On Language and

the World
Commonsense 1:

Language is a tool
of communication.
...is language in action.
It is a specific act of
exchange of language
between two or more
subjects.
...is the precondition of
a discourse--there
needs to be an 'I' and
'You' before a dialogue
can occur.
LANGUAGE & COMMUNICATION

SIGNS LANGUAGE COMMUNICATION Perspective

 "It is in and through language that man
constitutes himself as a subject, because
language alone establishes the concept of ego in
reality, in its reality which is that of the being."

-----------Emile Benveniste
Personal
Pronouns

...are central to the ...yet we misrecognize this in an inverse manner. We

function of define pronoun in grammar as the signifier that
language--the user stands for nouns. But we, humans, are first 'I', an
inserts him/herself in ego, before a thing. Through 'I', 'You', and 'It', we
the place of come into relation with the world, and not the other
pronouns...
way round. You are person first and foremost.
Relation of
Pronouns
"Consciousness of self is only possible if experienced by
contrast...This polarity of persons is the fundamental condition in
language, of which the process of communication, in which we
I is bigger
share, is only a mere pragmatic consequence. It is a polarity,
than you
moreover, very peculiar in itself...This polarity does not mean
or It
either equality or symmetry: "ego" always has a position of
transcendence with regards to 'you'. Nevertheless, neither of the
terms can be conceived without one another; they are
complementary..."
 I and You do not exist alone. They exist in relation, in a
structure. The person that we are, we insert ourselves into
these positions.

"...I and you, not to be taken as figures but as linguistic

forms indicating 'person'. It is a remarkable fact that the
'personal pronouns' are never missing from among the
signs of language..."
Personal pronous are ones that "do
not refer to a concept or to an
individual."
Personal
Pronouns are
Empty Forms
“I”, “you”, and “it” are not markers of individual specificity;
everybody, despite differences, can be “I”, “you”, and “it”.

If language was But “I” is also not a concept or category. ‘Lion’ is a category into
plug-n-play, which all lions and nobody else can belong. To “I” everybody,
personal including imaginary and inanimate things, can belong to.
pronoun would
be the plug Then what are personal pronouns? They are the place of the
Subject, together they form the inter-subjective matrix of our
reality.
"Language is so organized that it permits each speaker to
appropriate to himself an entire language by designating
himself as I."
 "...there is no other criterion and no other expression by
which to indicate 'the time at which on is' except to take it
as 'the time at which one is speaking'.”
The Two Aspects of
Language

On Similarity and Contiguity Aphasia

What is Aphasia?

Inability or impaired ability to understand

and produce speech.
Roman Jacobson
studied aphasia in
order to understand
the structure of
language.
The logic being: when a
system fails, its inner
workings are easier to
discern, than when it is fully
functioning.
 SYNTAGM

PARADIGM
Two Aspects of Language

SYNTAGM PARADIGM SENTENCE APHASIA

Syntagms form a Paradigm is the order of A sentence is a There are primarily
syntax, the things. A paradigm of words combination of two modes of
are together because they syntagm and
grammatical aphasia: those who
are similar. But in a specific
skeleton of an paradigm. You put have difficulty
utterrance, only one
utterrance. They paradigmatic words understanding
member of a paradigm can
are simultanous be present. in a specific syntagm, syntactic connection
and contiguous. and a sentence is and those who
created. cannot understand
the paradigm.
INTERPRETENTS

So, a word has two co-ordinates, the syntactic

and the paradigmatic. Each word is attached
by similarity to other words (paradigms), and
The Two Coodinates by contiguity to a context (sentence). There
of Sign are thus two ways to interpret a word, by its
context (syntax/continguity) and by category
(paradigm/similarity). A sign can be mapped
by its co-ordinates.
LANGUAGE AND DEGREE OF FREEDOM

The degree of freedom a language user enjoys

increases as the level of complexity increases.
We cannot change the way we pronounce words
or write letters individually. We can minimally
intervene into how they are combined through
word coinage. Syntax offers us significant but not
unlimited freedom. But we are completely free to
add one sentence after another.
 "The separation in space, and...time between two
individuals is bridged by an internal relation: there must
be a certain equivalence between the symbols used by the
addresser and those known and interpreted by the
addressee. Without such an equivalence, the message is
fruitless... "
---Roman Jacobson
Code and
Message

When we 'acquire' language, we acquire the code, a

stack of names, things, actions. Without knowing this
PARADIGM=CODE code, we cannot decipher speech. Syntagm, learnt
SYNTAGM= MESSAGE much more unconsciously, is the form in which we
transform the code into a message.
"The constituents of any message are necesarily linked
with the code by an internal relation and with the
message by an external relation."
---Roman Jacobson
Similarity Disorder
• Happens when aphasia strikes the
paradigm axis.
• Difficulty beginning a dialogue; ease in
filling up sentences.
• The more a word is connected to the
message and not the code, easier to
remember. For example, 'thing' rather
than 'armchair'.
• Inability to conceive polysemy,
substitutional meaning
(metalanguage), etc.
Contiguity Disorder
• Happens when aphasia strikes the
syntagm axis.
• Difficulty forming sentences beyond
the word heap.
• Difficulty with prepositions, contexture;
'agrammatism', including word
breakdown; etc.
• Deterioration in the phonetic properties
of words, because aphasics may
recognize a word as a single entity and
not as a grammatical conjugation.
METAPHOR AND METONYMY
Metaphor as Similarity
Metaphor is a complementary operation: "A cheek is like
roses'= Rosy cheeks. This is a similarity-based
construction.
Metaphor allows for meta-analysis. To say 'Language
works like a digital system' is to simply draw a metaphor
between two similarly coded systems. Codes allow for
metaphors.
Metaphor is the symbolism-building part of language.
Metonymy as Contiguity
Metonymy is a substitutional procedure, substituting
the name of an attribute or adjunct for that of the thing
meant. E.g., Khaki for police.
Metonymy shifts meaning. For example, rather than
saying, the 'The room was dark and humid', we can
say, 'The room was bleak and dank'. Dank is one
attribute of humidity: humidity can be dank. So,
contiguous formations replacing each other. Dank and
humid are contextually connected.
Metonymy is the details-building part of language.
SPOT METAPHORS AND METONYMY
 "As the room spread its mothball
warmth around her, her heart lend its
ears to the familiar humdrum of soft
silence."
The stuffed shirts had built the can to hold
the scum of the earth, letting the violence
of even greater scums, now dressed as
prison guards, loose on the convicts.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T
aUE2y-2l-4
 NATION CASTE SYSTEM
ETHNICITY WORLD ORDER
RELIGION FEDERATION
CULTURE CLASS
Two
Aspects of
Culture

There are two aspects of all cultures, similar to the two

fundamental aspects of language. One is based on similarity. This
is where one "imagines" one's identity.

Similarity and But all identities are contiguous to other identities, forming a
Contiguity structural relation. A Brahmin is determined by the Shudra, and
vice versa. Yet, one caught in the imagination of 'Us and them'
cannot see this interconnection. To him/her, the 'other' is alien and
not necesary.

There can be two relations to culture--'to have' and 'to become'.

HOW TO DO THINGS
WITH WORDS

ON CONSTATIVE AND PERFORMATIVE UTTERANCES

Speaking is...

...an act. It needs an audience. It

involves acting. There is more
to speech than just information.
PRAGMATICS...
...is the study of speech in action.
Beyond the semantic and lexical
meaning of an utterance, there
are other, more contextual
factors. In the next few slides, we
will study them.
When we talk of
communication, we tend
to only think of
information transmission.

THIS IS A COMMON BUT GRAVE MISTAKE

J L Austin, a philosopher of language,
proposed the idea of 'speech act'.
Speaking can also be an action. This is
everywhere: take the sentence, "Would
you pass on the salt please" for example.
CONSTATIVE
UTTERANCE

This is a case where a speech act refers to something

in the past, that is, there is a time gap between the
referent (action) and the speech. You state what has
happened, at a point in future from the moment of
action. This stands true for statements, assertions of
facts, information, description, and so on.

These are either true or false.

PERFORMATIVE
UTTERANCE

A performative utterance is a situation where there is

no time lapse between what the utterance refers to and
the utterance itself. "Let there be light", as God said, so
there was light. You say something to be/do something.

This is as commonplace as a request, a command,

apology, promise, warning, and so on. These are
neither true nor false, the verity/falsity depending
entirely on the affect of the utterance.
But are they
two types or
aspects?
Austen demonstrates that these are
not types but aspects of any and all
speech act.
THE PHILOSOPHICAL
BACKGROUND TO THE
THEORY OF SPEECH ACT

POST-POSITIVIST THOUGHT
Positivism, a cousin of empiricism, had long dominated all
descriptions of language. According to positivism, language
is a tool for 'factual assertions'. In J L Austin's own words,

"It was for too long the assumption of philosophers that the
business of a 'statement' can only be to 'describe' some state
of affairs, or to 'state some fact', which it must do either truly or
falsely."

Twentieth-century pragmatist philosophy challenged this.

Ludwig Wittgenstein famously said, "do not ask for the
meaning, ask for the use."
LANGUAGE
GAMES

...The specificity of the linguistic exchange that produces

that meaning. By taking recourse to game theory, linguists
MEANING IS think of utterances as elements in a game: in each specific
game (context), the piece can take up various values.
CONTINGENT
TO... Think of phrases as chess pieces. An ordinary pawn can, in
some games, play a devastating role; a puny, everyday word
can take up a stronger use in a specific context.
THE THREE LAYERS OF ANY SPEECH ACT

LOCUTIONARY ILLOCUTIONARY PERLOCUTIONARY

ACT (Statement)
The actual performance of an
utterance. Apparent Meaning.
Grammatical and phoenetic
aspects.
ACT (Intention) ACT (Effect)
The contexual meaning. The subtext. The general effect of speech act,
The gist. The implication. that may or may not coincide
with the illocutionary act.
EXAMPLE

Sam smokes habitually.

Does Sam smoke habitually?

Sam,smoke habitually!

Would that Sam smoked

habitually!
CONSIDER THE ACT OF
NAMING
WHY ARE SPEECH ACTS
IMPORTANT?
Because Speech Act
theory makes us aware
of the aspect of
performance attached
to ordinary speech. It
reminds us how
communication is
fundamentally socio-
cultural.
The complex nature of
speech-in-action allows
us to lie, to fabricate, to
dissimulate, to misread,
and so on. There is
never enough words to
ensure that
miscommunication
does not happen.
In Signature, Event, Context,
Jacques Derrida extends the
theory of performative to the
act of reading. Reading is
possible because a) the
author-subject vanishes in
the text, b) at any point of
time, even if the context is
gone, a text remains
readable, meaning c) a reader
can perform a context.
In other words, a reader can
read performatively. The
function of the author is like
that of a proprietor, who
dictates what is the proper
way of reading, what is meant
and not meant, what can be
done with a text or not. But
this author-function is always
incomplete, and can be
subverted.
This angered the US
philosopher John Searle and
produced the Searle-Derrida
debate. Searle wanted to
stress the "innate" tendency
of language to produce
norms; Derrida was stressing
the infinite possibility of
breaking out of norms
through performativity.
In language use as well as in
broader fields, there are two
opposite forces. One wants to
limit and control (meaning,
performance), the other
wants to break free. Let us
call them normative and
performative. We can think of
any social/cultural/linguistic
act as straddling between the
two.
PERFORMATIVE TURN

Now let's shift to Since the 1990's, disciplines in social science,

matters of especially the ones that deal with questions of
culture. culture, like cultural anthropology, sociology,
cultural studies, etc, have increasingly focused
on the "performative" aspects of socio-cultural
life.
PERFORMATIVE TURN

What constitutes our social-cultural identities,

like gender, ethnicity, race? Do they form our
Cultural Subjectivity selves or are they purely external? Historically,
the answer has been one or the other. But with
the performative turn, the answer is both: we
'perform' (like performative utterances) our
identities, but that is not necessarily a fixed
identity.
Take for example our
notions of gender. Usually,
one either conflates
gender with sex, or makes
a distinction between the
'biological' sex and the
'cultural' gender. The idea
is that sex is permanent or
'real', while gender is not.
But even our erotogenous
zones are not strictly
determined by
procreation, so sex is very
clearly something more
than biological. On the
other hand, gender cannot
be separated from the
notion of sex. Are we in a
stalemate?
Judith Butler, a
philosopher of gender,
uses the theory of
'performativity' to
understand gender and
gender fluidity.

We are no gender; we do
gender. We 'perform'
gender in a bodily
manner.
On one hand, we repeat
norms about body parts
and their values. If we stick
to them, we are cis-gender.

But there is always a

possibility of performativity.
We then may have
the trans-gender.
 There is no 'pure' self/sex
hidden beneath the surface
of gender.

We are how we perform

ourselves socially, in a
pragmatic context.
What's there in a
name?...
Naming, a seemingly random act, has a lot of
performative value. We equate names with
identity. We can even will ourselves to be
something by naming us so. Think of the
Preamble to the Indian Constitution: "We, the
people..." Naming can empower or disempower
you.
The Authority...
One way of understanding any sort of authority as
the proscribing function: He who says 'No'. You
may not name yourself so; you may not come
together as such and such community/ethnicity;
you may not transform your gender, and so on.
Authority ensures that social identities
are unequally divided between the
dominant/hegemonic/allowed, and
marginal/vilified/censored.
FREEDOM OF
PERFORMATIVITY

No one gets to 'perform' one's identity in absolute freedom.

While it is always theoretically possible to re-orient one's
is about socio- sense of self, whether it is gender, class, caste, nation, or
cultural inequality race, in practical life, it is a pragmatic question of power.
Culture is often the place where the politically and socially
marginal 'perform' their desire to break free.
 Two Aspects of Language and Two
Types of Aphasic Disturbances
Roman Jakobson

Aravind R Nair, Dept. of English, SH College, Thevara

Overview

 I. The Linguistic Problems of Aphasia

 II. The Twofold Character of Language
 III. The Similarity Disorder
I. The Linguistic Problems of Aphasia

 Aphasia – language disturbance – inability to use language correctly.

 John Hughlings Jackson (1835 -1911) British Neurologist – studied
epilepsy.
 Why not use Linguistics? – concerned with language in all aspects.
 Linguists have not studied aphasia intensely even though
 Tools of structural linguistics are well developed to study aphasia
 Studying aphasia can provide insights into the general laws of
language.
 Aphasic regression – disintegration of speech in patients – shows
language acquisition in reverse.
II. The Twofold Character of Language

 Speech is like LEGO.

 From less complicated to complex. Sounds to syllables to words to sentences to
utterances etc…
 The speaker is not completely free – LEGO – not clay!
 Cannot make new sounds or words.
 Must choose from what is available in a language.
 In communication the sender and receiver must both share the same “filing
cabinet of prefabricated representations”.
 Twofold Character of Language (selection and combination of linguistic units)
 An example. Two words : ‘pig’ and ‘fig’. The difference in meaning is due to
the selection and combination of distinctive phonemes with others.
 /p/, /f/, /b/, /i/, /g/, /u/ etc concur in the English language.
 /p/ was selected and concatenated (combined) with /i/ and /g/ to create the
word ‘pig’.
 The code of the language determines what combinations
are permissible.
 It is only past the level of words that the speaker has
freedom to create unique sequences.
 There is an ascending scale of freedom. Higher you go,
more free you are.
 At the utterance level there is considerable freedom.
 Any linguistic sign involves two modes of arrangement
 1) Combination
 A sign is made of constituent signs and/or occurs in combination with other
signs.
 At any one time, all linguistic units serves as a context for simpler linguistic
units and finds its own context in a more complex linguistic unit.
 Eg. /p/ is a combination of many determining features like ‘bilabial', 'plosive’,
‘voiceless’ etc. In a word like /pig/ /p/ exists in a context created by all 3
phonemes occurring together.

‘Plosive’ ‘Bilabial’ ‘Voiceless’ ‘Alveolar’ ‘Fricative’

/p/ /i/ /g/ /f/ /d/

fig big pig sky sly mat rat cat

There is a pig in the sty.

 Concurrence and Concatenation – Two types of combination
 Concurrence – occurrence of events/things at the same time.
 Concatenation – linking together events/things in a series, sequence.
 Ferdinand De Saussure recognized the importance of concatenation only.
 Did not believe in concurrence.

 Selection
 Apart from combination, selection/substitution plays an important role.
 Selection connects terms in absentia.
 Combination connects terms in presentia.

 I like the brown watch.

S
e I
l Hate Blue Apple
e We
Love Green Book
c He
t Like Red Curtain
i They
o Adore Brown Watch
n She
C o m b i n a t i o
n
 Combination and Selection provide each linguistic sign
with two interpretants. - ALTERNATION & ALIGNMENT
 Serves to interpret the linguistic sign
 One to the code. (selection from all possible signs) –
Alternation – reveals the general meaning of a sign.
 One to the context. (the message – the particular
combination of signs) – Alignment – refers the contextual
meaning of the sign.
 Charles Sanders Peirce
III. The Similarity Disorder

 Aphasia that results from faulty selection/substitution.

 Aphasia with selection deficiency
 Can understand anything only within a context.
 Cannot understand signs in and of themselves.
 Mostly reactive speech. Cannot initiate a conversation;
 Cannot say “It rains” unless it is actually raining.
 Words out of context cannot be said.
 Loss of Metalanguage
 Object Language and Metalanguage
 Carnap, “In order to speak about any object language, we need a
metalanguage”.
 Using language to speak about language.
 Trying to explain the meaning of one linguistic term using another
homogeneous one from the same language is a metalinguistic operation.
 Aphasia affecting selection/substitution is a loss of metalanguage.
 Such aphasics also lose bilingualism – inability to link one term to its equivalent
in another language.
 Inability to grasp internal relationship between words – words serving as
metaphors.
 They “grasped the words in their literal meaning but could not be brought to
understand the metaphoric character of the same words”.
 Metaphors and Metonyms – the 2 main figures of speech.
 Metonyms are used by aphasics but not metaphors.
 ‘fork’ for ‘knife’, ‘lamp’ for ‘table’, ‘smoke’ for ‘pipe’,
‘eat’ for ‘toaster’.
 A sign ‘fork’ which usually occurs together with another
sign, ‘knife’ may be used for this sign.
 The relation between the use of an object (toast) and its
means of production – ‘eat’ for ‘toaster’.
 “When the selective capacity is strongly impaired and
the gift for combination at least partly preserved, thein
contiguity determines the patients whole verbal
behavior, and we may designate this type of aphasia
similarity disorder.”
IV. The Contiguity Disorder

 The other type of aphasia

 Inability to put linguistic units together.
 Contexture deficient aphasia termed ‘Contiguity Disorder’
 Aggramatism.
 Chaotic word order. Loss of grammar words (prepositions,
pronouns, conjunctions, articles etc)
 Telegraphic style.
 Opposite to Similarity Disorder.
 In similarity disorder, grammatical words survive because they are
linked to the context.
 In contiguity disorder, all words linked to the context are dropped.
 ‘Kernel Subject Word’ survives in Contiguity disorder. In Similarity
Disorder, vice versa.
The Metaphoric and
Metonymic Poles
 No metaphor in Similarity Disorder
 No metonym in Contiguity Disorder
 The two poles of Language Use. Metaphoric/Metonymic.
 Preference found in all verbal levels – morphemic,
lexical, syntactic, phraseological.
 In diff. kinds of poetry, the preference to either pole is
marked.
 Eg; Russian Lyrical songs – metaphoric
 In Russian heroic epics – metonymic
 Romanticism >> Realism >> Symbolism
 Metaphoric >> Metonymic >> Metaphoric
 Realist author – metonymical – plot to atmosphere. From
characters to setting in space and time.
 Eg. In Anna Karanina – suicide – Tolstoy’s attention on the
heroine’s handbag.
 In War and Peace – use of synechdoches.
 In non verbal art
 Painting:
 Cubism – Metonymic
 Surrealism : Metaphoric
 Cinema:
 D. W. Griffith – metonymic closeups
 Charlie Chaplin and Eisenstein – metaphoric
dissolves. Filmic similies.
 Dichotomy of primal significance and consequence for
all verbal behavior and for human behavior in general.
 Eg: From Russian folklore.
 “Thomas is a bachelor; Jeremiah is unmarried”.
 Parallelism as a comic device.
 “is a bachelor” == “ is unmarried” synonyms. Similar.
 Thomas == Jeremiah – both male proper names.
Therefore morphologically similar.
 Modification of this. Wedding song. Eg; groom called
Gleb Ivanovich
 “Gleb is a bachelor; Ivanovich is unmarried.”
 Gleb // Ivanovich . Contiguity. First Name – Second
Name.
 Russian novelist Gleb Ivanovich Uspenskij
 Mental illness; speech disorder.
 For him his name split into
 Gleb Ivanovich Uspenskij
 Gleb – virtues
 Ivanovich – vices.
 Unable to use the two symbols for same thing.
 In other words – similarity disorder.
 Therefore, Uspenskij must have a preference for
metonyms.
 This is demonstrably seen in his works.
 Metaphoric / Metonymic Conflict seen in any symbolic
process.
 Structure of Dreams
 Freud’s displacement and condensation –
metonymic/synechdochic
 Freud’s “identification and symbolism” - metaphoric.
 James George Frazer – anthropologist – magic
 homoeopathic/sympathetic magic - Metaphoric
 Contagious magic – Metonymic
 Metaphor has been studied more than metonyms
 Easier to interpret literary metaphors than metonyms.
 The principle of similarity underlies poetry.
 Prose is governed by contiguity.
 Metaphor for poetry, metonym for prose.
 Literary interpretation suffering from a contiguity
disorder.
HUMAN AGENCY IN
THE DIGITAL ERA
Or, How We Make Ourselves Subjects...
Points to Cover

∙Recap: From Subject to

Subjectivity

Who is a Digital Subject?

What is a Digital Object?

Gender and Subjectivity

 CARTESIAN SUBJECT: AN ILLUSION?
The Famous statement by Rene Descartes that 'I think
therefore I am" is at best an illusion. We often mistake
"groupthink" as thinking, operate daily on the basis of routine,
norms, and automatisms. We certainly think, but the legibility

FROM and legitimacy of our thought is mostly cultural, social, and

even political.

SUBJECT SUBJECTIVITY: A SITUATED SUBJECT

Instead of the illusion of autonomy, it be better to think of us as situated

TO
within human-made structures and networks, the largest of whcih is
culture. We become a subject in front of Other's gaze. The other's
acceptance of us as legitimate subject depends on socio-politico-
cultural norms.

SUBJECTIVITY THE SUBJECTION/SUBJECTIVATION DIALECTICS

We are subject to social relations, degrees of unfreedom,, cultural
norms, and most importantly, acceptance in the other's eye. We subject
ourselves to the other--norms, law, gaze--so that we can become a
subject. These are not opposed to each other, but are dialectically
supplementary.
AGENCY IS THE (MINIMAL) WAY IN
WHICH WE, ALWAYS-ALREADY
CULTURALLY AND SOCIALLY
DETERMINED, DEFINE OURSELVES
VIS-A-VIS THE DOMINANT
STRUCTURE/NORM.
What is Power (According to
Michel Foucault)?
Three
SOVEREIGNTY
One usual 'top-down' sense of power is to think of it as
something exercised by a group of institutions and

Limitations of
mechanisms to ensure the subservience of citizens to a given
state. Think of the entire state apparatus, including police,
military, etc. This is a limited understanding of power.

Common LAW
Power as a mode of subjugation which, in contrast to violence, has the

sense about form of rule.

DOMINATION

Power A general system of domination exerted by one group over another [i.e.,
class oppression], a system whose effects, through successive
derivations, pervade the entire social body.
WHAT'S
THEY ARE 'JURIDICO-DISCURSIVE'
The aforementioned common senses about power assume
five things that limit our conception of power. These are:

WRONG WITH Power always acts negatively, through interdiction;

power always takes the form of a rule or a law, dividing the
world into what is permitted and what is forbidden.

THE COMMON power acts as a series of interdictions, creating a system of

prohibition;
this power manifests in three forms of prohibition--

SENSE?
"affirming that such a thing is not permitted, preventing it
from being said, and finally, denying it exists". A logic of
censorship.
the apparatus of this power is universal and uniform.

POWER IS ASSUMED TO BE NEGATIVE, MACRO, AND TOP-DOWN.

 A 'POSITIVE' CONCEPTION OF POWER

FOUCAULT'S
Foucault wants us to understand that power is not just
exercised through negative functions, like banning, censorship,
etc. It has a 'positive' manifestation. Secondly, Foucault wants
to understand power as micro-practices, and not just as

THEORY OF macro-structures. Foucault conceives power in five stages:

A multiplicity of force relations: every human relation
exercises power. At the level of day-to-day, there are many

POWER
types of force relations. These are contextual to their
domains and can be mutually contradictory.
Wherever there is power there is resistence.
The multiple force relations, through (social, political,
technological) tactics and strategies, come to define broad
tendencies of power.
These tendencies now take the form of institutions, laws,
etc,, producing a 'terminal form'.
Force relations are both intentional and non-subjective.
CASE STUDY 1: SELFIE AND THE GENDERED OBJECT
Selfies are often seen as the epitome of
contemporary narcissism, especially of the
neoliberal youth.
Selfie is a "viral" phenomenon.
Selfie is about the self, but not in a Cartesian
manner. It is instead of being and becoming
an "I" in other's eyes, including one's own.
Selfie is a way to person-hood in a digital-
social network.
Selfie is "shared" object--temporary, multiple,
travelling, visible, and public. It is not a
photograph. A selfie is only 'temporarily
yours' (Elizabeth Bernstein).
When we express ourselves with something
like selfie, we are putting this object,
representing us, into digital circulation.
The Virtual Social: The cyberspace as the
virtual simulation of the social.
Internet vs. Cyberspace: what is the
difference?
HLDC 2020
CASE STUDY 1: SELFIE AND THE GENDERED SUBJECT

Capitalism: The antagonism between infinite

As the selfie network cannot be regulated,
expansion/innovation and control.
the subject of the selfie is blamed, morally
condemned.
Technological innovation often happen
before corresponding norms, laws, and
What is agency here, then?
authorities are put in place.

It is something that one can give away or

The digital era represents such a
(re-)claim.
phenomenon.
GENDERED SUBJECTS: MANAGEMENT VS POLITICS

The other possibility is to stake a claim on

When it comes to the expression of
what the (patriarchal, racist, classist/casteist)
gendered subjecthood in public, whether
society deems to be excessive: 'slutty'
online, through something like a selfie, or
behavior, ways of speech etc. Example:
offline, one of the dominant discourse is one
SlutWalk, Besharmi Morcha, Pink Chaddi
of management, control, and demarcation.
campaign, etc.

We need to 'manage' who gets to see us. We

One cannot escape the cultural
need to 'manage' the circulation (although
objectification we all suffer from. But we can
we must depend on someone else for this).
transform it but acts of naming. This is
The catch is that, under the 'management'
agency, which we can either decide to
narrative, it is always the victim who needs to
practice or give away to 'Big Other's (State,
'manage' their expectations.
police, companies) who will then manage us.
LAN GU AGE , CU LT U R E AN D CO M M U N ICAT IO N

CULTURE INDUSTRY
AND THEREAFTER...
REIFICATION AND UTOPIA IN MASS CULTURE
 What will we talk
about?

• What is culture industry? 

• What is reification? What is rationalization?
• What is instrumentalization?
How does culture work?
 CULTURE INDUSTRY IS

THE SEPARATION OF CULTURE

FROM COMMUNITY AND
INSTRUMENTALIZATION OF
THE FORMER AS A MEANS TO
CAPITALIZE ON LEISURE TIME
 A Brief History of Frankfurt School

CULTURAL MARXISM SOCIOLOGY/PSYCHO RESISTANCE TO NAZISM

LOGY
European Marxism has Frankfurt School, in some ways,
developed separately from the Frankfurt School also predicted and analyzed the early rise
doctrinaire Marxisms of the worked to bring in insights of Nazism. Nazism was an entirely
Soviet Union, and later, China. from the emerging field of new phenomena of mass populism
For these non-party academics, psychoanalysis into manufactured by media
Marxism had a major lacuna--it sociological work. It did propaganda, popular films,
lacked a updated theory of pioneering work in the field mediatized spectacles. This needed
contemporary culture. of social psychology. new theorization.
 MAX WEBER AND MODERN SOCIETY

RATIONALIZATION

Rationalization is a process described by Max Weber in which the society becomes increasingly
concerned with--
1. Efficiency
2. Predictability
3. Calculability
Rationalization is an ambivalent concept. On one hand, it moves humans from traditions and mores
to rationality. However, this rationality, still being coloured by the common senses of capitalism,
alienates and dehumanizes people. It is rationalization, and not rationality, precisely because this
rationalization is the reason of the commodity and not of the human. For example, what happens
when culture is 'rationalized'?
 RATIONALIZATION OF CULTURE
COMMODITIZATION MEANS/END SPLIT
Once culture is
'rationalized', culture
becomes a commodity.
You no longer 'do' culture,
you 'have' it.
Rationalization of culture
forever sunders means from
end. In case of cultural
commodity, the end is profit
for the owner of culture, and
not the satisfaction of the social
actor/individual. The cultural
product is instrumentalized.
COMMODITIZATION
OF LEISURE TIME
Leisure used to be a non-
capitalized part of human life.
Culture industry capitalizes
leisure. However, leisure is no
longer achieved, but a craving
for more and more leisure
'activities'.
HOPE, REIFICATION, AND THE DREAM FACTORY

WHAT IS REIFICATION?

Reification literally means 'thing-ification'. Reification is the process through which modern human
entities project essentially human relations onto (consumable) objects, and vice versa. For example, a
car is the condensed projection of a human being's status-wise relation to other human beings
around him/her.
A car has its utility parts, and then it has its appearance, its image. This image part, the aesthetics, is
directly connected to the status-feeling--the better it 'looks', the more the status-feeling. Thus,
reification is connected to image, and specifically aesthetics.
HOPE, REIFICATION, AND THE DREAM FACTORY

REIFICATION AND MASS CULTURE

Culture was defined by Emmanuel Kant as "Finality without an end", that is, a goal-oriented activity
without any practical implication. Culture was the ultimate arena of play, of anti-use, of non-
practicality. But under commodity culture, all culture are various means to one end: making money
out of leisure time. Reification is central to this process. 

Under reification, aesthetics is no longer the sole property of culture. Everything is aestheticized, even
the surface of a drilling tool. On the other hand, culture is 'instrumentalized', 
HOPE, REIFICATION, AND THE DREAM FACTORY

WHAT IS INSTRUMENTALIZATION?

Instrumentalization is the result/effect of aforementioned rationalization. The aesthetics of a car

becomes the instrument for our class aspiration. Reason becomes the instrument for the efficiency of
the system, and not the human.
What is then culture an instrument for? It is first and foremost the reified thing onto which we project
our human relation, including hope, aspiration, guilt, and expiation. It either a) the 'thing that is us', or
b) 'the thing we need to become'. To put it differently, culture is either a thing on which we project
ourselves ("I identify with the narrative") or a story that we bodily imbibe ("Fair & Lovely is going to
make me fair").
HOPE, REIFICATION, AND THE DREAM FACTORY

HOW DOES REIFICATION WORK?

Any cultural product, like a popular film, does two opposing things,--a) allows us wish-fulfillment
(fantasy), and b) makes sure that such fantasy is not destructive, i.e., it does not change our relation
to the reality.

It manages (as we do too) between the instinct to change (fantasy) and the drive to maintain the norm
(reality).

Culture is not manipulative because it cannot manipulate without our participation. It manages,
instead.
EXAMPLES FROM POP CULTURE

WHAT DO FILMS DO?

JAWS can be read as a film about--
a film about the clash between the
natural and the cultural;
a retelling of stories of monsters,
especially phallic monsters. It is a
story of our anxieties of being
helpless;
the American society and its
xenophobia, which thinks of its
outside as monsters.

All of these are valid social anxieties.

We project them onto the thing called
the shark.

A
The point, thus, is not that the film is a
'symbol' of this or that. The point is
that the film is structured in such a
manner that individual consumers,
according to their space, time and
belief, can project their own 'versions'
of the story onto the film.

The symbolisms are our partial visions

of a structure--nature as catastropic, to
be 'managed' by the alliance between
the law-&-order hero and the
technocrat.
A
 IDEOLOGY AND UTOPIA
Cultural objects cannot be ideological without first being genuinely utopian.
It must first offer us the fantasy bribe of changing, transcending, or
transforming before containing that fanasy within the status-quo of some
teality.

For example, dacoit films always play with the possibility and necessity of a
popular insurrection before demonstrating how the usual notion of the
individual hero or the figure of law-&-order is enough to resolve the crisis.

This "failed possibility" is not incidental or just an interlude. Without this

fantasy-bribe, the film will not work. We will not identify with it.
 IN SHORT...
1. In the era of capitalism, everything is aestheticized and has a cultural
aspect. By the same dialectical token, culture is taken out of its
communitarian context and instrumentalized, that is, commoditized. It
now has a 'use'.
2. This use is reification---our ability to project our anxieties onto it, or to see
our dreams always-already available in the commodity form.
3. But as we project onto cultural things, they ideologically contain us. What
could have otherwise made us act to change things is now resolved within
the story (wish fulfillment).
4. But to reach that resolution, the cultural text has to first acknowledge that
such anxieties, such problems exist. That is the utopian function of mass
culture. We can thus learn tremendous things about a society at a time
and a place by looking at mass culture.
CU LT U R E AN D COMM U N ICAT IO N - - BAT CH 2 0 2 1

CAPITALISM AND
CULTURE
OR, HOW WE CAME TO LOVE SELLING OURSELVES...
 What will we talk
about?

• What is Capitalism? When did it start and why?

• How culture was conceived vis-a-vis capitalism?
• Culture and Class
•
 CAPITALISM IS

A STAGE IN THE HISTORY OF

HUMAN SOCIETY WHERE
HUMAN LABOUR BECOMES
EXCHANGEABLE.
 CAPITALISM ABSTRACTS 

HUMAN LABOUR FROM

THE SOCIAL.
 A Brief History of Capitalism

BEGINS WITH FREEDOM AIDED BY MACHINES RUN BY ECONOMIC

Capitalism was born out of a
crisis of the feudal society and
its serf/lord social hierarchy.
CLASSES
Its emergence was helped
by a revolution in world The rapid change in social
trade, rapid mechanization, constitution, economy, and process
and urbanization. of production threatened to produce
for the first time two mega-classes:
the bourgeoisie and the proletariat.
 A Brief History of Capitalism

SURPLUS AND CRISIS PRIMITIVE/PRIMARY EXPROPRIATION

ACCUMULATION
The economic logic of The biggest boost is cheap
capitalist production needs Hence, capitalism needs to labour. Labour is not only
one thing more than all: dispossess the old, the kept cheap but produced, as
continuous surplus primitive, liquidate new assets, forests vanish, villages
generation. all of which provide the become fallow.
necessary boost of surplus.
A Brief History of Capitalism

DEMOCRACY FORMAL FREEDOM GLOBALIZATION

If monarchies of various Capitalism promises the three Capitalism needs to

forms were prevalent tenets of French Revolution-- continuously expand.
duing feudalism, equality, liberty, and Globalization, thus,
capitalism has tended fraternity. But these remain follows.
towards democracy. as formal rights.
What of Culture?

Early Reactions to Capitalism

 CULTURE AS ANTI-
CAPITALISM
During the early days of capitalism, the
threatened elites wanted culture to
safeguard them from what they saw as
corruption

TRADITION VS.
MODERNITY
Thus was born the 'traditional
culture' common sense. Proper
modern culture lacked
respectibility.
Hence, the dillemma---the
...while such 'pop' culture is always
bourgeoisie (middle class) wants to
destined for the working class. Only
identify with the elite 'traditional'
after attaining 'respectibility' can
culture. In the meantime, it invests
these become consumable among
in the production of capitalist 'pop'
the middle class.
culture...
 What does Capitalism do
to Culture?

AUTOMATION/ART PIRACY/AUTHORITY CLASS AND MASS

ISANSHIP
Capitalism produced ways Under capitalism, cultural
Capitalism produced of duplicating, multiplying products become marked
mechanical media. On and disseminating art. By by class characteristics.
the other hand, it the same token, it made Yet, only one class' culture
valorized non- the 'original', the 'author', is 'classy'. The other class
mechanical culture. the 'authority' sacred. is but the 'mass'.
(The following are two different articles and I have picked the parts that are relevant and share ample
information for you. I have added my comments in blue texts to simplify it for you)

University of Chicago Article by Kasia Houlihan

The overall project of Barthe’s Camera Lucida is to determine a new mode of observation and,
ultimately, a new consciousness by way of Photography. His efforts aim to fashion an altogether
customized framework—one that is distinct from already-determined accounts of images and
representation—in which one can ‘classify’ photography, so as to get at its essence, or noeme. Barthes
says that he wants, ‘a History of Looking’ (12), and in doing so, he attempts to account for the
fundamental roles of emotion and subjectivity in the experience of and accounting for Photography. The
essential nature—or eidos— of this subjective experience of photography is defined by an irreducible
singularity of the photographic image, as an index indicating, ‘that-has-been.’

In order to distinguish what exactly sets photography apart from all other forms of representation,
Barthes begins by noting a symptom of its ‘disorder’ (that which renders it ‘unclassifiable’ according to
already-established standards): ‘the Photograph mechanically repeats what could never be repeated
existentially’ (4); its essence is the event, ‘that which is never transcended for the sake of something
else.’ In other words, the photograph is never distinguished from its referent—that which it represents;
it simply is what it is (illustrated by the fact that one says ‘this is me’ when showing someone a
photographic image of oneself, opposed to ‘this is a picture of me.’) When we look at a photograph, it is
not the actual photo that we see, for the photograph itself is rendered invisible; thus the photograph is
unclassifiable, for it resists language, as it is without signs or marks—it simply is. (This is comparable to
Lacan’s version of the Real.) Furthermore, the subject that is photographed is rendered object,
dispossessed of itself, thus becoming, ‘Death in person.’ (14) (*note that it is customary to say that a
camera ‘shoots’ a picture.)

The person in the photograph seems different even if you are looking at your own photo. Going back to
Lacan’s theory of the self and the mirror image, but here the mirror image or just the image seems
unreal, afar and out of this world. Hence, ‘Death in person’.

In his personal—subjective—examination of multiple photographs, Barthes proceeded to note a duality

that was characteristic of certain photographs: a ‘co-presence of two discontinuous elements’—what he
terms, the studium and the punctum. The studium refers to the range of meanings available and
obvious to everyone; it is unary and coded, the former term implying that the image is a unified and self-
contained whole whose meaning can be taken in at a glance (without effort, or ‘thinking’); while the
latter implies that the pictorial space is ordered in a universal, comprehensible way. The studium speaks
of the interest which we show in a photograph, the desire to study and understand what the meanings
are in a photograph, to explore the relationship between the meanings and our own subjectivities. The
punctum (a Latin word derived from the Greek word for trauma) on the other hand inspires an intensely
private meaning, one that is suddenly, unexpectedly recognized and consequently remembered (it
"shoots out of [the photograph] like an arrow and pierces me”); it ‘escapes’ language (like Lacan’s real);
it is not easily communicable through/with language. The punctum is ‘historical’ as an experience of the
irrefutable indexicality of the photograph (its contingency upon a referent). The punctum is a detail or
“partial object” that attracts and holds the viewer’s (the Spectator’s) gaze; it pricks or wounds the
observer.

Studium is very direct, the subject won’t elude you and you would not find any meaning beyond what is
being shown. Punctum surpasses this line and the viewer identify something in the photograph which
has an astonishing, or cathartic, or overwhelming effect on them.

The ambiguity of the book’s title lends itself to the many levels on which the text addresses media
theory, ranging from the very materiality of the photographic medium itself to its grander implications
for human consciousness in the pursuit of truth. In his efforts to divorce photography from realms of
analysis that deny or obscure its essence, Barthes ultimately formulates a new science of photography—
an original framework in which photography steps beyond the shackles of classification and such terms
as ‘art,’ ‘technique,’ etc. and, thus, draws upon an ‘absolute subjectivity’—one that exceeds the normal
boundaries of the everyday by moving the activity of viewing from a transparent relationship of meaning
and expression to a level in which meaning seems to be there without the presence of subjectivity. It is
as if the photograph brings out the unconscious; it also represents the unconscious, while at the same
time, it denies all of these relations of meaning. The photograph allows for the sight of self, not as a
mirror but as an access point into a definition of identity—identity associated with consciousness, thus
housing a whole; for it is in the photograph ‘where being coincides with self,’ (109) a, ‘true being, not
resemblance.’ (Barthes uses the term ‘air’ for the expression of truth.) The photographer, a mediator,
supplies the transparent soul its clear shadow, revealing its value and not its mere identity (110); the
photographer, ‘makes permanent the truth.’

As you read through this text you realize how the three essays that you have read are linked with each
other. With Walter Benjamin, the optimism for the art form that comes with the invention of camera is
visible, which is followed by the dismantling of the hope in John Berger’s essay when actually the art of
film making and photography has been played into the hands of the capitalist structure of the industry
and the totalitarian and authoritarian system of patriarchy, where individuals are reduced to their
insecurities and the world is seen through the lens of male gaze. And lastly, we have Barthes, who
differentiates between the public and the personal in the art of photography, he defines the existence
of the subject of the photograph for individuals, through Studium and Punctum.

Article by Brian Dillon

The subjective turn in Barthes's thought and writing had come into view slightly earlier, with the
publication of a ludic "autobiography", Roland Barthes by Roland Barthes, in 1975, and his anxious
anatomy of desire, A Lover's Discourse, in 1977. (In truth, early and late Barthes are not so easily told
apart; as Michael Wood has argued, he was throughout his career a writer who engaged head and heart
at the same time.) Camera Lucida, however, was different from Barthes’ other works: not so much a
knowing application of semiotic methods to intimate experience as a search for the aspect of experience
that evaded study or critique. In short, it was a book about love and grief, written directly out of the loss
of his mother in 1977, and shadowed by the "mourning diary" (published last year in France) that he had
begun to keep after her death. Barthes had composed a ghost story of sorts, in which neither Henriette
Barthes nor the book's ostensible subject, photography, could quite be grasped.
As the scholar Geoffrey Batchen points out in Photography Degree Zero, a recent collection of essays
about Barthes's text, it is probably the most widely read and influential book on the subject. But the
nature of that influence remains obscure – what exactly does one learn from Camera Lucida? Barthes
certainly shrinks from being comprehensive; he has no interest in the techniques of photography, in
arguments over its status as art, nor really in its role in contemporary media or culture, which he leaves
to sociologists such as Pierre Bourdieu. He is allergic to cleverness in photography (much of Henri
Cartier-Bresson would surely qualify), disparages colour (in the era of William Eggleston, no less) as
always looking as if it's been added later, and calls himself a realist at exactly the moment when
postmodernist artists and critics were declaring the image a performance or sham. Worse, he risks this
sort of aphoristic provocation: "in order to see a photograph well, it is best to look away or close your
eyes."

