil certain theistic notions of God.” (p. 91) Elsewhere he has written,
“Buddhism speaks of an ultimate reality to which it gives many names.” (p. 17) For
example, “The Dharma-Body [Dharmakäya] is described in the sütras as being the true
and eternal reality behind all things.” (p. 18) The Buddha teaches:
The Dharma-Body [Dharmakäya] is the substance of the Dharma; that is, of the Truth
itself. In the aspect of Essence, Buddha has no shape or colour and, since Buddha has no
shape or colour, he comes from nowhere and there is nowhere for him to go. Like the
blue sky, he arches over everything, and since he is all things, he lacks nothing. (p. 202)
It is fitting here to add that explanations of Nirväna that suggest any kind of “extinction”
are largely inaccurate, as what is actually extinguished are the burdensome impediments
separating us from the Dharma-Body. Regarding this reality, the Vijñänamätra Sästra
emphasizes both its transcendent and immanent aspects: “Absolute Nirväna is
synonymous with the Dharmakäya…. Though it manifests itself in the world of defilement
and relativity, its essence remains forever undefiled…. It is universally present in all
beings” (p. 208). According to Shinran, “When a person becomes enlightened, we say
they ‘return to the city of Dharma-nature.’” (p. 125)
The name of Amida Buddha (or Amitäbha in the original Sanskrit) is regarded as
synonymous with the Buddha’s reality. The spiritual antidote in this age of decline in
Shin Buddhism is the nembutsu or saying Amida’s name—Namo Amida Butsu. The nembutsu
is itself a response to “hearing the Name” (understood as the Buddha’s initial ‘calling’ to
us) which is also an embodiment of the awakening of faith. The Australian poet Harold
Stewart (1916–1995) makes a noteworthy point about the integral role of faith in the
Buddhist tradition: “What most Western books about Buddhism fail to mention is that
none of the spiritual and psycho-physical practices of the Hînayäna, Mahäyäna or
Vajrayäna is going to prove effective if the indispensable prerequisite of Faith is wanting.”
He goes on to say that “We may abide by all the moral precepts and monastic regulations,
recite the sütras and perform the rituals, practice zazen and repeat the nembutsu, but, if
Faith is lacking, no Deliverance or Enlightenment will result.” (p. 226)
In Shin Buddhism, the Name is considered to be a vehicle for going beyond “birth and
death” (saüsära), as it is regarded as the highest truth, which is none other than absolute
Suchness itself. Invoking the nembutsu is to say, “I take refuge in the Infinite.” (p. 155)
The Buddha understands our plight in this world and longs to deliver us from it: “The
Primal Vow corresponds to our deepest desire for an existence without pain, suffering
and unawareness; something which is not possible in our world of saüsära.” (p. 34) It
needs to be stressed that it is not simply the mere recitation of the Name that is sufficient;
the true nembutsu reflects Amida’s working in our hearts which evokes a deep longing to
be born in the Pure Land. Likewise, it is incorrect to view Other-Power as meaning “no
effort.” While it is true that through our own endeavours alone we cannot attain
enlightenment, this does not mean that there is nothing for us to do in a spiritual sense—
at the very least, we are expected to surrender ourselves to the compassionate light and
life of Amida so that we may be transformed by the Buddha’s wisdom.
This is a remarkable book which ought to be of great interest to those interested in a
very different approach to Buddhist practice and enlightenment. It provides a rich,
profound and yet very personal glimpse into this important but largely neglected tradition
in the West. In this topsy-turvy age that is starkly dehumanizing and anti-spiritual, we
are reminded that the everlasting peace and happiness of the ‘Other Shore’ is not to be
attained through misguided utopian schemes of worldly perfection but by taking refuge
in that which is ‘true and real’. As Paraskevopoulos insightfully asserts: “It is not for the
Dharma to conform to the world but for the world to conform to the Dharma.” (p. 124)
By way of highlighting another important dimension of the Buddhist faith, we conclude
with the words of Kükai (774–835), the great master of the Shingon school, who once
declared: “Everything that is beautiful partakes of the Buddha.” (p. 148)