What, then, was Barthes looking for when he looked at photographs? In the first half of the book, he
elaborates a distinction between two planes of the image. The first, which he calls the studium, is the
manifest subject, meaning and context of the photograph: everything that belongs to history, culture,
even to art. "The studium is a kind of education," he writes. It's here that we learn, say, about Moscow
in a William Klein street photograph from 1959, or about the comportment of a well-dressed African-
American family in a 1926 picture by James Van Der Zee. But it's the second category that really skewers
Barthes's sensibility. He calls it the punctum: that aspect (often a detail) of a photograph that holds our
gaze without condescending to mere meaning or beauty. In the same Van Der Zee photograph, the
punctum is one woman's strapped pumps, though it later shifts, as the image "works" on the author, to
her gold necklace. This is one of a few curious moments in the book where Barthes blatantly misreads
the image at hand; the woman is actually wearing a string of pearls. But his point survives: he has been
indelibly touched by the poignant detail.

It's this (in academic terms quite scandalous) embrace of the subjective which allows Barthes to begin
the quest that makes his book so moving. Having lost his mother, with whom he had lived most of his
life, he goes looking for her among old photographs; time and again the face he finds is not quite hers,
even if objectively she looks like herself. At last, he discovers her true likeness, the "air" that he
remembers, in a picture of Henriette aged five, taken in a winter garden in 1898. (In the journal entry
that recounts this discovery, Barthes simply notes: "Je pleure.") In narrative terms, it's an astonishing
moment, comparable to the onrush of memories as madeleine meets teacup in Proust, or the scene in
Citizen Kane when the maddened Kane first grasps the snow globe, emblem of all he has left behind.
Barthes, however, is a temperamentally discreet narrator, so never shows us the photograph: "It exists
only for me. For you, it would be nothing but an indifferent picture."
The idea of publicity/ advertising in Ways of Seeing:
John Berger expresses in his work “Ways of Seeing” the idea that advertising (publicity) is
everywhere, it is omnipresent.
According to Berger, publicity traditionally has impersonated paintings or incorporated them
for effects like atmosphere, settings, pleasures, objects, poses, symbols of prestige, gestures,
signs of love, etc. However, what is seen in publicity today is that the paintings themselves are
not so important as their style, which is copied and transplanted onto modern ads. Also, it is
not only paintings, but all dated styles of art and design, that are now used for comedic effect
or to give a “retro look”.
Berger states that personal envy did not exist in old times, therefore glamour did not exist,
because status was determined by birth. In the pre-computer/internet age, personal envy was
propagated by models or well-known public figures in publicity images. Therefore, The
Marlboro Man became someone to aspire to be, a symbol of manhood.
Berger states that the point of difference between oil paintings and publicity images is that oil
paintings were meant to reinforce the owner’s authority and self-importance, whereas publicity
images are meant to create aspirations. Publicity promotes the value of money, and money
equals (sexual) power, desirability, adequacy. Publicity tells us we are inadequate, but promises
the prospect of becoming better if we buy the product. It plays on the insecurity of the masses,
whether it’s gender, ethnicity, color, etc. If you go back to Lacan’s theory where the mirror
image seems more perfect and in control of the movement of the body than oneself, it is this
mirror image that the advertising industry is trying to sell to the consumers.
Berger says that publicity images always depict one of three dreams. 1. Being the life of the
party, enjoying luxury and hedonism (playing on your FOMO). 2. The skin dream: Featuring
objectified, almost consumable skin. 3. The Faraway Place: Dreamy, featuring distances without
horizons, and the idea of being yourself in distant, alien lands. These formulas were identified
by Berger and still hold true for the advertising industry.
Berger also stated that in print, there is no coherence. There might be a tragedy on one page
and an ad for whisky in the next. A starving man on one and an ad for Coca-Cola on the next.
This should serve as an example for the propagation of capitalist cutlure, despite Walter
Benjamin’s optimistic communist view of the technology of film and photography, and as a
result, lack of empathy.

The male gaze in Ways of Seeing:

As the myth goes: In the beginning was the word. For John Berger, it could very well be, In the
beginning was The Gaze.
"Seeing comes before words,” he wrote, in that little classic with images and paintings in the
book form, Ways of Seeing which has stayed and sustained its "inner gaze", despite the world
being clouded by countless wars, devastations, movements and freedoms, mass displacement
and exile.
“The child looks and recognises before it can speak. But there is also another sense in which
seeing comes before words. It is seeing which establishes our place in the surrounding world;
we explain that world with words, but words can never undo the fact that we are surrounded
by it. The relation between what we see and what we know is never settled.”
Published in 1972, it was based on a famous BBC television series, which was widely dubbed as
an “eye-opener", demystifying the ways we were historically and socially conditioned to mystify
text, silences, sounds, words, especially images, especially the female image.
Inspired by Walter Benjamin’s epical essay: The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical
Reproduction, he was hailed as “liberator of images” by critics and a narrator who broke a new
threshold in cultural studies in demystifying the language of the male gaze, as much as the
manner in which images and paintings have been constructed or reproduced. However, the
most endearing quality, especially in the book, was the manner in which it was designed, and
the way it reached out to the reader.
There is a certain innocence in its pages. As if the reader has lost her/his innocence and it is so
crucial that it must be resurrected before it is completely lost in the realm of prejudices and
clichés, driven by a deadly cocktail, whereby, in a perverse twist, the medieval or post-
renaissance painting can very well become integrated with the modern advertising principle of
the consumer society.
In that sense, the incisive depth and cruel beauty of the storytelling of Ways of Seeing was
marked like a narrative which became eclectic and childlike, as if turning the pages into a story
book for children.
Indeed, it was at once a part of the folk and oral tradition where words once floated in
inherited time and space to time-past, and, then, the image became the dominant narrative
which weaves the beginning and the end in time-present and time-future.
Truly speaking, in that remarkable sense, Berger’s work was not only an eye-opener, it was also
a cultural and anthropological study which was eternally open-ended.
An unfolding story within another incomplete story, eyes within eyes, canvas within canvas,
cracked mirrors between inverted mirrors, female nudity becoming flesh and flesh becoming
male voyeurism and public spectacle, art becoming a commodity and a revelation, painting
turning into advertising, the gaze becoming diverse, perverse, a universe.
A feudal landscape painting. Land as ownership. Till the eyes can see. The male gaze, the
landlord’s gaze, the patriarch’s gaze, stretching beyond into the endless horizon. He is standing,
upright, fully erect, looking at his vast land which he owns, beyond the sunset and the blue sky
of the countryside. She is lying, submissive, at his command, perhaps beautiful and
domesticated, loyal and obedient, following his gaze dutifully, like a controlled bird in a cage.
Indeed, the "commissioned" painting proves that not only is she merely a part of his land and
landscape, an ornament of male, feudal property, she is herself a willing object of his gaze.
Contrast it with an ad of a car, a perfume, an undergarment or designer outfit, or an opulent
holiday in modern times, she is yet again being reproduced as a "sexy" moment of voyeurism,
an ornament and moment of lust, merely enhancing the fetish, glorifying the longing of the
commodity the ad wants to sell.
John Berger would say that the male gaze, the consumer market and the affluent society not
only objectifies the female identity into a sex object and commodity, she, herself, objectifies
her own self-image. She is compelled to become a commodity and object in her own eyes. In
more ways than one, it is like a slave reproducing his or her own slavery.
Wrote Berger in the Ways of Seeing, commenting on a frontal nude of a young girl holding a
mirror in her hand. “You painted a naked woman because you enjoyed looking at her, put a
mirror in her hand and you called the painting ‘Vanity,’ thus morally condemning the woman
whose nakedness you had depicted for you own pleasure.”
He reproduced painting after painting from European high art and its underbelly, before and
after the renaissance, where the female nude is eternally helpless, being displayed as a public
spectacle, often as a "commissioned" portrait and painting by the spectator-owner.
She is often an object of collective male gaze, fully aware of her nudity as a spectacle,
stunningly turned submissive, her naked body like a statue suspended in belief and disbelief,
her eyes staring at the voyeur, who is also the painter, and, perhaps, the photographer, editor,
copywriter and the cameraman. She is passive, he is dynamic, the conquerer, the usurper, the
spectator-owner. His gaze owns her.
Wrote Berger, “One might simplify this by saying: men act and women appear. Men look at
women. Women watch themselves being looked at. This determines not only most relations
between men and women but also the relation of women to themselves. The surveyor of
woman in herself is male: the surveyed female. Thus she turns herself into an object - and most
particularly an object of vision: a sight.”
And not only the female image, anything and everything can be appropriated, all signs and
symbols, like the Che Guevara image. An undergarment can be sold under the flag of
"revolution". Freedom means an exotic wife, an opulent house, a swanky car. Love is a pain-
killer. Fair and handsome is beautiful.
In the final analysis he enters the affluent society’s publicity and advertising industry, and
breaks open the many layers of fetish and illusion, which marks the consumer society. It is the
insatiability of desire, which sustains the market, the infinite manufacturing of this desire. One
desire can only be replaced by another, though everything remains the same.
“Capitalism survives by forcing the majority, whom it exploits, to define their own interests as
narrowly as possible,” wrote Berger. “This was once achieved by extensive deprivation. Today,
in the developed countries, it is being achieved by imposing a false standard of what is and
what is not desirable.”
John Berger’s conclusion is lucid and categorical: “Publicity exercises an enormous influence
and political phenomenon of great importance. But its offer is as narrow as its references are
wide. It recognizes nothing except the power to acquire. All other human faculties or needs are
made subsidiary to this power. All hopes are gathered together, made homogeneous,
simplified, so that they become the intense yet vague, magical yet repeatable promise offered
in every purchase. No other kind of hope or satisfaction or pleasure can any longer be
envisaged within the culture of capitalism.”

By- AMIT SENGUPTA

Like Mulvey, Doane uses the tools of Freudian psychoanalysis to interrogate possibilities for the female
spectator in CHC. Doane recognizes Freud’s theories on women participation in their own femininity.
Woman remains “entangled in her own enigma”(19). She cannot separate herself from the image that
represents her. Without this distance, it is impossible for a woman to become a spectator of a feminine
image in film. She is too close to achieve voyeuristic pleasure from gazing at a female object on screen.
In other words, to gaze at the object is to gaze at herself. However, unlike Freud, Doane isn’t lost in the
enigma that is woman, and she certainly does not think that woman are the problem. She posits three
modes for female spectatorship:

1) Transvestitism (adoption of the masculine position)

2a) Masochistic over-identification with the female character
2b) Narcissistic objectification of the female character
3) Masquerade (excessive femininity)

All of Doane's arguments depend upon the spectator's ability to achieve a critical distance from the
onscreen image of woman. Distance from the image is 'good' while proximity to the image is 'bad.' The
female spectator lacks distance from her own image because of her proximity to the image: "She is the
image." She therefore over-identifies with the image (i.e., she often reacts as if it's happening to her).
The image that we see on screen is made ‘of’ her and not ‘for’ her.

Doane briefly touches upon the the reversal of the voyeuristic gaze by rendering a male image as an
object. However, by reversing the gaze “the dominant system of aligning sexual difference with a
subject/object dichotomy.” This division of sex perpetuates the lack of distance between a woman and
the feminine image in film. She can never assume the role of the female spectator without this distance.

To achieve the necessary distance, then, the female spectator must assume the masculine position
(transvestitism) which, as Mulvey argues as well, is expected/demanded by the narrative. If she does not
distance herself, the female spectator risks over-identification and narcissism because the spectacle of
woman is also herself, a woman.

As Irigaray states, the problem is language. A man can partially examine himself and successfully define
himself in the realm of his language. Woman, on the other hand, are taught the same masculine form of
language as man, and therefore cannot possibly identify femininity as a separate entity. Doane argues
that this is a source of Freud’s woman enigma. In accordance with this masculinization of woman, the
female spectator is often one that assumes more traditional masculine spectatorship. Doane parallels
this with the idea of transvestism and the ease in which woman assume male characteristics as a
mechanism to achieve desire. As opposed to male transvestism (which is an occasion for ridicule) female
transvestism is a path towards desire. Doane notes that the construct of sexual mobility in femininity is
an accepted cultural characteristic because (in a humorously ironic idea) “it is understandable that a
woman would want to be man, for everyone wants to be elsewhere then the feminine position.” This
struck me particularly as a sad truth, as feminine characteristics are considered similar to the “minor
arts” Doane mentions earlier in the article.
Doane then builds upon the 1929 psychoanalytic work of Joan Riviere, who observed in case studies that
when a successful woman usurps male power (the phallus), she compensates for that transgression by
behaving in an overly feminine manner. She does this in order to downplay her transgression and her
castration threat. Doane argues that women can wear superficial attributes of femininity as a mask
(masquerade), as a disguise to be taken-on or rejected.

This excess of femininity highlights how femininity is but a hyperbolic gendered performance, not an
innate structure. Masquerade thereby allows the female spectator some distance from the image, since
she realizes that the image of femininity is a mask/performance. As Doane summarizes: "Above and
beyond a simple adoption of the masculine position in relation to the cinematic sign [transvestitism], the
female spectator is given two options: the masochism of over-identification or the narcissism entailed in
becoming one's own object of desire. … The effectivity of masquerade lies precisely in its potential to
manufacture a distance from the image, to generate a problematic within which the image is
manipulable, producible, and readable by the woman."

Doane notes that forced excessive femininity is not the solution to transvestism as it dissolves feminine
identity. By using femininity, the collection of characteristics that culturally “defines” what is woman, as
a masquerade, woman acknowledges that femininity is merely a “decorative layer.” The effects of this
masquerade are essential in examining the female spectator. One one level, underneath the mask can
be hidden masculinity that is kept secret by over compensation of femininity. This relates to
transvestism that Doane discusses earlier in the article. On another level, by using feminist as a mask,
woman can separate herself from the “womanliness mask.” Doane notes that “the masquerade’s
resistance to patriarchal positioning would therefore lie in its denial of the production of femininity as
closeness.” The masquerade, for better or for worse, allows woman to achieve the distance from the
feminine image that she could not achieve before separating herself from “womanliness.” She can
become the spectator, but only by “using her own body as a disguise.”
Studium and Punctum

I would like to touch upon some of Barthes’ ideas in ‘Camera Lucida’ on what makes a photograph stand
out. Barthes cites two main factors in a photographic image, studium and punctum. Barthes calls
Studium ‘a kind of education (civility, politeness) that allows discovery of the operator’. Basically
studium is the element that creates interest in a photographic image. It shows the intention of the
photographer but we experience this intention in reverse as spectators; the photographer thinks of the
idea (or intention) then present it photographically, the spectator then has to act in the opposite way,
they see the photograph then have to interpret it to see the ideas and intentions behind it.

Culture is an important connotation within studium, as Barthes puts it ‘it is culturally that I participate in
the figures, the faces, the gestures, the settings, the actions,’ Barthes says that culture ‘is a contact
arrived at between creators and consumers.’ I think this cultural middle ground is extremely important
in the way ideas are put across from photographer to spectator, two people from completely different
cultures and got them to analyse the same photograph, chances are you will get two very different
interpretations (obviously other factors affect it but I feel that culture is the one of the most significant).

Barthes cites journalistic photographs as good examples of studium, saying ‘I glance through them, I
don’t recall them, no detail ever interrupts my reading; I am interested in them (as I am interested in the
world) I do not love them.’ To summarise studium adds interest, but in the order of liking, not loving. I
think it is punctum that is of real interest to photographers. Punctum is the second element to an image
that Barthes mentions in Camera Lucida.

Punctum is an object or image that jumps out at the viewer within a photograph‑ ‘that accident which
pricks, bruises me.’ Punctum can exist alongside studium, but disturbs it, creating an ‘element which
rises from the scene’ and unintentially fills the whole image. Punctum is the rare detail that attracts you
to an image, Barthes says ‘its mere presence changes my reading that I am looking at a new photograph,
marked in my eyes with a higher value.’

Clearly this second element is much more powerful and compelling to the spectator, changing the ‘like’
of studium to the love of an image. As a photographer an understanding of punctum could potentially
allow me to make stronger images, although I feel that punctum needs that accidental quality about it
to be most effective because it is so personal and could be different for everyone. Basically it could be
anything, something that reminds you of your childhood, a sense of deja vu, an object of sentimental
value, punctum is very personal and often different for everyone.

Whereas studium is ultimately coded, the punctum is not which I feel relates to how the interest in
studium is often in the deconstruction of the image, whereas for punctum it is that point of impact,
which in itself may have meaning but was not originally hidden within the image’s meaning. Punctum
retains an ‘aberrant’ quality. Barthes himself says ‘what I can name cannot really prick me’, the inability
to name is a good symptom of disturbance and punctum.
Notes on The Decline of The Nation‐state and the End of the Rights of Man

(This is an analysis by Robert Fine, with modifications that I have added.)

In this essay you will get a glimpse into the process of dehumanization of refugees, and it is as
contemporary as it was during the two world wars. Right now, the world is witnessing a rising refugee
crisis and the failure of so called Human Rights organization in safeguarding the lives of the people
without nations. Many have become experts in who should be called a citizen and who should not,
without having an iota of knowledge about the history of their displacement, the class and economic
struggle these refugees face after displacement and the façade of the existence of human rights to
which they look up to with hope.

As the present situation in our country itself is so palpable on the issue of citizenship, I think this is an
apt time to discuss about the ideologies and agenda behind a seemingly democratic government and
failure of the idea of liberalism which was very much in fashion during through the 50s to early 90s.

The regression from a right‐based civic nationalism to ethnic nationalism began with the nationalist
fervour that arose during the First World War and ended with the rise of Nazism. Its starting point was
the political collapse of the great multi‐national empires which dominated central and eastern Europe,
coupled with the social explosion of mass unemployment which sowed untold misery. The
disappearance of the central despotic bureaucracies of the old Empires (Austro‐Hungarian, Ottoman,
Russian and Prussian) and the common focus they provided for the anger of the oppressed nationalities
led to the evaporation of the last remnants of solidarity between formerly subject nations. Now
everybody was against everybody else and most of all against their closest neighbours: Slovaks against
Czechs, Croats against Serbs, Ukrainians against Poles, all against Jews. From the standpoint of Western
powers, these conflicts looked like petty nationalist quarrels in an old trouble spot, the Balkans, without
further consequence for the political destinies of Europe. In reality they heralded a wider collapse of
human rights and democracy.

In Origins of Totalitarianism (OT 1973), Hannah Arendt discusses this period in terms of what she calls
`the decline of the nation‐state'. She argued that after the First World War there was ushered in a new
principle of the nation state, which tilted the balance between `nation' and `state' sharply toward the
`nation' pole. In its civic form it was the state that defined the nation – not according to criteria of
ethnicity, language, culture, religion, history, destiny, etc. but by virtue of common citizenship in a
shared political community. In its ethnic mode the nation defined according to common culture or
language or religion or blood, defined the state.

This shift in the character of the nation state was marked both by a proliferation of wars between one
nation and another and by the internal division of political communities into four distinct elements: i)
state peoples: those nationalities which were granted their own states; ii) equal partners: those
nationalities (like the Slovaks in Czechoslovakia or the Croats and Slovenes in Yugoslavia) who were
meant to be equal in government but were not; iii) minorities: those nationalities, sometimes officially
recognised by Treaties, to whom states were not conceded (like the Jews and Armenians); and finally iv)
stateless peoples: those who had no governments to represent them and therefore lived outside the law
(these `displaced' persons were officially numbered at one million but Arendt claims that in reality there
were more like 10 million in 1930).
The triumph of nation over state in the inter‐war years was driven both by the internal dynamics of
nationalist movements and by the modes of intervention of western powers. Everyone became
convinced, as Arendt put it, that true freedom, true emancipation, and true popular sovereignty could
be attained only with full national emancipation, that people without their own national government
were deprived of human rights. The right of national self‐determination became the crucial mediation in
the process of democratization. Even the treaties guaranteeing the rights of minorities had the effect of
declaring that only `nationals' could be full citizens and people of different nationality needed some law
of exception. Once established within the `belt of mixed populations' of Central Europe, the nationalist
principle of the state spread throughout Europe. Millions were denationalised by post‐war
governments, driven from their homes, turned into refugees, and confronted by a disappearing right of
asylum abroad and repatriation at home.

Exclusion was everywhere and it plumbed new depths in Nazi Germany. It first distinguished legally
between full Reich citizens and `nationals' without political rights, and then deprived all those of `alien
blood' of their civil as well as political rights. In 1938 the German Reich declared that all children of Jews,
Jews of mixed blood or persons of otherwise alien blood' were no longer `nationals'. Stateless and
minority people were the visible evidence that national independence ‐ the right of a nation to have its
`own' state ‐ was the presupposition of human rights. The coinage of human rights discourse was
diminished, as it came to refer to les miserables who had nothing better to fall back on once they lost
their home, nation and state, and found themselves outside the law ‐ any law. The efforts of
international human rights organisations were frustrated in the face of the search by the subject people
themselves for national solutions.

Arendt underlined how far the enlightenment idea of human rights was vitiated by the emergence of
the modern pariah, who not only lacked this or that right but the right to have rights in the first place.
The enlightenment concept of human rights indicated universal equality, emancipation from
dependency, protection from the despotism of the state, the inalienable dignity of each individual that
no power could deny. But the existence of human rights was such that they became the property of
nation‐states, membership of which was the real precondition of the right to have rights. If the right to
have rights cannot be entrusted to the nation state, it must be guaranteed by humanity itself. But how
was this to be possible?

The critique of representation

Arendt followed a line of argument drawn from Marx when she identified the source of the defects of
representative government in the modern separation of formal legal equality and substantive social
inequality which leaves political community deeply vulnerable: ‘The fundamental contradiction between
a political body based on equality before the law and a society based on the inequality of the class
system prevented the development of functioning republics as well as the birth of a new political
hierarchy’ (OT:12).

A recurrent theme of Origins of Totalitarianism was the legitimate disgust thinking beings can feel over
the gulf between liberal conceptions of peace, freedom, justice and human rights, and the actuality of
war, colonial expansion, extreme violence, social inequalities and poverty. The failure of liberalism to
live up to its own ideals was for Arendt an important political phenomenon in the inter‐war period. In
The Eggs Speak Up (1951) Arendt expressed her conviction that liberalism had `demonstrated its
inability to resist totalitarianism so often that its failure may already be counted among the historical
facts of our century’ (EU, p.282). We might look back on the heyday of the liberal tradition with a certain
nostalgic affection, she wrote, but not pretend that `the past is alive in the sense that it is in our power
to return to it’ (EU, p.282). She reminded those ex‐communists who wanted to return after the war to
the `democratic way of life’ that it is `the same world against whose complacency, injustice and
hypocrisy these same men once raised a radical protest… where the elements which eventually
crystallised and have never ceased to crystallise into totalitarianism, are to be found’ (EU, p.281).

Arendt’s determination to confront the `burden of events’ in the twentieth century was at once a
confrontation with liberalism’s claims to innocence. In representative government itself she found
elements which crystallised into totalitarianism. In Origins she argued that behind all the conventional
political parties lay `slumbering majorities’ who were invisible as long as focus was placed on the parties
themselves but who emerged as `one great unorganised, structureless mass of furious individuals', as
she put it, as soon as the party system went into crisis (OT p.315). In her view, totalitarian movements
were the beneficiaries of the crisis of parliamentary democracy in part because the ground was
prepared for them by a representative system of government which left many people atomised,
politically indifferent or brimming with resentment at the invisibility of their suffering.

When she wrote On Revolution over a decade later, Arendt had lost none of her old radicalism. She
writes: What we today call democracy is a form of government where the few rule, at least supposedly
in the interest of the many... and public happiness and public freedom ... become the privilege of the
few. (OR:269)

In a representative democracy, she wrote, only the representatives, not the people themselves, have
the opportunity to engage in those activities of ‘expressing, discussing and deciding which in a positive
sense are the activities of freedom’ (OR:235). The political parties are instruments through which ‘the
power of the people is curtailed and controlled’. Their programmes are ‘ready‐made formulas which
demand not action but execution’ (OR:264). Their function is to exclude the masses from public life and
their effect is to create widespread indifference to public affairs.[i]. She shared Jefferson’s foreboding
that representative democracy formally gives `the people’ power without giving them `the opportunity
of being republicans and of acting as citizens’ (OR, p.253).

In her analysis of the American Revolution of 1776 Arendt acknowledged the revolutionary origins of
representative government and the ‘forgotten’ links forged between rights and revolution. The
achievement of the American revolution was to construct a representative form of government based
on the consent of the people, a constitutional framework in which power was balanced against power
(in a manner first formulated by Montesquieu), and a Bill of Rights that guaranteed the private rights
and property of individuals. And yet the American revolutionaries mirrored the limited monarchy they
opposed and presented the revolution as a restoration of ancient liberties. The result was a combination
of public atrophy and private hypertrophy. The Bill of Rights defended the private realm against public
power, but in a society whose main defect derived not from the ‘colonisation’ of private interests by
public power but from the colonisation of the public realm by private interests, it was the public realm
which was also in need of guarantees.

To remedy this lack, Arendt argued that a different solution was required: a constitutional framework
designed to guarantee the rights of public life as well as private rights. This alternative was proposed
particularly by Jefferson, but the eventual decision was to place all guarantees on the side of private
right. The failure to consolidate institutions of popular participation meant that public life was
subsumed to private interests. The political freedom the revolutionaries themselves enjoyed in the act
of constitution was a freedom no longer available once the constitution became an inviolable
framework to which all (except perhaps those with the money or power to buy themselves out) became
subject.

The critique of the critique of representation

This critique of representation, however, reveals half the picture. Arendt’s originality lay also in
combining the critique of representation with what I have called the critique of the critique of
representation.

The ‘bourgeois’ quality of the American revolution drove successive generations of revolutionary
thought to the French revolution of 1789 as a more radical model. For example, in the same year as
Arendt wrote On Revolution (1964), Jürgen Habermas wrote Natural Law and Revolution in which he
elevated the Rousseauian spirit of modern natural law infusing the French revolution, over the Lockeian
spirit of traditional natural law on which the American revolution was based (Habermas 1974). As
Habermas saw it, the American revolution was limited both in respect of its form (the restoration of an
imaginary past) and its content (the protection of private wealth). The French revolution, by contrast,
was premised on ‘a fundamentally new system of rights’ (Habermas, 1974:87) and a strong sense of
‘participation in ...political public life’ (Habermas, 1974:116). Habermas endorsed the principles of
Rousseau’s social contract, that every individual has the right to participate in person in the making of
laws, mere representation robs individuals of this right of participation in public life, and no rights are
valid that are not validated by the people. (What you have to notice here is that the Lockeian philosophy
gave precedence to the rule of the majoritarian culture and religion in the form of the representatives
and the public was essentially just a tool in the hands of these representative. Always remember that
USA gained independence in 1776, but it was not until 1865 that the slavery was abolished in the States,
and we still witness the waves of discrimination against the black community in the USA.)

Arendt was more critical of the Rousseauian tradition. She argued that the general will does not refer to
what individuals actually think, but to what they would will if they acted as rational and virtuous citizens.
Indivisible and dedicated to unanimity, the general will expresses the will of the people only as a singular
entity. It conceives the people as a ‘multi‐headed monster, a mass that moves as one body and acts as
though possessed by one will’ (OR: 94). It presents itself as always right. It not only holds that the
particular interests of individuals are subordinate to the interest of the whole but that the value of
individuals should be judged by the extent to which they act against their own interest and for the good
of all. It tears the mask of hypocrisy off ‘society’ and celebrates ‘the unspoilt, honest face of le peuple’
(OR:106); but by pinning its faith on the natural goodness of the people it prepares the ground for
abolishing all legal and institutional guarantees. It hears in the voice of the people only an echo of its
own voice, and the appeal to the people becomes a mask behind which a new class of political
representatives sets itself up in opposition to the people. In the general will representation is not in fact
overcome, it is reconfigured in a less rational form. It becomes the enemy of all genuine public life. It
inaugurates a world of universal suspicion and denunciation. And it mirrors the absolute, exclusive and
indivisible sovereignty of the monarch it once opposed.

Arendt distinguished between two moments of liberation in the French revolution: the first was political
and aimed at liberation from the old regime; the second was social and looked to liberation from
material want. In the first, there was a natural solidarity between leaders and the people in a shared
project; in the second, solidarity had to be produced artificially through an effort of solidarisation. In the
first people exchanged opinions; in the second the ‘voice of the people’ was identified with the
unanimous cry for bread. In the second revolution the Rousseauian general will prevailed. Arendt
recognised that ‘liberation from necessity because of its urgency will always take precedence over the
building of freedom’ (OR:112), nothing deprives people more effectively of the ‘light of public happiness’
more than poverty, in America the question of poverty was not resolved but hidden from sight
(particular in the case of slavery), and that in the final analysis ‘no revolution was possible… where the
masses were loaded down with misery’ (OR:222). On the other hand, she declared that ‘every attempt
to solve the social question with political means leads to terror’ (OR:112), that nothing could be more
‘obsolete… futile… dangerous’ than to ‘attempt to liberate mankind from poverty by political means’
(OR:114, my emphasis). She referred to the ‘compassionate zeal’ of the revolutionary ‘spokesmen for
the poor’ who attempted to transform the malheureux into the enragés by inviting ‘the rage of naked
misfortune’ to pit itself against ‘the rage of unmasked corruption’. The misuse of destitution in the
struggle against tyranny was destructive of human rights and conducive to terror. [Ii]

The limits of the third road

The third road to which Arendt looked was neither the American nor the French revolutions but what
she calls ‘the lost treasure of the revolutionary heritage’ (OR:215ff). In America she finds it in the town‐
hall meetings which Emerson dubbed the ‘units of the Republic’ and ‘schools of the people’ and which
she saw as embodying the true spirit of modern revolution: ‘the constitution of a public space where
freedom could be realised’ (OR:255). In France she finds it in the sociétés révolutionaires and the
sections of the Paris Commune which originated in the election of representatives to the National
Assembly and then turned to the formation of an autonomous Commune. In the revolutions of the
twentieth century, right up to Hungary 1956, she finds it in the councils, communes and soviets of
modern working class history: ‘spaces of freedom’ based on ‘the direct participation of every citizen in
the public affairs of the country’ (OR:264). She sees the councils not as temporary institutions of struggle
but as foundations, created from below, for an entirely new form of government. The fact that they are
always suppressed either by the forces of the old order or by new revolutionary governments testifies
only to the freedom they embody.

For a moment Arendt places her hopes and expectations here, in a revolutionary tradition which has no
convergence with the inner tendencies of totalitarianism. Even as Arendt made this claim, she
acknowledges that this ‘lost heritage’ of the revolutionary tradition is also beset by contradictions. The
councils may be ideally suited to their political function of ‘satisfying the human appetite for
participation in public life’, but not to their social functions of administration and management which
require more bureaucratic and hierarchical structures. Drawn into the social domain, the council system
is destroyed by its own excesses. Arendt argued that the councils are an ‘aristocratic’ form of
government, in the sense that they are run by those who are politically ‘the best’ and who show ‘a taste
and capacity for speaking and being heard’ (OR:279) [and this is affected by many ideologies that
dominate that socio political environment]. As for the rest, they can find consolation only in the notion
that they are exercising the most important negative liberty which the modern world adds to the
classical heritage: that of freedom from politics. The councils may change the way in which political
elites are selected, but not the fact of selection itself. [Iii]

Spiritless radicalism
In Nietzsche’s Will to Power the philosopher wrote:

What does nihilism mean? That the highest values devaluate themselves. The aim is lacking; "why?"
finds no answer'.1

Nietzsche sought to capture the mood of irredeemable decline when the values and beliefs that had
been taken as the highest manifestation of the spirit of the West (like human rights) lost their efficacy
and validity. He maintained that this loss of values bred a spiritless radicalism full of `hostility to culture'
The ominous sense of a `coming barbarism’ which Nietzsche anticipated at the turn of the century, was
looked back on by Arendt with the experience of totalitarianism in her mind.

Arendt shared the sense of revulsion felt by those who confronted the gulf between liberal values such
as human rights and the experience of the world. Simply to brand as outbursts of nihilism this violent
dissatisfaction with the pre‐war age ... is to overlook how justified disgust can be in a society wholly
permeated with the ideological outlook and moral standards of the bourgeoisie. (OT p. 328)

Nihilism was the spectre haunting Europe because it was well grounded. It excited the `anti‐humanist,
anti‐liberal, anti‐individualist and anti‐cultural instincts’ of an elite that elevated violence, power and
cruelty as the supreme capacities of humankind. Arendt described representatives of the `front
generation' who survived the First World War as absorbed by their desire to see the ruin of this whole
world of fake security, fake culture and fake life.... Destruction without mitigation, chaos and ruin as
such assumed the dignity of supreme values. (OT p.328).

For this `front generation’, Arendt argued, war was a means of `chastisement' and `purification' in a
corrupt age (Thomas Mann), a `great equaliser’ in a class‐ridden society (Lenin), an arena of selflessness'
which obliterated bourgeois egoism (Bakunin), a site of the `doomed man' with `no personal interest, no
affairs, no sentiments, attachments, property, not even a name of his own' (Nechaev), a means of
escape from society into the world of doing something, heroic or criminal, which was undetermined (OT,
pp.326‐331). [Remember futurists and their argument ‘war is beautiful’ in Benjamin’s essay. Remember
Marinetti’s manifesto in the epilogue of the essay.]

The source of the problem, as Arendt saw it, lay in the double standards of the bourgeoisie: Since the
bourgeoisie claimed to be the guardian of Western traditions and confounded all moral issues by
parading publicly virtues which it not only did not possess in private and business life, but actually held
in contempt, it seemed revolutionary to admit cruelty, disregard of human values, and general
amorality, because this at least destroyed the duplicity upon which the existing society seemed to rest.
(OT p.334)

In the twilight of double moral standards, it seemed radical to flaunt extreme attitudes: `to wear publicly
the mask of cruelty if everybody ... pretended to be gentle' . She cited the case of Celine's Bagatelles
pour un Massacre in which he proposed the massacre of all Jews, and the welcome which Andre Gide
gave to it, `not of course because he wanted to kill the Jews... but because he rejoiced in the blunt
admission of such a desire and in the fascinating contradiction between Celine's bluntness and the
hypocritical politeness which surrounded the Jewish question in all respectable quarters' (OT p.335). The
desire to unmask hypocrisy is appealing, and it was welcome to those bourgeois tired of the tension
between words and deeds and ready to remove their masks in favour of a more naked brutality. [The
parallel of this politeness can be seen in Indian political sphere where the representatives trun a blind
eye to the injustice happening in the society and appeal to the masses that they are being targeted for
caring too much, that they are the real victim of hate, that they are indeed concerned about the life of
the ‘non-citizens’]

Arendt did not think that Nietzsche had submitted to the nihilistic trends of his time or was in any sense
to blame for the rise of Nazism (EU, p.431). The breeding ground of naked brutality, where the
devaluation of all values flourished, was not the philosophical doctrine of nihilism but the scorched
earth of imperialism. Here, in the political rule of the bourgeoisie power was freed from all restraint and
expansion for expansion's sake became the credo of the age. [There is a complete destruction of
libertarian philosophy of ‘live and let live’, of being apolitical.]

The unlimited accumulation of power was the political corollary of an economic principle, the unlimited
accumulation of capital: Expansion as a permanent and supreme aim of politics is the central political
idea of imperialism… it is an entirely new concept in the long history of political thought and action. The
reason for this surprising originality … is simply that this concept is not really political at all, but has its
origin in the realm of business speculation… (OT, p.125)

It was in the experience of imperialism that Arendt discerned the `will to power' emancipated from all
moral or political constraint. Here she discovered a power which `left to itself can achieve nothing but
more power’; a violence ‘that will not stop until there is nothing left to violate’ (OT p.137).

[i] Arendt was not indifferent to different forms of representation. For example, Arendt distinguished
between the relative stability of the ‘British’ two-party system in contrast to the relative instability of
the multi-party systems operating on the Continent. The difference between them is that in multi-party
systems there is a separation of state and party, such that the state stands above the parties and claims
to represent the nation as a whole; in the two-party system state and party are unified in the sense that
the ruling party is both representative and governmental. Since multi-party government is formed
through party alliances, no one party can take responsibility for government. The parties, therefore,
never transcend the particular interests which they represent to become parties of government
managing the public affairs of the people as a whole.

[Ii] Arendt writes: ‘The direction of the American Revolution remained committed to the foundation of
freedom and the establishment of lasting institutions, and to those who acted in this direction nothing
was permitted that would have been outside the range of civil law. The direction of the French
Revolution was deflected almost from its beginning from this course of foundation through the
immediacy of suffering; it was determined by the exigencies of liberation not from tyranny but from
necessity, and it was actuated by the limitless immensity of both the people’s misery and the pity this
misery inspired. The lawlessness of the “all is permitted” sprang here still from the sentiments of the
heart whose very boundlessness helped in the unleashing of a stream of boundless violence.’ (OR:92).

[Iii] In The Human Condition Arendt writes of what she calls ‘the space of appearance’ which ‘comes into
being wherever men are together in the manner of speech and action, and therefore predates and
precedes all formal constitution of the public realm and forms of government’ (HC:199). The peculiarity
of this public space is that it does not survive the actuality of the movement which brought it into being
but ‘disappears not only with the dispersal of men… but with the arrest of the activities themselves’
(HC:199). Arendt explores the potentiality of beginning something genuinely new that lies in the simple
fact of being, acting and speaking together.
Traditional Theory of Caste

There is a traditional theory of caste, which is based on the divine origin of the caste system. Many
Western and Orthodox Indian scholars have pointed out that the caste system has been created by
divine ordinance or at least with divine approval. They said that the Hindus seek intimacy with the
Ultimate Reality and explained everything in terms of God and religion. According to this theory, the
Brahmana, Kshatriya, Vaishya and Sudra castes have got their origin distinctively from the mouth, the
arms, the thighs and the feet respectively of the Creator (Brahma). The idea of the Purusha Sukta (90.12)
of the Tenth Book in the Rig Veda has its origin. This idea of the creation of the four castes has been
gained wide circulation in the Dharmasastras and the Puranas. Manu, an ancient lawmaker has
established it without questioning in I.31 and cited it as an authoritative pronouncement on this subject.
Besides, the status and role of different castes groups are generally determined in terms of karma and
dharma doctrines. This theory viewed it as a normal and natural system.

This theory has two explanations viz. mythical and metaphysical. The first version has noted that the
four castes have been emerged from different parts of Brahma's body. Even the four-fold division of the
caste system was created based on the principles of Gunas (qualities) and Karmas (functions). Krishna
has highlighted the same content in the Gita. After extensive research regarding the origin of the caste
system, John Muir had noted the same doctrines of Karma and Dharma in determining an individual
caste.

According to the scholars of the traditional caste doctrine, a man is born in a particular caste because of
his actions performed in his previous incarnation. If he had performed better actions, he would have
been born in a higher caste, that is, birth in a particular caste is not an accident. Srinivas said in this
context that man was born in that caste because he deserves to be born there. He said that a man, who
accepts the caste system and the norms of his particular caste, is living according to dharma, while a
man who questions them is violating dharma. It is generally established that if a man observes the rules
of dharma, he will be born in his next birth in a high and rich caste; otherwise, he will be born in a low
and poor caste.

Secondly, the metaphysical idea explained the hereditary and fixed functions, hierarchy, birth and other
norms of the caste system. It has noted a separate function of each caste group that is determined by
the swabhav (nature) and the guna (qualities) of the caste members. Apart from these, the hierarchical
arrangement of four Varnas considered as four castes in the traditional theory of caste. But Prof. D.
Raghaban reviewed the content of the Gita regarding the origin of the Chaturvarna and pointed out that
'The statement of the Gita does not warrant the assumption that according to one's Guna and Karma
one may either oneself or through some friends declare oneself as a Brahmana or Kshatriya. The basis of
Guna-Karma is to explain rational of the four-fold classification'. He also said regarding the utility of the
four-fold Varna system that 'The organization according to Varna has served as a steel frame that has
preserved the Hindu Community down the Centuries. Its marriage selection and vocational
specialization have contributed to the refinement of the species and the conservation and perfection of
its spill; they have eliminated confusion, perplexity and wastage.' In fact, the followers of this theory
search for truth through mysticism and not through science.

Manu's Theory of Caste

According to Manu, an ancient lawmaker, 'The Brahmana, the Kshatriya and the Vaishya are the three
twice-born castes; the fourth is the one caste, Sudra; there is no fifth'1. He explained the origin of these
four castes that were created from the mouth, the arms, the thighs and the feet respectively of the
Prajapati (Creator) in the universe. 'The three twice-born castes, devoted to their duties, shall study; but
of these the Brahmana alone shall expound it, not the other two; such is the established law'2. It has
been clearly noted in the Manusmriti that Prajapati had deputed men of different castes in the
prescribed works. The man of various castes would normally re-engage themselves after re-birth in the
same occupations or professions. Naturally, caste and occupation of a person universally has fixed up.
As a result of it, the innovative qualities of a person had been permanently destroyed or refused and
caste and profession ultimately became hereditary in perpetuity.

Therefore, the role, activities, dignity and status of different castes groups henceforth more or less are
going to determine only by birth of a particular caste. Apart from these, Manu said that many castes or
Jatis like Murdhavasikta (Brahman and Kshatriya), Mahishya (Kshatriya and Vaishya), Karana (Vaishya
and Sudra), Nishada or Parasava (Brahman and Sudra) etc. were created by a series of crosses first
between members of the four Varnas or castes and then between the descendants of these initial
unions. Besides, different types of castes were made by degradation from the original Vamas or castes
on account of non-observance of sacred rites. These are called Vratyas; e.g. Acharjya, Maitra etc.

Therefore, it can be said that Manu had fixed up the four-fold division of castes and professions and
transforming it into 'Caste Institution' on to be hereditary basis brushing aside the doctrine of 'Karma'
(action) and inborn qualities as well as virtuous deeds. He divided the Hindu society mainly into four
Castes, i.e., Brahrnana, Kshtriya, Vaishya and Sudra and thereby laid the basis of inter-caste hatred and
castebased discrimination which in course of time divided the Indian Hindu society into multiple
segments. He made the Caste System hereditary and issued a lease of permanent privilege in case of
power, position and status in society, polity, economy, education, culture, religion etc. especially for the
benefit of the 'Twice Born' and particularly for the Brahmins by degrading the condition of the Sudras to
the level of animals. The Sudras were denied even a little comfort. They had been compelled to become
an unprivileged caste.

Brahmanical Theory of Caste

According to some scholars of the Brahmanical theory of caste, the caste system originated and
developed in India with the initiative of the Brahmins. Hutton, Abbe Dubois (A Description of the People
of India, 1817, quoted by Hutton, 1961) and other scholars have highlighted this view. They said that the
caste system is nothing but an ingenious device created by Brahmins for the benefits of Brahmins. The
Brahmins created mechanism for imposing severe restrictions to preserve their purity on the issue of
social restrictions, marriage, eating, drinking etc. with the non-Brahmins. The main motto of them was
to satisfy their own desire and to perform pure sacerdotal functions in their own whims 3. That is why;
they established their high status, special privileges and prerogatives in the Brahmanas and other books.

The Brahmins are the lords of the so-called Hindu social system. Everything might be a social norm
whatever the Brahmins say and they are the owner of the entire property of the society. They could
marry many times but could never be severely punished in any matter. They were free from capital
punishment. They had to shave only their head for their serious offences whereas other persons are
liable to be hanged for the same offences. The Brahmins are the lords of rituals and elaborate rites for
bringing salvation of individuals and society. Even the king's prayers and offerings were unacceptable to
gods without their performance of the elaborate rites and ministry. It was generally said that Brahmins
added to the Punya (spiritual merit) for the king as 1/16th of it accumulated by the Purohit (priest)
through offerings and sacrifices that went to the credit of the ruler of the land.

Ghurye strongly asserted that the Brahmins played a vital role for the creation of the caste system. They
excluded the aborigines and the Sudras from religious and social communion with themselves. It is a
well-established fact that the Indian Aryans were primarily divided into three different classes. But the
Brahmanic literature contemplated it when the fourth class of the Sudras was made as it contradicted to
the other three classes. That is why; the Vedic opposition between the Arya and the Dasa was replaced
by the Brahmanic classification of the Dvijati and the Ekajati (the Sudra) 4. Naturally, the most respected
class in the society could not fail to be imitated by groups that claim respectively. Even the restrictions
on marriage and regulations about the acceptance of food, which contemplated only four classes in
society, came to be the characteristics of each and every well-marked group.

Caste in India is a Brahmanic child of the Indo-Aryan culture, cradled in the land of the Ganga and the
Yamuni and thence transferred to other parts of the country. But Hutton ultimately gave two arguments
to reject the Brahmanical theory of caste on the basis of the following points: Firstly, caste did not
originate later when the Brahmins got political power. But this theory indicates that caste have
originated at a date when Brahmins must have got political power. Secondly, _Caste could hardly have
been imposed by an administrative measure. Both these arguments are illogical as Brahmins obtained
high status and special prerogatives not when they got the political power in the end of the Second
Century B.C. but when they wrote the Brahmanas somewhere in the Fifth Century B.C. Kshatriya, the
ruler of the country, refused to accept the superiority of the Brahmins over them and the writings of the
Brahmanas were started at that very moment. Naturally, Hutton is not correct in assuming that caste
will have originated later. Brahmins did not impose their superiority over others not through
administrative means but by arousing the religious sentiments of the people. Therefore, it can be said
that the origin of caste cannot be explained only in terms of a single factor like the one the role played
by the Brahmins, as Abbe Dubois has done. Racial, religious, economic and other factors must have been
responsible in creating the institution of the caste system.

Racial Theory of Caste

Herbert Risley was an ardent exponent of the theory of caste. Eminent scholars like Westermarck,
Ghurye, Majumdar and others, have supported him in this context. The main content of this theory is
that the clash of cultures and the contact of races crystallized castes in India 5. It is a well-established
fact in the history of the world that conquerors had subdued the opposition group very severely and
took their women as concubines or wives but they refused to give their daughters in marriage to them.
But complete amalgamation between the conqueror and conquered groups was possible if these two
opposition groups belonged to the same race or same colour otherwise not. If irregular unions held
between men of the lower strata and women of the higher groups served the purposes of a caste.

Therefore, the relation between the migrant Aryans and the aboriginal inhabitants in India might be
considered in the context of the origin and development of the caste system. The ideas of ceremonial
purity, racial superiority, patrilineal mentality and others of the Aryans were responsible for the growth
and development of the caste system in India. They considered themselves as superior race than the
original inhabitants in India. Aryans were patrilineal whereas pre-Aryans were matrilineal. It is generally
said that the Aryans had colour prejudice whereas pre-Aryans had nothing. The migrant Aryans married
with the daughters of the native inhabitants but they refused to give their daughters to them. The
children of such marriages had to be assigned the lowest position in the society and were called the
Chandals. Therefore, the origin of the group of 'half-breeds' as well as the feeling of racial superiority
ultimately became responsible for the origin of the caste system. Risley has mentioned the following six
processes6 that are responsible for the formation of castes:

l. Change in traditional occupation

It is generally followed that if a person changed his parent profession and adopted a new one, his caste
or sub-division of caste ultimately developed into a distinct caste.

ll. Migration

It was very difficult to maintain contacts with the parental caste for the migrated people of a particular
region due to the lack of communication in the early days. Naturally, their relation and communication
with the parental caste got gradually cut off and eventually they developed themselves as a new caste.

lll . Change in customs

The formation of these new castes as a result of discarding old customs and usages and by adopting the
new practices has been a familiar incident of the caste system.

IV. Preservation of old tradition:

Certain castes believed in the bygone sovereignty of the traditions and tried to preserve old traces of an
organization. They separated themselves from those who have been assuming new traditions, customs
and adopted a new name. As a result, a new caste came into existence.

V. Enrolling oneself into tile rank of Hinduism

Sometimes either an entire tribe or a section of a tribe becomes 'Hinduised' and taking a new caste
name. It enters into the rank of Hinduism and distinguished itself from the other castes; for example,
Gonds of Madhya Pradesh and Rajbanshis of Bengal.

VI. Role of religious enthusiasts

A religious enthusiast sometimes preaches his own doctrines and his followers form a separate sect,
which ultimately developed as a new caste; for example, Kabirpanthies.

That is why; Ghurye said that the Vedic Aryans were civilized. They were fair-skinned and had colour
prejudice in comparison to the aboriginal inhabitants of India. Naturally, they tried to show off their
exclusiveness. They adopted the policy of exclusive spirit in social behaviour and uphold the ideas of
ceremonial purity. The migrant Aryans took the policy of hatred towards the natives and imposed
various severe restrictions in social interaction with them. It is generally asserted that the indo-Aryans
settled in the Gangetic plain in India after migrating from Central Asia near about 2500 B.C. The Indo-
Aryans comprising the Romans, the Iranians, the Spanish, the Anglo-Saxons and others, they were called
as Vedic Indians. They spoke of themselves as 'Arya' whereas the aboriginals are entitled as 'dark colour'
people without nose. Even they were termed as 'Dasas'. The term dasa means enemy in the Iranian
language.
Westmarck mentioned in his book viz., History of Human Marriage, 1891, that India was the land of the
dark-skinned people before the Aryans invaded, conquered and settled in India. They had no racial
mentality, colour prejudice and antipathies as like the Aryans, which ultimately hastened the process of
the creation of the caste system. Hutton said that racial factor was responsible along with other factors
for the origin of the caste system. He said that caste system should not be confined to India but other
racial groups should find it in all those societies, which have faced the conquests. According to him,
caste is not confined to India only but it appeared in a pronounced form in South Africa, Canada etc.

In South America, Negroes and other mixed races were cut off from the legal unions with the white race.
Risley 7 and Narmadeshwar Prasad 8 mentioned the same phenomenon that was observed among the
half-breeds of Canada and Mexico. They did not intermarry with the natives. Marriage was occasionally
held only with pureblood Europeans. However, there is a lot of controversy among the scholars of
different fields whether the origin of the caste system is a unique Indian phenomenon or not. Scholars
like Dumont, Pocock, Hocart, Hutton, Senart, Srinivas and others pointed out that caste is a unique
Indian phenomenon only. But some scholars like Risley, Crook etc said that caste is a universal
phenomenon.

Some scholars analyzed caste from ethnographic and sociological point of view etc. Leach said that caste
is confined to India as a structural phenomenon 9. Ghurye has made an extensive study on the elements
of caste system outside India. He reviewed the social structure of Egypt, West Asia, China, Japan, Rome
and tribal Europe to satisfy his quest for the elements of caste outside India. Many primitive people and
almost all the major civilizations of ancient times usually recognized the distinction by birth. Privileges
and restrictions were very common among the primitive peoples during the medieval times all over
Europe. Mate selection was based on birth, which was comparatively infrequent among them. Even
occupations became hereditary in the tribal England, Rome and Asian civilizations. The lower classes
were not given permission to change their hereditary trades and occupations but the middle and upper
classes could change their professions. A man could not enjoy freedom to leave his father's professions
if he unconsciously joined in his family's trade. It was impossible for him to move out it and ultimately
they were compelled to adopt the hereditary occupations of their ancestors from generation to
generation. Even occupations were graded into high and low. Not only that but also society was
categorically divided into two (Brazil, Saudi Arabia), three (Mexico, Rome), four (Egypt: soldiers, priests,
craftsmen and serfs; Iran: priests, warriors, artisans and herdsmen), five (Japan) well-marked groups,
intermarriage between which was often prohibited. In almost all cultures, the clergy were entitled as
members of the nobility. They identified themselves to be more superior to the other classes. They had
themselves formed into a sacerdotal organization. Therefore, it can be said that the well-marked status-
groups separated themselves from one another by the absence of freedom of inter-marriage, rights and
disabilities that may be considered a common features of the social dimension of the IndoEuropean
cultures.10

In fact, Ghurye tried to establish the fact that the characteristics of caste are found in other societies and
cultures in the world beyond Indian society. According to him, caste is not a unique Indian phenomenon
at all. But Srinivas, Hocart, Bougie and other scholars have straightway rejected the theory of Ghurye
and considered caste as a unique phenomenon in India due to its religious significance. Srinivas has
pointed out that the idea of pollution has been governing the relations between different castes. The
concept of pollution is fundamental to the caste system along with the ideology of karma and dharma
that has contributed to make caste the unique institution in India. Bougie said that caste system has
penetrated into the so-called Hindu society in a level unknown elsewhere. Senart pointed out that 'Caste
is peculiar to India since it is determined by ethnological, economic, geographical and psychological
conditions, which are essentially native' 11. Harold Gould has pointed out that caste in its fullest sense is
an exclusively Indian phenomenon. Besides, some scholars have said that caste is a typical Hindu
institution. Although the main religious groups in India beyond the Hindus are Muslims, Sikhs, Jains etc.
and if the caste system is found among Jains and Sikhs, it is because they are basically Hindus. Even the
endogamous and closed rank groups of Shias and Sunnis among Muslims and Protestants and Catholics
among Christians have nothing to do with religion as castes amongst the Hindus are linked. The
theological ideas such as pollution, rebirth, pap (sin), punya (merit), karma, dharma etc. are the unique
concept of caste in Hindu society.

Davis and Gardner carried out an extensive study on caste and wrote a book viz. Socio-Anthropological
Study of Caste and Class, 1968 where he tried to prove that the concept of purity and pollution in a
country like America did not exist except the concept of uncleanliness. But the concept of purity and
pollution exists in the Hindu society. Therefore, it can be said that caste derives from some essential
principle and we should search for that principle not in our minds but in the minds of those people who
practice caste system in the Hindu society.

Occupational Theory of Caste.

Nesfield was the founder of the Occupational Theory of Caste. Denzil Ibbetson strongly supported this
theory and pointed out that the origin of caste has nothing to do with racial affinity or religion but it is
mainly due to functions or occupations. Nesfield pointed out that the technical skill of the occupation
was passed on hereditary from one generation to another generation due to practicing the same
occupation of their forefathers over a long period of time. That is why; the occupational guilds came into
existence and ultimately came to be known as castes. The feeling of the superiority and inferiority of
occupations gave birth to the creation of hierarchy in the caste system. It depends completely upon the
rank, position and culture of any caste as high and low in the Hindu society 12.

According to him, Brahmins were specialized in the occupation of sacrifices, hymns and rituals that were
most important in the socio-religious life of the Hindus and they ultimately became the most respected
people in the Hindu society. They were the first born of castes, the model upon which all the other
castes were gradually formed 13. However, priesthood became hereditary when the Brahmins
organized themselves as an exclusive privileged class. Even the other communities organized themselves
into different castes and adopted precaution for the sake of defence and privileges for their caste
interest.

Nesfield said that the origin of castes depends upon two things; viz. occupation and organization of the
tribe. Denzil Ibbetson pointed out in his book, viz. 'Punjab Castes', in 1916 in supporting Nesfield’s views
regarding the origin of castes. He explained three factors that were responsible for the origin and
growth of castes, such as tribe, guilds and religion. According to him, tribes developed as occupational
guilds and ultimately came to function on religious lines that hastened the process of formation into
castes in the way of social revolution. However, many scholars criticized Nesfield's and Ibbetson's
theories of castes. Senart raised a question in his book, viz. 'Caste in India', 1930, pointing out the
scenario of Russia where total population of many villages is engaged in same occupation like shoe
making, pottery etc. and these villages are not assemblies of groups that have merged themselves into a
community and these communities pursued a single industry. He said that it is not occupation that
results in grouping but it accelerated the process of formation in community of occupation. That is why;
he raised a question why should it not be the same in India? Apart from this, D.N. Majumdar criticized
the theoretical explanation of hierarchy of castes in the context of the superiority and inferiority of the
occupations. He said that status of castes did not depend upon the superiority and inferiority of the
occupations but by the degree of purity of blood and extent of isolation maintained by the groups 14.

Hutton said that the occupational theory of castes propounded by Nesfield practically did not explain
the social status of various agricultural castes, as the status of same agricultural castes in North India
and South India is quite different. Even the status of agricultural castes in North India iss higher than the
status of agricultural castes in South India. Not only that but also some scholars have criticized the
theory of occupational castes of Nesfield as because it is certainly not accountable in the case of
Vaishyas and Sudras. Besides, it is well known to all that every human society comes to be stratified into
various groups. These people and their kith and kin having similar occupational roles interact with one
another very smoothly. These people together come to form what Harold Gould has called 'sub-cultural
groups' 15 each with different standard of living, moral outlook, socialization pattern type and level of
education etc. but these sub-cultural groups called castes in India.

Indian society with non-industrial civilization had ascription-oriented stratification in which the role and
the role-occupant remain merged. Therefore it is held that occupations are inherited at birth, are
believed to be transmitted in the blood line and are, therefore, seen as a part of the person himself. This
is true with reprehensible and sacerdotal occupations. In fact, this process of internalization of
occupations really checked and controlled social mobility that led to the ·development of static features
of our social system. Therefore, it can be noted in spite of its limitations that it cannot be denied that
the occupational theory of castes is an important factor in the origin of caste.

Theory of Gandhian Caste Philosophy

Gandhi's thoughts and beliefs in Vamashrama Dharma, Caste system and Untouchability were
completely based on the age-old atrocious traditions of the socalled Brahmancal Hindu religion. His
attitude towards the issues of Vamashrama Dharma and Caste system did not encourage the toiling
masses in India. Gandhiji expressed his views and opinions on these issues in different writings and
speeches. He pointed out that Vamashrama Dharma was an integral part of Hinduism. He identified
himself as a 'Sanatanic Hindu' in all through his life and gave an explanation why he was called himself as
a Sanatanic Hindu. He profoundly believed in the Vedas, the Upanishads, the Puranas and the Hindu
scriptures. He advocated the theory of incarnation (avatars) and re-birth.

Gandhiji said that he believed in the Vamashrama Dharma in the Vedic sense, not in its present, popular
and crude sense. He advocated the protection of the cow in its much larger sense than the popular. He
did not disbelieve in idol worship. Naturally, he advocated Varnashrama Dharma and Caste system. He
believed in the hereditary birth circle of man. He advocated hereditary Varna system and pointed out
that Varna of a man was determined by his birth. Not only that but also the occupation of a particular
Varna was decided by the principle of hereditary professions of his ancestors. He coined the term
Harijan to define untouchables. Even Gandhiji was completely unwilling politically to attack Caste
Institution. His attitudes towards the issues of Caste and untouchability were very much discouraging
and self-contradictory. He said that inter-dinning and intermarriage were matters of individual choice.
Inspite of his unwillingness, Gandhiji was forced to allow untouchables to enter Hindu Temples 16.
Gandhiji discouraged the inclusion of Mr. Agnibhoj who was an untouchable in the Ministry of Dr. Khare.
But Dr. Khare clearly noted the attitudes of Gandhiji on these issues and pointed out that 'Mr. Gandhi
told him that it was wrong on his part to have raised such aspirations and ambitions in the untouchables
and it was such an act of bad judgment that he would never forgive him' 17. Not only that, Gandhiji
noted the untouchable's problem as the moral stigma that would to be removed by the acts of
atonements whereas Ambedkar gave importance to implement the rule of law and constitutional
safeguards in protecting the interest of the lowborn peoples. But the Congress wanted to coerce the
British Government to transfer its power or to use Gandhi's phrase i.e., hand over the keys to the
Congress without being obliged to agree to the safeguards demanded by the untouchables. He
identified the untouchable problems as political problem that were a separate element in the national
life of India. He profoundly realized the anti-social altitudes of the Hindus towards the issues of the
untouchables. It created socio-mental discrimination as a principle of touch-me-not-ism.

Once Gandhiji said that he was busy in planning a campaign to win Swaraj and that he had no time to
spare for the cause of the untouchables 18. But Gandhiji changed his attitude later on towards the
issues of the untouchables and propagated untouchability as an evil in the Indian social life. Realizing the
ill-fated conditions of the untouchables Gandhiji decided to sacrifice most of his life span to emancipate
the untouchables. Gandhiji did not come forward to implement the historic Bardoli Programme to
reform and remove the curse of the untouchable community. But it was irony of fate that Gandhiji never
used the weapon of Satyagraha against the so-called Hindus to get them to throw open wells, ponds and
temples to the untouchables.

He took initiative to establish Harijan Sevak Sangh and launched Temple Entry Movement in 1933.
However, it was very much astonishing to note the fact that Gandhiji excluded the untouchables from
the management of the Harijan Sevak Sangh 19. He said that any attempt to give political safeguards to
the untouchables was unnecessary and harmful 20 . But the results of 1937 Election conclusively
disproved Gandhiji as well as the Congress claim to represent the untouchables. In course of time, he
demanded the abolition of untouchability but favoured Caste system in perpetuity. Naturally, Gandhiji
came forward to establish schools, hostels for the untouchable children. He urged to the Hindus to open
their ponds, tube wells, roads, temples etc. for the benefits of the Harijans. In these ways, Gandhiji tried
to establish 'social justice' for the Harijans. However; Gandhiji stressed on political reform rather than
social reform.

Ambedkar was identified as a symbol of social justice. He was a great champion of the Dalit movement
in India. His human approach towards the issue of caste and untouchability stirred the very foundations
of the Hindu caste system and untouchability. His ceaseless struggles for the establishment of the Dalit
human rights in India were an epoch making event in the history of India. The ideas and thoughts of
Ambedkar towards the issue of caste and untouchability were completely based on the principle of
scientific reasons, liberty, equality, fraternity and after all nationality. He vehemently opposed to the
inhuman mechanism of the caste institution and untouchability.

Ambedkar expressed his views on the issues of caste and untouchability in a different angle that were
reflected in his different writings and speeches, such as, Caste in India, Annihilation of Caste, Who were
the Sudras? Mr. Gandhi and the Emancipation of the Untouchables etc. According to him, Varnashrama
Dharma was itself the source of the productive mechanism of the Caste system and untouchability that
was unscientific and irrational that had no far-reaching consequences. He strongly demanded to reform
the Hindu society. He knew it very well that it was completely impossible without the eradication of the
Hindu caste system as it artificially fostered and created hindrance to social solidarity. That is why,
Ambedkar advocated the principles of liberty, equality and fraternity in consonance with the ideology of
democracy to set up a new social order.

According to Ambedkar, superimposition of endogamy over exogamy was the root cause for the
formation of Caste groups. The sub-division of a society was a natural phenomenon and these groups
became castes through ex-communication. Caste was not based on the division of labour. It was
basically a division of labourers. He proposed to annihilate caste system. He said that inter-caste
marriage would only play a vital role to reduce and solve the caste problems. He emphasized on
scientific knowledge, test of reasoning, logistic argument for the betterment of the human conditions.
He encouraged the common people to discard the age-old irrational, illogical, inhuman verdict of the so-
called Shastras and its prescribed socio-religious customs that were working as the root of creating and
maintaining castes and untouchability in the Hindu society. He gave a very important suggestion to
'make every man and women free from the thralldom of the Shastras, cleanse their minds of the
pernicious notions founded on the Shastras and he or she will inter-dine and intermarry’ 21.

Ambedkar expressed his grievances regarding the issues of caste and untouchability and noted a fact
that society must be based on reason, not on age-old atrocious traditions of the caste system as nation
building process would not be completed within the caste dominated society. Not only that but also
untouchability emerged from the caste rules and regulations that created an unequal society in India
where human beings lived in fear and with a sense of impending danger in its heart. He said that neither
God nor soul can save the society. He liked to utilize religion only to establish peace and tranquility in
the society not to bring down the conditions of the common people into the inhuman position of animal
or beasts that was done by the so-called Brahmins. He said that society should play a vital role as a
protector of religion not as a victimized object of it. But it cannot be denied that the idea of pollution
was an important feature of the Caste system as it had a religious flavour and in course of time
untouchability became a mental disease in the Hindu social mind. Even all channels of life were rigidly
enclosed in caste. Apart from these, the verdict of the caste rules relating to inter-marriage, inter-dining
and endogamy restricted the class into an enclosed caste. In fact, the custom of Sati, enforced
widowhood, imposing celibacy on the widower and wedding him to a girl not yet marriageable etc. were
the outcome for the preservation of endogamy against exogamy in the Caste system. He believed in
social democracy. He fought for the sake of humanity. He stressed on social reform rather than political
reform. He said that socialists would have to fight against the monster of Caste institution either before
or after the revolution.

Bibliography-

1. Jha, Ganganath (Translated); Manusmriti, Vol. 7, Motilal Banarsidass Publishers Pvt. Ltd., Delhi, p. 249.

2. Ibid, p. 215.
3. Ahuja, Ram; Indian Social System, Rawat Publications, Jaipur, 2005, p. 252.

4. Ibid.

5. Risley, H.H.; The People oflndia, W. Thacker & Co. London, 1915, p. 56.

6. Ahuja, Ram; Indian Social System, Rawat Publications, Jaipur, 2005, pp. 254-255.

7. Risley, H.H.; The People oflndia, op. cit., p. 56.

8. Narmadeshwar Prasad; The Myth of the Caste System, Patna, 1956, p. 25.

9. Leach, E.R.; Aspects of Caste in South India, Ceylon and North-West Pakistan, Cambridge University
Press, Cambridge, 1960, p. 5.

10. Ahuja, Ram; Indian Social System, op. cit., p. 257.

11. Senart, Emile; Caste in India, op. cit., p. 26.

12. Nesfield; Brief View of the Caste System of the North Western Provinces and Oudh, 1885, p. 88.

13. Ibid, 171-172.

14. Majumdar, D.N.; Races and Cultures of India, Asia Publishing House, Bombay, 1952, p.292.

15. The Economic Weekly, 1961.

16. Moon, Vasant. (ed.)- Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, Vols. 9, published by the
Education Department, Government ofMaharastra for Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar Source Material
Publication Committee, Bombay, 1987-1997, p. 107.

17. Ibid, p. 98.

18. Ibid, p. 256.

19. Ibid, pp. 250-251.

20. Ibid, P. v.

21. Moon, Vasant. (ed.)- Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar Writings and Speeches, Vol. I, op. cit., p. XV.
 Criticism , Culture 49

in the occasional rejection of criticism as a definition of conscious response, of

a more significant rejection of the habit itself. The point would then be, not to
find some other term to replace it, while continuing the same kind of activity,
but to get rid of the habit, which depends, fundamentally, on the abstraction of
response from its real situation and circumstances: the elevation to ‘judgment’,
and to an apparently general process, when what always needs to be understood is
the specificity of the response, which is not an abstract ‘judgment’ but even where
including, as often necessarily, positive or negative responses, a definite practice,
in active and complex relations with its whole situation and context.
See A ESTHETIC , CONSUM ER , SENSIBILIT Y, TASTE

C ult ur e
Culture is one of the two or three most complicated words in the English lan-
guage. This is so partly because of its intricate historical development, in several
European languages, but mainly because it has now come to be used for impor-
tant concepts in several distinct intellectual disciplines and in several distinct and
incompatible systems of thought.
The fw is cultura, L, from rw colere, L. Colere had a range of meanings: in-
habit, cultivate, protect, honour with worship. Some of these meanings eventually
separated, though still with occasional overlapping, in the derived nouns. Thus
‘inhabit’ developed through colonus, L to colony. ‘Honour with worship’ devel-
oped through cultus, L to cult. Cultura took on the main meaning of cultivation or
tending, including, as in Cicero, cultura animi, though with subsidiary medieval
meanings of honour and worship (cf. in English culture as ‘worship’ in Caxton
(1483)). The French forms of cultura were couture, oF, which has since developed
its own specialized meaning, and later culture, which by eC15 had passed into
English. The primary meaning was then in husbandry, the tending of natural
growth.
Culture in all its early uses was a noun of process: the tending of something,
basically crops or animals. The subsidiary coulter – ploughshare, had travelled
by a different linguistic route, from culter, L – ploughshare, culter, oE, to the
variant English spellings culter, colter, coulter and as late as eC17 culture (Web-
ster, Duchess of Malfi, III, ii: ‘hot burning cultures’). This provided a further ba-
sis for the important next stage of meaning, by metaphor. From eC16 the tending
of natural growth was extended to a process of human development, and this,
50 c u lt u r e

alongside the original meaning in husbandry, was the main sense until 1C18 and
eC19. Thus More: ‘to the culture and profit of their minds’; Bacon: ‘the culture
and manurance of minds’ (1605); Hobbes: ‘a culture of their minds’ (1651); John-
son: ‘she neglected the culture of her understanding’ (1759). At various points
in this development two crucial changes occurred: first, a degree of habitua-
tion to the metaphor, which made the sense of human tending direct; second,
an extension of particular processes to a general process, which the word could
abstractly carry. It is of course from the latter development that the independent
noun culture began its complicated modern history, but the process of change
is so intricate, and the latencies of meaning are at times so close, that it is not
possible to give any definite date. Culture as an independent noun, an abstract
process or the product of such a process, is not important before 1C18 and is not
common before mC19. But the early stages of this development were not sud-
den. There is an interesting use in Milton, in the second (revised) edition of The
Readie and Easie Way to Establish a Free Commonwealth (1660): ‘spread much
more Knowledg and Civility, yea, Religion, through all parts of the Land, by
communicating the natural heat of Government and Culture more distributively
to all extreme parts, which now lie num and neglected’. Here the metaphorical
sense (‘natural heat’) still appears to be present, and civility (cf. civilization)
is still written where in C19 we would normally expect culture. Yet we can also
read ‘government and culture’ in a quite modern sense. Milton, from the tenor of
his whole argument, is writing about a general social process, and this is a defi-
nite stage of development. In C18 England this general process acquired definite
class associations though cultivation and cultivated were more commonly used
for this. But there is a letter of 1730 (Bishop of Killala, to Mrs Clayton; cit Plumb,
England in the Eighteenth Century) which has this clear sense: ‘it has not been
customary for persons of either birth or culture to breed up their children to
the Church’. Akenside (Pleasures of Imagination, 1744) wrote: ‘. . . nor purple
state nor culture can bestow: Wordsworth wrote ‘where grace of culture hath
been utterly unknown’ (1805), and Jane Austen (Emma, 1816) ‘every advantage
of discipline and culture’.
It is thus clear that culture was developing in English towards some of
its modern senses before the decisive effects of a new social and intellectual
movement. But to follow the development through this movement, in 1C18 and
eC19, we have to look also at developments in other languages and especially
in German.
 Culture 51

In French, until C18, culture was always accompanied by a grammatical

form indicating the matter being cultivated, as in the English usage already
noted. Its occasional use as an independent noun dates from mC18, rather later
than similar occasional uses in English. The independent noun civilization also
emerged in mC18; its relationship to culture has since been very complicated
(cf. civilization and discussion below). There was at this point an important
development in German: the word was borrowed from French, spelled first
(1C18) Cultur and from C19 Kultur. Its main use was still as a synonym for civi-
lization: first in the abstract sense of a general process of becoming ‘civilized’ or
‘cultivated’; second, in the sense which had already been established for civiliza-
tion by the historians of the Enlightenment, in the popular C18 form of the uni-
versal histories, as a description of the secular process of human development.
There was then a decisive change of use in Herder. In his unfinished Ideas on
the Philosophy of the History of Mankind (1784–91) he wrote of Cultur: ‘noth-
ing is more indeterminate than this word, and nothing more deceptive than its
application to all nations and periods’. He attacked the assumption of the uni-
versal histories that ‘civilization’ or ‘culture’ – the historical self-development
of humanity – was what we would now call a unilinear process, leading to the
high and dominant point of C18 European culture. Indeed he attacked what he
called European subjugation and domination of the four quarters of the globe,
and wrote:

Men of all the quarters of the globe, who have perished over the ages, you
have not lived solely to manure the earth with your ashes, so that at the
end of time your posterity should be made happy by European culture.
The very thought of a superior European culture is a blatant insult to the
majesty of Nature.

It is then necessary, he argued, in a decisive innovation, to speak of ‘cultures’ in the

plural: the specific and variable cultures of different nations and periods, but also
the specific and variable cultures of social and economic groups within a nation.
This sense was widely developed, in the Romantic movement, as an alternative to
the orthodox and dominant ‘civilization’. It was first used to emphasize national
and traditional cultures, including the new concept of folk-culture (cf. folk).
It was later used to attack what was seen as the mechanical’ (q.v.) character of
the new civilization then emerging: both for its abstract rationalism and for the
52 c u lt u r e

‘inhumanity’ of current industrial development. It was used to distinguish be-

tween ‘human’ and ‘material’ development. Politically, as so often in this period, it
veered between radicalism and reaction and very often, in the confusion of major
social change, fused elements of both. (It should also be noted, though it adds to
the real complication, that the same kind of distinction, especially between ‘mate-
rial’ and ‘spiritual’ development, was made by von Humboldt and others, until as
late as 1900, with a reversal of the terms, culture being material and civilization
spiritual. In general, however, the opposite distinction was dominant.)
On the other hand, from the 1840s in Germany, Kultur was being used in very
much the sense in which civilization had been used in C18 universal histories.
The decisive innovation is G. F. Klemm’s Allgemeine Kulturgeschtchte der Men-
schheit — ‘General Cultural History of Mankind’ (1843–52) – which traced hu-
man development from savagery through domestication to freedom. Although
the American anthropologist Morgan, tracing comparable stages, used ‘Ancient
Society’, with a culmination in Civilization, Klemm’s sense was sustained, and
was directly followed in English by Tylor in Primitive Culture (1870). It is along
this line of reference that the dominant sense in modern social sciences has to
be traced.
The complexity of the modern development of the word, and of its modern
usage, can then be appreciated. We can easily distinguish the sense which de-
pends on a literal continuity of physical process as now in ‘sugar-beet culture’
or, in the specialized physical application in bacteriology since the 1880s, ‘germ
culture’. But once we go beyond the physical reference, we have to recognize
three broad active categories of usage. The sources of two of these we have al-
ready discussed: (i) the independent and abstract noun which describes a gen-
eral process of intellectual, spiritual and aesthetic development, from C18; (ii)
the independent noun, whether used generally or specifically, which indicates a
particular way of life, whether of a people, a period, a group, or humanity in gen-
eral, from Herder and Klemm. But we have also to recognize (iii) the indepen-
dent and abstract noun which describes the works and practices of intellectual
and especially artistic activity. This seems often now the most widespread use:
culture is music, literature, painting and sculpture, theatre and film. A Minis-
try of Culture refers to these specific activities, sometimes with the addition
of philosophy, scholarship, history. This use, (iii), is in fact relatively late. It is
difficult to date precisely because it is in origin an applied form of sense (i): the
idea of a general process of intellectual, spiritual and aesthetic development was
 Culture 53

applied and effectively transferred to the works and practices which represent
and sustain it. But it also developed from the earlier sense of process; cf. ‘pro-
gressive culture of fine arts’, Millar, Historical View of the English Government,
IV, 314 (1812). In English (i) and (iii) are still close; at times, for internal reasons,
they are indistinguishable as in Arnold, Culture and Anarchy (1867); while sense
(ii) was decisively introduced into English by Tylor, Primitive Culture (1870), fol-
lowing Klemm. The decisive development of sense (iii) in English was in 1C19
and eC20.
Faced by this complex and still active history of the word, it is easy to react by
selecting one ‘true’ or ‘proper’ or ‘scientific’ sense and dismissing other senses as
loose or confused. There is evidence of this reaction even in the excellent study
by Kroeber and Kluckhohn, Culture: a Critical Review of Concepts and Defini-
tions, where usage in North American anthropology is in effect taken as a norm.
It is clear that, within a discipline, conceptual usage has to be clarified. But in
general it is the range and overlap of meanings that is significant. The complex
of senses indicates a complex argument about the relations between general hu-
man development and a particular way of life, and between both and the works
and practices of art and intelligence. It is especially interesting that in archaeol-
ogy and in cultural anthropology the reference to culture or a culture is primar-
ily to material production, while in history and cultural studies the reference is
primarily to signifying or symbolic systems. This often confuses but even more
often conceals the central question of the relations between ‘material’ and ‘sym-
bolic’ production, which in some recent argument – cf. my own Culture – have
always to be related rather than contrasted. Within this complex argument there
are fundamentally opposed as well as effectively overlapping positions; there are
also, understandably, many unresolved questions and confused answers. But
these arguments and questions cannot be resolved by reducing the complexity of
actual usage. This point is relevant also to uses of forms of the word in languages
other than English, where there is considerable variation. The anthropological
use is common in the German, Scandinavian and Slavonic language groups, but
it is distinctly subordinate to the senses of art and learning, or of a general pro-
cess of human development, in Italian and French. Between languages as within
a language, the range and complexity of sense and reference indicate both differ-
ence of intellectual position and some blurring or overlapping. These variations,
of whatever kind, necessarily involve alternative views of the activities, relation-
ships and processes which this complex word indicates. The complexity, that is
54 c u lt u r e

to say, is not finally in the word but in the problems which its variations of use
significantly indicate.
It is necessary to look also at some associated and derived words. Culti-
vation and cultivated went through the same metaphorical extension from a
physical to a social or educational sense in C17, and were especially significant
words in C18. Coleridge, making a classical eC19 distinction between civili-
zation and culture, wrote (1830): ‘the permanent distinction, and occasional
contrast, between cultivation and civilization’. The noun in this sense has ef-
fectively disappeared but the adjective is still quite common, especially in rela-
tion to manners and tastes. The important adjective cultural appears to date
from the 1870s; it became common by the 1890s. The word is only available,
in its modern sense, when the independent noun, in the artistic and intellec-
tual or anthropological senses, has become familiar. Hostility to the word cul-
ture in English appears to date from the controversy around Arnold’s views. It
gathered force in 1C19 and eC20, in association with a comparable hostility to
aesthete and aesthetic (q.v.). Its association with class distinction produced
the mime-word culchah. There was also an area of hostility associated with
anti-German feeling, during and after the 1914–18 War, in relation to propa-
ganda about Kultur. The central area of hostility has lasted, and one element
of it has been emphasized by the recent American phrase culture-vulture. It is
significant that virtually all the hostility (with the sole exception of the tempo-
rary anti-German association) has been connected with uses involving claims
to superior knowledge (cf. the noun intellectual), refinement (culchah) and
distinctions between ‘high’ art (culture) and popular art and entertainment.
It thus records a real social history and a very difficult and confused phase of
social and cultural development. It is interesting that the steadily extending
social and anthropological use of culture and cultural and such formations
as sub-culture (the culture of a distinguishable smaller group) has, except in
certain areas (notably popular entertainment), either bypassed or effectively
diminished the hostility and its associated unease and embarrassment. The
recent use of culturalism, to indicate a methodological contrast with structur-
alism in social analysis, retains many of the earlier difficulties, and does not
always bypass the hostility.
See AESTHETIC, ANTHROPOLOGY, ART, CIVILIZATION, FOLK, DEVELOPMENT,
HUMANITY, SCIENCE, WESTERN
 Communication

one example of this process; the patenting of products of nature is another. It is in relation
to such processes as these that the concept of commodification has passed from the
Marxist tradition into general usage (Gregory, 1997; Radin, 2001). Perhaps the central
focus of attention has been on the domain of culture and what Adorno and Horkheimer
(1972) called the culture industries. The growth of mass markets in film, radio, television,
journalism, and paperback books has on the one hand strengthened the pessimistic sense
that the industrialized production of cultural forms leads to banal, stereotyped, aesthet-
ically valueless works, yet on the other has weakened the implicit opposition of commodi-
fied, ‘‘mass’’-cultural works to works of ‘‘high’’ art, since the latter too are now
industrially produced and marketed. Not only art but intellectual work of all kinds is to
a greater or less extent commodified in a capitalist society. Another area in which the logic
of commodification has become highly visible is that of stardom and the celebrity, where
the marketability of ‘‘personality’’ or physical characteristics works in opposition to
traditional conceptions of the human as a privileged domain which is withheld from market
transactions. In much of the anti-globalization rhetoric of contemporary left politics,
finally, the manifestation of the commodity form as brand name is a key to the under-
standing of global capitalism (Gereffi and Korzeniewicz, 1994).
Whereas Marx’s conception of the commodity form stresses both its negative dimen-
sions (the extension of private property in the common wealth) and its positive aspects (the
fact that commodity production massively expands the social output of material goods), 47
some of his later followers, such as Georg Lukács, Theodor Adorno, or Herbert Marcuse,
think of it as a general process of loss and human impoverishment. Something of Marx’s
ambivalence might be retained if we were to adopt the insight developed more recently by
anthropologists such as Arjun Appadurai (1986) that things are never only commodities
but rather move in and out of the commodity state over their lifetime, becoming constantly
embedded and re-embedded in non-economic value systems.

John Frow

See: CAPITALISM, CELEBRITY, CONSUMPTION, FETISH.

Communication
Communication has a number of senses. The oldest is perhaps the action of imparting
‘‘things material,’’ which dates back to the C14. While this sense has become rare, it was
extended in the C17 to the broader notion of ‘‘access or means of access between two or
more persons or places; the action or faculty of passing from one place to another’’ or of
‘‘a line of connexion, connecting passage or opening.’’ It is here that we can see the long
and close relationship of communication to what we would today call transportation.
In the C15, ‘‘communication’’ was extended to the facts or information that were
imparted, what we might today call the content of communication. The most common
 Communication

modern sense of ‘‘communication,’’ which refers to the activity of imparting, or transmit-

ting messages containing, information, ideas, or knowledge, dates back to the lC17. As
early as the C15, a second sense stressed not so much the transmission of messages, or
their content, but rather the activity of dialogue, interaction, and intercourse – as in the
idea of conversation or interpersonal communication (and even of sexual intercourse by
the C18).
As early as the C17, communication also had another, more participatory sense. Here it
referred to a common participation or a shared quality or affinity, as in the Christian
communion. This is strongly present in the contemporary American English usage, where
a speaker may preface their remarks by saying that they wish to ‘‘share something’’ with
their hearer or audience. A further sense focuses on the idea of communication as,
potentially, a process of ‘‘making common to many’’ a particular set of ideas or experi-
ences. This sense has some part of its roots in the religious idea of ‘‘communion’’ as a
participatory process. Here we also begin to see some of the links between ideas of
communication and ideas of community, which I will explore below.
There is another important sense of the word which focuses on the technical medium
through which communication is conducted. This usage may refer either to the media of
symbolic communication (language, signs, images – and the technologies by means of
which they are often transmitted) or to the means of physical communication (roads,
48 canals, railways, ships, airplanes). The historical changes in the relation of modes of
symbolic communication to modes of physical transport are a key issue here. The moment
when symbolic communications became distinct from modes of transport is perhaps best
symbolized by the invention of the telegraph, with its capacity to send electronic messages,
immediately, over long distances. This development marks a crucial historical shift in the
role and function of these two distinct senses of ‘‘communication.’’ This sense of historical
transformation is paralleled historically both by the debates which surrounded the rise of
the mass media of the lC19 and eC20, and by contemporary debates about the significance
of the ‘‘new media’’ of the digital/computer age, which are now held to be transforming
human communication in fundamental ways.
The study of communication in the lC20 was to a large extent informed by a rather
restricted sense of the term, which focused on the factors determining the efficient trans-
mission of information from sender to receiver. Early models of mass communication were
concerned with how best to achieve the unimpeded transmission of messages between
sender and receiver. This approach limited the definition of communication to the purposive
transmission of explicit units of information, and conceived of the process in rather
mechanistic terms. In the field of interpersonal communication, the limits of this model
were perceived by many working in the field of social psychology, who argued for a broader
definition, which would also include non-intentional forms of communication (including
factors such as what came to be called body language). Their critique was based on the
premise that in fact it is impossible (as a matter of principle) not to communicate, whether
 Communication

or not the person concerned consciously wishes to do so (the minimal communication would
be that they were feeling non-communicative).
In the broader field of communications and cultural studies, this conventional model
also came in for significant criticism and development, under the influence of semiology,
with its focus on the linguistic and cultural ‘‘codes’’ underlying all acts of communication,
and its guiding principle that there can be ‘‘no message without a code.’’ The ‘‘encoding/
decoding’’ model of communication has been particularly influential in this respect. That
model, developed by Stuart Hall (1981), was also influential in shifting attention beyond
the merely denotative (or ‘‘manifest’’) level of information which might be conveyed in a
message, to the levels of connotative (implied, associative, or ‘‘latent’’) meaning which are
routinely carried ‘‘on the back of’’ the seemingly simple units of explicit information which
a message might convey. This approach drew on the structuralist model of linguistics to
argue that a broad range of cultural codes (in imagery, dress, fashion, and style) could also
usefully be studied on the model of language.
Previous models had tended to treat ‘‘successful communication’’ as the normal state of
affairs, and had only been concerned with ‘‘misunderstandings’’ as exceptional disruptions
in the flow of communications, which needed to be ‘‘ironed out.’’ However, the semiological
perspective encouraged the questioning of this assumption of the transparency of
‘‘normal’’ communications. Given that the existence of social and cultural divisions in
most societies means that the senders and receivers of messages are unlikely to entirely 49
share communicative codes, this new approach treated the variable interpretation of
messages as both ‘‘normal’’ and the key research issue to be addressed
Here the issue of power in the fields of communication and culture also came into focus
more clearly. This issue had been earlier highlighted by the shift of attention from interper-
sonal (two-way/dialogic) modes of communication to mass forms of one-way transmission
of messages, from the elite groups who controlled the media to large audiences of receivers.
The key question here was the manipulative power of mass media discourses (such as
political propaganda or commercial advertising) to shape public opinion. The discussion
of mass communications thus came to be defined as the study of who says what, in which
channel, to whom, with what effect. Clearly this approach is informed by an evaluative
perspective which poses two-way dialogue as the egalitarian form of what Jürgen Habermas
(1970) calls the ‘‘ideal speech situation,’’ and is correspondingly concerned with the extent
to which mass forms of communication pervert this norm. Evidently, contemporary forms of
interactive media, which are held to re-empower the audience, and thus to restore a more
democratic mode of dialogue between the senders and receivers of messages, are important
here. The issue at stake then concerns the extent to which, for example, television programs
which encourage their viewers to ring in and vote on potential plot developments constitute
genuine forms of democratic dialogue, or merely its simulation.
However, this focus on the question of who has power over the transmission of informa-
tion, and how adequately the system allows feedback, is only one dimension of the issue of
 Communication

communication. In relation to the participatory sense of ‘‘communication,’’ it is important

to note the connection between the terms ‘‘communication’’ and ‘‘community,’’ and the
role of the former in the very constitution of the latter. Here we also return to the
connection with ideas of communion. The key point here is to recognize that a community
is not an entity that exists and then happens to communicate. Rather, communities are best
understood as constituted in and through their changing patterns of communication.
Indeed, today, as new technologies enable cheap and immediate forms of long-distance
communication, the nuclear family is often strung out along the phone wires, and
community is no longer necessarily founded on geographical contiguity. This approach
also highlights Roman Jakobson’s (1972) idea of the importance of the phatic dimension
of communication in ‘‘keeping channels open’’ and connecting people together, rather than
in the transmission of information. More fundamentally, to take this perspective is also to
grant communications a primary – and constitutive – role in social affairs, rather than to
see it as some merely secondary or subsidiary phenomenon
From another perspective, many have argued that the communications industries
themselves are increasingly central to our postmodern or late modern era. In so far as
the defining characteristic of this era is held to be the compression of time and space,
and the ‘‘transcendence’’ of geography enabled by the new communications technolo-
gies, these industries are central to that transformation. They are also increasingly central
50 to the economies of the advanced societies of the world, which are now primarily based on
the production and transfer of knowledge and information, rather than the manufacture of
material goods. It is not for nothing that communication skills are now an increasingly
important qualification for employment in these societies, and the absence of the relevant
forms of verbal, literacy, or computer skills is enough to consign many of their poorer
members to a position of social exclusion.
One could say that ours is an era which is now obsessed with the idea (or perhaps even
the ideology) of communication. Telecommunication’s advertising campaigns tell us that it
is ‘‘good to talk’’; ‘‘talk shows’’ featuring ‘‘ordinary people’’ dominate the world of
daytime television; and mobile phone companies reassure us that we can ‘‘take our
network with us, wherever we go,’’ so as never to be ‘‘out of touch’’ with our families
and friends. In all of this it is crucial to distinguish between technical improvements in the
speed or efficiency of the means of communication and the growth of understanding in
human affairs.