California, USA
JOURNALS RECEIVED
British Journal of Aesthetics, Comparative Literature, New Literary History, Poetics Today,
Philosophy and Literature, Critical Inquiry, Journal of Modern Literature,
The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism
The "Journal of Comparative Literature and Aesthetics" (ISSN: 0252-8169) is a quarterly
peer-reviewed academic journal published by Vishvanatha Kaviraja Institute of
Comparative Literature and Aesthetics, India since 1977. The Institute was founded
by Prof. Ananta Charan Sukla (1942-2020) on 22 August 1977 coinciding with the birth
centenary of renowned philosopher, aesthetician, and historian of Indian art, Ananda
K. Coomaraswamy (1877-1947) to promote interdisciplinary studies and research in
comparative literature, aesthetics, philosophy, literary theory and criticism, art history,
criticism of the arts, and history of ideas. ("Vishvanatha Kaviraja", most widely known
for his masterpiece in aesthetics, 'Sahityadarpana' or the “Mirror of Composition”,
was a prolific 14th-century Indian scholar, poetician, and rhetorician.)
The Journal has published the finest of essays by authors of global renown like Rene
Wellek, Harold Osborne, John Hospers, John Fisher, Murray Krieger, Martin Bocco,
Remo Ceserani, J.B. Vickery, Menachem Brinker, Milton Snoeyenbos, Mary Wiseman,
Ronald Roblin, T.R. Martland, S.C. Sengupta, K.R.S. Iyengar, V.K. Chari, Charles Altieri,
Martin Jay, Jonathan Culler, Richard Shusterman, Robert Kraut, T.J. Diffey, T.R. Quigley,
R.B. Palmer, Keith Keating, and many others. It also publishes special issues on critical
theories of current interest and contemporary relevance.
JCLA is indexed and abstracted in the MLA International Bibliography, Master List
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Celebrated scholars of the time like Rene Wellek, Harold Osborne, Mircea Eliade,
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renowned foreign and Indian scholars were Members of its Editorial Board.
CALL FOR CONTRIBUTIONS TO A SUSTAINING FUND
The Journal of Comparative Literature and Aesthetics is the official organ of Vishvanatha
Kaviraja Institute, India, registered under the Societies Registration Act No. XXI of
1860 (No. 13094/2030 of 1977-78). All contributions, institutional or individual, to the
sustaining fund will be gratefully acknowledged. Voluntary donations to the Institute
are deductible from income tax returns under Section 80-G of the Income Tax Act,
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FORTHCOMING SPECIAL ISSUES
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JOURNAL

W. J. T. Mitchell University of Chicago

Cover Artwork and Typesetting: Bhaktahari Dash

© 2021 Vishvanatha Kaviraja Institute

Reading Ritualized Space

Reading Ritualized Space

is through aesthetic means. By “application of aesthetic sensibilities” and “aesthetic

Interpreting a Ritualized Space

The Aesthetic Form of a Ritualized Space

understood as the “purposeless purposiveness,” the character of an object that, while it

The Goals of a Ritualized Space

University of North Florida, USA

George Eliot and Marcel Proust: The Religious Feeling

The Basic Components of Human Existence: Generosity and Compassion

The Paradoxical Temporality

2000, 264-265). If everything is perishable, then it is “going-to-nothingness”. Death opens

The Quest for Love, Happiness and Truth

desire/imagination, and happiness; the interconnectedness between happiness and the

Université de Sherbrooke, Canada

Albrecht, Thomas. “The Balance of Separateness and Communication: Cosmopolitan Ethics in

Learning from Dr. Dre:

Aalto University, Finland

The Play’s das Thing: On the Incommensurability of

RYAN MITCHELL WITTINGSLOW

D rawing upon Hannah Arendt’s political reimagining of Kant’saesthetics and Kant’s

beauty requires an object: some something (even if it is a conceptual or abstract some-

University of Groningen, The Netherlands

Bridging the Gaps: Towards a New Paradigmatic Interface

T he paper explores the possibilities of new theories in comparative literature

Introduction: The Relationship: Past and Present

considered as a sign of exceptional intelligence and education. Where once knowledge of

The Extent of Comparative Literary Theories

The Extent of Theories in Translation Studies

preconceived theoretical hypotheses and models, it is undoubtedly, in essence, an em-

Rethinking Comparative Literary Theory through Concepts from TranslationStudies

The possibility of a reception-oriented comparative theory:

Conclusion: The Relationship: Future

Gokhale Memorial Girls' College, Kolkata, India

Apter Emily. The Translation Zone: A New Comparative Literature.Princeton.Princeton University

1. The “Morals” of Humanity

1.1. Benjy’s Innocence: An Idiot’s Narration

1.2. Quentin’s Thoughtfulness: Quentin’s Monologue

1.3. Caddy’s Love and Courage: Zero Narration

1.4. Dilsey’s Loyalty: An Omniscient Narrator

2. The “Evils” of Humanity

2.1. Jason’s Cruelty: Jason’s Voice

2.2. Mrs. Compson’s Indifference: Others’ Voices

2.3. Mr. Compson’s Irresponsibility: Others’ Voices

3. The Exploration of Humanity

3.1. The Complexity of Humanity

3.2. The Reasons for the Declination of Humanity

3.2.1. The Loss of the Ideal

3.2.2. The Pursuit of Utilitarianism

Aesthetics and Ethics:

method, which is homologous to his examinations of biology or zoology. In the Poetics

The English and Foreign Languages University (EFLU), Hyderabad, India