David Morley

See: COMMUNITY, INFORMATION, MASS, MEDIA.

 Who Needs Folklore?
The Relevance of Oral Traditions to South Asian Studies*
by
A.K. Ramanujan

In the last few years I’ve been writing a series of interlocking papers on the subject of Indian folklore using
Kannada and Tamil examples from my field notes. Now I will touch on a number of issues I’ve touched on before, refine
them further, relate them to other issues, and generally bring them into a unified perspective. My theme is not folklore
in general but Indian folklore within the context of Indian studies. I wish also to do several things: (1) give a state-of-
the-art report on the field of Indian folklore; (2) clarify some notions and add some; and (3) generally ask and answer
questions about what the study of folklore, as a subject matter and as a discipline, would do to some of the notions of
humanists and social scientists about Indian civilisation.
When some years ago I first approached this subject—the place of folklore in the study of Indian civilization—I
heard a little skeptical voice from my past say “Folklore? Who needs folklore? Old-wives’ tales and peasant superstitions,
who needs them?” As you know, the past never quite passes. We may hear that voice again. Here, I’m going to take that
question literally and answer it.

Why Folklore?
For starters I for one need folklore
as an Indian studying India. It
pervades my childhood, my family, my
community. It is the symbolic
*This is the text of the first Rama Watamull
Lecture on India delivered at the Univer-
sity of Hawaii in March 1988. The author
is a professor in the Department of South
Asian Languages and Civilizations at the
University of Chicago
language of the nonliterate parts of
me and my culture. Even in a large
modern city like Bombay or Madras,
even in Western-style nuclear families
with their 2.2 children, folklore is only
a suburb away, a cousin or a
grandmother away. One of the best
folk plays I’ve seen was performed in
the back streets of Madras city by
teruk-kuttu troupes. When a friend
of mine in Bangalore, the capital city
of Karnataka state, said to me, “How
can you collect folklore in a big city?”
I asked him to try an experiment. He
was a professor of Kannada, and he
had a composition class that
afternoon at his college. I asked him
to set a composition exercise to his
class of urban students. Each of them
should write down a folktale they had
heard and never read. That evening,
my friend sought me out excitedly to

2 MANUSHI
 show me a sheaf of 40 tales his
students had written down for him in
class from memory.
I shall not speak here of Indian
urban folklore, for wherever people
live folklore grows—new jokes,
proverbs (like the new campus
proverb, “to xerox is to know”), tales,
and songs circulate in the oral
tradition. Similar to chain letters,
Murphy’s Law, and graffiti, folklore
may also circulate on paper or on
latrine walls (Dundes and Pagter
1978). You don’t have to go to Pompeii
to see graffiti. Verbal folklore, in the
sense of a largely oral tradition with
specific genres (such as proverb,
riddle, lullaby, tale, ballad, prose
narrative, verse, or a mixture of both,
and so on), nonverbal materials (such
as dances, games, floor or wall
designs, objects of all sorts from toys
to outdoor giant clay horses), and
composite performing arts (which
may include several of the former as
in street magic and theatre)—all
weave in and out of every aspect of
living in city, village, and small town.
What we separate as art, economics,
and religion is molded and expressed
here. Aesthetics, ethos, and worldview
are shaped in childhood and
throughout one’s early life by these
verbal and non-verbal environments.
In a largely nonliterate culture,
everyone—poor, rich, high caste and
low caste, professor, pundit, or
ignoramus—has inside him or her a
large nonliterate subcontinent.
In a South Indian folktale, also told
elsewhere, one dark night an old
woman was searching intently for
something in the street. A passerby
asked her, “Have you lost
something?”
She said, “Yes, I’ve lost some
keys. I’ve been looking for them all
evening.”
“Where did you lose them?” “I
don’t know. Maybe inside the house.”
“Then, why are you looking for
them here?’
No.69
Deepalakshmi, Madurai, Crafts
Museum Delhi (From Aditi)
“Because it’s dark in there. I don’t
have oil in my lamps. I can see much
better here under the street lights,”
she said.
Until recently many studies of
Indian civilisation have been done on
that principle: look for it under the light,
in Sanskrit, in literary texts, in what
we think are the well-lit public spaces
of the culture, in things we already
know. There we have, of course,
found precious things. Without
carrying the parable too far one may
say we are now moving inward, trying
to bring lamps into the dark rooms of
the house to look for our keys. As
often happens, we may not find the
keys and may have to make new ones,
but we will find all sorts of things we
never knew we had lost, or ever even
had.
Regional Languages
Four centuries ago, just a century
after Vasco da Gama landed on the
west coast of India, just decades after
Gutenberg had printed his first Bible
in Europe, Christian evangelists had
begun to study our mother tongues,
compile dictionaries, make grammars,
and even print them in India. Yet, until
recently, Sanskrit almost exclusively
represented India to most people in
the West.
In America, it was only about 25
years ago that universities began to
study Indian regional languages. At
least three or four major languages,
such as Tamil, Hindi, and Bengali,
began to appear in course listings.
Both linguists and anthropologists
went to these language regions,
studied the languages in the field, and
wrote about the texts and the cultures.
These languages are only a minute
fraction of those spoken in the
subcontinent. In the 1971 census
more than 3,000 mother tongues were
recorded with the names of the speech
varieties that the speakers said they
spoke. Linguists have classified and
subsumed these speech varieties, or
dialects, under 105 languages or so
which belong to four language
families. Of these 105 languages 90
are spoken by less than 5 percent of
the entire population; 65 belong to
small tribes. Including Sanskrit, 15 of
the languages are written, read, and
spoken by about 95 percent of the
people. We, in universities outside
India, have just begun to study a few
of these 15 languages.
The literatures of these 15, some
of which have long histories, are just
beginning to be taught and translated.
Literature in a language like Tamil goes
back 2,000 years, and in several others,
3
 like Bengali and Gujarati, at least 800 anonymous “unreflective many.” 1933) re-sponding to one another,
years. In addition to these literatures Redfield himself and Milton Singer engaged in continuous and dynamic
there are oral traditions, riddles, later modified these notions and dialogic relations. Past and present,
proverbs, songs, ballads, tales, epics, others have been critical of them. what’s “pan-Indian” and what’s local,
and so on, in each of the 3,000-odd They were seminal at one time, what’s shared and what’s unique in
mother tongues that we have especially because they urged regions, communities, and
classified under the 105 languages. It anthropologists not to ignore the individuals, the written and the oral—
is true, as they say, a language is a “texts” of a culture in favor of all are engaged in a dialogic reworking
dialect that has acquired an army, but “fieldwork.” and redefining of relevant others.
all these myriad dialects carry oral Cultural Performances as Texts then are also contexts and
literature, which is what I call folklore. Texts pretexts for other texts (Ramanujan
One way of defining verbal folklore Now we need a new emphasis, a 1989). In our studies now we are
for India is to say it is the literature of larger view regarding texts beginning to recognise and place folk
the dialects, those mother tongues of themselves, as text theory in literary texts in this everpresent network of
the village, street, kitchen, tribal hut, criticism and philosophic analysis intertextuality. For folk texts are
and wayside tea shop. This is the urge us to do. Written and hallowed pervasive, behind, under, around all
wide base of the Indian pyramid on texts are not the only kinds of texts in the texts of our society, and in all its
which all other Indian literatures rest. a culture like the Indian. Oral strata, not merely among the rural and
We have valued and attended traditions of every kind produce texts. the illiterate, the “unreflective many.”
only to the top of the pyramid. Robert “Cultural performances” (Singer City and village, factory and kitchen,
Redfield, the Chicago anthropologist 1972:47) of every sort, whether they Hindu, Buddhist, and Jaina,
who influenced Indian anthropology are written or oral acts of composition, Christian,and Muslim, king, priest,
in the 1950s and 1960s, said, “In a whether they are plays or weddings, and clown, the crumbling almanac and
civilization, there is a great tradition rituals or games, contain texts. Every the runaway computer—all are
of the reflective few and there is a little cultural performance not only creates permeated by oral traditions, tales,
tradition of the largely unreflective and carries texts, it is a text. jokes, beliefs, and rules of thumb not
many” (Redfield 1960:41). That is a When we look at texts this way yet found in books. I shall say more
famous formulation that deserves to we can modify terms such as great later about the dialogic relations
be infamous. Traditionally Indians and little traditions and see all these between folklore and other parts of
also make a distinction between performances as a transitive series, a this Indian cultural continuum.
marga “the high road” and desi, “the “scale of forms” (a phrase in a Interactive Pan-Indian
byway, the country road” in their different context, from Collingwood Systems
discussion of the arts. In the view being
The “Great developed here, even
Tradition,” with what’s called the Great
capitals and in the Tradition is not
singular, said to be singular but plural—it
carried by Sanskrit, is is a set of interactive
pan-Indian, pan-Indian systems,
prestigious, ancient, Brahminism,
authorised by texts, Buddhism, Jainism,
cultivated and carried with tantra and bhakti
by what Redfield interacting variously
calls “the reflective with these. To be
few.” The “Little comprehensive we
Tradition,” or should add Islam,
traditions in the plural, Christianity, et cetera,
are local, mostly oral, and modernity itself as
and carried by the the other active
illiterate (the liberal systems that
would call them participate in this give-
nonliterate) and the Juggleer with monkey, Jammu, 1750 A.D. (From Aditi) and-take. (For a fuller

4 MANUSHI
 development of this idea, see
Ramanujan 1989.)
Let’s examine briefly the idea that
some traditions are pan-Indian and
some not. Sanskrit and Prakrit, though
they have a pan-Indian distribution,
still originate in particular regions;
Sanskrit itself, though translocal and
apparently a-geographic, has varieties
of pronunciation that can be identified
as Bengali, Malayali, or Banarasi (Staal
1961). Nor are the so-called “Little
Traditions,” especially folk traditions,
necessarily or usually confined to
small localities or dialectal
communities. Proverbs, riddles, and
stories, and tunes, motifs, and genres
of songs and dances are not confined
to a region, even though they may be
embodied in the nonliterate dialects
and may seem to be enclosed in those
mythic entities called self-sufficient
village communities. It is well known
that folklore items, like many other
sorts of items in cultural exchange, are
autotelic, that is, they travel by
themselves without any actual
Ritual Dance, Mesolithic rock painting, Madhya Pradesh. (From Indian Folk Art by Heinz Mode
No.69
movement of populations. A proverb,
a riddle, a joke, a story, a remedy, or a
recipe travels every time it is told. It
crosses linguistic boundaries any
time a bilingual tells it or hears it.
Neighboring languages and
regions have, therefore, a large stock
of shared folk materials. Collections,
for instance, have been made of the
proverbs shared by the four Dravidian
languages. Similar ones can be made
for other genres and for other
neighboring language areas, and
indeed for the whole subcontinent. A
proverb such as “It’s dark under the
lamp” (dipada kelage kattale, in
Kannada) has been collected in
Kannada and in Kashmiri, at two ends
of the Indian subcontinent. The
sentence is the same in each place,
but it means different things. The
reference is the same, but the sense is
different. In Kannada it means that a
virtuous man, like a lighted lamp, may
have dark hidden vices. In Kasmniri,
I’m told, “It’s dark under the lamp”
has a political sense— that a good-
natured king may have evil
counselors. This is, of course,
characteristic of cultural forms. The
signifiers, of which even the so-called
structures and archetypes are
instances, may be the same in different
periods and regions, but the
signification may go on changing. You
cannot predict the one from the other.
For the meaning of a sign is culturally
and contextually assigned. A sign
requires an assignment.
Not only do folklore items—
arising and current in apparently
narrow incommunicable corners and
very localised dialects—travel within
the country or culture area, they are
also part of an international network.
Archer Taylor’s English Riddles
(1951) gives us current English riddles
and their centuries-old written
variants, as well as variants from
Africa, India, and the New World. One
can collect today, as I know from
experience, oral tales from illiterate
women in Kannada villages that are
similar, motif for motif, to the tales of
5
 the Greek Oedi-pus or to
Shakespeare’s King Lear or All’s Well
That Ends Well.
Here we begin to glimpse a
paradox: where the so-called pan-
Indian Hindu mythologies of Visnu or
Siva, or the great classics like the
Mahabharata and the Ramayana are
unique to India, folklore items such
as proverbs and tales participate in
an international network of motifs,
genres, types, and structures—using
them all, of course, to say something
particular, local, and unique. One
arrives at the paradox that the classics
of a culture, like the well-wrought
epics or plays and poetry, are culture-
bound forms, but large portions of the
so-called little traditions are not. The
latter mold and express the values and
concerns of the culture nonetheless.
Their forms, their signifiers, however,
are not ethnocentered.
One has to resort to subterfuge
and theoretical acrobatics to compare
the Sanskrit Mahabharata and the
Greek Iliad or invoke ancient Indo-
European structures (such as the
tripartite division of priest, warrior, and
service classes) as Dumezil (1968)
does. But the comparison of
Cinderella tales from China to Peru
begins with transparent structural
resemblances and may end with
significant contrast between one
culture’s assignment of meanings and
another’s (Ramanujan 1983).
Unfortunately, comparativists have
not paid attention to Indian folklore
and folklorists have usually stopped
at identifying types, rarely going
further to ask questions of cultural
significance. Detailed comparative
studies of particular proverbs, tales,
and so on, for which there are well-
attested comparative materials, are
called for and would greatly enhance
our understanding of what is
specifically Indian, or Tamil, or
Bengali. Because some of these tales,
for example, can be identified in
6 MANUSHI
European languages, Classical
Sanskrit, and in our mother tongues,
we can arrive at a most useful three-
way comparison between what is
Indian and what is Western; and
within India, between what is
Sanskritic and what is characteristic
of a regional culture and a mother
tongue—and of course the dialogues
and exchanges among these. Such
triangulations, if replicated for several
tales, would give us a body of unique
comparative data and analyses.
Written and Oral Media
Folklore also raises and makes us
face other central questions; for
instance, questions regarding the
differences and relations between
written and spoken media in Indian
oral culture.
The relations between oral and
written traditions in any culture are
not simple oppositions. They
interpenetrate each other and
combine in various ways. Each of us
produces more oral materials in our
lives than written. We begin our lives
in an oral universe, learn our mother
tongues orally first and imbibe our
culture through it. As adults, on any
day or occasion, we say much more
than we write. Talk surrounds us and
we talk to ourselves, not only to
others, not always even silently, and
often we do not even stop when we
fall asleep. Our dreams are filled with
speech. Yet writing is more permanent;
it takes us out of a face-to-face
communication and can reach people
far away and centuries later, in ages
unborn and accents yet unknown, as
Shakespeare would say. In Sanskrit, a
written letter is called aksara
“imperishable.” In India, literacy has
always been restricted and today in
many states is less than 30 percent.
Written traditions live surrounded by
oral ones and are even carried by oral
means. As in many other languages,
in Kannada the word for writing
(bare) is the same as that for drawing;
and until recently to read meant to
read aloud. I’ve heard of a grand-uncle
who would say he couldn’t read a
novel because he had a sore throat.
So too, to write meant to write down.
Writing was an aide memoir, a
mnemonic device, for materials to be
rendered oral again. Speech lies
dormant in writing until it is awakened
again by one’s own or another’s voice,
like these words on this page as you
or I read them.
Sometimes it is thought that the
so-called classical texts are fixed and
the so-called folk texts are constantly
changing. Similarly, writing is thought
to be fixed and speech constantly
changing. One often identifies the
“classical” with the written and the
“folk” with the oral. But, for India, we
should distinguish between three sets
of independent oppositions. We may
then proceed to examine, complicate,
and dissolve them. The three are
classical vs. folk, written vs. spoken,
fixed vs. free or fluid. The classical,
the written, and the fixed do not
necessarily belong together. A text like
the Vedas is fixed but was not written
down until a thousand years after its
composition. The Vedas were esoteric
and credited with magical properties
that would devastate anyone who
misprounced them. They were
transmitted orally but rigorously in
elaborate teaching systems from guru
to disciple. Pundits and Vedic experts
had what Narayana Rao calls “oral
literacy”; they used an almost entirely
oral medium, but were learned in
grammar, syntax, logic, and poetics.
Their literacy was, as it were, imbued
in their bodies. We speak of a learned
man having all his texts in his throat,
kanthastha; when one is ignorant,
one is called “a fellow who has no
letters in his belly” or a
niraksarakuksi.
Although such oral literacy
produced texts that were carefully
preserved verbatim, allowing little
 change, a text like an epic story in the from phonology to syntax, we become The text of a song may be only a few
written tradition of the Ramayana freer and freer in combinatory lines long, but when sung may take
seems to allow endless variations. possibilities. Still, some things are not an hour, and usually does. On the
Hundreds of versions exist, written, subject to variation and not open to other hand, orally transmitted texts
sung, danced, and sculpted in South innovation. Not even Shakespeare or have fixed components, formulae,
and Southeast Asian languages. Kalidasa, acknowledged masters and refrains, obligatory descriptive
Though I would insist that each of not servants of their languages, can passages, and traditionally defined
these many tellings should be treated make a new pronoun or add a tense to motifs and narrative structures.
as a separate (often fixed) text, it is the language. When writers like Joyce Different genres have different
still remarkable that the orally try to take such liberties, they achieve proportions of these; for example, a
transmitted Vedas should be such specialised effects that they proverb is an entirely fixed-phrase
remarkably fixed and the written require glossaries and notes, and form within a speech community. One
Ramayanas should take such liberties explication quickly becomes cult and can play on its fixity to produce new
with the story and should be almost a cottage industry. effects as wits like Oscar Wilde did:
as fluid as an oral folktale. The In discourse too different genres “Nothing succeeds like excess,” or my
contrast will become clear when we allow different degrees of fixity and favorite, “All’s well that ends.” In a
compare the great Indian epics with freedom. Where the written form is joke, everything may be free, but the
the great Western texts. Imagine a only a mnemonic, a score to be punchline may be fixed—to garble it
Shakespeare play or Homer’s Odyssey performed orally, it is used freely for would be to muff the joke. A folksong
having as many widely differing improvisation. The texts of a would have practically every word
versions in different ages and Yakshagana performance or a fixed, except performance elements
languages. We cannot jump from this Kathakali performance are hardly a like the number of repetitions, or the
to the paradox that in India the oral is few pages long, but an actual way a phrase is broken to accord with
invariably fixed and the written is what performance may take a whole night. the musical phrase. A folktale told by
is fluid. The fixed and the fluid, or a grand-mother in the kitchen may
what should be called fixed- have nothing at all fixed in the
phrase and free-phrase forms, phrasing, only the design of the
exist in both written and spoken story and the sequence of motifs.
texts. Yet it may have fixed phrases, like
Language, like other “Open Sesame” in the story of Ali
communication systems, depends Baba— a phrase that his brother
on both fixed or invariant forms treats as a free phrase, with
and free or variant ones. Without disastrous results. The Vedas are
the one the system would not be an extreme case of a 4,000-hymn
stable; without the other it would cycle fixed in oral transmission, as
not be capable of change, if it were inscribed (as secret codes
adaptation, creativity. Our are in spy stories) in the
ordinary language is full of fixed transmitter’s memory.
forms, not only in terms of Furthermore, oral and written
underlying structures at every forms in a culture often wish to be
level, but even in lexical like each other, like the two sexes,
combinations. To give just one male and female, each envying
example, idioms like “he kicked the what the other has. Yet each
bucket” cannot be changed for defines and marries the other. In
tense, article, or number. Any the oral forms, in folklore, many
variation such as “he is kicking devices such as refrains, formulae,
the bucket; he is kicking a bucket; and memory training exist to give
they are kicking buckets; he has the relative permanence of
been kicking the bucket for a week writing. From time to time, in
now” would all be ungrammatical, writing traditions, writers wish to
mean other things, and be seen Yellamma-Gangamma, Andhra Pradesh, 20th return to the freshness of speech
as funny. In language, as we move Century, Rajeev Sethi Collection. (From Aditi) and imitate it, as in modern Indian

No.69 7
 (and other) poetry. Flaubert, master
of the written word who waited for
days for the mot juste is the exemplar
of the opposite end of the oral arts,
where to hesitate is to be lost. Yet it
was Flaubert who said that style
should be adjusted to the rhythms of
respiration.
In all cultures, and especially in
the Indian, the oral and the written
are deeply intermeshed in another
way. If we distinguish composition
and transmission, as Ruth Finnegan
(1977) reminds us we should, we find
that in the history of a text, oral and
written means may alternate. A work
may be composed orally but
transmitted in writing, as Vyasa said
he did with Ganesa as his scribe. Or it
may be composed in writing, as
Kumaravyasa (Vyasa junior) said he
did in Kannada, but the text kept alive
by gamakis or reciters who know it
by heart and chant it aloud. There are
of course texts, such as proverbs and
tales, that are usually composed orally
and orally transmitted, many of which
never get written down. And texts, like
newspapers—written, printed, and
silently scanned or read—may never
go through an oral phase. Thus, over
a long history, a story may go through
many phases. An oral story gets
written up or written down in the
Jatakas or the Pancatantra. Then (as
W. Norman Brown tried to show in a
famous paper) the written text may
reach other audiences who pick up
the story and retell it orally, maybe in
other languages, and then it gets
written down somewhere else,
perhaps starting another cycle of
transmissions. That’s one kind of
cycle; another may be entirely oral and
may run parallel to the oral-written
complex. Many of the differences in
our classical texts like the
Mahabharata recensions, may be
due to the way the texts do not simply
go from one written form to another
but get reworked through oral cycles
that surround the written word.
8 MANUSHI
Western critical methods, based
entirely on an examination and
reconstruction of written texts, made
the Critical Editions of Indian texts
possible. But they may not be suitable
for a reconstruction of the
Mahabharata at all. For methods of
Western textual criticism aim at
making tree-diagrams, relating one
written version to another,
demonstrating that one came directly
from another, reaching back to a single
Ur-text. Texts like the Mahabharata
may not have a reconstructable Ur-
text at all, enmeshed as they were in
oral traditions at various stages of
their composition and transmission.
In a folktale told about Aristotle
in Europe and about a philosopher in
India, the philosopher meets a village
carpenter who has a beautiful old
knife, and asks him, “How long have
you had this knife?” The carpenter
answers, “Oh, this knife has been in
our family for generations. We have
changed the handle a few times and
the blade a few times, but it is the
same knife.” Similarly, the structure of
relations may remain constant, while
all the cultural details change, as in a
folktale that goes on changing from
teller to teller. Any fixity, any
reconstructed archetype, is a fiction,
a label, a convenience.
Oral Traditions: The
Difference They Make
Thus anyone concerned with
written texts has to reckon with the
oral materials that surround it. This
contrasts strikingly with modern
America, where the end of any formal
oral communication is a written text.
You speak in Congress so that your
speech may be read into the
Congressional Record; everything
anybody says in a court is typed up;
and at the end of what’s supposed to
be spontaneous conversation on a TV
talk show you get the message, “Send
three dollars and you can get the
transcript of this show.” And finally
the most popular TV game show,
“Wheel of Fortune,” has to do with
spelling words and phrases. Every
letter is cashed into dollars, every
phrase into furniture and a trip to
Hawaii. In a culture like the Indian,
however, and certainly in villages and
certain communities to this day,
writing lives within the context of oral
traditions. Even newspapers are read
aloud. If you have been near any
primary school in a small town or even
in Madras, you would hear the pupils
a mile away, for the classes recite their
lessons in a loud chorus. Not only
the alphabet and the multiplication
tables, but every major religious or
literary text like the Ramayana is
memorised and chanted aloud. As
Philip Lutgendorf {1987) has shown,
in a Chicago doctoral dissertation,
Tulsidas’ Ramacaritamanasa is the
focus of cults, festivals, formal and
informal recitations, tableaus, and oral
forays into interpretations of the most
wide-ranging and ingenious kinds.
The author and the text themselves
are the subject of innumerable tales.
Every text like that creates a textual
community held together by oral
traditions as well as written ones.
Scholars are just now realising that
this interweaving of the oral and
written is true of the Quran and the
Bible as well (Graham 1987). But the
Indian examples have needed no
pointing out, except of course to
scholars like ourselves. As a proverb
in Kannada says, “Why do we need a
mirror to see a blister on our hands?”
Yet, we seem to, for we believe in the
mirror of writing, or even better, the
mirror of print.
Oral traditions thus enlarge the
range and they complicate and
balance the texts we know. Yet we
ignore the oral. Take mythology for
instance. At present, in all our
anthologies of Hindu mythology there
is not one folk myth. Every text is from
the Sanskrit, though myths occur in
Tamil and Bengali and every other
language. They even occur in scores
 of written texts like the sthalapuranas,
which David Shulman has studied
(1980), or the mangal-akavyas which
Edward Dimock (1988) has written
about. In the oral tradition, that
literature without letters (eluta eluttu),
there are hundreds more. As Alf
Hiltebeital’s work on Draupati
eloquently demonstrates (1988), they
complement the Sanskritic myths and
epics in important ways. Oral
traditions give us alternative
conceptions of deities that balance
and complete, and therefore illuminate
the textual conceptions. For instance,
the goddesses of pan-Indian
mythologies, like Lakshmi and
Saraswati, rise out of the sea churned
by the gods and the antigods; Parvati
is the daughter of the King of
Mountains. They are consort The Goddess riding the tiger. A wall drawing, Orissa, 20th Century (From
The Earthen Drum)
goddesses; their shrines are
subordinate to those of their spouses,

Maithili painting depicts Shiva being fanned by Parvati. (From Aditi, The Living Arts of India)

No.69 9
 Visnu or Siva. Their images are (encyclopedias of Hindu myths) and are ambivalent, they afflict and heal
carefully sculpted to the fingertips. myths based on them, Kali is created (Brubaker 1978).
They are usually saumya or mild and by the gods pooling their weapons Such a conception of divinity is
docile. They preside over the normal and powers and let loose on the not confined only to female deities.
auspicious cycles of life, especially Buffalo Demon whom the male deities Consider the village gods, such as
marriages, prosperity, and such. cannot destroy. The emphases, Muttuppattan. He is a Brahmin who
But look at the village goddesses details, and major themes of the village falls in love with a cobbler chieftain’s
and see how different they are. Their mythologies are quite different. The daughters, marries them, skins and
myths tell us of ordinary human village Mariyamman goddesses arise tans cowhides, eats cow’s flesh, dies
women who were cheated into out of human deception and tragedy. in battle defending his village against
marrying untouchables, or raped by a If the Breast Goddesses are consorts robbers, and becomes a god to whom
local villain, or killed and buried by to their male spouses, the Tooth his community of cobblers makes
cruel brothers. Out of such Goddess is often a virgin and, if offerings (kodai) of gigantic leather
desecrations they rise in fury, grow in married, she tears her villainous male sandals. It is one of the most moving
stature to become figures that span consort to pieces. He is later long poems of South India. Until
heaven and earth, with powers of symbolically offered as a buffalo or recently no record or translation of
destruction that terrify the village into goat sacrifice to her images. The this tragic story was available. Now
submission, sacrifice, and worship. consort goddesses are auspicious, Stuart Blackburn has made an
Theirs are not myths of descent or consecrated. The village goddesses effective translation of it (1988).
avatara, but of ascent from the
human into divine forms. They
become boundary goddesses of the
village, give it their name, or take their
names from the village. While the
Sanskritic Breast Goddesses (as I call
them because they give us their
breasts) receive vegetarian offerings
of fruit and flowers, these village
goddesses require animal sacrifices
and a sprinkle of blood on their
devotees. The Tooth Goddesses
represent the other side of the mother
(as stepmothers do, in folktales), who
punish, afflict people with plague and
pox, and when propitiated heal the
afflicted. They are goddesses of the
disrupted lifecycle, deities of crisis;
they preside over famine, plague,
death, and madness. Their images are
often pots and pans, faceless stones,
sometimes only a severed head. They
dwell outside the village boundaries
and are brought in only for special
worship, often in times of crisis.
Without them, life is not complete, nor
is the Hindu view of the divine.
The goddess Kali, as the Sanskrit
texts present her, is a Sanskritised
version of hundreds of village
goddesses all over the country and
certainly partakes of their fierce Kali, wall painting by village women. Madhubani, Bihar. (From The
aspects. Yet, in the Sanskrit puranas Earthen Drum)

10 MANUSHI
 I use the word tragic advisedly. It this time Rama cannot handle it. It is three days before everything else. She
is customary to speak of Indian Sita who goes to war and demolishes grows up very quickly, attains
literature as having no genre of the impossible demon (Shulman puberty, and wants a man to satisfy
tragedy. In the Sanskritic tradition (by 1986). her. Finding no one around, she
which I mean both works in Sanskrit In the Upanishadic creation myth, creates out of herself Brahma, the
and Sanskritised works in our regional the Primordial Person or Purusa is eldest of the gods, and asks him to
languages), it is true there are no alone, needs a companion, and splits grow up quickly and sleep with her.
tragedies in the Greek or into male and female, for he is But as he grows up and she urges
Shakespearean sense, though some originally the same size as a man and him on, Brahma says, “You are my
plays of Bhasa may be an exception. a woman put together. Then the male mother. How can I sleep with you?”
It is significant, I think, that his plays pursues the female and unites with She gets angry, calls him a eunuch,
were unearthed in South India in areas her, creating mankind. She runs from and burns him down to a heap of ash
where dance dramas like Kathakali him, saying, “I was born out of you, I with the eye of fire in the palm of her
developed, dramas that do not flinch cannot unite with you,” and becomes hand. The next day, she creates Visnu,
from gory scenes, and where also the a cow he becomes a bull and unites who is very handsome. She can’t wait
more tragic aspects of the with her, creating cattle. Then she for him to grow up and satisfy her.
Mahabharata are fully enacted. Our becomes a she-goat, he a he-goat; But he too will not sleep with his
sense of our literature and its they unite and create goats. And so mother. So, in a rage, she burns him
possibilities would change if we on down to the ants. down to a heap of ash. On the third
included oral epics like the Tamil But see what happens in an oral day, she creates Siva, and urges him
villuppattus and the Tulu paddanas folk purana sung ceremonially on to grow up and become her lover. He
(e.g., Claus 1989) in our studies. Madeswara hill (Karnataka) every too has misgivings until she says,
(Fortunately, a book of essays on year by several bardic groups during “Look around and see what happened
Indian oral epics has just been the festival devoted to this hero/ to your brothers who refused me.” He
published: Blackburn et al. 1986; see saint/ god called Madeswara turns around and sees the two heaps
also Beck 1982; Roghair 1982). Oral (Ramanujan 1985). The purana begins of ash that were once his brothers.
epics embody a theory of emotion with a creation myth. He sizes up the situation and says to
different from that of rasa, explore The Primordial Goddess is born his mother, “All right, I’ll do as you
ranges in the emotional say. You want me to be your
spectrum like shame, terror, husband, don’t you? Don’t you
fury, and disgust that are not want your husband to be at least
usually explored in the Sanskrit equal to you? Don’t you want to
poems and plays. And how can teach him all your skills and give
we, mere mortals, do without him your powers?” The Mother
them? Goddess, Ammavaru, is
The oral traditions offer us delighted and says, “Of course,
also a different view of the I want you to have everything,”
female from the views found in and teaches him all her magic
the written texts. When the arts and bestows on him all her
Ramayana is sung by the powers. Then Siva, now grown
Tamburi Dasayyas of Mysore, up, says, “Let’s dance. You must
the center of attention is Sita, do whatever I do. Let’s see who
her birth, marriage, exile, is better.” They whirl around in a
sufferings, and final fantastic cosmic dance together,
disappearance into Mother each mirroring the other, until
Earth. In the Tamil story of suddenly, Siva puts his hand on
Mayili Ravanan, set in a time his head in a dance movement.
after Rama has defeated the His mother, following him, puts
ten-headed Ravana, a new her hand on her own head and
thousand-headed Ravana the eye of fire in her palm begins
arises to threaten the gods, and Primordial goddess, Anthropomorphic form, 2nd to burn her. As she burns, she
Millennium B.C. (From Aditi)

No.69 11
 curses Siva, “You, you refused a of looking at male/female power prays to Siva and receives from him
woman. May one half of your body relations very different from anything the boon that Siva, with all his goblin
become female, may you never get rid we know from the better-known attendants, should go with him to
of her!” That’s how Siva came to be written texts. Lanka. Siva gives him the boon, but
the lord whose one half is woman. I could go on to talk about doesn’t really wish to go. He tells
Then as his mother burned down and alternative views of the gods, karma, Ravana that he can carry him as a
became a heap of ash, the eye of fire and chastity, as well as why tales linga all the way, but that he should
that lived in her hand came to Siva themselves are told. Since I have not put it down anywhere until he
and said it had nowhere to go. So he talked about them elsewhere, I shall reaches Lanka. Ravana agrees. When
took it and slapped it on his forehead. content myself with giving you some he gets to Gokarna, he must answer
That’s how he got the third eye. short examples. The gods in the the call of nature. He cannot hold the
After his mother had gone up in puranas and the heroes in the epics sacred linga in his hands while he
flames, Siva looked around and found have bodies without bodily functions: takes a crap, can he? So he puts it
the two heaps of ash that were once they are not supposed to sweat, down, and the linga begins to grow
his brothers. With his newly learned urinate, defecate, or pass wind. They downwards and take root. Ravana
powers, he revived them. Now the do not blink their eyes nor do their hurries back and tries to twist it out of
three gods, Brahma, Visnu, and Siva, feet touch the ground. But in folk the earth, but he is not able to. That’s
said to each other, “There’s work to traditions, they have bodies, they are how Gokarna has a linga and they
do. We must create the worlds.” One embodied, localised, domesticated. In say that, if you dig under it, you’ll
of them said, “How can we create the place legend of Gokarna (which I find that it’s twisted. Aldous Huxley
without women?” Then Siva sees the heard from Girish Karnad), Ravana once complained that, even for a
third heap of ash that was once realistic novelist like Tolstoy, the
their mother, divides it into three heroines never go to the
smaller heaps, and gives them bathroom nor do they
life. Out of these portions of their menstruate. In the village oral
mother’s ash, come Lakshmi, traditions, they do. Gods like
Saraswati, and Parvati, the three Ganesa, heroes like Bhima,
consorts of the Hindu trinity, who demons like Ravana, or even
then marry them. Creation begins. poets like Vyasa cannot help
In the Sanskritic myth, the going to the bathroom, and
male gods create the goddess goddesses like Ganga and Gauri
and give her their powers. In the menstruate. As the bhakti poem
foregoing myth it is exactly in says:
reverse. She gives Siva his Bodied, one will hunger.
powers. In the Sanskritic myth it Bodied, one will lie.
is the father figures that lust after O you, don’ t you rib and taunt
the daughters. Here the female me/
too has her share of sexual desire, again for having a body:
made explicit. She is cheated out body Thyself for once like me
of her powers by the male god and/
who uses them to destroy her. see what happens,
Further more, her sons still end O Ramanatha!
up marrying portions of their Devara Dasimayya, tenth
mother—both Jung and Freud century, Kannada
would be interested in that. But (tr. by Ramanujan 1973:107)
the male gods marry her only Folklore that is in many ways
after fragmenting and close to bhakti traditions, gives
domesticating her into a nice tame to them and takes from them,
threesome—feminists would be sharing genres, motifs, and
interested in that. This is a way Shadow play puppet illustrating Sita, Andhra attitudes, and seems not only to
Pradesh, 19th Century. (Crafts Museum)

12 MANUSHI
 ask the gods to embody themselves,
but actually envisions them as having
bodies with all the needs and ills that
flesh is heir to.
When Rama and Laksmana come
as wandering exiles in the forest
toward a place (now in Hassan
district in Mysore), they haven’t had
a bath for days and are stinking. Rama
especially stinks to high heaven. In
the water of the stream near the
village, he washes himself clean, and
so the village is named
Ramanathapura. In Sanskrit, it would
mean, the place of Rama’s lord; in
Kannada, however, natha means
“stench, stink,” which makes
Ramanathapura mean “the place
where Rama stank.” Such bilingual
puns highlight the conceptual
difference between Sanskrit and the
mother tongue, and the way the latter
de-Sanskritises not only the word but
the god himself.
Folk renditions of the pan-Indian
epics and myths not only bring the
gods home, making the daily world
mythic, they also contemporise them.
In village enactments the Ramayana,
when Sita has to choose her
bridegroom, princes from all over the
universe appear as suitors. In a North
Indian folk version, an Englishman
with a pith helmet, a solar topee, and
a hunting rifle regularly appears as
one of the suitors of Sita. After all,
since the eighteenth century the
English have been a powerful
presence in India and ought to have
a place in any epic “bridegroom
choice” or svayamvara.
In a Karnataka performance, Rama
is exiled, and as he takes the little boat
on the river Sarayu to go to the jungle,
all of Ayodhya follows him in tears.
* I have said little about Indian oral tales,
though I end this paper with an example.
See Beck (1987) for a recent, wide selection
with anthropological notes, andNarayan
(1989) for a fresh contextual study of tales
in religious teaching.
No.69
He bids them farewell from his boat,
making a short speech: “O brothers
and sisters, please go home now. I take
leave of you now, but I’ll be back in
fourteen years.” Then he leaves, and
wanders through the forests. Sita is
abducted by Ravana, Rama gathers the
monkey army, kills Ravana, and returns
victorious with Sita. When he arrives
at the spot where he had bid his people
farewell fourteen years earlier, he sees
a group standing there, their hair
grown grey, their nails long and uncut,
their feet rooted to the banks of the
Sarayu. He asks them who they are.
They say, “O Rama, you forgot us
when you took leave. You bade
farewell only to the men and women,
calling them brothers and sisters. We
are the eunuchs of Ayodhya. We have
waited for you here all these fourteen
years.” Rama is very touched by their
devotion and, feeling guilty at his
negligence, gives them a boon: “O
eunuchs of Ayodhya, may you be
reborn in India again and rule the
country as the next Congress party!”
(Ramanujan 1986)
In the Kingdom of Foolishness*
In the Kingdom of foolishness,
both the king and the minister were
idiots. They didn’t want to run things
like other kings. So they decided to
change night into day and day into
night. They ordered everyone to be
awake at night, till their fields and run
their businesses only after dark; and
they should all go to bed as soon as
the sun came up. If anyone
disobeyed, he would be punished with
death. The people did as they were
* This tale reproduced here in translation
from my forthcoming book of Kannada
folktales, is also told in many other regions
and languages of India. The Stith Thomp-
son index of interna-tional tale types (1961)
identifies it as 1534 ‘ ‘An Innocent Man
Chosen to Fit the Stake”. This tale has so far
been recorded inKashmiri,Kannada, Tamil,
Marathi, Hindi, Garhwali, and so on.
I can go on forever, detailing what
happens to karma or chastity in the
oral tales,* retelling the bawdy tales
of the villages about clever women
who cheat on their husbands and get
away with it, unlike all the chaste
women of the epics who never cheat
or the unchaste ones who are
chastened by their infidelity like
Ahalya. But I think I’ve said enough
to argue the essential relevance of
folklore to Indian studies and the
alternative views and systems folklore
carries. Folk materials also comment
continually on official and orthodox
views and practices in India. So I wish
to end with a satiric tale about kings,
gurus and disciples, the legal process,
belief in rebirth, and the very logic of
karma that looks for causes in infinite
regress. I shall tell it without any
further comment than that here, if we
listen, we can hear the voice of what
is fashionably called the subaltern—
the woman, the peasant, the
nonliterate, those who are marginal to
the courts of kings and offices of the
bureaucrats, the centers of power.
told for fear of death. The king and
the minister were delighted at the
success of their project.
A guru and a disciple arrived in
the city. It was a beautiful city, it was
broad daylight, but there was no one
about. Everyone was asleep, not a
mouse stirring. Even the cattle had
been taught to sleep. The two
strangers were amazed by what they
saw and wandered around till
evening, when suddenly the whole
town woke up and went about its daily
business.
The two men were hungry. Now
that the shops were open, they went
to buy some groceries. To their
aston-ishment, they found that
everything cost the same, a single
duddu (a small coin)—whether they
bought a measure of rice or a bunch
13
 of bananas, it cost a duddu. The guru
and his dis-ciple were delighted. They
had never heard of anything like this.
They could buy all the food they
wanted for a rupee.
When they had cooked the food
and eaten, the guru realised that this
was a kingdom of fools and it
wouldn’t be a good idea for them to
stay there. “This is no place for us.
Let’s go,” he said to his disciple. But
the disciple didn’t want to leave the
place. Everything was cheap here. All
he wanted was good cheap food. The
guru said, “They are all fools. This
won’t last very long and one can’t
tell what they’ll do to you next.”
But the disciple wouldn’t listen to
the guru’s wisdom. He wanted to stay.
The guru finally gave in and said, “Do
what you want. I’m going,” and he
left. The disciple stayed on, ate his fill
everyday, bananas and ghee and rice
and wheat, and grew fat as a streetside
sacred bull.
One bright day, a thief broke into
a rich merchant’s house. He had made
a hole in the wall, sneaked in, and as
he was carrying out his loot, the wall
of the old house collapsed on his head
and killed him on the spot. His brother
ran to the king and complained:” Your
Highness, when my brother was
pur-suing his ancient trade, a wall fell
on him and killed him. This merchant
is to blame. He should have built a
good strong wall. You must punish
the wrong-doer and compensate the
fam-ily for this injustice.”
The king said, “Justice will be
done. Don’t worry,” and at once
summoned the owner of the house.
When the merchant arrived, the
king asked him questions.
“What’s your name?”
“Such and such, Your Highness.”
“Were you at home when the dead
man burgled your house?”
“Yes, my lord. He broke in and the
wall was weak. It fell on him.”
“The accused pleads guilty. Your
wall killed this man’s brother. You have
14
murdered a man. We have to punish
you.”
“Lord,” said the helpless
merchant. “I didn’t put up the wall.
It’s really the fault of the man who
built the wall. He didn’t build it right.
You should punish him.”
“Who is that?”
“My lord, this wall was built in my
father’s time. I know the man. He’s an
old man now. He lives nearby.”
The king sent out messengers to
bring in the bricklayer who had built
the wall. They brought him tied hand
and foot.
“You there, did you build this
man’s wall in his father’s time?’
“Yes, my lord, I did.”
“What kind of wall is this that you
built? It has fallen on a poor man and
killed him. You’ve murdered him. We
have to punish you by death.”
Before the king could order the
execution, the poor bricklayer pleaded,
“Please listen to me before you give
your orders. It’s true I built this wall
and it was no good. But that was
because my mind was not on it. I
remember very well a harlot who was
going up and down that street all day
with her anklets jingling and I couldn
‘t keep my eyes or my mind on the
wall I was building. You must get that
harlot. I know where she lives.”
“You’re right. The case deepens.
We must look into it. It is not easy to
judge such Complicated cases. Let’s
get that harlot wherever she is.”
The harlot, now an old woman,
came trembling to the court.
“Did you walk up and down that
street many years ago, while this poor
man was building this wall? Did you
see him?’
“Yes, my lord. I remember it very
well.”
“So you did walk up and down,
with your anklets jingling. You were
young and you tempted him. So he
built a bad wall. It has fallen on a poor
burglar and killed him. You’ve killed
an innocent man. You’ll have to be
punished.”
She thought for a minute and said,
“My lord, wait. I know now why I was
walking up and down that street. I had
given some gold to the goldsmith to
make some jewelry for me. He was a
lazy scoundrel. He made so many
excuses, said he would give it now
and he would give it then and so on
all day. He made me walk up and down
to his house a dozen times. That was
when this bricklayer fellow saw me.
It’s not my fault, my lord, it’s that
damned goldsmith’s.
“Poor thing, she’s absolutely
right,” thought the king, weighing the
evi-dence. “We’ve got the real culprit
at last. Get the goldsmith wherever he
is hiding. At once!”
The king’s bailiffs searched for the
goldsmith who was hiding in a corner
of his shop. When he heard the
accu-sation against him, he had his
own story to tell.
“My lord,” he said, “I’m a poor
goldsmith. It’s true I made this harlot
woman come many times to my door.
I gave her excuses because I couldn’t
finish making her jewelry before I
finished the rich merchant’s orders.
They had a wedding coming, and they
wouldn’t wait. You know how
impatient rich men are!”
“Who is this rich merchant who
kept you from finishing this poor
woman’s jewelry, made her walk up
and down, which distracted this
brick-layer, which made a mess of his
wall, which has now fallen on an
innocent man and killed him? Can you
name him?”
The goldsmith named the
merchant and he was none other than
the original owner of the house where
the wall had fallen. Now justice had
come full circle, thought the king, back
to the merchant. When he was rudely
sum-moned back to the court, he
arrived crying, ‘’It’s not me, but my
father who ordered the jewelry! He’s
dead! I’m innocent!”
But the king consulted his
minister and ruled decisively, “It’s true
your father is the true murderer. He’s
dead but somebody must be punished
in his place. You’ve inherited
everything from that criminal father
of yours, his riches as well as his sins.
MANUSHI
 I knew at once, even when I set eyes
on you that you were at the root of
this horrible crime. You must die.”
And he ordered a new stake to be
made ready for the execution. As the
servants sharpened the stake and got
it ready for final impaling of the
crimi-nal, it occurred to the minister
that the rich merchant was somehow
too thin to be properly executed by
the stake. He appealed to the king’s
common sense. The king too worried
about it.
“What shall we do?” he said,
when suddenly it struck him that all
they needed to do was to get a man
fat enough to fit the stake. The
servants were immediately all over
town looking for a man who would fit
the stake, and their eyes fell on the
disciple who had fattened himself for
months on bananas and rice and
wheat and ghee.
“What have I done wrong? I’m
innocent. I’m a sanyasi!” he cried.
“That may be true. But it’s the
royal decree that we should find a man
fat enough to fit the stake,” they said,
and carried him to the place of
execution. He remembered his wise
guru’s words: “This is a city of fools.
You don’t know what they will do
next.” While he was waiting for death,
he prayed to his guru in his heart,
asking him to hear his cry wherever
he was. The guru saw everything in a
vision. He had magical powers; he
could see far and he could see the
future as he could see the present and
the past. He arrived at once to save
his disciple who had gotten himself
into a scrape again through love of
food.
As soon as he arrived, he scolded
the disciple and told him something
in a whisper. Then he went to the king
and addressed him.
“O wisest of kings, who is
greater? The guru or the disciple?”
“Of course the Guru. No doubt
about it. Why do you ask?”
“Then put me to the stake first.
Put my disciple to death after me.”
When the disciple heard this, he
caught on and began to clamor.
“Me first! You brought me here
No.69
first! Put me to death first, not him!”
The guru and the disciple now got
into a fight about who should go first.
The king was puzzled by this
behavior. He asked the guru, “Why
do you want to die? We chose him
because we needed a fat man for the
stake.”
“You shouldn’t ask me such
questions. Put me to death first.”
“Why? There’s some mystery
here. As a wise man you must make
me understand.”
“Will you promise to put me to
death, if I tell you?” said the guru.
The king gave him his solemn word.
The guru took him aside, out of the
servants’ earshot, and whispered to
him, “Do you know why we want to
die right now, the two of us? We’ve
been all over the world but we’ve
never found a city like this or a king
like you. That stake is the stake of the
god of justice. It’s new, it has never
had a criminal on it. Whoever dies on
it first will be reborn as the king of
this country. And whoever goes next
will be the future minister of this
country. We’re sick of living the
ascetic life. It would be nice to enjoy
ourselves as king and minister for a
while. Now keep your word, my lord,
and put us to death. Me first,
remember.”
The king was now thrown into
deep thought. He didn’t want to lose
the kingdom to someone else in the
next round of life. He needed time. So
he ordered the execution postponed
till the next day and talked in secret
with his minister. “It’s not right for us
to give the kingdom to others in the
next life. Let’s go up the stake
ourselves and we’ll be reborn as king
and min-ister again. Holy men do not
tell lies,” he said and the minister
agreed.
So he told the executioners, “We’ll
send the criminals tonight. When the
first man comes to you, put him first
to death. Then do the same to the
second man. Those are orders. Don’t
make any mistakes.”
That night, they went secretly to
the prison, released the guru and
disciple, disguised themselves as the
two and, as arranged beforehand with
their loyal servants, were taken to the
stake and promptly executed.
When the bodies were taken down
to be thrown to crows and vultures
the people panicked. They saw before
them the dead bodies of the king and
the minister. The city was in
confusion.
All night they mourned and
discussed the future of the kingdom.
Some people suddenly thought of the
guru and the disciple and caught up
with them as they were preparing to
leave town unnoticed. We people
need a king and a minister, said
someone. Others agreed. They
begged the guru and the disciple to
become their king and their minister.
It didn’ t take many arguments to
persuade the disciple, but it took long
to persuade the guru. They finally
agreed to rule the king-dom of the
foolish king and the silly minister, on
the condition that they would change
all the old laws. From then on, night would
again be night and day would again be day,
and you could get nothing for a duddu. It
became like any other place.
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1982 The Three Twins: The Telling Of A
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Blackburn, Stuart
1988 Singing of Birth and Death: Texts
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Blackburn, Stuart et al. (eds.)
1989 Oral Epics in India. Berkeley:
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Blackburn, Stuart, and A.K. Ramanujan
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1986 Another Harmony: New Essays on
the Folklore of India. Berkeley:
University of California Press.
Brubaker, Richard Lee
1978 The Ambivalent Mistress: A Study
of South Indian Village Goddesses and
Their Religious Meaning. PhD.
dissertation. University of Chicago.
Claus, Peter
1989 “Behind the Text: Perfor-mances
and Ideology in a Tulu Oral Tradition.”
In Blackburn et al.,pp. 55-74.
15
 Collingwood, R.G.
1983 An Essay on Philosophical
Method. Oxford: The
Clarendon Press (originally
published in 1933).
Dimock, Edward C.
1989 The Sound of Silent Guns
and Other Essays. New Delhi:
Oxford University Press.
Dundes, Alan, and Carl R.
Pagter
1978 Work Hard and You
Shall Be Rewarded: Urban
Folklore, from the Paperwork
Empire. Bloomington: Indiana
University Press.
Dumezil, Georges
1968 Mythe et Epopee. Paris:
Gallimard.
Finnegan, Ruth
1977 Oral Poetry: Its Nature,
Significance and Social
Context. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Graham, William A.
1987 Beyond the Written Word:
Oral Aspects of Scripture in the
History of Religion. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Hiltebeitel, Alf
1988 The Cult ofDraupadi.
Mythologies from Gingee to
Kuruksetra. Chicago:
University of Chicago Press.
Lutgendorf, Philip
1987 The Life of the Text:
Tulasidas’s Ramacarita-
manasa in Performance.
Ph.D. dissertation. Universtiy
of Chicago.
Narayan, Kirin
1989 Storytellers, Saints, and
Scoundrels: Folk Narrative in
Hindu Religious Teaching.
Philadelphia: University of
Pennsylvania Press.
Ramanujan, A.K.
1989 “Where Mirrors Are
Windows: Toward an
Anthology of Reflections.”
History of Religions., vol. 28,
no.3, (February), pp. 187-216.
1987 “Introduction.” In
Indian Folktales, Beck et al.,
pp. xxv-xxxi.
1987 “The Relevance of South
Asian Folklore.” In Indian
Folklore II, edited by Peter
Claus, J. Handoo, and D.P.
Pattanayak. Mysore: Central
Grama Devata - great Earth Mother.
Institute of Indian Languages,
pp. 79-156.
16
(From The Earthen Drum)
1986 “Two Realms of Kannada
Folklore.” In Blackburn and
Ramanujan, eds., pp. 41-75.
1985 “On Folk Puranas.”
Confer-ence on Puranas,
University of Wisconsin,
Madison, August, mss.
1983 “The Indian Oedipus.” In
Oedipus: A Folklore Casebook,
Alan Dundes and Lowell
Edmunds, eds. New York:
Garland Press, pp. 234-261.
1973 Speaking of Siva.
Harmondsworth, Great Britain:
Penguin Books.
Roghair, Gene H.
1982 The Epic of Palnadu: A
Study and Translation of Palnati
Vinula katha, a Telugu Oral
Tradition from Andhra
Pradesh, India. New York:
Oxford University Press.
Shulman, David
1986 “Battle as Metaphor
inTamil Folk and Classical
Traditions.” In Blackburn and
Ramanujan, eds., pp. 105-130.
1980 Tamil Temple Myths:
Sacrifice and Divine Marriage
in the South Indian Saiva
Tradition. Princeton: Princeton
University Press.
Singer, Milton
1972 When a Great Tradition
Modernizes: An Anthropo-
logical Approach to Indian
Civilization. Chicago:
University of Chicago Press.
Staal,J.F.
1961 Nambudiri Veda
Recitation. Disputationes
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Taylor, Archer
1951 English Riddles from Oral
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Thompson, Stith, and Antti
Amatus Aarne
1961 The Types of the Folktale.:
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Tiedeakatemia. r
MANUSHI
poetry; with the practice ol' Iransla~jona s a procesa o l ' s t r ~ ~ c t u rrather al
than verbal mimici-y: and, ~ ~ I t i ~ n a with t e l ~a, leap o l ~ h poetic
e imaglna-
tion.
Finally. 'From C l a s s i c i s ~ nto Bllc~kri'.an essay that Ramanujall co-
Three Hundred Rarniiyanas:
authored with Norman Culler, takes up the issue of how classical Tamil Five Examples and
poetry and cuiture. emerging on the periphery of the e p ~ and c classical Three Thoughts on Translation
worlds vf Saiiskril in nol.th India, historically shape the subsequent
poetry and cult~rreof bh~ikti,a s the latter appears in the works of the S r i
Vaisnava L ~ ~ V L ~ I especially
-S, NammBlvar. Taken together with the essays
on the K2mkyuncl and the ~ a h d b h i r a t a and , the other three e s s a y s on
classical Tannil cult~11-e lncluded here, this essay indicates why, even in
the first r n i l l c n n i ~ ~oml the common era. there can b e no simple formula
for 'unity' o r 'diversity'-or for 'unity in diversity'-in the Indian sub-
continent.

How many Rarnuyanas? Three hundred? Three thousand? At the end of

some R i i m e c ~ n a sa, question is sometimes asked: How many RGrn11vanas
have there been? And there are stories that answer the question. Here is
one.

One day when Rama w a s sitting on his throne, his ring fell off. When it
touched the earth, it made a hole in the ground and disappeared into it. It
was gone. His trusty henchman, Hanuman, was at his feet. Rama said to
Hanuman, 'Look. my ring is lost. Find it for me.'
Now Hanuman can enter any hole, no matter how tiny. H e had the
power to become the smallest o f the small and larger than the largest
thing. S o he took on a tiny form and went down the hole.
H e went and went and went and suddenly fell into the netherworld.
There were women down there. 'Look, a tiny monkey! It's fallen from
above!' Then they caught him and placed him on a platter (thali). The
King of Spirits (bhit), who lives in the netherworld, likes to eat animals.
S OHanuman was sent to him a s part of his dinner, along with his vege-
tables. Hanuman sat on the platter, wondering what to do.
While this w a s going on in the netherworld. Rama sat on his throre on
the earth above. T h e s a g e Vasistha and the god Brahma c a m e to s e e him.
They said to &ma. ' W e want to talk privately with you. W e don't want
anyone to hear what w e say or interrupt it. D o we agree?'
'All right,' said Rgma. 'we'll talk.'
Then they haid. 'Lay down a rule. ll'anyone c o m e s in ns w e are talk~rlg.
his head should be cut oft'.'
132 I The Collec,ted Essays of A.K. K ~ n z ~ n u j u n
'It will be done,' said Rama.
Who would be the most trustworthy person to guard the door?
HanumHn had gone down to fetch the ring. RHma trusted no one more than
Laksmana, s o he asked Laksmana to stand by the door. 'Don't allow
anyone to enter,' he ordered.
Laksmana was standing at the door when the sage ViSvamitra appear-
ed and said, 'I need to see RHma at once. It's urgent. Tell me, where is
RBma?'
Laksmana said, 'Don't go in now. He is talking to some people. It's
important.'
'What is there that RBma would hide from me?' said ViSvBmitra. 'I
must go in, right now.'
Laksrnana said, 'I'll have to ask his permission before I can let you
in.'
'Go in and ask then.'
'I can't go in till RBma comes out. You'll have to wait.'
'If you don't go in and announce my presence, I'll bum the entire king-
dom of Ayodhya with a curse,' said ViSvBmitra.
Laksmana thought, 'If I go in now, I'll die. But if I don't go, this hot-
headed man will bum down the kingdom. All the subjects, all things
living in it, will die. It's better that I alone should die.'
S o he went right in.
RHma asked him, 'What's the matter?'
'ViSvamitra is here.'
'Send him in.'
S o ViSvamitra went in. The private talk had already come to an end.
BrahmH and Vasistha had come to see Riima and say to him, 'Your work
in the world of human beings is over. Your incarnation as Riima must now
be given up. Leave this body, come up, and rejoin the gods.' That's all
they wanted to say.
Laksmana said to RBma, 'Brother, you should cut off my head.'
Rama said, 'Why? We had nothing more to say. Nothing was lest. S o
why should I cut off your head?'
Laksmana said, 'You can't d o that. You can't let me off because I ' m
your brother. There'll be a blot on Rama's name. You didn't spare your
wife. You sent her to the jungle. I must be punished. I will leave.'
Laksmann was an avatar of ~ e s athe , serpent on whom Visnu sleeps.
His time was up too. He wentdirectly to the river Sarayu and disappeared
in the flowing waters.
When Laksrnana relinquished h i x body. Rama summoned all his
followers, Vibhisana, Sugriva, and others, and arranged for the corona-
tion of his twin sons, Lava and KuSa. Then RBma too entered the river
Sarayii.
All this while, Hanuman was in the netherworld. When he was finally
taken to the King of Spirits, he kept repeating the name of Riima. 'RBma
Rgma Rama . .'
Then the King of Spirits asked, 'Who are you?'
'HanumBn.'
'HanumBn? Why have you come here?'
'RHma's ring fell into a hole. I've come to fetch it.'
The king looked around and showed him a platter. On it were
thousands of rings. They were all Rama's rings. The king brought the
platter to H a n u m h , set it down, and said, 'Pickout your RBma's ring and
take it.'
They were all exactly the same. 'I don't know which one it is,' said
Hanuman, shaking his head.
The King of Spirits said, 'There have been a s many RBmas as there
are rings on this platter. When you return toearth, you will not find RBma.
This incarnation of RBma is now over. Whenever an incarnation of RBma
is about to be over, his ring falls down. I collect them and keep them. Now
you can go.'
S o Hanuman left.'
This story is usually told to suggest that for every such RHma there is a
Riimiiyanu. The number of Riimclyntltrs and the range of their influence
in South and Southeast Asia over the past twenty-five hundred years or
more are astonishing. Just a list of languages in which the Rama story is
found makes one gasp: Annamese, Balinese, Bengali, Cambodian,
Chinese, Gujarati, Javanese, Kannada, Kashmiri, Khotanese, Laotian,
Malaysian, Marathi, Oriya, Prakrit, Sanskrit, Santali, Sinhalese, Tamil.
Telugu, Thai, Tibetan-to say nothing of Western languages. Through
the centuries, some of these languages have hosted more than one telling
of the Rgma story. Sanskrit alone contains some twenty-five or more
tellings belonging to various narrative genres (epics, k a v ~ u sor ornate
poetic compositions, purcT!zns or old mythological stories, and s o forth).
Ifwe add plays. dance-dramas, and otherperformances. in both the clas-
sical and folk traditions. the number of !?arnayanusgrowseven larger. To
these must be added sculpture and bas-reliefs, mask plays, puppet plays
1 3 4 1 The Collected Essays qf A. K. Rrrmonujrjn Three Hundred Rclmiiyunas / 1 3 5
and shadows plays, in all the many South and Southeast Asian c~~ltures.' THE A H A L Y A EPISODE: VALMTKI
Camille Bulcke (1950), a student of the Rnmcivrrncl, counted three Seeing Mithili, Janaka's white
hundred It's no wonder that even as long ago as the fourteenth and dazzl~ngcity. all the sages
century, KumBravyasa, a Kannada poet, chose to write a Mahiibhdrrrtcc. cried out in praise. 'Wonderful'
because he heard the cosmic serpent which upholds the earth groaning How wonderful!'
under the burden of Ramc?yana poets (tinikidanuphaniroya rnmiivrrnada Righava, sighting on the outskirts
kuvigala bhiiradali). In this paper, indebted for its data to numerous of Mithili an ashram, ancient.
previous translators and scholars, I would like to sort out for myself, and unpeopled, and lovely, asked the sage,
I hope forothers, how these hundredsof tellingsof astory indifferentcul- 'What is this holy place.
tures, languages, and religious traditions relate to each other: what gets s o like an ashram but without a hermit?
translated, transplanted, transposed. Master, I'd likefo hear: whose was it?'
Hearing Righava's words, the great sage
ViSvBmitra, man of fire,
expert in words answered. 'Listen,
Obviously, these hundreds of tellings differ from one another. I have Raghava, I'll tell you whose ashram
come to prefer the world tellings to the usual terms versions or vrrriarits this was and how it was cursed
because the latter terms can and typically do imply that there is an by a great man in anger.
invariant, an original or Ur-text-usually Vglmiki's Sanskrit Rrimayana, It was great Gautama's, this ashram
the earliest and most prestigious of them all. But as we shall see, it is not that reminds you of heaven, worshipped
always Valmiki's narrative that is carried from one language to another. even by the gods. Long ago, with Ahalyi
It would be useful to make some distinctions before we begin. The he practised tapas4 here
tradition itself distinguishes between the RBma story (riimnkathd) and
texts composed by a specific person-Vslmiki, Kampan, or KrttivBsa,
for example. Though many of the latter are popularly called Riimrrya!~as
II for countless years. Once, knowing that Gautama
was away, Indra (called Thousand Eyes),
~ a c i ' shusband, took on the likeness
(like Kamparc?mctyatzam), few texts actually bear the title RcImiiyana; of the sage, and said to Ahaly2:
they are given titles like lrijmavatiiram (The Incarnation of Rama), "Men pursuing their desire d o not wait
Ramcaritmanas (The Lake of the Acts of Riima), Ramakien (The Story for the proper season, O you who
of Rams) and s o on. Their relations to the RSma story a s told by Vglmiki have a perfect body. Making love
also vary. This traditional distinction between katha (story) and knvya with you: that's what I want.
(poem) parallels the French one between sujet and rkcit, or the English That waist of yours is lovely."
one between story and discourse (Chatman 1978).It is also analogous to S h e knew it was Indra of the Thousand Eyes
the distinction between a sentence and a speech act. The story may be the in the guise of the sage. Yet she.
same in two tellings, but the discourse may be vastly different. Even the wrongheaded woman. made up her mind.
structure and sequence of events may be the same, but the style, details, excited, curious about the king
tone, and texture-and therefore the import-may be vastly different. of the gods.
Here are two tellings of the 'same' episode, which occur at the same
And then. her Inner being satisfied,
point in the sequence of the narrative. The first is from the first book she said to the god, "I'm satisfied, klng
(Bdlcrkiindu) of Valmiki's Sanskrit Rdninvcrntr; the second from the first of the gods. Go quickly from here.
canto (Pdlakun!om) of Kainpan's It.Cnifivtrtriram in Tamil. Both narrate O giver of honour. love^. protect
the story of AhalyH. yourself and me."
1 36 / Tltc Collected E s s o y . ~( ? / ' AK. . Ktrnrtrl~~!jtrrl / 137
Three Hundred Rarnuyr~nc~s
And Indra smiled and said t o Ah;~ly%. the ashram, and d ~ dhis /ul)cls
"Woman of lovely hips, I an1 on a beautiful H~malayanpeak.
very content. 1'11 g o the way I came." haunt of celestial singel-s and
Thus after m a k ~ n glove, he came out perfected being.;.
o f the hut made of leave\. Emasculated Indra then
And, 0 Rima, a s he hurried away. spoke to the gods led by Agni
nervous about Gautania and flustered, attended by the sages
he caught s ~ g h of
t Gautama conung in. and the celest~alsingers.
the &I-eatsage, unassailable "I've only done this work on behalf
by gods and ant~godn. of the gods, putting great Gautama
empowered by his tapuc. still wet in a rage, blocking his tapas.
with the water of the river He has emasculated me
he'd bathed in. blazlng like fire, and rejected her in anger.
with kuiu grass and kindling Through this great outburst
in his hands. of curses, I've robbed himi
Seelng him, the king of the gods was of his tapas. Therefore,
terror-struck, his face drained of colour. great gods, sages, and celestial singers,
The sage, facing Thousand Eyes now dressed help me, helper of the gods.
a s the sage, the one rich in virtue to regain my testicles." And the gods,
and the other with none, led by Agni, listened to Indra
spoke to h1n1In anger: "You took my form, of the Hundred Sacrifices and went
you fool, and did this that should never with the Marut hosts
be done. Therefore you will lose your testicles." to the divine ancestors, and said,
At once, they fell to the ground, they fell "Some time ago, Indra, infatuated,
even a s the great sage spoke
ravished the sage's wife
his words in anger to Thousand Eyes. and was then emasculated
Having cursed Indrz, he then cursed by the sage's curse. Indra,
Ahalya: "You, you will dwell here king of gods, destroyer of c i t ~ e s ,
many thousands of years, eating the air. is now angry with the gods.
without food, rolling in ash, This ram has testicles
and burning invisible to all creatures. but great Indra has lost his.
When R i m a , unassailable son S o take the ram's testicles
of DaSaratha, comes to this terrible and quickly graft them onto Indra.
wilderness, you will become pure, A castrated ram will give you
you woman of no virtue, Supreme satispaction and will be
you will be cleansed of lust and confusion. a source of pleasure.
Filled then with joy, you'll wear again People who offer ~t
your form in my PI-esence."And saying will have endless f r u ~ t .
this to that woman of bad conduct. You will give them ycwr plenty "
blazing Ga~ltatnaob'lndoned Having heard t l ~ n l ' swords.
1 3 8 / The Collected E.ssay.s of A.K. Rrrnrrrtl/r;an
the Ancestors got together chanplnp h14 ~ ; I hI c,llcas\
and ripped off the I-am'stesticles for true f o nl
~
and applied them then to Indra as he reache\ the Lol.d'\ feet,
of the Thousand Eyes. s o did she ~ t a n dalive
Since then, the divine Ancestors formed and culour-ed
eat these castrated rams again a s she once was. [548]
and Indra has the testicles
R2ma then a s k s V i i v a m i t r a w h y this lovely w o m a n h a d b e e n turned
of the beast through the power
to s t o n e . V i i v a m i t r a replies:
of great Gautama's tapas.
Come then, R i m a , to the ashram 'I2lsten. Once Indra.
of the holy sage and save Ahalya Lord of the Dlamon! Axe,
who has the beauty of a goddess.' waited on the absence
Raghava heard ViSvamitra's words of Gautama, a sage all spirlt,
and followed him into the ashram meaning to reach out
wlth Laksmana: there he saw for the lovely breast
AhalyB, shlning with an inner light of doe-eyed Ahalya, h ~ wife.
s [55 11
earned through her penances,
Hurt by love's arrows,
blazing yet hidden from the eyes hurt by the look in her eyes
of passersby, even gods and antigods.
that pierced him llke a spear, Indra
(Sastrigal and Sastri 1958, kdnda I, sargas 47-8; writhed and cast about
translated by David Shulman and A.K. Ramanujan) for stratagems;
one day. overwhelmed
THE AHALYA EPISODE: KAMPAN and mindless, he isolated
the sage; and sneaked
They came to many-towered Mithila
into the hermitage
and stood outside the fortress.
wearing the exact body of Gautama
On the towers were many flags.
There, high on an open field, whose heart knew no falsehoods. 1552)
stood a black rock Sneaking in, he joined Ahalya;
that was once Ahalya, coupled, they drank deep
the great sage's wife who fell of the clear new wlne
because she lost her chast~ty, of first-night weddlng3;
the mark of marriage in a hou3e. [Verse 547) and she knew
Rama's eyes fell on the rock. Yet unable
the dust of his feet to put a s ~ d ewhat was not hers.
wafted on ~ t . she dallied In her joy.
Ltke one unconsc~ous but the sage d ~ dnot tarry,
coming to, he came back, a vel-y Slva
cutting through Ignorance.
with three eyes In h ~ head.
s (5531
130 / The C o l l ~ c r t ~E\
ri 5ovj of A . K . Rtrrncrnujrrrr Threc. Hundred Rumfi~cinus/ 1 4 1
Gaut;~ma,who used no arrows The imrnol.t;~lslooked at their k ~ n g
trorr~bows. could use more ~nrscapable and came down a ( ulice to Gautama
powers o f curse and blessing. in a delegation led by Brahmii
and begged o f Gautama to relent.
When he arnved, Ahalya stood there.
stunned, bearing the shame of a deed Gautama's mind had changed
that will not end in this endless world and cooled. He changed
Indra shook In terror, the marks on Indra to a thousand eyes
started to move away and the gods went back to their worlds,
in the likene\s of a cat. [554] while she lay there. a thing of stone. [558]

Eyes dropping fire, Gautama That was the way it was.

saw what was done, From now on, no more misery,
and his words flew only release, for all things
like the burning arrows in this world.
at your hand:
0 cloud-dark lord
"May you be c w e r e d
by the vaginas who battled with that ogress.
of a thousand women!" black a s soot, I saw there
In the twinkle of an eye the virtue of your hands
they came and covered him. [555] and here the virtue of your feet.' [559]"

Covered with shame, Let me rapidly suggest a few differences between the two tellings. In
laughingstock of the world, Vllmiki, Indra seduces a willing Ahalya. In Kampan, Ahalya realises
~ndrileft. she is doing wrong but cannot let go of the forbidden joy; the poem has
'The sage turned also suggested earlier that her sage-husband is all spirit, details which
to his tender wife together add a certain psychological subtlety to the seduction. Indra tries
and cursed: to steal away in the shape of a cat, clearly a folklore motif (also found,
"0 bought woman! for example, in the Kcithcisaritsiigara, an eleventh-century Sanskrit com-
May you turn to stone!" pendium of folktales; see Tawney 1927). He is cursed with a thousand
and she fell at once vaginas which are later changed into eyes, and Ahalya is changed into
a rough thing frigidstone.The poetic justice wreaked on both offenders is fitted to their
of black rock. [556] wrongdoing. Indra bears the mark of what he lusted for, while Ahalya is
Yet a s s h e fell she begged: rendered incapable of responding to anything. These motifs, not found in
"To bear and forgive wrongs Vllmiki, are attested in South Indian folklore and other southern Rgma
is also the way of elders. stories, inscriptions and earlier Tamil poems, as well as in non-Tamil
0 ~ i v a - l i k elord of mine, sources. Kampan, here and elsewhere, not only makes full use of his
set some limit to your curse!" predecessor Valmiki's materials but folds in many regional folk tradi-
S o he said: "Riima tions. It is often through him that they then become part of other Rcirnu-
will come, wearing garlands that hring yanas.
the hum of bees w ~ t hthem. In technique, Kampan is also more dramatic than Valmiki. Rama's
When the dust of his feet falls on you, feet transmute the black stone into Ahalya first; only afterwards is
you will be released from the body of stone." 15571 her story told. The black stone standing on a high place, waitlng for
142 The Collected Essays 0f'A.K. Ramanujan
Rama, is itself a very effective, vivid symbol. Ahalya's revival, her.
waking from cold stone to fleshly human warmth, becomes an occasion
for a movingbhakti(devotional) meditation on the soul waking to its forin
in god.
Finally, the AhalyB episode is related to previous episodes in the poem
such as that in which RBma destroys the demoness Tataka. There he was
the destroyer of evil, the bringer of sterility and the ashes of death to his
enemies. Here, a s the reviver ofAhalyB, he is a cloud-dark godof fertility.
Throughout Kampan's poem, RBma is a Tamil hero, a generous giver and
a ruthless destroyer of foes. And the bhakti vision makes the release of
AhalyB from her rock-bound sin a paradigm of Rama's incarnatory mis-
sion to release all souls from world-bound misery.
In Vglmiki, RBma's character is not that of agod but of a god-man who
has to live within the limits of a human form with all its vicissitudes.
Some argue that the references to RBma's divinity and his incarnation for
the purpose of kiestroying RBvana, and the first and last books of the epic,
in which Rama is clearly described a s a god with such a mission, are later
addition^.^ Be that as it may, in Kampan he is clearly a god. Hence a pas-
sage like the above is dense with religious feeling and theological ima-
ges. Kampan, writing in the twelfth century, composed his poem under
the influence of Tamil bhakti. He had for his master NarnmBlvBr (ninth
century?), the most eminent of the ~ r~ ai i s n a v saints.
a So, fof Kampaq,
Rams is a god who is on a mission to root out evil, sustain the good and
bring release to all living beings. The encounter with Ahalya is only the
first in a series, ending with RBma's encounter with RHvana the demon
himself. For NarnmalvBr, RBma i s a saviour of all beings, from the lowly
grass to the great gods:
BY RAMA'S GRACE
Why would anyone want
to learn anyth~ngbut Rarna?
Beginning with the low grass
and the creeping ant
with nothing
whatever,
he took everyth~ngin his city.
everything movlng.
everything still,
he tooh everything.
everyth~ngborn
of the lord
of four faces,
i
k
he took them all
to the very best of state\.
I Kampan's epic poem enacts in detail and with passion Nammjlvar's
vision of RBma.
Thus the Ahalyii episode is essentially the same, but the weave, the
texture, the colours are very different. Part of the aesthetic pleasure in the
laterpoet's telling derives from its artistic use of its predecessor's work,
from ringing changes on it. TO some extent all later Riimiiyanas play on
the knowledge of previous tellings: they are meta-Rcimdyancrs.I cannot
resist repeating my favourite example. In several of the later RamGyanas
(such a s the Adhyiitma Riir~ic7ycr!za,sixteenth century), when RBma is
exiled, he does not want Sit3 to go with him into the forest. Sits argues
6 with him. At first she uses the usual arguments: she is his wife, she should
share his sufferings, exile herself in h ~ exile
s and s o on. When he still
resists the idea, she is furious. She bursts out, 'Countless Rc7mci)~anas
have been composed before this. Do you know of one where Sit2 doesn't
go with Rama to the forest?' That clinches the argument, and she goes
: with him (Adhyiitma Rcimaya!za 2.4.77-8; see Nath 1913, 39). And as
nothing in India occurs uniquely, even this motif appears in more than
one Rcimayana.
I
Now the Tamil Kdmclyunn of Kampan generates its own offspring, its
own special sphere of influence. Read in Telug~icharacters in Telugu
country, played a s drama in the Malayalam area a s part of temple ritual,
- i t is also an important link in the transmission of the RBma story to
Southeast Asia. It has been convinc~nglyshown that the eighteenth-
. century Thai R~imcrkietzowes n ~ ~ l ctoh the Tamil epic. For instance. the
names of many characters in the Thai work are not Sanskrit names, but
clearly Tamil names (for example, RSyaSr~igain Sanskrit but KalaikkBtu
in Tamil, the latter borrowed into Thai). Tulsi's Hindi Rcimcnritmanas
I
and the Malaysian Hikcrycit Set-iRrit71too owe many details to the Kainpan
Poem (Slngaravelu 1968).
Thus obviously transplantations take place through several routes. In
some languages the wortl 1.01. tea is derived from a northern Chinese
dialec~and in other.; Ur.c,rn a southern d~alect:thus some language.\, like
144 / The Collected Essays of A.K. Kfrnlfrnlr~trrr
English and French, have some f0rn1 of the word trcr, while others, like
Hindi and Russian, have some form of the word chfi(yJ. Similarly, the
RBma story seems to have travelled along three routes, according to San-
tosh Desai: 'By land, the northern route took the story from the Punjab
and Kashmir into China, Tibet, and East Turkestan; by sea, the southern
route carried the story from Gujarat and South India into Java. Sumatra,
and Malaya; and again by land, the eastern route delivered the story from
:I
Bengal into Burma, Thailand, and Laos. Vietnam and Cambodia obtained i
their stories partly from Java and partly from India via the eastern route'
(Desai 1970,5).
JAIN TELLINGS
When we enter the world of Jain tellings, theR2ma story no longercarries
Hindu values. Indeed the Jain texts express the feeling that the Hindus,
especially the brahmans, have maligned Ravana, made him into a villain.
Here is a set of questions that a Jain text begins by asking: 'How can
monkeys vanquish the powerfulrdksasa warriors like RBvana? How can
noble men and Jain worthies like Riivana eat flesh and drink blood? How
can Kumbhakama sleep through six months of the year, and never wake
up even though boiling oil was poured into his ears, elephants were made
to trample over him, and war trumpets and conches blown around him?
They also say that Ravana captured Indra and dragged him handcuffed
into Lanka. Who can do that to Indra? All this looks a bit fantastic and ex-
treme.They are lies and contrary to reason.' With these questions in mind
King srenika goes to sage Gautama to have him tell the true story and
clear his doubts. Gautama says to him, 'I'll tell you what Jain wise men
say. RBvana is not a demon, he is not a cannibal and a flesh eater. Wrong-
thinking poetasters and fools tell these lies.' He then begins to tell his
own version of the story (Chandra 1970,234).0bviously,the Jain Ram&
yana of Vimalasiiri, called Paumacariya (Prakrit for the Sanskrit Padmu-
carita), knows its Viilmiki and proceeds to correct its errors and Hlndu 1I
extravagances. Like other Jainpuranirs, this too is aprutipurfi!lu, an anti- i
or counter-~urnnu.The prefix pruti-, meaning 'anti-' or 'counter-', is a
favourite Jain affix.
Vimalasfiri the Jain opens the story not with RBma's genealogy and
greatness, but with Ravana's. RBvana is one of the sixty-three leaders or
.~~rllkupurusus of the Jain tradition. He is noble, learned, earns all his
magical powers and weapons through austerities (tuptrs), and is a
devotee of Jain masters. To please one ofthem. he even takes a vow that
Three Hrtnrlrcti KGnifiy~rntr.>
/ 145
be will not touch any unwilling woman. In one memorable incident, he
lays siege to an impregnable fort. The queen of that kingdom is in love
with him and sends him her messenger: he uses her knowledge of the fort
tobreach it and defeat the king. But, as soon as he conquers it, he returns
the kingdom to the king and advises the queen to return to her husband.
Later, he is shaken to his roots when he hears from soothsayers that he
will meet his end through a woman, Sita. It is such a Ravana who falls
in love with Sits's beauty, abducts her, tries to win her favours in vain,
watches himself fall, and finally dies on the battlefield. In these tellings,
he is a great man undone by a passion that he has vowed against but that
he cannot resist. In another tradition of the Jain Ramayanas, Sit2 is his
daughter, although he does not know it: the dice of tragedy are loaded
against him further by this oedipal situation. I shall say more about Sita's
birth in the next section.
In fact, to our modem eyes, this RBvana is a tragic figure; we are
moved to admiration and pity for Ravana when the Jains tell the story. I
should mention one more motif: according to the Jain way of thinking, a
pair of antagonists, Vrisudeva and Prativiisudeva-a hero and an antihe-
ro, almost like self and Other-are destined to fight in life after life.
Laksmana and Rgvana are the eighth incarnations of this pair. They are
,born in age after age, meet each other in battle after many vicissitudes,
and in every encounter Vasudeva inevitably kills his counterpart, his
prati. RBvana learns at the end that Laksmana is such a Viisudeva come
to take his life. Still, overcoming his despair after a last unsuccessful at-
temptat peace, he faces his destined enemy in battle with his most power-
ful magic weapons. When finally he hurls his discus (cakra), it doesn't
I work for him. Recognising Laksmana a s a Vasudeva, it does not behead
him but gives itself over to his hand. Thus Laksmana slays RBvana with
j
his own cherished weapon.
I Here Rama does not even kill Ravana, as he does in the Hindu Rama-
Ywas. ForRama is an evolved Jain soul who has conquered hispassions;
!
this is his Last birth, s o he is loath to kill anything. It is left to Laksmana,
who goes to hell while Ranla finds release (kaivalya).
One hardly need add that the Puunzucuri~tris filled with references to
Jain places of pilgrimage, stories about Jain monks, and Jain homilies
and legends. Furthermore, since the Jains consider themselves ration-
alists-unlike the Hindus, who, according to them, are given to exorbi-
tant and often bloodthirsty fancies and rituals-they systematically
avoid episodes involving miraculous births (Riima and his brothers are
born in the normal way). blood sacrifices, and the like. They even
rationalise the conception oj' Ravana as the Ten-headed Dernon. When
he was born, his mother was given a necklace of nine gems. which she
put around his neck. S h e saw his face reflected in them ninefold and so
called him DaSamukha, or the Ten-faced One. The monkeys too are not
monkeys but a clan of celestials (l~irfx~rl/zar(rs)
actually related to Ravana
and his family through their great grandfathers. They have monkeys as
emblems on their flags: hence the name Vanaras or 'monkeys'.
I
FROM WRITTEN T O ORAL
Let's look at one of the South Indian folk Riimiiyrrnrrs. In these, the story
usually occurs in bits and pieces. For instance, in Kannada, we are given
separate narrative poems on Sita's birth, her wedding, her chastity test,
her exile, the birth of Lava and KuSa, their war with their father Rama,
and s o on. But we do have one complete telling of the RBma story by tradi-
tional bards (rtrnlhGri dc7stryycr.s), sung with a refrain repeated every two
lines by a chorus. For the following discussion, I am indebted to the
transcription by Rame Gowda, P.K.RSjaSEkara and S . Basavaiah (1973).
This folk narrative, sung by an Untouchable bard, opens with Ravana
(here called Ravula) and his queen Mandodari. They are unhappy and
childless. S o Ravana or Ravula goes to the forest, performs all sorts of
self-mortifications like rolling on the ground till blood runs from his
back, and meets a j6gi. or holy mendicant, who is none other than ~ i v a .
~ i v gives
a him a magic mango and asks him how he would share it with
his wife. Ravula says. 'Of course, I'll give herthe sweet flesh of the fruit
and I'll lick the mango seed.' The joyi is skeptical. He says to Ravula,
'You say one thing to me. You have poison in your belly. You're giving
me butter to eat, but you mean something else. If you lie to me, you'll eat
the fruit of your actions yourself.' Ravula has one thing in his dreams and
another in his waking world, says the poet. When he brings the mango
home. with all sorts of flowers and incense for the ceremonial pGja,
Mancjodari is very happy. After a ritual pUjN and prayers to ~ i v aRavula
, he falls under the heavy bow he has to lift. Rams lifts it and marries Sita.
is ready to share the mitngo. But he thinks, 'If I give her the fruit, 1'11 be
hungry, she'll be full.' and quickly gobbles up the flesh of the fruit, giving
her only the seed to lick. When she throws it in the yard, it sprouts and
grows into a tall mango tree. Meanwhile. Ravula himself becomes preg-
nant, his pregnancy advancing a month each day.
In one day, it was a month. O ~ i v a .
In the second. i t was the second month,
a n d cravlngs began for hlnl. 0 ~ ~ v a .
How .;h;~ll I .;how my tace to the wol-Id of men. O ~ i v a
. f'
On the third day, it was the t h ~ r dnio~ltli,
How shall I show niy face to the wol-Id,O S l v a .
On the fourth day, i t was the fourth ~rlonth
.. How can I bear this, 0 S l v a .
Five days, and it was f~vemonth.;.
0 lord, you've given me trouble, 0 ~ l v a
I can't bear it. I can't bear it, O S i v a
How will I live, cries Ravula in misery.
Six days, and he is six months pone, 0 noth her,
in seven days it was seven months.
0 what shame, Ravula in his seventh month.
and soon came the eighth, 0 ~ i v a
Ravula was in his ninth full month.
When he was round and ready. she's born. the dear.
Sit2 is born through his nose.
When he sneezes. Sitamma is holm.
And Ravula names her Sitamma.
(Gowda et al. 1973, 150-1; my translation)
In Kannada. the word sita means 'he sneezed': he calls her Sita because
she is born from a sneeze. Her name is thus given a Kannada folk etymo-
logy, as in the Sanskrit texts it has a Sanskrit one: there she is named Sit2
because King Janaka finds her in a furrow ( s i r u ) . Then Ravula goes to
astrologers, who tell him he is being punished for not keeping his word
t ~ ~ i and
v a for eating the flesh of the fruit instead of giving it to his wife.
They advise him to feed and dress the child, and leave her some place
where she will be found and brought up by some couple. He puts her in
a box and leaves her in Janaka's field.
. It is only after this story of Sit2's birth that the poet sings of the birth
and adventures of Rama and Laksmana. Then comes a long section on
SitB's marriage contest, where Ravula appears and is humiliated when
After that she is abducted by R u v ~ ~ lRLimaa. lays siege to Lanka with his
monkey allies, and (in a brief section) recovers Sit2 and is crowned king.
The poet then returns to the theme of Sits's trials. She is slandered and
exiled, but gives birth to twins who grow LIPto be warriors. They tie up
Rlma's sacrificial horse. defeat the ~trnliessent to g~rardthe horse and
finally unite their parents. this time for- good.
One sees here not only a difiel-en(texture and ernph:tsis: the teller is
everywhere eager to ~ ~ L L ItoI -Sni t s - Ile~.life. her birth. her adoption, her
wedding. her-abduction and reco\,rr?.Wllcrle sections. e q ~ ~ i111 t l lerlgth to
thoseon R31n;l;111dI > a k r n a ~ l d .h~r-th.
\ e\~Itri~ndwar ;ty,tint Ruv:irli~.i11.e
148 I The Collected E.s.sa~sof A . K . Kr1rnanl4jun
devoted to her banishment, pregnancy and reuriion with her husband,
Furthermore, herabnormal birth a s the daughter born directly to the male
R3vana brings to the story a new range of suggestions: the male envy of
womb and childbirth, which is a frequent theme in Indian literature, and
an Indian oedipal theme of fathers pursuing daughters and, in this case,
a daughter causing the death of her incestuous father (see chap. 22, 'The
Indian Oedipus', below). The motif of Sit2 a s R3vana's daughter is not
unknown elsewhere. It occurs in one tradition of the Jain stories (for
example, in the Vasudevahirizdi) and in folk traditions of Kannada and
Telugu, a s well a s in several Southeast Asian Rcinzclyanc~s.In some.
Ravana in his lusty youth molests a young woman, who vows vengeance
and i s reborn a s his daughtertodestroy him. Thus the oral traditions seem
to partake of yet another set of themes unknown in Valmiki.
A SOUTHEAST ASIAN EXAMPLE
When we go outside India to Southeast Asia, we meet with a variety of
tellings of the R3ma story in Tibet, Thailand, Burma, Laos, Cambodia,
Malaysia, Java and Indonesia. Here we shall look at only one example,
the Thai Kamakirti. According to Santosh Desai, nothing else of Hindu
origin has affected the tone of Thai life more than the R2ma story (Desai
1980, 63).'The bas-reliefs and paintings on the walls of their Buddhist
temples, the plays enacted in town and village, their ballets-all of them
rework the R2ma story. In succession several kings with the name 'King
Rama' wrote Rarniiyana episodes in Thai: King Rama I composed a
telling of the Rcimciyana in fifty thousand verses, Rama I1 composed new
episodes for dance. and Rama VI added another set of episodes, most
taken from Valmiki. Places in Thailand, such as Lopburi (Sanskrit Lava-
puri), Khidkin (Sanskrit Kiskindha), and Ayuthia (Sanskrit Ayodhya)
with its ruins of Khmer and Thai art. are associated with R3ma legends.
The Thai Rutnakirti (RBma's glory) or Ramakien (Riima's story)
opens with an account of the origins of the three kinds of characters in the
story, the human, the demonic, and the simian. The second part describes
the brothers' first encounters with the demons. Riima's marriage and
banishment, the abduction of Sita. and Rama's meeting with the monkey
clan. It also describes the preparations for the war, Hanuman's visit to
Lanka and his burning of it, the building of the bridge, the siege of Lanka,
the fail of Ravana, andRa1na.s reunion with Sits. The third part describes
an insurrection in Lanka. which Riima deputes his two younyest brothers
to quell. This part also describes the banishment of Sit%.the birth of her
sons, their war with Rama, Sits's descent into the earth: and the appear-
ance of the gods to reunite R51na and Sita. Though many incidents look
the same as they do in Vslmiki, many things looh different as well. For
instance, a s i n the South India folk Kfimii~nnas( a s also in some Jain,
Bengali and KBshmiri ones), the banishment of Sita is given a dramatic
rationale. The daughter of ~ a r ~ a n a k h(the
i i demoness whom Rama
and Laksmana had mutilated years earlier in the forest) is waiting in the
wings to take revenge on Sit3, whom she views a s finally responsible for
her mother's disfigurement. She comes to Ayodhya, enters Sits's
service a s a maid, and induces her to draw a picture of Ravana. The draw-
ingis renderedindelible(in some tellings, it comes to life in her bedroom)
and forces itself on R3ma1s attention. In a jealous rage, he orders Sits
killed. The compassionate Laksmana leaves her alive in the forest,
though, and brings back the heart of a deer a s witness to the execution.
The reunion between R2ma and Sit3 is also different. When Rams
finds out she is still alive, he recalls Sit2 to his palace by sending her word
that he is dead. S h e rushes to see him but flies into a rage when she finds
she has been tricked. So, in a fit of helpless anger, she calls upon Mother
Earth to take her. Hanuman is sent to subterranean regions to bring her
back, but she refuses to return. It takes the power of Siva to reunite them.
Again as in the Jain instances and the South Indian folk poems, the
account of Sita's birth is different from that given in Vglmiki. When
Daiarathaperforms his sacrifice, he receives a rice ball, not the rice por-
ridge (pGyasu) mentioned in Vslmiki. A crow steals some of the rice and
takes it to R3vana's wife, who eats it and gives birth to Sits. A prophecy
that his daughter will cause his death makes Ravana throw Sit9 into the
sea, where the sea goddess protects her and takes her to Janaka.
Furthermore, though R9ma is an incarnation of Visnu, in Thailand he
is subordinate to ~ i v aBy . and large he is seen a s a human hero, and the
Ramakirti is not regarded a s a religious work or even a s an exemplary
workon which men and women may pattern themselves. TheThaisenjoy
most the sections about the abduction of Sit2 and the war. Partings and
reunions, which are the heart of the Hindu Riirnayanus, are not a s impor-
tant as the excitement and the details of war, the techniques, the fabulous
weapons. The Yuddhakandr~or the War Book is more elaborate than in
other telling, whereas it is of minor importance in the Kannada folk
telling. Desai says this Thai emphasis on war is significant: early Thai
is full of wars; their concern was survival. The focus in the Ranrtr-
kien is not on family values and sp~rituality. Thai audiencesare more L'ond
Of Hanuman than of Ranla. Neither celjbate nor devout, a s in the Hindu
RGnrdvtrnc~,here Hanuman is quite a ladie\' man. who doe4n.t at 311 m ~ n d
looking into the bedrooms of Lanka and doesn't corls~derseeing anothrr
man's sleeping wife anything immoral, as Valmihi's or Ka1npan.b
Hanuinan does.
Ravana too is different here. The Rcimcrkirti admires Ravana's re-
sourcefulness and learning; his abduction of Sita is seen as an act of love
and is viewed with sympathy. The Thais are moved by R5vaila's sacrifice
of family, kingdom and life ~tselffor the sake of a woman. HIS dying
words later provide the theme of a famous love poem of the nineteenth
century, an inscription of a Wat of Bangkok (Desai 1980, 85). Unlike
Valmiki's characters, the Thai ones are a fallible, huinan mixture of good
and evil. The fall of Ravana here makes one sad. It is not an occasion for
unambiguous rejoicing, as it is in Valmiki.
P A T T E R N S O F DIFFERENCE
Thus, not only do we have one story told by Valmiki in Sanskrit, we have
a variety of Rgma tales told by others, with radical differences among
them. Let me outline a few of the differences we have not yet encoun-
tered. For instance, in Sanskrit and in the other Indian languages, there
are two endings to the story. One ends with the return of Rama and Sit3
to Ayodhya, their capital, to be crowned king and queen of the ideal
kingdom. In another ending, often considered a later addition in Valmiki
and in Kampan, Rama hears Sita slandered a s a woman who lived in
Ravana's grove, and in the name of his reputation as a king (we would
call itcredibility, Isuppose) he banishes her to the forest. where she gives
birth to twins. They grow up in Valmiki's hermitage, learn the Ramiiycintr
as well as the arts of war from him, win a war over Rama's army, and i n
a poignant scene sing the Riimaycinci to their own father when he doesn't
quite know who they are. Each of these two endings gives the whole work
a different cast. The first one celebrates the return of the royal exiles and
rounds out the tale with reunion, coronation and peace. In the second one.
their happiness is brief, and they are separated again. making separation
of loved ones (vij~rrrlrirnhha)the central mood of the whole work. It can
even be called tragic. for Sita finally cannot hear it any more and enters
a fissure i n the earth, the mother fronl whom she had originally coine-ax
we saw earlier, her name mearls 'rurrow'. which is where she was orig~n-
ally found by Janaka. It also enacts. in [he rise of Sita from the furrow and
her return to the earth. a shadow o r a Proserpine-like myth. a vegetation
cycle: Sit3 is like the seed and Ram:) with his cloutl-dark body tlie rain:
Rpvana In the south 1s the Plu~o-likeahduclor Into dark regions (the south
isthe &ode of death ): Sits reappears i n 11~11'ityand glory for a brier per~od
before she r e t u r n again to the earth. Such a myth, while it should not he
blatantly pressed illto some rigid iillegory. resonates in the shadows of
the tale in many details. Note the many references to fertility and rain.
Rgmals opposition to Slva-like ascetic figures (made explicit by Kampan
in the Ahalya story j, his ancestor bringing the river Ganges into the plains
; of the kingdom to water and revive the ashes of the dead. Relevant also
/ is the story of Rsyaiyriga. the sexually naive ascetic who is seduced by
the beauty of a woman and thereby brings rain to Lomapiida's kingdom,
and who later officiates at the ritual which fills DaSaratha's queens'
wombs with children. Such a mythic groundswell also makes us hear
other tones in the continual references to nature, the potent presence of
birds and animals as the devoted friends of Rama in his search b r h ~ s
Sit%Birds and monkeys are a real presence and a poetic necessity in the
Vglmiki Rarnfiyatm, as much as they are excrescences in the Jain view.
With each ending, different effects of the story are highlighted, and the
whole telling alters its poetic stance.
One could say similar things about the different beginnings. Valmiki
opens with a frame story about Valmiki himself. He sees a hunter :iim an
arrow and kill one of a happy pair of love-birds. The female circles its
dead mate and cries over it. The scene so moves the poet and sage
Vglmiki that he curses the hunter. A moment later, he realises tl~athis
curse has taken the form of a line of verse-in a famous play on words.
: the rhythm of his grief (Sokrr) has given rise to a metrical form (Yiokcl).
i He decides to write the hole epic of Rama's adventures in that netre.
!
I This incident becomes. in laterpoetics, the parable of all poetic utterance:
: out of the stress of natural feeling (bhavci), an artistic form has to be found
orfashioned, a form which will generalise and capture the essence (rasa)
of that feeling. This incident at the beginning of Val~nikigives th€ work
anaesthetic self-awareness. One may go further: the incident of the death
of a bird and the separation of loved ones becomes a leitmotif for this
telling of the Rama story. One notes a certain rhythmic recurrencr: of an
animal killed at many of the critical moments: when DaSaratha shoots an
arrow tokill what he thinks I S an elephant but instead kills a young ascetic
filling his pitcher with water (making noises like an elephant drinking at
a water hole). he earns a curse that later leads to the exile of R a m and
the separat~oil I.~the~-
(11 and son. When Ranla pursues a magical golden
deer (really a denlon In disguise) and kills it, with its last breath il calls
Out to Lak~niannin RSma's voice, which in turn leads to his leaving Sit3
152 / Thc Collected EJ ctrvs of A K ~aniunujan

unprotected; this a l l o w s R a v a n a t o a b d u c t S i t a . E v e n a s Riivana carries a s the) move on \o roc,

h e r off, h e is o p p o s e d by a n ancient bird w h i c h h e s l a y s with h i s s w o r d . the wdter\ flow from the peak\
F u r t h e r m o r e , the d e a t h o f t h e bird, in the o p e n i n g s e c t i o n . a n d the c r y o f to the valley\,
the s u r v i v i n g m a t e s e t t h e t o n e f o r the m a n y s e p a r a t i o n s throughout the beginning high and reachin? low. [ 17 1
work, o f b r o t h e r a n d brother, m o t h e r s a n d f a t h e r s a n d s o n s , w i v e s a n d
The flood carrying all before it
husbands.
like merchant.;. caravans
T h u s t h e o p e n i n g s e c t i o n s o f e a c h m a j o r w o r k s e t into motion the
loaded with gold, pearls,
h a r m o n i c s o f t h e w h o l e p o e m , p r e s a g i n g t h e m e s a n d a pattern o f i m a g e s .
peacock feathers and rows
K a m p a n ' s T a m i l t e x t b e g i n s v e r y differently. O n e c a n c o n v e y it b e s t by 1 of white tusk and fragrant woods. [ 181
citing a f e w s t a n z a s . I
Bending to a curve, the rlver.
THE RIVER surface coloured by petals.
gold yellow pollen. honey.
The cloud, wearing white
the ochre flow of elephant lust,
on white like ~ i v a
looked much l ~ k ea rainbow. 1191
making beautiful the sky
on his way from the sea Ravaging hillsides, uprooting trees,
grew dark covered with fallen leaves all over,
the waters came.
a s the face of the Lord
who wears with pride like a monkey clan
on his right the Goddess facing restless seas
of the scented breasts. [2] looking for a bridge. 1201

Mistaking the Himalayan dawn Thick-faced proud elephants

for a range of gold, ranged with foaming cavalier horses
the clouds let down chains filling the air with the noise of war.
and chains of gleaming rain. raising banners,
They pour like a generous giver the flood rushes
giving all he has, a s for a battle with the sea. [22]
remembering and reckoning Stream of numberless kings
all he has. [ 151 in the line of the Sun,
It floods. ~truns over continuous In virtue:
its continents like the fame the river branches into deltas.
of a great king, upright. mother's milk to all lives
infallible, reigning by the Laws on the salt sea-surrounded land. [231
under cool royal umbrellas. [I61
Scattering a robber camp on the h ~ l l s
Concubines caressing
with a rain of arrows.
their lovers' hair, their lovers'
bodies. their lovers' limbs, the scared women beating them bell~es
and gathering bow and a]-row a s they run
take away whole hills
of wealth yet keep little the waters assault villages
in their spendthrift hands like the armies of a k ~ n g [. 2 5 ]
 Stealing m~lkand buttermilk, come down in rain and f l o w as 11oods oi'tlie Sarayu river down to Aye-
guzzling on warm ghee and butter dhya, the capital or Riima's hingdom. Through it. Kampan inlroduces all
straight from the pots on the ropes, his themes and emphases, even his characters, his concern with fertility
themes (implicit in Viilmiki), the whole dynasty of Riima's ancestors,
leaning the maru~amtree on the kuruntam,
carrying away the clothes and bracelets and his vision of bhukri through the Rumfiyanu.
of goatherd girls at water games, Note the variety of themes introduced through the similes and allu-
sions, each aspect of the water symbolising an aspect of the Ramciyana
like Krsna dancing
story itself and representing a portion of the Ramiiyana universe (for
on the spotted snake,
[he waters are naughty. [26] 'example, monkeys), picking up a s it goes along characteristic Tamil
traditions not to be found anywhere else, like the five landscapes of clas-
Turning forest into slope, sical Tamil poetry. The emphasis on water itself, the source of life and
field into wilderness,
fertility, is also an explicit part of the Tamil literary tradition. The
seashore into fertile land,
Ku~al-the so-called Bible of the Tamils, a didactic workon the ends and
changing boundaries. means of the good life--opens with a passage on God and follows it up
exchanging landscapes, immediately with a great ode in celebration of the rains (Tirukkural2).
the reckless waters
Another point of difference among Ramriyanas i s the intensity of
roared on like the pasts focus on a major character. Valmiki focuses on RBma and his history in
that hurry close on the heels his opening sections; Vimalastiri's Jain REmEyana and the Thai epic
of lives. [28] focus not on RBma but on the genealogy and adventures of Ravana; the
Born of Himalayan stone Kannada village telling focuses on Sita, her birth, her wedding, her trials.
and mingling with the seas, Some later extensions like the Adbhuta Ramayana and the Tamil story
it spreads, ceaselessly various, of ~ a t a k a n t h a r a v a ~even
a give Sita a heroic character: when the ten-
one and many at once, headed RBvana i s killed, another appears with a hundred heads: RBma
like that Original cannot handle this new menace, s o it is Sit3 who goes to war and slays
even the measureless Vedas the new demon (see Shulman 1979).The Santals, a tribe known for their
cannot measure with words. [30] extensive oral traditions, even conceive of Sit2 as unfaithful-to the
Through pollen-dripping groves, ~ 5 o c and
k horror of any Hindu bred on Valmiki or Kampan, she is seduc-
clumps of champak, edboth by Ravana and by Laksmana. In Southeast Asian texts, a s wesaw
lotus pools, earlier, Hanumiin is not the celibate devotee with a monkey face but a
water places with new sands, ladies' man who figures in many love episodes. In Kampan and Tulsi.
flowering fields cross-fenced Rams is a god; in the Jain texts, he is only an evolved Jain man who is in
with creepers, his last birth and s o does not even kill Riivana. In the latter, Riivana is a
noble hero fatedby his karma to fall for Sits and bring death upon himself,
like a life filling
while he is in other texts an overweening demon. Thus in the conception
and emptying
a varlety of bod~es,
ofevery major character there are radical differences, sodifferent indeed
that one conception i? quite abhorrent to [hose who hold another. We may
the river flows on. [3 11' add tothese many more: elaborationson the reason why Sit5 is banished,
This passage is unique to Kampag; ~t is no1 found in Valmiki. 11 the miraculous crealion or Sita's second son and the final reunion of
describes the walers as they are gathered by clouds from [he ,sea\ and RBma and Sita. Every one of these occurs in more than one text, in more
156 1 The Collected Essays of A. K. Rarnanujan
..
: textual c'ommunit]J (Hindu. Jain or Buddhist), in more than one in erms 01 t)asic elements such a s plot, it is filled with local detail,
folk;lore,poet ic traditions, imagery, and so forth-as in Kampan's telling
is there a commo the Rama stories, except the most or tlhat of the Bengali Kyttivssa. In the Bengali RGmiiyana, RBma's wed-
- . . ... '_._^_..I
skeletal set or relations IlKe tnaL ol d s m a , his brother, his wife and the .. ; v c l r llluch a Bengali wedding, with Bengali customs and Bengali
din1
antagonist RBvaqa who abducts her? Are the stories bound together only cu1:;ine (Sen 1920). We may call such a text indexical: the text is embed-
by certain family as Wittgenstein might say? Or is it like ded in a locale, a context, refers to it, even signifies,it,and would not make
Aristotle's jack-knife? When the philosopher asked an old carpenter how -,I,
lllUI
:h sense without it. Here, one may say, the RGrnGyana is not merely
long he Ilad had h~is knife, tl1e latter Siaid, 'Oh, I've had it for thirty years. a se:t of ind ividual texts, but a genre with a variety of instances.
I've cha nged the blade a fe:w times 2ind the handle a few times, but it's Iqow an(1then, as we have seen, Text 2 uses the plot and characters
~L n.same
. -.
c ~ -knife.'
.
Sornt:> I I ~ I J,.,.,
I--- -I--,
UUW UJ
.-
,.f ,
.
a ,elational structure claims the name I l a r r r L a of Text 1 minimally and uses them to say entirely new things,
and -,.-ac, -
of RGrnGyana for all these tellings, but on a closer look one is not neces- ofte:n in an effort to subvert the predecessor by prod ucing a cc)unter-tex t.
sarily all that like another. Like a collection of people with the same We may call such a translation symbolic. The word t,ranslatiorz itself her.e
. ~ . ~ -- . .
acquires a somewhat mathematical sense. of mapplng a srrucrure of
- A

proper name, they make a class in name alone.

~~~ - & ~ - ~ . .

HTS O N T R A N S L A T I O N
That ma y be too t:xtreme a way ot putting it. Let me back up and say it
differen tly, in a w: iy that covers more adequately the differences between
rela.tions ontc) another plane or another syrnbolic syrstem. Whc:n this ha11-
Pen s, the Ranl a story has become almost a second 12tnguage o f the who1le
culture area, a shared core of names, cha racters, ir~cidents,i2nd motif:S,
.. .-
wit1I a narrative language in which Text 1 can say one thlng and 'l'ext 2
SONiething else,even theexact opposite. Valmiki's Hindu and v 's

the texts and their relations to each other, for they are related. One might JairI texts in India--or the Thai Ramakirti in Southeast Asia :h
6LL-I. - c ,LA- -- a - series of translations clustering around one or another -..-
lllllln LLIcI~~ by11lbolic translations of each other.

~ l yof texts :r of them cluster around VBlmiki, another set (h e must not forget that to some extent all translations, e ven the sc1-
around t he Jain V , and s o on. called faithful iconic ones, inevitably have all thre'e kinds 01 F element:S .
~.~
A
)r rnese
r-.
-I
... rransiarlun-relations between texts could be thought of in Wh
. . ..en Goldman (1984-) and his group of scholars proauce a moaern

PeircearI terms, at least in three ways.9
W h e-e ~ Text 1 and Text 2 have a geometrical resemblance to each
other, as one triangle to another (whatever the angles, sizes, or colours
of the lir~ e s )we, c< all such a relation iconic. In the West, we generally ex-
pect tranlslations to be 'faith~ful',i.e., iconic. Thus, when Chapman trans-
lates Hc~ m e r ,he not only preserves basic textual features such as
characte!rs, image ry and orcier of incidents, but tries to reproduce a hexa-
meter an~dretain tlle same n umber of lines as in the original Greek--only
the l a n glage
~ is Enlglish and the idiom Elizabethan. When Kampan retells
> - " = - =-
~ ~ ' m
VBlmiki s namcrya!la in lamil, he is largely faithful in keeping to the
order and sequence of episodes, the structural relations between the
characters of father, son, brothers, wives, friends, and enemies. But the
iconicity is limited to such structural relations. His work is much longer
than' Vglmiki's, for examp le, and it is composed in more than twenty
different kinds of Tamil mt:tres, whi le VBlmiki's is mostly in the Slokn
metre.
Very often, although Text 2 stands in an iconic relationship to Text I
translation of Vtilmiki's Ram-yana, they are iconic in the transliteration
of Sanskrit names, the number and sequence of verses, the order of the
episodes, and so forth. But they are also indexical, in that the translation
is ir1 English idiom and comes equipped \.vith introcluctions a~ n dexplan-
at01y footnotes, which inevitably contain t,wentieth-1century at titudes and
misprisions; and symbolic, in that they ca nnot avo18d conveyi ng through
this translation modem understandings prc)per to the:ir reading;of the text.
But the proportions between the three kjinds of re lations diiffer vastly
bet\~ e e nKampan and Goldman. And w!e accord ingly real them for
..,..-
airr erent reasons and with different aesthetic expectations. We read the
sch,olarly modem English translation largely to gairI a sense c)f the origi-
nal Valmiki, and we consider it successful to the ex1tent that it resembles
th-
L 1 l ~ original. We read Kampan to read Kampan, and ...- :..A--
W C J U U ~ C :him on his
own terms-not by his resemblance to VBlmiki but, if anything, by the
extent that he differs from Vslmiki. In the one, we rejoice in the simi-
larity; in the other, we cherish and savour the differences.
h e may go further and say that the cultural area in which RiimEyanas
are endemic has a pool of s i g n ~ f i e r (s\ \ h eLI gene pool I . sig~lifierhtllar 111- epic. The whole village went to this one-m:ln per-lormance a s i f i t were
elude plots, characters. names. peo$rapby iscidentc. :11ld r e l ~ ~ t i o n s h i ~ ~ , rare feast.
a
Ora], written, and performance t r a d ~ t i o ~ iphrases.
s. proverbs. and even The woman who was married to the t~nculrureddolt tried to interest
sneers carry allusions to the R5ma s t o r y When someone is carrying on, him in the performance. S h e nagged hinl and nagged hiill. trying to torce
say, 'What's this Rama)'ir!lcr now? Enough.' In Tamil. a narrow room him to g o and listen. This time. he g r u ~ r ~ b l eads usual but decided to
is called a kiSkindhij; a proverb about a dim-witted person says, 'After humour her. S o he went in the evening and sat at the back. I t was an all-
hearing the Rcimdyana all night, he a r k s how R2ma is related 10 Sits': in night performance, and hejust couldn't keep awake. He slept through the
a Bengali arithmetic textbook. children a r e asked to figure the dimen- night. Early in the morning, when a canto had ended and the reciter sang
sions of what is left of a wall that Hanumsn built. after he has broken the closing verses for the day, sweets were distributed according to
custonl. Someone put s o m e sweets into the mouth of the sleeping man.
down p a n of it in mischief. And to these must b e added marriage songs,
He woke up soon after and went home. His wife w a s delighted that her
narrative poems, place legends, temple myths, paintings, sculpture, and
- husband had stayed through the night and asked him eagerly how h e
the many performing arts.
enjoyed the RrSmQana. He said, 'It w a s very sweet.' The wife was happy
T h e s e various texts not only relate to prior texts directly, to borrow or
to hear it.
refute, but they relate to each other through this common code orcommon
pool. Every author, if one may hazard a metaphor, dips into it and brings T h e next day too his wife insisted on his listening to the epic. S o he
went to the enclosure where the reciter was performing, sat against a
out a unique crystallization, a new text with a unique texture and a fresh
wall, and before long fell fastasleep. T h e place w a s crowded and a young
context. The great texts rework the small ones, for 'lions are made of
sheep,' a s ValCry said. And sheep are made of lions, too: a folk legend boy sat on his shoulder, made himself comfortable, and listened open-
says that Hanumzn wrote the original Rijnzuyana on a mountain-top. after mouthed to the fascinating story. In the morning, when the night'sportion
the great war, and scattered the manuscript; it w a s many times larger than of the story c a m e to an end, everyone got up and s o did the husband. T h e
what w e have now. Viilmiki is said to have captured only a fragment of boy had. left earlier, but the man felt aches and pains from the weight he
it.I01n this sense, no text is original, yetno tellingis a mere retelling-and had borne all night. When h e went home and his wife asked him eagerly
the story h a s no closure, although it may b e enclosed in a text. In India how it was, he said, 'It got heavier and heavier by morning.' T h e wife
and in Southeast Asia, no oneever reads the Riirnriyanaorthe MahZhhlirl~ro said, 'That's the way the story is.' S h e was happy that her husband.was
for the first time. T h e stories are there, 'always already'. at last beginning to feel the emotions and the greatness of the epic.
On the third day. he sat at the edge of the crowd and w a s s o sleepy that
he lay down on the floor and even snored. Early in the morning, a dog
WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU LISTEN came that way and pissed into his mouth a little before he woke up and
This essay opened with a folktale about the many R2rnGyu~u.s.Before we went home. When his wife asked him how it was, h e moved his mouth
close, it may b e appropriate to tell another tale about H a n u m j n and this way and that, made a face and said, 'Terrible. It was SO salty.' His
Rama's ring. But this story is about the power of the Rrirncryuna, about wife knew something w a s wrong. S h e asked him what exactly was
what happens when you really listen to this potent story. Even a fool happening and didn't let up till he finally told her how he had been
cannot resist it; he i s entranced and caught up in the action. The listener sleeping through the performance every night.
can no longerbear to b e a bystander but feels compelled toenter the world On the fourth day, his wife went with him, sat him down in the very
of the epic: the line between fiction and reality is erased. first row, and told him sternly that he should keep awake n o matter what
Avillagerwhohadno s e n s e o f culture and nu interest in it was married might happen. S o h e s a t d u t i f ~ ~ linl ythe front row and began tolisten. Very
to a woman who was very cultured. S h e tried various ways to cultivate soon, he w a s caught up in the adventures and the characters of the great
his taste for the higher things in life but he just wasn't interested. epic story. On that day, the reciter was enchanting the audience with a
One day a great reciter of that grand epic the RBm(iycrntr came to the description of how H a n ~ ~ r n athe
n monkey had to leap across the ocean to
vil1:lge. Every evening he would sing. recite, and explain the verses of the take R s m a ' s signet ring to Sita. When Hanuman w a s leaping across the
160 1 The Collected E.ssciy.s of A.K. Krimnnujan I
ocean, the signet ring slipped from his hand and fell into the ocean,
Hanumandidn't know what to do. He had 10 gel the ring back quickly and
take it to Sit3 in the demon's kingdom. While he was wringing his hands, Repetition in the Mahiibhqrata
the husband who was listening wilh rap1 attention in the first row said,
'Hanumgn, don't worry. 1'11 get it for you.' Then he jumped up and dived 1
into the ocean, found the ring on rhe ocean floor, brought it back, and gave [
it -to Hanuman. i
'
Everyone was astonished. They thought this man was someone
special, really blessed by Rama and Hanumiin. Ever since, he has been
respecled in the village a s a wise elder. and he has also behaved like one.
That's what happens when you really listen to a story, especially to the

No Hindu ever reads the Mahabhiirata for the first time. And when he
does get to read it, he doesn't usually read it in Sanskrit. As one such
native, I know the Hindu epics, not as a Sanskritist (which I am not), but
through Kannada and Tamil, mostly through the oral traditions. I've
heard bits and pieces of it in a tailor's shop where a pundit used to regale
us with Mahabhiirara stories and large sections of a sixteenth-century
Kannada text; from brahman cooks in the house; from an older boy who
loved to keep us spellbound with it (and the Kannada Arabian Nights
which he was reading in the Oriental Library) after cricket, in the
evenings, under a large neem tree in a wealthy engineer's compound;
from a somewhat bored algebra teacher who switched from the binomial
theorem to the problems of Draupadi and her five husbands. Then there
were professional bards who 'did the Harikatha Kdaksepam', redeem-
ing the time with holy tales (and not always holy ones). They were invited
into a neighbowhood by a group or a wealthy man, and they would recite.
sing and tell the Mahahharcitci in sections night after night, usually under
a temporary canopy @cindcl) lit by petromax lanterns, with a floating
audience sitting on rugs on the street and on the verandas of houses that
lined the slreet now turned into a makeshift auditorium. They sang songs
in several languages, told folktales, sometimes danced, quoted Sanskrit
tags as well as the daily newspaper, and made the Mahabhcratci enter-
taining, didactic and relevant to the listener's present.
The M~iknhha,.c~tr~ provides materials and allusions to every artistic
genre-from plays to proverbs, I'roln Folk performances to movies and
TV. Indeed, the M~iliChh~rtrrciancl the RfirnGyana have appeared as
Serials, week after week in populal- Tamil weeklies. C. Rajagopalachari,
[he veteran statesman. who was ded~catedto bringing tradilional wisdom
In: Illuminations,
edited by Hannah Arendt,
translated by Harry Zohn, from the 1935 essay
New York: Schocken Books, 1969

The Work of Art

in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction

WALTER BENJAMIN

“Our fine arts were developed, their types and uses were established, in times
very different from the present, by men whose power of action upon things was
insignificant in comparison with ours. But the amazing growth of our
techniques, the adaptability and precision they have attained, the ideas and
habits they are creating, make it a certainty that profound changes are
impending in the ancient craft of the Beautiful. In all the arts there is a
physical component which can no longer be considered or treated as it used to
be, which cannot remain unaffected by our modern knowledge and power. For
the last twenty years neither matter nor space nor time has been what it was
from time immemorial. We must expect great innovations to transform the
entire technique of the arts, thereby affecting artistic invention itself and
perhaps even bringing about an amazing change in our very notion of art.”*

Paul Valéry, PIÈCES SUR L’ART

“Le Conquete de l’ubiquité,” Paris.

PREFACE

When Marx undertook his critique of the capitalistic mode of production,

this mode was in its infancy. Marx directed his efforts in such a way as to give
them prognostic value. He went back to the basic conditions underlying
capitalistic production and through his presentation showed what could be
expected of capitalism in the future. The result was that one could expect it not
only to exploit the proletariat with increasing intensity, but ultimately to create
conditions which would make it possible to abolish capitalism itself.
The transformation of the superstructure, which takes place far more slowly
than that of the substructure, has taken more than half a century to manifest in
all areas of culture the change in the conditions of production. Only today can it
be indicated what form this has taken. Certain prognostic requirements should
be met by these statements. However, theses about the art of the proletariat after
its assumption of power or about the art of a classless society would have less

*
Quoted from Paul Valéry, Aesthetics, “The Conquest of Ubiquity,” translated by Ralph
Manheim, p. 225. Pantheon Books, Bollingen Series, New York, 1964.
bearing on these demands than theses about the developmental tendencies of art
under present conditions of production. Their dialectic is no less noticeable in
the superstructure than in the economy. It would therefore be wrong to
underestimate the value of such theses as a weapon. They brush aside a number
of outmoded concepts, such as creativity and genius, eternal value and
mystery—concepts whose uncontrolled (and at present almost uncontrollable)
application would lead to a processing of data in the Fascist sense. The
concepts which are introduced into the theory of art in what follows differ from
the more familiar terms in that they are completely useless for the purposes of
Fascism. They are, on the other hand, useful for the formulation of
revolutionary demands in the politics of art.

In principle a work of art has always been reproducible. Man-made artifacts

could always be imitated by men. Replicas were made by pupils in practice of
their craft, by masters for diffusing their works, and, finally, by third parties in
the pursuit of gain. Mechanical reproduction of a work of art, however,
represents something new. Historically, it advanced intermittently and in leaps
at long intervals, but with accelerated intensity. The Greeks knew only two
procedures of technically reproducing works of art: founding and stamping.
Bronzes, terra cottas, and coins were the only art works which they could
produce in quantity. All others were unique and could not be mechanically
reproduced. With the woodcut graphic art became mechanically reproducible
for the first time, long before script became reproducible by print. The
enormous changes which printing, the mechanical reproduction of writing, has
brought about in literature are a familiar story. However, within the
phenomenon which we are here examining from the perspective of world
history, print is merely a special, though particularly important, case. During
the Middle Ages engraving and etching were added to the woodcut; at the
beginning of the nineteenth century lithography made its appearance.
With lithography the technique of reproduction reached an essentially new
stage. This much more direct process was distinguished by the tracing of the
design on a stone rather than its incision on a block of wood or its etching on a
copperplate and permitted graphic art for the first time to put its products on the
market, not only in large numbers as hitherto, but also in daily changing forms.
Lithography enabled graphic art to illustrate everyday life, and it began to keep
pace with printing. But only a few decades after its invention, lithography was
surpassed by photography. For the first time in the process of pictorial
reproduction, photography freed the hand of the most important artistic
functions which henceforth devolved only upon the eye looking into a lens.

2
Since the eye perceives more swiftly than the hand can draw, the process of
pictorial reproduction was accelerated so enormously that it could keep pace
with speech. A film operator shooting a scene in the studio captures the images
at the speed of an actor’s speech. Just as lithography virtually implied the
illustrated newspaper, so did photography foreshadow the sound film. The
technical reproduction of sound was tackled at the end of the last century.
These convergent endeavors made predictable a situation which Paul Valéry
pointed up in this sentence: “Just as water, gas, and electricity are brought into
our houses from far off to satisfy our needs in response to a minimal effort, so
we shall be supplied with visual or auditory images, which will appear and
disappear at a simple movement of the hand, hardly more than a sign.” (op. cit.,
p. 226) Around 1900 technical reproduction had reached a standard that not
only permitted it to reproduce all transmitted works of art and thus to cause the
most profound change in their impact upon the public; it also had captured a
place of its own among the artistic processes. For the study of this standard
nothing is more revealing than the nature of the repercussions that these two
different manifestations—the reproduction of works of art and the art of the
film—have had on art in its traditional form.

II

Even the most perfect reproduction of a work of art is lacking in one

element: its presence in time and space, its unique existence at the place where
it happens to be. This unique existence of the work of art determined the history
to which it was subject throughout the time of its existence. This includes the
changes which it may have suffered in physical condition over the years as well
as the various changes in its ownership.1 The traces of the first can be revealed
only by chemical or physical analyzes which it is impossible to perform on a
reproduction; changes of ownership are subject to a tradition which must be
traced from the situation of the original.
The presence of the original is the prerequisite to the concept of
authenticity. Chemical analyzes of the patina of a bronze can help to establish
this, as does the proof that a given manuscript of the Middle Ages stems from
an archive of the fifteenth century. The whole sphere of authenticity is outside
technical—and, of course, not only technical—reproducibility.2 Confronted
with its manual reproduction, which was usually branded as a forgery, the
original preserved all its authority; not so vis à vis technical reproduction. The
reason is twofold. First, process reproduction is more independent of the
original than manual reproduction. For example, in photography, process
reproduction can bring out those aspects of the original that are unattainable to
the naked eye yet accessible to the lens, which is adjustable and chooses its

3
angle at will. And photographic reproduction, with the aid of certain processes,
such as enlargement or slow motion, can capture images which escape natural
vision. Secondly, technical reproduction can put the copy of the original into
situations which would be out of reach for the original itself. Above all, it
enables the original to meet the beholder halfway, be it in the form of a
photograph or a phonograph record. The cathedral leaves its locale to be
received in the studio of a lover of art; the choral production, performed in an
auditorium or in the open air, resounds in the drawing room.
The situations into which the product of mechanical reproduction can be
brought may not touch the actual work of art, yet the quality of its presence is
always depreciated. This holds not only for the art work but also, for instance,
for a landscape which passes in review before the spectator in a movie. In the
case of the art object, a most sensitive nucleus—namely, its authenticity—is
interfered with whereas no natural object is vulnerable on that score. The
authenticity of a thing is the essence of all that is transmissible from its
beginning, ranging from its substantive duration to its testimony to the history
which it has experienced. Since the historical testimony rests on the
authenticity, the former, too, is jeopardized by reproduction when substantive
duration ceases to matter. And what is really jeopardized when the historical
testimony is affected is the authority of the object.3
One might subsume the eliminated element in the term “aura” and go on to
say: that which withers in the age of mechanical reproduction is the aura of the
work of art. This is a symptomatic process whose significance points beyond
the realm of art. One might generalize by saying: the technique of reproduction
detaches the reproduced object from the domain of tradition. By making many
reproductions it substitutes a plurality of copies for a unique existence. And in
permitting the reproduction to meet the beholder or listener in his own
particular situation, it reactivates the object reproduced. These two processes
lead to a tremendous shattering of tradition which is the obverse of the
contemporary crisis and renewal of mankind. Both processes are intimately
connected with the contemporary mass movements. Their most powerful agent
is the film. Its social significance, particularly in its most positive form, is
inconceivable without its destructive, cathartic aspect, that is, the liquidation of
the traditional value of the cultural heritage. This phenomenon is most palpable
in the great historical films. It extends to ever new positions. In 1927 Abel
Gance exclaimed enthusiastically: “Shakespeare, Rembrandt, Beethoven will
make films . . . all legends, all mythologies and all myths, all founders of
religion, and the very religions . . . await their exposed resurrection, and the
heroes crowd each other at the gate.”*

*
Abel Gance, “Le Temps de l’image est venu,” L’Art cinematographique, Vol 2, pp.
94F, Paris, 1927.

4
 Presumably without intending it, he issued an invitation to a far-reaching
liquidation.

III

During long periods of history, the mode of human sense perception changes
with humanity’s entire mode of existence. The manner in which human sense
perception is organized, the medium in which it is accomplished, is determined
not only by nature but by historical circumstances as well. The fifth century,
with its great shifts of population, saw the birth of the late Roman art industry
and the Vienna Genesis, and there developed not only an art different from that
of antiquity but also a new kind of perception. The scholars of the Viennese
school, Riegl and Wickhoff, who resisted the weight of classical tradition under
which these later art forms had been buried, were the first to draw conclusions
from them concerning the organization of perception at the time. However far-
reaching their insight, these scholars limited themselves to showing the
significant, formal hallmark which characterized perception in late Roman
times. They did not attempt—and, perhaps, saw no way—to show the social
transformations expressed by these changes of perception. The conditions for
an analogous insight are more favorable in the present. And if changes in the
medium of contemporary perception can be comprehended as decay of the aura,
it is possible to show its social causes.
The concept of aura which was proposed above with reference to historical
objects may usefully be illustrated with reference to the aura of natural ones.
We define the aura of the latter as the unique phenomenon of a distance,
however close it may be. If, while resting on a summer afternoon, you follow
with your eyes a mountain range on the horizon or a branch which casts its
shadow over you, you experience the aura of those mountains, of that branch.
This image makes it easy to comprehend the social bases of the contemporary
decay of the aura. It rests on two circumstances, both of which are related to the
increasing significance of the masses in contemporary life. Namely, the desire
of contemporary masses to bring things ‘closer’ spatially and humanly, which is
just as ardent as their bent toward overcoming the uniqueness of every reality
by accepting its reproduction.4 Every day the urge grows stronger to get hold of
an object at very close range by way of its likeness, its reproduction.
Unmistakably, reproduction as offered by picture magazines and newsreels
differs from the image seen by the unarmed eye. Uniqueness and permanence
are as closely linked in the latter as are transitoriness and reproducibility in the
former. To pry an object from its shell, to destroy its aura, is the mark of a
perception whose ‘sense of the universal equality of things’ has increased to
such a degree that it extracts it even from a unique object by means of

5
reproduction. Thus is manifested in the field of perception what in the
theoretical sphere is noticeable in the increasing importance of statistics. The
adjustment of reality to the masses and of the masses to reality is a process of
unlimited scope, as much for thinking as for perception.

IV

The uniqueness of a work of art is inseparable from its being imbedded in

the fabric of tradition. This tradition itself is thoroughly alive and extremely
changeable. An ancient statue of Venus, for example, stood in a different
traditional context with the Greeks, who made it an object of veneration, than
with the clerics of the Middle Ages, who viewed it as an ominous idol. Both of
them, however, were equally confronted with its uniqueness, that is, its aura.
Originally the contextual integration of art in tradition found its expression in
the cult. We know that the earliest art works originated in the service of a
ritual—first the magical, then the religious kind. It is significant that the
existence of the work of art with reference to its aura is never entirely separated
from its ritual function.5 In other words, the unique value of the “authentic”
work of art has its basis in ritual, the location of its original use value. This
ritualistic basis, however remote, is still recognizable as secularized ritual even
in the most profane forms of the cult of beauty.6 The secular cult of beauty,
developed during the Renaissance and prevailing for three centuries, clearly
showed that ritualistic basis in its decline and the first deep crisis which befell
it. With the advent of the first truly revolutionary means of reproduction,
photography, simultaneously with the rise of socialism, art sensed the
approaching crisis which has become evident a century later. At the time, art
reacted with the doctrine of l’art pour l’art, that is, with a theology of art. This
gave rise to what might be called a negative theology in the form of the idea of
‘pure’ art, which not only denied any social function of art but also any
categorizing by subject matter. (In poetry, Mallarmé was the first to take this
position.)
An analysis of art in the age of mechanical reproduction must do justice to
these relationships, for they lead us to an all-important insight: for the first time
in world history, mechanical reproduction emancipates the work of art from its
parasitical dependence on ritual. To an ever greater degree the work of art
reproduced becomes the work of art designed for reproducibility.7 From a
photographic negative, for example, one can make any number of prints; to ask
for the ‘authentic’ print makes no sense. But the instant the criterion of
authenticity ceases to be applicable to artistic production, the total function of
art is reversed. Instead of being based on ritual, it begins to be based on another
practice—politics.

6
 V

Works of art are received and valued on different planes. Two polar types
stand out; with one, the accent is on the cult value; with the other, on the
exhibition value of the work.8 Artistic production begins with ceremonial
objects destined to serve in a cult. One may assume that what mattered was
their existence, not their being on view. The elk portrayed by the man of the
Stone Age on the walls of his cave was an instrument of magic. He did expose
it to his fellow men, but in the main it was meant for the spirits. Today the cult
value would seem to demand that the work of art remain hidden. Certain statues
of gods are accessible only to the priest in the cella; certain Madonnas remain
covered nearly all year round; certain sculptures on medieval cathedrals are
invisible to the spectator on ground level. With the emancipation of the various
art practices from ritual go increasing opportunities for the exhibition of their
products. It is easier to exhibit a portrait bust that can be sent here and there
than to exhibit the statue of a divinity that has its fixed place in the interior of a
temple. The same holds for the painting as against the mosaic or fresco that
preceded it. And even though the public presentability of a mass originally may
have been just as great as that of a symphony, the latter originated at the
moment when its public presentability promised to surpass that of the mass.
With the different methods of technical reproduction of a work of art, its
fitness for exhibition increased to such an extent that the quantitative shift
between its two poles turned into a qualitative transformation of its nature. This
is comparable to the situation of the work of art in prehistoric times when, by
the absolute emphasis on its cult value, it was, first and foremost, an instrument
of magic. Only later did it come to be recognized as a work of art. In the same
way today, by the absolute emphasis on its exhibition value the work of art
becomes a creation with entirely new functions, among which the one we are
conscious of, the artistic function, later may be recognized as incidental.9 This
much is certain: today photography and the film are the most serviceable
exemplifications of this new function.

VI

In photography, exhibition value begins to displace cult value all along the
line. But cult value does not give way without resistance. It retires into an
ultimate retrenchment: the human countenance. It is no accident that the portrait
was the focal point of early photography. The cult of remembrance of loved
ones, absent or dead, offers a last refuse for the cult value of the picture. For the
last time the aura emanates from the early photographs in the fleeting
expression of a human face. This is what constitutes their melancholy,

7
incomparable beauty. But as man withdraws from the photographic image, the
exhibition value for the first time shows its superiority to the ritual value. To
have pinpointed this new stage constitutes the incomparable significance of
Atget, who, around 1900, took photographs of deserted Paris streets. It has
quite justly been said of him that he photographed them like scenes of crime.
The scene of a crime, too, is deserted; it is photographed for the purpose of
establishing evidence. With Atget, photographs become standard evidence for
historical occurrences, and acquire a hidden political significance. They
demand a specific kind of approach; free-floating contemplation is not
appropriate to them. They stir the viewer; he feels challenged by them in a new
way. At the same time picture magazines begin to put up signposts for him,
right ones or wrong ones, no matter. For the first time, captions have become
obligatory. And it is clear that they have an altogether different character than
the title of a painting. The directives which the captions give to those looking at
pictures in illustrated magazines soon become even more explicit and more
imperative in the film where the meaning of each single picture appears to be
prescribed by the sequence of all preceding ones.

VII

The nineteenth-century dispute as to the artistic value of painting versus

photography today seems devious and confused. This does not diminish its
importance, however; if anything, it underlines it. The dispute was in fact the
symptom of a historical transformation the universal impact of which was not
realized by either of the rivals. When the age of mechanical reproduction
separated art from its basis in cult, the semblance of its autonomy disappeared
forever. The resulting change in the function of art transcended the perspective
of the century; for a long time it even escaped that of the twentieth century,
which experienced the development of the film. Earlier much futile thought had
been devoted to the question of whether photography is an art. The primary
question—whether the very invention of photography had not transformed the
entire nature of art—was not raised. Soon the film theoreticians asked the same
ill-considered question with regard to the film. But the difficulties which
photography caused traditional aesthetics were mere child’s play as compared
to those raised by the film. Whence the insensitive and forced character of early
theories of the film. Abel Gance, for instance, compares the film with
hieroglyphs: “Here, by a remarkable regression, we have come back to the level
of expression of the Egyptians. . . . Pictorial language has not yet matured
because our eyes have not yet adjusted to it. There is as yet insufficient respect

8
for, insufficient cult of, what it expresses.”* Or, in the words of Séverin-Mars:
“What art has been granted a dream more poetical and more real at the same
time! Approached in this fashion the film might represent an incomparable
means of expression. Only the most high-minded persons, in the most perfect
and mysterious moments of their lives, should be allowed to enter its
ambience.Ӡ Alexandre Arnoux concludes his fantasy about the silent film with
the question: “Do not all the bold descriptions we have given amount to the
definition of prayer?”‡ It is instructive to note how their desire to class the film
among the “arts” forces these theoreticians to read ritual elements into it—with
a striking lack of discretion. Yet when these speculations were published, films
like L’Opinion Publique and The Gold Rush had already appeared. This,
however, did not keep Abel Gance from adducing hieroglyphs for purposes of
comparison, nor Séverin-Mars from speaking of the film as one might speak of
paintings by Fra Angelico. Characteristically, even today ultrareactionary
authors give the film a similar contextual significance—if not an outright sacred
one, then at least a supernatural one. Commenting on Max Reinhardt’s film
version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Werfel states that undoubtedly it was
the sterile copying of the exterior world with its streets, interiors, railroad
stations, restaurants, motorcars, and beaches which until now had obstructed
the elevation of the film to the realm of art. “The film has not yet realized its
true meaning, its real possibilities . . . these consist in its unique faculty to
express by natural means and with incomparable persuasiveness all that is
fairylike, marvelous, supernatural.”*

VIII

The artistic performance of a stage actor is definitely presented to the

public by the actor in person; that of the screen actor, however, is presented by
a camera, with a twofold consequence. The camera that presents the
performance of the film actor to the public need not respect the performance as
an integral whole. Guided by the cameraman, the camera continually changes
its position with respect to the performance. The sequence of positional views
which the editor composes from the material supplied him constitutes the
completed film. It comprises certain factors of movement which are in reality
those of the camera, not to mention special camera angles, close-ups, etc.

*
Abel Gance, op. cit., pp. 100-1.
†
Séverin-Mars, quoted by Abel Gance, op. cit., p. 100.
‡
Alexandre Arnoux, Cinéma pris, 1929, p.28.
*
Franz Werfel, “Ein Sommernachtstraum, Ein Film von Shakespeare und Reinhardt,” Neues
Wiener Journal, cited in Lu 15, November, 1935.

9
Hence, the performance of the actor is subjected to a series of optical tests. This
is the first consequence of the fact that the actor’s performance is presented by
means of a camera. Also, the film actor lacks the opportunity of the stage actor
to adjust to the audience during his performance, since he does not present his
performance to the audience in person. This permits the audience to take the
position of a critic, without experiencing any personal contact with the actor.
The audience’s identification with the actor is really an identification with the
camera. Consequently the audience takes the position of the camera; its
approach is that of testing.10 This is not the approach to which cult values may
be exposed.

IX

For the film, what matters primarily is that the actor represents himself to
the public before the camera, rather than representing someone else. One of the
first to sense the actor’s metamorphosis by this form of testing was Pirandello.
Though his remarks on the subject in his novel Si Gira were limited to the
negative aspects of the question and to the silent film only, this hardly impairs
their validity. For in this respect, the sound film did not change anything
essential. What matters is that the part is acted not for an audience but for a
mechanical contrivance—in the case of the sound film, for two of them. “The
film actor,” wrote Pirandello, “feels as if in exile—exiled not only from the
stage but also from himself. With a vague sense of discomfort he feels
inexplicable emptiness: his body loses its corporeality, it evaporates, it is
deprived of reality, life, voice, and the noises caused by his moving about, in
order to be changed into a mute image, flickering an instant on the screen, then
vanishing into silence . . . The projector will play with his shadow before the
public, and he himself must be content to play before the camera.”* This
situation might also be characterized as follows: for the first time—and this is
the effect of the film—man has to operate with his whole living person, yet
forgoing its aura. For aura is tied to his presence; there can be no replica of it.
The aura which, on the stage, emanates from Macbeth, cannot be separated for
the spectators from that of the actor. However, the singularity of the shot in the
studio is that the camera is substituted for the public. Consequently, the aura
that envelops the actor vanishes, and with it the aura of the figure he portrays.
It is not surprising that it should be a dramatist such as Pirandello who, in
characterizing the film, inadvertently touches on the very crisis in which we see
the theatre. Any thorough study proves that there is indeed no greater contrast

*
Luigi Pirandello, Si Gira, quoted by Léon Pierre-Quint, “Signification de cinéma,” L’Art
cinématographique, op. cit., pp. 14-15.

10
than that of the stage play to a work of art that is completely subject to or, like
the film, founded in, mechanical reproduction. Experts have long recognized
that in the film “the greatest effects are almost always obtained by ‘acting’ as
little as possible. . . .” In 1932 Rudolf Arnheim saw “the latest trend... in
treating the actor as a stage prop chosen for its characteristics and . . . inserted
at the proper place.”11 With this idea something else is closely connected. The
stage actor identifies himself with the character of his role. The film actor very
often is denied this opportunity. His creation is by no means all of a piece; it is
composed of many separate performances. Besides certain fortuitous
considerations, such as cost of studio, availability of fellow players, décor, etc.,
there are elementary necessities of equipment that split the actor’s work into a
series of mountable episodes. In particular, lighting and its installation require
the presentation of an event that, on the screen, unfolds as a rapid and unified
scene, in a sequence of separate shootings which may take hours at the studio;
not to mention more obvious montage. Thus a jump from the window can be
shot in the studio as a jump from a scaffold, and the ensuing flight, if need be,
can be shot weeks later when outdoor scenes are taken. Far more paradoxical
cases can easily be construed. Let us assume that an actor is supposed to be
startled by a knock at the door. If his reaction is not satisfactory, the director
can resort to an expedient: when the actor happens to be at the studio again he
has a shot fired behind him without his being forewarned of it. The frightened
reaction can be shot now and be cut into the screen version. Nothing more
strikingly shows that art has left the realm of the “beautiful semblance” which,
so far, had been taken to be the only sphere where art could thrive.

The feeling of strangeness that overcomes the actor before the camera, as
Pirandello describes it, is basically of the same kind as the estrangement felt
before one’s own image in the mirror. But now the reflected image has become
separable, transportable. And where is it transported? Before the public.12 Never
for a moment does the screen actor cease to be conscious of this fact. While
facing the camera he knows that ultimately he will face the public, the
consumers who constitute the market. This market, where he offers not only his
labor but also his whole self, his heart and soul, is beyond his reach. During the
shooting he has as little contact with it as any article made in a factory. This
may contribute to that oppression, that new anxiety which, according to
Pirandello, grips the actor before the camera. The film responds to the
shriveling of the aura with an artificial build-up of the “personality” outside the
studio. The cult of the movie star, fostered by the money of the film industry,
preserves not the unique aura of the person but the “spell of the personality,”

11
the phony spell of a commodity. So long as the movie-makers’ capital sets the
fashion, as a rule no other revolutionary merit can be accredited to today’s film
than the promotion of a revolutionary criticism of traditional concepts of art.
We do not deny that in some cases today’s films can also promote
revolutionary criticism of social conditions, even of the distribution of property.
However, our present study is no more specifically concerned with this than is
the film production of Western Europe.
It is inherent in the technique of the film as well as that of sports that
everybody who witnesses its accomplishments is somewhat of an expert. This
is obvious to anyone listening to a group of newspaper boys leaning on their
bicycles and discussing the outcome of a bicycle race. It is not for nothing that
newspaper publishers arrange races for their delivery boys. These arouse great
interest among the participants, for the victor has an opportunity to rise from
delivery boy to professional racer. Similarly, the newsreel offers everyone the
opportunity to rise from passer-by to movie extra. In this way any man might
even find himself part of a work of art, as witness Vertofl’s Three Songs About
Lenin or Iven’s Borinage. Any man today can lay claim to being filmed. This
claim can best be elucidated by a comparative look at the historical situation of
contemporary literature.
For centuries a small number of writers were confronted by many
thousands of readers. This changed toward the end of the last century. With the
increasing extension of the press, which kept placing new political, religious,
scientific, professional, and local organs before the readers, an increasing
number of readers became writers—at first, occasional ones. It began with the
daily press opening to its readers space for “letters to the editor.” And today
there is hardly a gainfully employed European who could not, in principle, find
an opportunity to publish somewhere or other comments on his work,
grievances, documentary reports, or that sort of thing. Thus, the distinction
between author and public is about to lose its basic character. The difference
becomes merely functional; it may vary from case to case. At any moment the
reader is ready to turn into a writer. As expert, which he had to become willy-
nilly in an extremely specialized work process, even if only in some minor
respect, the reader gains access to authorship. In the Soviet Union work itself is
given a voice. To present it verbally is part of a man’s ability to perform the
work. Literary license is now founded on polytechnic rather than specialized
training and thus becomes common property.13
All this can easily be applied to the film, where transitions that in literature
took centuries have come about in a decade. In cinematic practice, particularly
in Russia, this change-over has partially become established reality. Some of
the players whom we meet in Russian films are not actors in our sense but
people who portray themselves—and primarily in their own work process. In
Western Europe the capitalistic exploitation of the film denies consideration to

12
modern man’s legitimate claim to being reproduced. Under these circumstances
the film industry is trying hard to spur the interest of the masses through
illusion-promoting spectacles and dubious speculations.

XI

The shooting of a film, especially of a sound film, affords a spectacle

unimaginable anywhere at any time before this. It presents a process in which it
is impossible to assign to a spectator a viewpoint which would exclude from the
actual scene such extraneous accessories as camera equipment, lighting
machinery, staff assistants, etc.—unless his eye were on a line parallel with the
lens. This circumstance, more than any other, renders superficial and
insignificant any possible similarity between a scene in the studio and one on
the stage. In the theatre one is well aware of the place from which the play
cannot immediately be detected as illusionary. There is no such place for the
movie scene that is being shot. Its illusionary nature is that of the second
degree, the result of cutting. That is to say, in the studio the mechanical
equipment has penetrated so deeply into reality that its pure aspect freed from
the foreign substance of equipment is the result of a special procedure, namely,
the shooting by the specially adjusted camera and the mounting of the shot
together with other similar ones. The equipment-free aspect of reality here has
become the height of artifice; the sight of immediate reality has become an
orchid in the land of technology.
Even more revealing is the comparison of these circumstances, which differ
so much from those of the theatre, with the situation in painting. Here the
question is: How does the cameraman compare with the painter? To answer this
we take recourse to an analogy with a surgical operation. The surgeon
represents the polar opposite of the magician. The magician heals a sick person
by the laying on of hands; the surgeon cuts into the patient’s body. The
magician maintains the natural distance between the patient and himself;
though he reduces it very slightly by the laying on of hands, he greatly
increases it by virtue of his authority. The surgeon does exactly the reverse; he
greatly diminishes the distance between himself and the patient by penetrating
into the patient’s body, and increases it but little by the caution with which his
hand moves among the organs. In short, in contrast to the magician—who is
still hidden in the medical practitioner—the surgeon at the decisive moment
abstains from facing the patient man to man; rather, it is through the operation
that he penetrates into him.
Magician and surgeon compare to painter and cameraman. The painter
maintains in his work a natural distance from reality, the cameraman penetrates
deeply into its web.14 There is a tremendous difference between the pictures

13
they obtain. That of the painter is a total one, that of the cameraman consists of
multiple fragments which are assembled under a new law. Thus, for
contemporary man the representation of reality by the film is incomparably
more significant than that of the painter, since it offers, precisely because of the
thoroughgoing permeation of reality with mechanical equipment, an aspect of
reality which is free of all equipment. And that is what one is entitled to ask
from a work of art.

XII

Mechanical reproduction of art changes the reaction of the masses toward

art. The reactionary attitude toward a Picasso painting changes into the
progressive reaction toward a Chaplin movie. The progressive reaction is
characterized by the direct, intimate fusion of visual and emotional enjoyment
with the orientation of the expert. Such fusion is of great social significance.
The greater the decrease in the social significance of an art form, the sharper the
distinction between criticism and enjoyment by the public. The conventional is
uncritically enjoyed, and the truly new is criticized with aversion. With regard
to the screen, the critical and the receptive attitudes of the public coincide. The
decisive reason for this is that individual reactions are predetermined by the
mass audience response they are about to produce, and this is nowhere more
pronounced than in the film. The moment these responses become manifest
they control each other. Again, the comparison with painting is fruitful. A
painting has always had an excellent chance to be viewed by one person or by a
few. The simultaneous contemplation of paintings by a large public, such as
developed in the nineteenth century, is an early symptom of the crisis of
painting, a crisis which was by no means occasioned exclusively by
photography but rather in a relatively independent manner by the appeal of art
works to the masses.
Painting simply is in no position to present an object for simultaneous
collective experience, as it was possible for architecture at all times, for the epic
poem in the past, and for the movie today. Although this circumstance in itself
should not lead one to conclusions about the social role of painting, it does
constitute a serious threat as soon as painting, under special conditions and, as
it were, against its nature, is confronted directly by the masses. In the churches
and monasteries of the Middle Ages and at the princely courts up to the end of
the eighteenth century, a collective reception of paintings did not occur
simultaneously, but by graduated and hierarchized mediation. The change that
has come about is an expression of the particular conflict in which painting was
implicated by the mechanical reproducibility of paintings. Although paintings
began to be publicly exhibited in galleries and salons, there was no way for the

14
masses to organize and control themselves in their reception.15 Thus the same
public which responds in a progressive manner toward a grotesque film is
bound to respond in a reactionary manner to surrealism.

XIII

The characteristics of the film lie not only in the manner in which man
presents himself to mechanical equipment but also in the manner in which, by
means of this apparatus, man can represent his environment. A glance at
occupational psychology illustrates the testing capacity of the equipment.
Psychoanalysis illustrates it in a different perspective. The film has enriched
our field of perception with methods which can be illustrated by those of
Freudian theory. Fifty years ago, a slip of the tongue passed more or less
unnoticed. Only exceptionally may such a slip have revealed dimensions of
depth in a conversation which had seemed to be taking its course on the
surface. Since the Psychopathology of Everyday Life things have changed. This
book isolated and made analyzable things which had heretofore floated along
unnoticed in the broad stream of perception. For the entire spectrum of optical,
and now also acoustical, perception the film has brought about a similar
deepening of apperception. It is only an obverse of this fact that behavior items
shown in a movie can be analyzed much more precisely and from more points
of view than those presented on paintings or on the stage. As compared with
painting, filmed behavior lends itself more readily to analysis because of its
incomparably more precise statements of the situation. In comparison with the
stage scene, the filmed behavior item lends itself more readily to analysis
because it can be isolated more easily. This circumstance derives its chief
importance from its tendency to promote the mutual penetration of art and
science. Actually, of a screened behavior item which is neatly brought out in a
certain situation, like a muscle of a body, it is difficult to say which is more
fascinating, its artistic value or its value for science To demonstrate the identity
of the artistic and scientific uses of photography which heretofore usually were
separated will be one of the revolutionary functions of the film.16
By close-ups of the things around us, by focusing on hidden details of
familiar objects, by exploring common place milieus under the ingenious
guidance of the camera, the film, on the one hand, extends our comprehension
of the necessities which rule our lives; on the other hand, it manages to assure
us of an immense and unexpected field of action. Our taverns and our
metropolitan streets, our offices and furnished rooms, our railroad stations and
our factories appeared to have us locked up hopelessly. Then came the film and
burst this prison-world asunder by the dynamite of the tenth of a second, so that
now, in the midst of its far-flung ruins and debris, we calmly and adventurously

15
go traveling. With the close-up, space expands; with slow motion, movement is
extended. The enlargement of a snapshot does not simply render more precise
what in any case was visible, though unclear: it reveals entirely new structural
formations of the subject. So, too, slow motion not only presents familiar
qualities of movement but reveals in them entirely unknown ones “which, far
from looking like retarded rapid movements, give the effect of singularly
gliding, floating, supernatural motions.”* Evidently a different nature opens
itself to the camera than opens to the naked eye—if only because an
unconsciously penetrated space is substituted for a space consciously explored
by man. Even if one has a general knowledge of the way people walk, one
knows nothing of a person’s posture during the fractional second of a stride.
The act of reaching for a lighter or a spoon is familiar routine, yet we hardly
know what really goes on between hand and metal, not to mention how this
fluctuates with our moods. Here the camera intervenes with the resources of its
lowerings and liftings, its interruptions and isolations, it extensions and
accelerations, its enlargements and reductions. The camera introduces us to
unconscious optics as does psychoanalysis to unconscious impulses.

XIV

One of the foremost tasks of art has always been the creation of a demand
which could be fully satisfied only later.17 The history of every art form shows
critical epochs in which a certain art form aspires to effects which could be
fully obtained only with a changed technical standard, that is to say, in a new
art form. The extravagances and crudities of art which thus appear, particularly
in the so-called decadent epochs, actually arise from the nucleus of its richest
historical energies. In recent years, such barbarisms were abundant in Dadaism.
It is only now that its impulse becomes discernible: Dadaism attempted to
create by pictorial—and literary—means the effects which the public today
seeks in the film.
Every fundamentally new, pioneering creation of demands will carry
beyond its goal. Dadaism did so to the extent that it sacrificed the market values
which are so characteristic of the film in favor of higher ambitions—though of
course it was not conscious of such intentions as here described. The Dadaists
attached much less importance to the sales value of their work than to its
usefulness for contemplative immersion. The studied degradation of their
material was not the least of their means to achieve this uselessness. Their
poems are “word salad” containing obscenities and every imaginable waste
product of language. The same is true of their paintings, on which they

*
Rudolf Arnheim, loc. cit., p. 138.

16
mounted buttons and tickets. What they intended and achieved was a relentless
destruction of the aura of their creations, which they branded as reproductions
with the very means of production. Before a painting of Arp’s or a poem by
August Stramm it is impossible to take time for contemplation and evaluation
as one would before a canvas of Derain’s or a poem by Rilke. In the decline of
middle-class society, contemplation became a school for asocial behavior; it
was countered by distraction as a variant of social conduct.18 Dadaistic
activities actually assured a rather vehement distraction by making works of art
the centre of scandal. One requirement was foremost: to outrage the public.
From an alluring appearance or persuasive structure of sound the work of
art of the Dadaists became an instrument of ballistics. It hit the spectator like a
bullet, it happened to him, thus acquiring a tactile quality. It promoted a
demand for the film, the distracting element of which is also primarily tactile,
being based on changes of place and focus which periodically assail the
spectator. Let us compare the screen on which a film unfolds with the canvas of
a painting. The painting invites the spectator to contemplation; before it the
spectator can abandon himself to his associations. Before the movie frame he
cannot do so. No sooner has his eye grasped a scene than it is already changed.
It cannot be arrested. Duhamel, who detests the film and knows nothing of its
significance, though something of its structure, notes this circumstance as
follows: “I can no longer think what I want to think. My thoughts have been
replaced by moving images.”* The spectator’s process of association in view of
these images is indeed interrupted by their constant, sudden change. This
constitutes the shock effect of the film, which, like all shocks, should be
cushioned by heightened presence of mind.19 By means of its technical
structure, the film has taken the physical shock effect out of the wrappers in
which Dadaism had, as it were, kept it inside the moral shock effect.20

XV

The mass is a matrix from which all traditional behavior toward works of
art issues today in a new form. Quantity has been transmuted into quality. The
greatly increased mass of participants has produced a change in the mode of
participation. The fact that the new mode of participation first appeared in a
disreputable form must not confuse the spectator. Yet some people have
launched spirited attacks against precisely this superficial aspect. Among these,
Duhamel has expressed himself in the most radical manner. What he objects to
most is the kind of participation which the movie elicits from the masses.
Duhamel calls the movie “a pastime for helots, a diversion for uneducated,

*
Georges Duhamel, Scènes de la vie future, Paris, 1930, p. 52.

17
wretched, worn-out creatures who are consumed by their worries . . . , a
spectacle which requires no concentration and presupposes no intelligence . . . ,
which kindles no light in the heart and awakens no hope other than the
ridiculous one of someday becoming a ‘star’ in Los Angeles.”• Clearly, this is at
bottom the same ancient lament that the masses seek distraction whereas art
demands concentration from the spectator. That is a commonplace.
The question remains whether it provides a platform for the analysis of the
film. A closer look is needed here. Distraction and concentration form polar
opposites which may be stated as follows: A man who concentrates before a
work of art is absorbed by it. He enters into this work of an the way legend tells
of the Chinese painter when he viewed his finished painting. In contrast, the
distracted mass absorbs the work of art. This is most obvious with regard to
buildings. Architecture has always represented the prototype of a work of art
the reception of which is consummated by a collectivity in a state of distraction.
The laws of its reception are most instructive.
Buildings have been man’s companions since primeval times. Many art
forms have developed and perished. Tragedy begins with the Greeks, is
extinguished with them, and after centuries its “rules” only are revived. The
epic poem, which had its origin in the youth of nations, expires in Europe at the
end of the Renaissance. Panel painting is a creation of the Middle Ages, and
nothing guarantees its uninterrupted existence. But the human need for shelter
is lasting. Architecture has never been idle. Its history is more ancient than that
of any other art, and its claim to being a living force has significance in every
attempt to comprehend the relationship of the masses to art. Buildings are
appropriated in a twofold manner: by use and by perception - or rather, by
touch and sight. Such appropriation cannot be understood in terms of the
attentive concentration of a tourist before a famous building. On the tactile side
there is no counterpart to contemplation on the optical side. Tactile
appropriation is accomplished not so much by attention as by habit. As regards
architecture, habit determines to a large extent even optical reception. The
latter, too, occurs much less through rapt attention than by noticing the object in
incidental fashion. This mode of appropriation, developed with reference to
architecture, in certain circumstances acquires canonical value. For the tasks
which face the human apparatus of perception at the turning points of history
cannot be solved by optical means, that is, by contemplation, alone. They are
mastered gradually by habit, under the guidance of tactile appropriation.
The distracted person, too, can form habits. More, the ability to master
certain tasks in a state of distraction proves that their solution has become a
matter of habit. Distraction as provided by art presents a covert control of the
extent to which new tasks have become soluble by apperception. Since,

•
Duhamel, op. cit., p. 58.

18
moreover, individuals are tempted to avoid such tasks, art will tackle the most
difficult and most important ones where it is able to mobilize the masses. Today
it does so in the film. Reception in a state of distraction, which is increasing
noticeably in all fields of art and is symptomatic of profound changes in
apperception, finds in the film its true means of exercise. The film with its
shock effect meets this mode of reception halfway. The film makes the cult
value recede into the background not only by putting the public in the position
of the critic, but also by the fact that at the movies this position requires no
attention. The public is an examiner, but an absent-minded one.

Epilogue

The growing proletarianization of modern man and the increasing

formation of masses are two aspects of the same process. Fascism attempts to
organize the newly created proletarian masses without affecting the property
structure which the masses strive to eliminate. Fascism sees its salvation in
giving these masses not their right, but instead a chance to express
themselves.21 The masses have a right to change property relations; Fascism
seeks to give them an expression while preserving property. The logical result
of Fascism is the introduction of aesthetics into political life. The violation of
the masses, whom Fascism, with its Führer cult, forces to their knees, has its
counterpart in the violation of an apparatus which is pressed into the production
of ritual values.
All efforts to render politics aesthetic culminate in one thing: war. War and
war only can set a goal for mass movements on the largest scale while
respecting the traditional property system. This is the political formula for the
situation. The technological formula may be stated as follows: Only war makes
it possible to mobilize all of today’s technical resources while maintaining the
property system. It goes without saying that the Fascist apotheosis of war does
not employ such arguments. Still, Marinetti says in his manifesto on the
Ethiopian colonial war:” For twenty-seven years we Futurists have rebelled
against the branding of war as anti-aesthetic. . . . Accordingly we state: . . . War
is beautiful because it establishes man’s dominion over the subjugated
machinery by means of gas masks, terrifying megaphones, flame throwers, and
small tanks. War is beautiful because it initiates the dreamt-of metallization of
the human body. War is beautiful because it enriches a flowering meadow with
the fiery orchids of machine guns. War is beautiful because it combines the
gunfire, the cannonades, the cease-fire, the scents, and the stench of
putrefaction into a symphony. War is beautiful because it creates new
architecture, like that of the big tanks, the geometrical formation flights, the
smoke spirals from burning villages, and many others. . . . Poets and artists of

19
Futurism! . . . remember these principles of an aesthetics of war so that your
struggle for a new literature and a new graphic art... may be illumined by
them!”
This manifesto has the virtue of clarity. Its formulations deserve to be
accepted by dialecticians. To the latter, the aesthetics of today’s war appears as
follows: If the natural utilization of productive forces is impeded by the
property system, the increase in technical devices, in speed, and in the sources
of energy will press for an unnatural utilization, and this is found in war. The
destructiveness of war furnishes proof that society has not been mature enough
to incorporate technology as its organ, that technology has not been sufficiently
developed to cope with the elemental forces of society. The horrible features of
imperialistic warfare are attributable to the discrepancy between the tremendous
means of production and their inadequate utilization in the process of
production—in other words, to unemployment and the lack of markets.
Imperialistic war is a rebellion of technology which collects, in the form of
“human material,” the claims to which society has denied its natural material.
Instead of draining rivers, society directs a human stream into a bed of trenches;
instead of dropping seeds from airplanes, it drops incendiary bombs over cities;
and through gas warfare the aura is abolished in a new way.
“Fiat ars—pereat mundus,” says Fascism, and, as Marinetti admits, expects
war to supply the artistic gratification of a sense perception that has been
changed by technology. This is evidently the consummation of “l’art pour
l’art.” Mankind, which in Homer’s time was an object of contemplation for the
Olympian gods, now is one for itself. Its self-alienation has reached such a
degree that it can experience its own destruction as an aesthetic pleasure of the
first order. This is the situation of politics which Fascism is rendering aesthetic.
Communism responds by politicizing art.

Notes

1. Of course, the history of a work of art encompasses more than this. The history
of the “Mona Lisa,” for instance, encompasses the kind and number of its copies made
in the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries.
2. Precisely because authenticity is not reproducible, the intensive penetration of
certain (mechanical) processes of reproduction was instrumental in differentiating and
grading authenticity. To develop such differentiations was an important function of the
trade in works of art. The invention of the woodcut may be said to have struck at the
root of the quality of authenticity even before its late flowering. To be sure, at the time
of its origin a medieval picture of the Madonna could not yet be said to be “authentic.”
It became “authentic” only during the succeeding centuries and perhaps most strikingly
so during the last one.

20
 3. The poorest provincial staging of Faust is superior to a Faust film in that,
ideally, it competes with the first performance at Weimar. Before the screen it is
unprofitable to remember traditional contents which might come to mind before the
stage—for instance, that Goethe’s friend Johann Heinrich Merck is hidden in Mephisto,
and the like.
4. To satisfy the human interest of the masses may mean to have one’s social
function removed from the field of vision. Nothing guarantees that a portraitist of
today, when painting a famous surgeon at the breakfast table in the midst of his family,
depicts his social function more precisely than a painter of the 17th century who
portrayed his medical doctors as representing this profession, like Rembrandt in his
“Anatomy Lesson.”
5. The definition of the aura as a “unique phenomenon of a distance however close
it may be” represents nothing but the formulation of the cult value of the work of art in
categories of space and time perception. Distance is the opposite of closeness. The
essentially distant object is the unapproachable one. Unapproachability is indeed a
major quality of the cult image. True to its nature, it remains “distant, however close it
may be.” The closeness which one may gain from its subject matter does not impair the
distance which it retains in its appearance.
6. To the extent to which the cult value of the painting is secularized the ideas of its
fundamental uniqueness lose distinctness. In the imagination of the beholder the
uniqueness of the phenomena which hold sway in the cult image is more and more
displaced by the empirical uniqueness of the creator or of his creative achievement. To
be sure, never completely so; the concept of authenticity always transcends mere
genuineness. (This is particularly apparent in the collector who always retains some
traces of the fetishist and who, by owning the work of art, shares in its ritual power.)
Nevertheless, the function of the concept of authenticity remains determinate in the
evaluation of art; with the secularization of art, authenticity displaces the cult value of
the work.
7. In the case of films, mechanical reproduction is not, as with literature and
painting, an external condition for mass distribution. Mechanical reproduction is
inherent in the very technique of film production. This technique not only permits in the
most direct way but virtually causes mass distribution. It enforces distribution because
the production of a film is so expensive that an individual who, for instance, might
afford to buy a painting no longer can afford to buy a film. In 1927 it was calculated
that a major film, in order to pay its way, had to reach an audience of nine million. With
the sound film, to be sure, a setback in its international distribution occurred at first:
audiences became limited by language barriers. This coincided with the Fascist
emphasis on national interests. It is more important to focus on this connection with
Fascism than on this setback, which was soon minimized by synchronization. The
simultaneity of both phenomena is attributable to the depression. The same disturbances
which, on a larger scale, led to an attempt to maintain the existing property structure by
sheer force led the endangered film capital to speed up the development of the sound
film. The introduction of the sound film brought about a temporary relief, not only
because it again brought the masses into the theaters but also because it merged new
capital from the electrical industry with that of the film industry. Thus, viewed from the

21
outside, the sound film promoted national interests, but seen from the inside it helped to
internationalize film production even more than previously.
8. This polarity cannot come into its own in the aesthetics of Idealism. Its idea of
beauty comprises these polar opposites without differentiating between them and
consequently excludes their polarity. Yet in Hegel this polarity announces itself as
clearly as possible within the limits of Idealism. We quote from his Philosophy of
History:
“Images were known of old. Piety at an early time required them for worship, but it
could do without beautiful images. These might even be disturbing. In every
beautiful painting there is also something nonspiritual, merely external, but its
spirit speaks to man through its beauty. Worshipping, conversely, is concerned
with the work as an object, for it is but a spiritless stupor of the soul. . . . Fine art
has arisen . . . in the church . . . , although it has already gone beyond its principle
as art.”
Likewise, the following passage from The Philosophy of Fine Art indicates that Hegel
sensed a problem here.
“We are beyond the stage of reverence for works of art as divine and objects
deserving our worship. The impression they produce is one of a more reflective
kind, and the emotions they arouse require a higher test. . . .”—G. W. F. Hegel, The
Philosophy of Fine Art, trans., with notes, by F. P. B. Osmaston, Vol. I, p. 12,
London, 1920.
The transition from the first kind of artistic reception to the second characterizes
the history of artistic reception in general. Apart from that, a certain oscillation between
these two polar modes of reception can be demonstrated for each work of art. Take the
Sistine Madonna. Since Hubert Grimme’s research it has been known that the Madonna
originally was painted for the purpose of exhibition. Grimme’s research was inspired by
the question: What is the purpose of the molding in the foreground of the painting
which the two cupids lean upon? How, Grimme asked further, did Raphael come to
furnish the sky with two draperies? Research proved that the Madonna had been
commissioned for the public lying-in-state of Pope Sixties. The Popes lay in state in a
certain side chapel of St. Peter’s. On that occasion Rappel’s picture had been fastened
in a niche like background of the chapel, supported by. the coffin. In this picture
Raphael portrays the Madonna approaching the papal coffin in clouds from the
background of the niche, which was demarcated by green drapes. At the obsequies of
Sixties a pre-eminent exhibition value of Raphael’s picture was taken advantage of.
Some time later it was placed on the high altar in the church of the Black Friars at
Piacenza. The reason for this exile is to be found in the Roman rites which forbid the
use of paintings exhibited at obsequies as cult objects on the high altar. This regulation
devalued Raphael’s picture to some degree. In order to obtain an adequate price
nevertheless, the Papal See resolved to add to the bargain the tacit toleration of the
picture above the high altar. To avoid attention the picture was given to the monks of
the far-off provincial town.
9. Bertolt Brecht, on a different level, engaged in analogous reflections: “If the
concept of ‘work of art’ can no longer be applied to the thing that emerges once the

22
work is transformed into a commodity, we have to eliminate this concept with cautious
care but without fear, lest we liquidate the function of the very thing as well. For it has
to go through this phase without mental reservation, and not as noncommittal deviation
from the straight path; rather, what happens here with the work of art will change it
fundamentally and erase its past to such an extent that should the old concept be taken
up again—and it will, why not?—it will no longer stir any memory of the thing it once
designated.”
l0. “The film . . . provides—or could provide—useful insight into the details of
human actions. . . . Character is never used as a source of motivation; the inner life of
the persons never supplies the principal cause of the plot and seldom is its main result.”
(Bertolt Brecht, Versuche, “Der Dreigroschenprozess,” p. 268.) The expansion of the
field of the testable which mechanical equipment brings about for the actor corresponds
to the extraordinary expansion of the field of the testable brought about for the
individual through economic conditions. Thus, vocational aptitude tests become
constantly more important. What matters in these tests are segmental performances of
the individual. The film shot and the vocational aptitude test are taken before a
committee of experts. The camera director in the studio occupies a place identical with
that of the examiner during aptitude tests.
11. Rudolf Arnheim, Film als Kunst, Berlin, 1932, pp. 176f. In this context certain
seemingly unimportant details in which the film director deviates from stage practices
gain in interest. Such is the attempt to let the actor play without make-up, as made
among others by Dreyer in his Jeanne d’Arc. Dreyer spent months seeking the forty
actors who constitute the Inquisitors’ tribunal. The search for these actors resembled
that for stage properties that are hard to come by. Dreyer made every effort to avoid
resemblances of age, build, and physiognomy. If the actor thus becomes a stage
property, this latter, on the other hand, frequently functions as actor. At least it is not
unusual for the film to assign a role to the stage property. Instead of choosing at random
from a great wealth of examples, let us concentrate on a particularly convincing one. A
clock that is working will always be a disturbance on the stage. There it cannot be
permitted its function of measuring time. Even in a naturalistic play, astronomical time
would clash with theatrical time. Under these circumstances it is highly revealing that
the film can, whenever appropriate, use time as measured by a clock. From this more
than from many other touches it may clearly be recognized that under certain
circumstances each and every prop in a film may assume important functions. From
here it is but one step to Pudovkin’s statement that “the playing of an actor which is
connected with an object and is built around it . . . is always one of the strongest
methods of cinematic construction.” (W. Pudovkin, Filmregie und Filmmanuskript,
Berlin, 1928, p. 126.) The film is the first art form capable of demonstrating how matter
plays tricks on man. Hence, films can be an excellent means of materialistic
representation.
12. The change noted here in the method of exhibition caused by mechanical
reproduction applies to politics as well. The present crisis of the bourgeois democracies
comprises a crisis of the conditions which determine the public presentation of the
rulers. Democracies exhibit a member of government directly and personally before the
nation’s representatives. Parliament is his public. Since the innovations of camera and

23
recording equipment make it possible for the orator to become audible and visible to an
unlimited number of persons, the presentation of the man of politics before camera and
recording equipment becomes paramount. Parliaments, as much as theaters, are
deserted. Radio and film not only affect the function of the professional actor but
likewise the function of those who also exhibit themselves before this mechanical
equipment, those who govern. Though their tasks may be different, the change affects
equally the actor and the ruler. The trend is toward establishing controllable and
transferable skills under certain social conditions. This results in a new selection, a
selection before the equipment from which the star and the dictator emerge victorious.
13. The privileged character of the respective techniques is lost. Aldous Huxley
writes:
“Advances in technology have led . . . to vulgarity. . . . Process reproduction and
the rotary press have made possible the indefinite multiplication of writing and
pictures. Universal education and relatively high wages have created an enormous
public who know how to read and can afford to buy reading and pictorial matter. A
great industry has been called into existence in order to supply these commodities.
Now, artistic talent is a very rare phenomenon; whence it follows . . . that, at every
epoch and in all countries, most art has been bad. But the proportion of trash in
the total artistic output is greater now than at any other period. That it must be so
is a matter of simple arithmetic. The population of Western Europe has a little
more than doubled during the last century. But the amount of reading—and
seeing—matter has Increased, I should imagine, at least twenty and possibly fifty
or even a hundred times. If there were n men of talent in a population of x millions,
there will presumably be 2n men of talent among 2X millions. The situation may be
summed up thus. For every page of print and pictures published a century ago,
twenty or perhaps even a hundred pages are published today. But for every man of
talent then living, there are now only two men of talent. It may be of course that,
thanks to universal education, many potential talents which in the past would have
been stillborn are now enabled to realize themselves. Let us assume, then, that
there are now three or even four men of talent to every one of earlier times. It still
remains true to say that the consumption of readin—and seeing—matter has far
outstripped the natural production of gifted writers and draughtsmen. lt is the same
with hearing-matter. Prosperity, the gramophone and the radio have created an
audience of hearers who consume an amount of hearing-matter that has increased
out of all proportion to the increase of population and the consequent natural
increase of talented musicians. lt follows from all this that in all the arts the output
of trash is both absolutely and relatively greater than it was in the past; and that it
must remain greater for just so long as the world continues to consume the present
inordinate quantities of reading-matter, seeing-matter, and hearing-matter.”
—Aldous Huxley, Beyond the Mexique Bay. A Traveller’s Journal, London, 1949
pp. 274 ff. First published in 1934.
This mode of observation is obviously not progressive.
14. The boldness of the cameraman is indeed comparable to that of the surgeon.
Luc Durtain lists among specific technical sleights of hand those “which are required in
surgery in the case of certain difficult operations. I choose as an example a case from

24
oto-rhinolaryngology; . . . the so-called endonasal perspective procedure; or I refer to
the acrobatic tricks of larynx surgery which have to be performed following the
reversed picture in the laryngoscope. I might also speak of ear surgery which suggests
the precision work of watchmakers. What range of the most subtle muscular acrobatics
is required from the man who wants to repair or save the human body! We have only to
think of the couching of a cataract where there is virtually a debate of steel with nearly
fluid tissue, or of the major abdominal operations (laparotomy).”—Luc Durtain, op. cit.
15. This mode of observation may seem crude, but as the great theoretician
Leonardo has shown, crude modes of observation may at times be usefully adduced.
Leonardo compares painting and music as follows: “Painting is superior to music
because, unlike unfortunate music, it does not have to die as soon as it is born. . . .
Music which is consumed in the very act of its birth is inferior to painting which the use
of varnish has rendered eternal.” (Trattato I, 29.)
16. Renaissance painting offers a revealing analogy to this situation. The
incomparable development of this art and its significance rested not least on the
integration of a number of new sciences, or at least of new scientific data. Renaissance
painting made use of anatomy and perspective, of mathematics, meteorology, and
chromatology. Valéry writes: “What could be further from us than the strange claim of
a Leonardo to whom painting was a supreme goal and the ultimate demonstration of
knowledge? Leonardo was convinced that painting demanded universal knowledge, and
he did not even shrink from a theoretical analysis which to us is stunning because of its
very depth and precision. . . .”—Paul Valéry, Pièces sur l’Art,”Autour de Corot,” Paris,
p. 19l.
17. “The work of art,” says André Breton, “is valuable only in so far as it is
vibrated by the reflexes of the future.” Indeed, every developed art form intersects three
lines of development. Technology works toward a certain form of art. Before the advent
of the film there were photo booklets with pictures which flitted by the onlooker upon
pressure of the thumb, thus portraying a boxing bout or a tennis match. Then there were
the slot machines in bazaars; their picture sequences were produced by the turning of a
crank.
Secondly, the traditional art forms in certain phases of their development
strenuously work toward effects which later are effortlessly attained by the new ones.
Before the rise of the movie the Dadaists’ performances tried to create an audience
reaction which Chaplin later evoked in a more natural way.
Thirdly, unspectacular social changes often promote a change in receptivity which
will benefit the new art form. Before the movie had begun to create its public, pictures
that were no longer immobile captivated an assembled audience in the so-called
Kaiserpanorama. Here the public assembled before a screen into which stereoscopes
were mounted, one to each beholder. By a mechanical process individual pictures
appeared briefly before the stereoscopes, then made way for others. Edison still had to
use similar devices in presenting the first movie strip before the film screen and
projection were known. This strip was presented to a small public which stared into the
apparatus in which the succession of pictures was reeling off. Incidentally, the
institution of the Kaiserpanorama shows very clearly a dialectic of the development.
Shortly before the movie turned the reception of pictures into a collective one, the

25
individual viewing of pictures in these swiftly outmoded establishments came into play
once more with an intensity comparable to that of the ancient priest beholding the statue
of a divinity in the cella.
18. The theological archetype of this contemplation is the awareness of being alone
with one’s God. Such awareness, in the heyday of the bourgeoisie, went to strengthen
the freedom to shake off clerical tutelage. During the decline of the bourgeoisie this
awareness had to take into account the hidden tendency to withdraw from public affairs
those forces which the individual draws upon in his communion with God.
19. The film is the art form that is in keeping with the increased threat to his life
which modern man has to face. Man’s need to expose himself to shock effects is his
adjustment to the dangers threatening him. The film corresponds to profound changes
in the apperceptive apparatus--changes that are experienced on an individual scale by
the man in the street in big-city traffic, on a historical scale by every present-day
citizen.
20. As for Dadaism, insights important for Cubism and Futurism are to be gained
from the movie. Both appear as deficient attempts of art to accommodate the pervasion
of reality by the apparatus. In contrast to the film, these schools did not try to use the
apparatus as such for the artistic presentation of reality, but aimed at some sort of alloy
in the joint presentation of reality and apparatus. In Cubism, the premonition that this
apparatus will be structurally based on optics plays a dominant part; in Futurism, it is
the premonition of the effects of this apparatus which are brought out by the rapid
sequence of the film strip.
21. One technical feature is significant here, especially with regard to newsreels,
the propagandist importance of which can hardly be overestimated. Mass reproduction
is aided especially by the reproduction of masses. In big parades and monster rallies, in
sports events, and in war, all of which nowadays are captured by camera and sound
recording, the masses are brought face to face with themselves. This process, whose
significance need not be stressed, is intimately connected with the development of the
techniques of reproduction and photography. Mass movements are usually discerned
more clearly by a camera than by the naked eye. A bird’s-eye view best captures
gatherings of hundreds of thousands. And even though such a view may be as
accessible to the human eye as it is to the camera, the image received by the eye cannot
be enlarged the way a negative is enlarged. This means that mass movements, including
war, constitute a form of human behavior which particularly favors mechanical
equipment.

26
ChApter 8

E D T v D

wo theme h ve been ted or th olloquy on the gn n e o telev -

on: the h ghly o u ed theme on ern ng the n ture o the “telev u l l n-
gu ge,” nd the very gener l nd d u ed on ern w th “ ultur l pol e nd
progr m .” At r t ght, the e on ern eem to le d n oppo te d re t on :
the r t tow rd orm l, the e ond tow rd o et l nd pol y que t on . My
m, however, to try to hold both on ern w th n ngle r mework.
My purpo e to ugge t th t, n the n ly o ulture, the nter onne t on
between o et l tru ture nd pro e e nd orm l or ymbol tru ture
b olutely p vot l. I propo e to org n ze my re e t on round the que -
t on o the en od ng/de od ng moment n the ommun t ve pro e : nd,
rom th b e, to rgue th t, n o et e l ke our , ommun t on between
the produ t on el te n bro d t ng nd the r ud en e ne e r ly
orm o “ y tem t lly d torted ommun t on.” T rgument then h
d re t be r ng on ultur l pol e , e pe lly tho e pol e o edu t on nd
o on wh h m ght be d re ted tow rd “help ng the ud en e to re e ve the
telev on ommun t on better, more e e t vely.” I there ore w nt, or the
moment, to ret n b e n the em ot /l ngu t ppro h to “telev u l
l ngu ge”: to ugge t, however, th t th per pe t ve properly nter e t , on
one de, w th o l nd e onom tru ture , on the other de w th wh t
Umberto E o h re ently lled “the log o ulture .”1 T me n th t,
though I h ll dopt em ot per pe t ve, I do not reg rd th ndex ng
lo ed, orm l on ern w th the mm nent org n z t on o the tele v on
d our e lone. It mu t l o n lude on ern w th the “ o l rel t on ” o
the ommun t ve pro e , nd e pe lly w th the v r ou k nd o “ om-
peten e ” ( t the produ t on nd re e v ng end) n the u e o th t l ngu ge.2

i is a Pro e or H llor n h properly r ed the que t on o tudy-

ng “the whole m ommun t on pro e ,” rom the tru ture o the pro-
du t on o the me ge t one end to ud en e per ept on nd “u e” t the
other.3 T emph on “the whole ommun t ve pro e ” ompre-
hen ve, proper, nd t mely one. However, t worth rem nd ng our elve
th t there ometh ng d t n t ve bout the produ t nd the pr t e o
produ t on nd r ul t on n ommun t on wh h d t ngu he th
rom other type o produ t on. Te “obje t” o produ t on pr t e nd
tru ture n telev on the produ t on o me ge: th t , gn-veh le,
or r ther gn-veh le o pe k nd, org n zed, l ke ny other orm o
ommun t on or l ngu ge, through the oper t on o ode , w th n the
ynt gm t h n o d our e. Te pp r tu nd tru ture o produ -
t on ue, t ert n moment, n the orm o ymbol veh le on t tuted
w th n the rule o “l ngu ge.” It n th “phenomen l orm” th t the r-
ul t on o the “produ t” t ke pl e. O our e, even the tr n m on o
th ymbol veh le requ re t m ter l ub tr tum: v deot pe, lm, the
tr n m tt ng nd re e v ng pp r tu , et . It l o n th ymbol orm
th t the re ept on o the “produ t,” nd t d tr but on between d erent
egment o the ud en e, t ke pl e. On e ompl hed, the tr n l t on o
th t me ge nto o et l tru ture mu t be m de g n or the r u t to
be ompleted. Tu , wh le n no w y w nt ng to l m t re e r h “to ollow ng
only tho e le d wh h emerge rom ontent n ly ,” we mu t re ogn ze
th t the ymbol orm o the me ge h pr v leged po t on n the om-
mun t ve ex h nge: nd th t the moment o “en od ng” nd “de od ng,”
though only “rel t vely utonomou ” n rel t on to the ommun t ve pro-
e whole, re determ n te moment .4 Te r w h tor l event n-
not n th t orm be tr n m tted by, y, telev on new t. It n only
be gn ed w th n the ur l-v u l orm o the telev u l l ngu ge. In the
moment when the h tor l event p e under the gn o l ngu ge, t
ubje t to ll the omplex orm l “rule ” by wh h l ngu ge gn e . o
put t p r dox lly, the event mu t be ome “ tory” be ore t n be ome
ommun t ve event. In th t moment, the orm l ub-rule o l ngu ge re
“ n dom n n e,” w thout, o our e, ubord n t ng out o ex ten e the h -

| chaPter 8
tor l event o gn ed, or the h tor l on equen e o the event h v ng
been gn ed n th w y. Te “me ge- orm” the ne e ry orm o the p-
pe r n e o the event n t p ge rom our e to re e ver. Tu the tr n -
po t on nto nd out o the “me ge- orm” or the me n ng-d men on (or
mode o ex h nge o the me ge) not r ndom “moment,” wh h we n
t ke up or gnore or the ke o onven en e or mpl ty. Te “me ge-
orm” determ n te moment, though, t nother level, t ompr e the
ur e-movement o the ommun t on y tem only, nd requ re , t n-
other t ge, to be ntegr ted nto the e ent l rel t on o ommun t on o
wh h t orm only p rt.
From th gener l per pe t ve, we m y rudely h r ter ze the ommun -
t ve ex h nge ollow . Te n t tut on l tru ture o bro d t ng, w th
the r network o produ t on, the r org n zed rout ne nd te hn l n r -
tru ture , re requ red to produ e the progr m. Produ t on, here, n t te
the me ge: n one en e, then, the r u t beg n here. O our e, the pro-
du t on pro e r med throughout by me n ng nd de : knowledge-
n-u e on ern ng the rout ne o produ t on, te hn l k ll , pro e on l
deolog e , n t tut on l knowledge, de n t on nd umpt on , ump-
t on bout ud en e, et . r me the p ge o the progr m through th pro-
du t on tru ture. However, though the produ t on tru ture o telev on
or g n te the telev on me ge, they do not on t tute lo ed y tem. Tey
dr w top , tre tment , gend , event , per onnel, m ge o the ud en e,
“de n t on o the tu t on” rom the w der o o ultur l pol t l y tem
o wh h they re only d erent ted p rt. Ph l p Ell ott h expre ed th
po nt u n tly n h d u on o the w y n wh h the ud en e both the
our e nd re e ver o the telev on me ge.5 Tu r ul t on nd re ep-
t on re, ndeed, “moment ” o the produ t on pro e n telev on, nd re
n orpor ted, v number o kewed nd tru tured “ eed-b k ,” b k nto
the produ t on pro e t el . Te on umpt on or re ept on o the telev -
on me ge thu t el “moment” o the produ t on pro e , though the
l tter “predom n nt” be u e t the “po nt o dep rture or the re l z -
t on” o the me ge. Produ t on nd re ept on o the telev on me ge re,
not, there ore, dent l, but they re rel ted: they re d erent ted moment
w th n the tot l ty ormed by the ommun t ve pro e whole.
At ert n po nt, however, the bro d t ng tru ture mu t y eld n
en oded me ge n the orm o me n ng ul d our e. Te n t tut on-
o et l rel t on o produ t on mu t p nto nd through the mode o
l ngu ge or t produ t to be “re l zed.” T n t te urther d erent ted

encoding and decoding in the t discou rse |

 program as
“meaningful” discourse

encoding decoding

meaning meaning
structures I structures II

frameworks frameworks
of knowledge of knowledge
· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·
structures structures
of production of production
· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·
technical technical
infrastructure infrastructure

moment, n wh h the orm l rule o d our e nd l ngu ge oper te. Be ore

th me ge n h ve n “e e t” (however de ned), or t y “need” or be
put to “u e,” t mu t r t be per e ved me n ng ul d our e nd me n-
ng ully de oded. It th et o de oded me n ng wh h “h ve n e e t,”
n uen e, entert n, n tru t, or per u de, w th very omplex per eptu l, og-
n t ve, emot on l, deolog l, or beh v or l on equen e . In determ n te
moment, the tru ture employ ode nd y eld “me ge”: t nother
determ n te moment, the “me ge,” v t de od ng , ue nto tru ture.
We re now ully w re th t th reentry nto the tru ture o ud en e re-
ept on nd “u e” nnot be under tood n mple beh v or l term . E e t ,
u e , “gr t t on ” re them elve r med by tru ture o under t nd ng,
well o l nd e onom tru ture wh h h pe t “re l z t on” t
the re ept on end o the h n, nd wh h perm t the me n ng gn ed n
l ngu ge to be tr n po ed nto ondu t or on ou ne .
Cle rly, wh t we h ve lled Me n ng I nd Me n ng II— we ee n
the d gr m bove—m y not be the me. Tey do not on t tute n “ m-
med te dent ty.” Te ode o en od ng nd de od ng m y not be per e tly
ymmetr l. Te degree o ymmetry—th t , the degree o “under t nd-
ng” nd “m under t nd ng” n the ommun t ve ex h nge depend both
on the degree o ymmetry/ - ymmetry between the po t on o en oder-
produ er nd th t o the de oder-re e ver: nd l o on the degree o dent ty/

| chaPter 8
non- dent ty between the ode wh h per e tly or mper e tly tr n m t,
nterrupt, or y tem t lly d tort wh t h been tr n m tted. Te l k o
“ t” between the ode h gre t de l to do w th the tru tur l d eren e
between bro d ter nd ud en e , but t l o h ometh ng to do w th
the - ymmetry between our e nd re e ver t the moment o tr n or-
m t on nto nd out o the “me ge- orm.” Wh t lled “d tort on” or
“m under t nd ng ” r e pre ely rom the l k o equ v len e between
the two de n the ommun t ve ex h nge. On e g n, th de ne the
“rel t ve utonomy” but “determ n tene ” o the entry nd ex t o the me -
ge n t l ngu t /me n ng orm.
Te ppl t on o th rud ment ry p r d gm h lre dy begun to tr n -
orm our under t nd ng o tele v on “ ontent”: nd we re ju t beg nn ng
to ee how t m ght l o tr n orm our under t nd ng o ud en e re ept on
nd re pon e well. Beg nn ng nd end ng h ve been nnoun ed n om-
mun t on re e r h be ore, o we mu t be ut ou . But there eem ome
ground or th nk ng th t new nd ex t ng ph e n ud en e re e r h, o
qu te new k nd, m y be open ng up. At e ther end o the ommun t ve
h n, the u e o the em ot p r d gm prom e to d pel the l nger ng
beh v or m wh h h dogged m med re e r h or o long. Tough we
know the telev on progr m not beh v or l nput, l ke t p on the knee-
p, t eem to h ve been lmo t mpo ble or re e r her to on eptu l ze
the ommun t ve pro e w thout l p ng b k nto one or other v r nt
o low- y ng beh v or m. We know, Gerbner h rem rked, th t repre-
ent t on o v olen e on the reen “ re not v olen e but me ge bout
v olen e”: but we h ve ont nued to re e r h the que t on o v olen e we
were un ble to omprehend the ep temolog l d t n t on. 6

Let u t ke n ex mple rom the dr m -entert nment re n telev -

on nd try to how how the re ogn t on th t tele v on u ,
ommun t ve—not mply beh v or l— event, h n e e t on one
tr d t on l re e r h re , the telev on/v olen e rel t on. 7
ke the mple-
tru ture, e rly ( nd now h ldren’ ) We tern, modeled on the e rly Hol-
lywood B- e ture g We tern: w th t le r- ut, good/b d M n h e n
mor l un ver e, t le r o l nd mor l de gn t on o v ll n nd hero,
the l r ty o t n rr t ve l ne nd development, t onogr ph l e -
ture , t le rly reg tered l m x n the v olent hoot-out, h e, per on l
howdown, treet or b rroom duel. For long, on both Br t h nd Amer n
, th orm on t tuted the predom n nt dr m -entert nment genre. In
qu nt t t ve term , u h lm /progr m ont ned h gh r t o o v olent

encoding and decoding in the t discourse |

 n dent , de th , wound ng . Whole g ng o men, whole troop o Ind n ,
went down, n ghtly, to the r de th . Re e r her , H lde H mmelwe t mong
other , h ve, however, ugge ted th t the tru ture o the e rly /B- e ture
We tern w o le r- ut, t t on o onvent on l zed nd tyl zed, th t
mo t h ldren (boy r ther e rl er th n g rl , n ntere t ng nd ng n t el )
oon le rned to re ogn ze nd “re d” t l ke “g me”: “ owboy - nd-Injun ”
g me.8 It w there ore urther hypothe zed th t We tern w th th l r ed
tru ture were le l kely to tr gger the ggre ve m t t on o v olent beh v-
or or other type o ggre ve “ t ng-out” th n other type o progr m
w th h gh v olen e r t o wh h were not o tyl zed. But t worth k ng
wh t th re ogn t on o the We tern “ ymbol g me” me n or mpl e .
It me n th t et o extremely t ghtly oded rule ex t whereby tor e
o ert n re ogn z ble type, ontent, nd tru ture n be e ly en oded
w th n the We tern orm. Wh t more, the e “rule o en od ng” were o
d u ed, o ymmetr lly h red between produ er nd ud en e, th t
the “me ge” w l kely to be de oded n m nner h ghly ymmetr l to
th t n wh h t h d been en oded. T re pro ty o ode , ndeed, pre-
ely wh t ent led n the not on o tyl z t on or “ onvent on l z t on,” nd
the pre en e o u h re pro l ode , o our e, wh t de ne or m ke
po ble the ex ten e o genre. Su h n ount, then, t ke the en od ng/
de od ng moment properly nto ount, nd the e ppe r n unprob-
lem t one.
But let u t ke the rgument l ttle urther. Why nd how do re o
onvent on l z t on r e ( nd d ppe r)? Te We tern t le, o our e,
ro e out o —though t qu kly e ed to on orm to—the re l h tor l
r um t n e o the open ng up o the Amer n We t. In p rt, wh t the
produ t on o the We tern genre ode h eved w the tr n orm t on o
re l h tor l We t, ele t vely, nto the ymbol or myth l “We t.” But
why d d th tr n orm t on o h tory nto myth, by the ntervent on o
tyl zed et o ode , o ur, or our o et e nd t me , n rel t on to ju t
th h tor l tu t on? T pro e , whereby the rule o l ngu ge nd
d our e ntervene, t ert n moment, to tr n orm nd “n tur l ze”
pe et o h tor l r um t n e , one o the mo t mport nt te t
e or ny em ology wh h eek to ground t el n h tor l re l t e .
We know, nd n beg n to ket h, the element wh h de ned the oper -
t on o ode on h tory. T h r hetyp l Amer n tory, Amer o
the ront er, o the exp nd ng nd un ettled We t, the “v rg n l nd” be ore
l w nd o ety ully ettle n, t ll lo er to N ture th n to L w nd Order.

| chaPter 8
It the l nd o , o ndependent men, ol ted n the r on ront t on
w th N ture or Ev l: nd thu tor e o m ul ne prowe , k ll, power, nd
de t ny: o men “ n the open r,” dr ven to the r de t n e by nner ompul-
on nd by extern l ne e ty—by F te, or by “the th ng m n ju t h to
do”: nd thu l nd where mor l ty nner- entered, nd l r ed, .e., ully
obje t v ted not n pee h but n the t t e o ge ture, g t, dre , “ge r,”
ppe r n e. A l nd where women re e ther ubord n te (whether “l ttle
home-bod e ” or l d e rom “b k E t”): or, omewh t more l ber ted—
e.g., good/b d loon g rl —de t ned to be n dvertently nd onven ently
hot or other w e d po ed o n the penult m te reel. I we w nted to m ke
tr t em olog l n ly , we ould tr e the pe ode wh h were
u ed to gn y the e element w th n the ur e- tru ture o p rt ul r
lm , plot , progr m . Wh t le r th t, rom th deep- tru tured et
o ode , extremely l m ted n t element , gre t number o ur e event
nd tr n orm t on were ompl hed: or t me, n lm nd telev on,
th deep- tru ture prov ded the t ken- or-gr nted tory-o - ll- tor e , the
p r d gm t on-n rr t ve, the per e t myth.
In the em ot per pe t ve, o our e, t ju t th ur e v r ety on the
b o l m ted tr n orm t on wh h would de ne the We tern n ob-
je t o tudy. Nor would the tr n orm t on wh h we h ve w tne ed n e
the e rly d y be t ll urpr ng. We n ee nd ollow t le t the b
method wh h would be requ red or u to ount or the tr n orm t on
o th mple- tru ture We tern nto the p y holog l We tern, the b -
roque We tern (T L H Gu ?), the “end-o -the-We t” We tern, the
om We tern, the “ p ghett ” We tern, even the J p ne e nd Hong Kong
We tern, the “p rody” We tern (Bu h C ?), p r dox lly, the return-
o -v olen e We tern (T W l Bu h), or the dome t , o p-oper We tern
(the er e the V g ), or the L t n Amer n revolut on We tern. Te
open ng equen e o lm l ke Hu —one o the moment when the “he-
ro ” We t beg n to p nto the “de l ne o the We t,” n wh h the “hero”
ppe r dr v ng through th t m l r l nd pe n C d ll , or where
the hor e ppe r n the b k o n Old mob le tru k— r rom ndex ng
the bre kup o the ode, how pre ely how n oppo te me n ng n be
h eved by the rever l o l m ted number o “lex l tem ” n the ode,
n order to h eve tr n orm t on n the me n ng.
From th per pe t ve, the prolonged preo up t on o m med re-
e r her w th the ue o v olen e n rel t on to the We tern lm ppe r
more nd more rb tr ry nd b z rre. I we re u e, or moment, to br ket

encoding and decoding in the t discourse |

 nd ol te the ue o v olen e, or the v olent ep ode rom t m tr x n
the omplex ode govern ng the genre, how m ny other, ru l k nd o
me n ng were n t tr n m tted wh le re e r her were bu y ount ng the
bod e ? T not to y th t v olen e w not n ele ment n the We t-
ern, nor to ugge t th t there were not qu te omplex ode regul t ng the
w y n wh h v olen e ould be gn ed. It to n t th t wh t ud en e
were re e v ng w not “v olen e” but me ge bout v olen e. On e th
nterven ng term h been ppl ed, ert n on equen e or re e r h nd
n ly ollow: one wh h rrevo bly bre k up the mooth l ne o ont nu-
ty o er ng t el ort o “n tur l log ,” whereby onne t on ould be
tr ed between hoot-out t the Corr l nd del nquent kno k ng over
old l d e n the treet n S unthorpe.
Te v olent element n the n rr t ve tru ture o the b We tern— hoot-
out, br wl, mbu h, b nk r d, t ght, wound ng, duel, or m re—l ke
ny other em nt un t n tru tured d our e nnot gn y nyth ng on
t own. It n only gn y n term o the tru tured me n ng o the me -
ge whole. Further, t gn t on depend on t rel t on—or the um
o the rel t on o m l r ty nd d eren e—w th other element or un t .
Ol v er Burgel n h long go, nd de n t vely, rem nded u th t the v olent or
w ked t o v ll n only me n ometh ng n rel t on to the pre en e/
b en e o good t :

We le rly nnot dr w ny v l d n eren e rom mple enumer t on o

h v ou t ( t m ke no d eren e whether there re ten or twenty o
them) or the rux o the m tter obv ou ly : wh t me n ng on erred
on the v ou t by the t o the r juxt po t on w th the ngle good
t on? . . . One ould y th t the me n ng o wh t requent only
reve led by oppo t on to wh t r re. . . . Te whole problem there ore
to dent y th r re or m ng tem. Stru tur l n ly prov de w y o
ppro h ng th problem wh h tr d t on l ontent n ly doe not.9

Indeed, o t ghtly on tru ted w the rule-governed mor l e onomy

o the mple- tru ture We tern th t one good t by “v ll n” not only
ould, but pp rently h , le d to ome mod t on or tr n orm t on
o h end. Tu , the pre en e o numerou b d-v olent t (m rked)/ b-
en e o ny good-redeem ng t (unm rked) = unrepent nt v ll n; th n
turn me n th t he n be hot down, w thout ex u e, n the n l ep ode
nd m ke br e nd “b d” or und t ngu hed de th, prov ded th t the

| chaPter 8
hero doe not hoot the v ll n n the b k, or un w re , nd doe not dr w
r t. Bu , the pre en e o b d-v olent t (m rked)/pre en e o ngle good-
redeem ng t (m rked) l o n = po ble lv t on or regener t on o the
v ll n, de thbed re on l t on w th hero or ormer ron e , re t tut on to
wronged ommun ty, t the very le t, l nger ng nd “good” de th. Wh t, we
m y now k, the me n ng o “v olen e” when t only ppe r nd gn e
nyth ng w th n the t ghtly org n zed mor l e onomy o the We tern?
We h ve been rgu ng ( ) the v olent t or ep ode n We tern nnot
gn y n ol t on, out de the tru tured eld o me n ng wh h the
lm or progr m; (b) t gn e only n rel t on to the other element , nd
n term o the rule nd onvent on wh h govern the r omb n t on. We
mu t now dd ( ) th t the me n ng o u h v olent t or ep ode nnot
be xed, ngle, nd un lter ble but mu t be p ble o gn y ng d erent
v lue depend ng on how nd w th wh t t rt ul ted. A the gn y ng
element, mong other element , n d our e, t rem n poly em . In-
deed, the w y t tru tured n t omb n t on w th other element erve
to del m t t me n ng w th n th t pe ed eld, nd e e t “ lo ure,” o
th t pre erred me n ng ugge ted. Tere n never be only one, ngle,
un vo l, nd determ ned me n ng or u h lex l tem, but, depend ng
on how t ntegr t on w th n the ode h been ompl hed, t po ble
me n ng w ll be org n zed w th n le wh h run rom dom n nt to
ubord n te. And th o our e h on equen e or the other, the re ep-
t on end o the ommun t ve h n: there n be no l w to en ure th t
the re e ver w ll t ke the pre erred or dom n nt me n ng o n ep ode o
v olen e n pre ely the w y n wh h t h been en oded by the produ er.
yp lly, the ol t on o the “v olent” element rom the We tern by re-
e r her w m de on the pre umpt on th t ll the other element — ett ng,
t on, h r ter , onogr phy, movement, ondu t nd ppe r n e, mor l
tru ture, nd o on—were pre ent o m ny nert upport or the v o-
len e: n order to w rr nt or endor e the v olent t. It now per e tly le r
th t the v olen e m ght be pre ent only n order to w rr nt or endor e the
h r ter. We n thu ket h out more th n one po ble p th o me n ng
through the w y n wh h the o- lled “ ontent” org n zed by the ode .
ke th t ub qu tou em nt tem o the mple We tern: hero dr w h
gun, ter th n nyone el e (he eem lw y to h ve known how), nd
hoot the v ll n w th bull’ -eye m. o u e Gerbner’ term, wh t norm,
propo t on, or ultur l gn t on here gn ed?10 It po ble to

encoding and decoding in the t discourse |

de ode th tem thu : “Te hero gure know how to dr w h gun ter,
nd hoot better th n h enemy: when on ronted by the v ll n, he hoot
h m de d w th ngle hot.” T m ght be lled “beh v or l” or “ n tru-
ment l” nterpret t on. But— re e r h ugge t —th d re tly beh v or l
“me ge” h been tyl zed nd onvent on l zed by the ntervent on o
h ghly org n zed et o ode nd genre- onvent on ( ode-o - ode , or
met - ode). Te ntervent on o the ode ppe r to h ve the e e t o neu-
tr l z ng one et o me n ng , wh le ett ng nother n mot on. Or, to put t
better, the ode e e t tr n orm t on nd d pl ement o the me de-
not t ve ontent-un t rom one re eren e- ode to nother, thereby e e t ng
tr n orm t on n the gn t on. Peter Berger nd Tom Lu km nn
h ve rgued th t “h b tu l z t on” or “ ed ment t on” erve to rout n ze er-
t n t on or me n ng , o to ree the oreground or new, nnov t ve
me n ng .11 urner nd other h ve hown how r tu l onvent on red tr b-
ute the o u o r tu l per orm n e rom one dom n (e.g., the emot on l or
per on l) to nother (e.g., the ogn t ve, o molog l, or o l) dom n.12
Freud, both n h n ly o r tu l z t on n ymptom- orm t on nd n the
dre mwork, h hown the p vot l po t on o onden t on nd d pl e-
ment n the en od ng o l tent m ter l nd me n ng through m n e t
ymbol z t on .13 Be r ng th n m nd, we m y pe ul t vely ormul te n
ltern t ve onnot t ve “re d ng” or the tem. “ o be ert n k nd o m n
(hero) me n the b l ty to m ter ll ont ngen e by the demon tr t on o
pr t ed nd pro e on l ‘ ool.’ ” T re d ng tr n po e the me (denot -
t ve) ontent rom t n trument l-beh v or l onnot t ve re eren e to th t
o de orum, ondu t, the d om nd tyle o (m ul ne) t on. Te “me -
ge” or the “propo t on,” now, would be under tood, not me ge bout
“v olen e” but me ge bout ondu t, or even bout pro e on l m, or
perh p even bout the rel t on o pro e on l m to h r ter. And here we
re ll Robert W r how’ ntu t ve ob erv t on th t, und ment lly, the We t-
ern not “ bout” v olen e but bout ode o ondu t.14
I h ve been try ng to ugge t—w thout be ng ble to t ke the ex mple
very r—how n ttent on to the ymbol /l ngu t / oded n ture o om-
mun t on , r rom box ng u nto the lo ed nd orm l un ver e o
gn , pre ely open out nto the re where ultur l ontent, o the mo t
re on nt but “l tent” k nd, tr n m tted: nd e pe lly the m nner n
wh h the nterpl y o ode nd ontent erve to d pl e me n ng rom
one r me to nother, nd thu to br ng to the ur e n “d gu ed” orm
the repre ed ontent o ulture. It worth, n th onne t on, be r ng n

| chaPter 8
 nongenre genre

hero // villain hero // villain

quick draw quick draw

shoot-to-kill shoot-to-kill

[violence] [decorum]

norm: when challenged norm: when challenged

shoot to kill without hesitation master contingencies by
“professional cool”

m nd E o’ ob erv t on th t “ em ology how u the un ver e o deolog e

rr nged n ode nd ub- ode w th n the un ver e o ‘ gn .’ ”15 My own
v ew th t, the n ght won by the dv n e n em ot per pe t ve re
not to be lo t w th n new k nd o orm l m, t n re ngly n th d re -
t on th t t mu t be pu hed.16
Let u turn, now, to d erent re o progr mm ng, nd d erent -
pe t o the oper t on o ode . Te telev u l gn pe ul rly omplex
one, we know. It v u l gn w th trong, upplement ry ur l-verb l
upport. It one o the on gn , n Pe r e’ en e, th t, where the orm
o the wr tten gn rb tr ry n rel t on to t gn ed, the on gn
reprodu e ert n element o the gn ed n the orm o the gn er. A
Pe r e y , t “po e e ome o the propert e o the th ng or obje t repre-
ented.”17 A tu lly, n e the on gn tr n l te three-d men on l world
nto two repre ent t on l pl ne , t “n tur l m” w th re pe t to the re erent
l e not o mu h t the en od ng de o the h n, but r ther n term o the
le rned per ept on w th wh h the v ewer de ode the gn. Tu , E o
h onv n ngly rgued, on gn “look l ke obje t n the re l world,”
to put t rudely (e.g., the photogr ph or dr w ng o ow, nd the n -
m l ow), be u e they “reprodu e the ond t on o per ept on n the re-
e ver.” 18 Te e ond t on o “re ogn t on” n the v ewer on t tute ome o
the mo t und ment l per eptu l ode wh h ll ulture-member h re.
How? Be u e the e per eptu l ode re o w dely h red, denot t ve v u l
gn prob bly g ve r e to ewer “m under t nd ng ” th n l ngu t one .
A lex l nventory o the Engl h l ngu ge would throw up thou nd o
word wh h the ord n ry pe ker ould not denot t vely omprehend: but
prov ded enough “ n orm t on” g ven, ulture- member would be ble or

encoding and decoding in the t discourse |

 ompetent to de ode, denot t vely, mu h w der r nge o v u l gn er .
In th en e, nd t the denot t ve level, the v u l gn prob bly more
un ver l one th n the l ngu t gn. Where , n o et e l ke our , l ngu -
t ompeten e very unequ lly d tr buted between d erent l e nd
egment o the popul t on (predom n ntly, by the m ly nd the edu t on
y tem): wh t we m ght ll “v u l ompeten e,” t the denot t ve level,
more un ver lly d u ed. (It worth rem nd ng our elve o our e, th t t
not, n t, “un ver l,” nd th t we re de l ng w th pe trum: there re
k nd o v u l repre ent t on, hort o the “purely b tr t,” wh h re te
ll k nd o v u l puzzle or ord n ry v ewer : e.g., rtoon , ert n k nd
o d gr mm t repre ent t on, repre ent t on wh h employ un m l r
onvent on , type o photogr ph or nem t utt ng nd ed t ng, et .) It
l o true th t the on gn m y upport “m -re d ng ” mply be u e
t o “n tur l,” o “tr n p rent.” M t ke m y r e here, not be u e we
v ewer nnot l ter lly de ode the gn ( t per e tly obv ou wh t t
p ture o ), but be u e we re tempted, by t very “n tur l z t on” to
“m re d” the m ge or the th ng t gn e .19 W th th mport nt prov o,
however, we would be urpr ed to nd th t the m jor ty o the telev on
ud en e h d mu h d f ulty n l ter lly or denot t vely dent y ng wh t
the v u l gn they ee on the reen re er to or gn y. Where mo t
people requ re lengthy pro e o edu t on n order to be ome rel t vely
ompetent u er o the l ngu ge o the r pee h ommun ty, they eem to
p k up t v u l-per eptu l ode t very e rly ge, w thout orm l tr n-
ng, nd re qu kly ompetent n t u e.
Te v u l gn , however, l o onnot t ve gn. And t o preem -
nently w th n the d our e o modern m ommun t on. Te level o
onnot t on o the v u l gn, o t ontextu l re eren e, o t po t on n
the v r ou o t ve eld o me n ng , , pre ely the po nt where the
denoted gn nter e t w th the deep em nt tru ture o ulture, nd
t ke on n deolog l d men on. In the dvert ng d our e, or ex mple,
we m ght y th t there lmo t no “purely denot t ve” ommun t on.
Every v u l gn n dvert ng “ onnote ” qu l ty: tu t on, v lue, or
n eren e wh h pre ent n mpl t on or mpl ed me n ng, depend ng
on the onnot t on l re eren e. We re ll prob bly m l r w th B rthe ’
ex mple o the we ter, wh h, n the rhetor o dvert ng nd h on,
lw y onnote , t le t, “ w rm g rment” or “keep ng w rm,” nd thu by
rther el bor t on, “the om ng o w nter” or “ old d y.” In the pe l-
zed ub- ode o h on, we ter m y onnote “ h on ble tyle o h u

| chaPter 8
 u u ” or, ltern t vely, “ n n orm l tyle o dre .” But et g n t the r ght
b kground, nd po t oned n the rom nt ub- ode, t m y onnote “long
utumn w lk n the wood .”20 Connot t on l ode o th order re, le rly,
tru tured enough to gn y, but they re more “open” or “open-ended” th n
denot t ve ode . Wh t more, they le rly ontr t rel t on w th the un -
ver e o deolog e n ulture, nd w th h tory nd ethnogr phy. Te e
onnot t ve ode re the “l ngu t ” me n by wh h the dom n o o-
l l e—the egment t on o ulture, power, nd deology— re m de to
gn y. Tey re er to the “m p o me n ng” nto wh h ny ulture or-
g n zed, nd tho e “m p o o l re l ty” h ve the whole r nge o o l
me n ng , pr t e nd u ge , power nd ntere t, “wr tten n” to them.
Connoted gn er , B rthe h rem nded u , “h ve lo e ommun t on
w th ulture, knowledge nd h tory; nd t through them, o to pe k,
th t the env ronment l world nv de the l ngu t nd em nt y tem.
Tey re, you l ke, the ‘ r gment o deology.’ ”21
Te denot t ve level o the telev u l gn m y be bounded w th n ert n,
very omplex but l m ted or “ lo ed” ode . But t onnot t ve level, though
bounded, rem n open, ubje t to the orm t on, tr n orm t on, nd de y
o h tory nd und ment lly poly em : ny u h gn potent lly m pp ble
nto more th n one onnot t ve on gur t on. “Poly emy” mu t not, however,
be on u ed w th plur l m. Connot t ve ode re not equ l mong them-
elve . Any o ety/ ulture tend , w th v ry ng degree o lo ure, to mpo e
t egment t on , t l t on o the o l, ultur l, nd pol t l world,
upon t member . Tere rem n ul u l , though t ne -
ther un vo l nor un onte ted. T que t on o the “ tru ture o dom n n e”
n ulture n b olutely ru l po nt. We m y y, then, th t the d erent
re o o l l e ppe r to be m pped out nto onnot t ve dom n o
g . New, problem t , or troubl ng th ng nd
event , wh h bre h our expe t n e nd run ounter to our “ ommon-
en e on tru t ,” to our “t ken- or-gr nted” knowledge o o l tru ture ,
mu t be gned to the r onnot t on l dom n be ore they n be d to
“m ke en e”: nd the mo t ommon w y o “m pp ng them” to gn the
new w th n ome dom n or other o the ex t ng “m p o problem t o l
re l ty.” We y “dom n nt,” not “determ ned,” be u e t lw y po ble to
order, l y, gn, nd de ode n event w th n more th n one “m pp ng.”
But we y “dom n nt” be u e there ex t p ttern o “pre erred re d ng ,”
nd the e m pp ng both h ve the n t tut on l/pol t l/ deolog l order
mpr nted n them nd h ve them elve be ome n t tut on l zed.22 Te

encoding and decoding in the t discou rse |

dom n o “pre erred m pp ng ” h ve the whole o l order embedded n
them et o me n ng : pr t e nd bel e , the everyd y knowledge o
o l tru ture , o “how th ng work or ll pr t l purpo e n th ul-
ture,” the r nk order o power nd ntere t, nd tru ture o leg t m t on
nd n t on . Tu , to l r y “m under t nd ng” t the denot t ve level,
we need pr m r ly to re er to the mm nent world o the gn nd t ode .
But to l r y nd re olve “m under t nd ng ” t the level o onnot t on,
we mu t re er, h ugh the ode , to the rule o o l l e, o h tory nd l e
tu t on, or o e onom nd pol t l power, nd, ult m tely, o deology.
Further, n e the e onnot t on l m pp ng re “ tru tured n dom n n e”
but not lo ed, the ommun t ve pro e on t , not n the unproblem-
t gnment o every v u l tem to t po t on w th n et o pre rr nged
ode , but n ul : rule o ompeten e nd u e, o log - n-
u e, wh h eek one em nt dom n over nother; nd
wh h rule tem nto nd out o the r ppropr te me n ng- et . Form l
em ology h too o en negle ted th level o nterpret ve work, though
th orm n t the deep- tru ture o gre t de l o bro d t t me n
telev on, e pe lly n the pol t l nd other “ en t ve re ” o progr m-
m ng. In pe k ng o dom n nt me n ng , then, we re not mply t lk ng
bout one- ded pro e , wh h govern how ny event w ll be gn ed.
(We m ght th nk, or ex mple, o the re ent oup n Ch le.) It l o on t o
the “work” requ red to en or e, w n pl u b l ty or, nd omm nd leg t -
m te de od ng o the event w th n the dom n nt de n t on n wh h t h
been onnot t vely gn ed. Dr.  ern rem rked, n h p per, th t “by the
word re d ng we me n not only the p ty to dent y nd de ode ert n
number o gn , but l o the ubje t ve p ty to put them nto re t ve
rel t on between them elve nd w th other gn : p ty wh h , by
t el , the ond t on or omplete w rene o one’ tot l env ronment.”23
Our only qu rrel here w th the not on o “ ubje t ve p ty,” the
denot t ve re eren e o the telev u l gn n obje t ve pro e , but the
onnot t on l nd onne t ve level n nd v du l zed nd pr v te m tter.
Qu te the oppo te eem to u to be the e. Te telev u l pro e t ke
“obje t ve” ( .e., y tem ) re pon b l ty pre ely or the rel t on wh h
d p r te gn ontr t w th one nother, nd thu ont nu lly del m t nd
pre r be nto wh t “ w rene o one’ tot l env ronment” the e tem re
rr nged.
T br ng u , then, to the key que t on o “m under t nd ng ” between
the en oder nd de oder o the tele v on me ge: nd thu , by long but

| chaPter 8
ne e ry detour, to the m tter o “ ultur l pol e ” de gned to “ l t te
better ommun t on,” to “m ke ommun t on more e e t ve.” elev -
on produ er or “en oder ,” who nd the r me ge l ng to “get ro ,”
re requently on erned to tr ghten out the k nk n the ommun t ve
h n, nd thu to l t te the “e e t vene ” o the r me ge . A gre t de l
o re e r h h been devoted to try ng to d over how mu h o the me ge
the ud en e ret n or re ll . At the denot t ve level ( we n m ke the
n lyt d t n t on or the moment), there no doubt th t ome “m un-
der t nd ng ” ex t, though we h ve no re l de how w de pre d th .
And we n ee po ble expl n t on or t. Te v ewer doe not “ pe k the
l ngu ge,” gur t vely not l ter lly: he or he nnot ollow the omplex
log o rgument or expo t on; or the on ept re too l en; or the ed t ng
(wh h rr nge tem w th n n expo tory log or “n rr t ve,” nd thu n
t el propo e onne t on between d rete th ng ) too w , trun ted,
or oph t ted, et . And o on. At nother level, en oder l o me n th t
the r ud en e h “m de en e” o the me ge n w y d erent rom th t
ntended. Wh t they re lly me n th t v ewer re not oper t ng w th n the
dom n nt or pre erred ode. T de lly the per e tly tr n p rent om-
mun t on. In te d, wh t they h ve to on ront the t o “ y tem t lly
d torted ommun t on.”
In re ent ye r , d rep n e o th k nd re u u lly ounted or n
term o nd v du lly “ berr nt” re d ng , ttr buted to “ ele t ve per ept on.”
“Sele t ve per ept on” the door v wh h, n re ent re e r h, re du l plu-
r l m re erved w th n the phere o h ghly tru tured, - ymmetr l
ultur l oper t on. O our e, there w ll lw y be nd v du l, pr v te, v r -
nt re d ng . But my own tent t ve v ew th t “ ele t ve per ept on”
lmo t never ele t ve, r ndom, or pr v t zed the on ept ugge t . Te
p ttern exh b t more tru tur ng nd lu ter ng th n norm lly umed.
Any new ppro h to ud en e tud e v the on ept o “de od ng” would
h ve to beg n w th r t que o “ ele t ve per ept on” theory.
Umberto E o h re ently po nted to nother, ntermed ry, level o tru -
tur t on, between ompeten e n the dom n nt ode nd “ berr nt” nd v du l
re d ng : th t level prov ded by ub ultur l orm t on . But, n e ub ulture
re, by de n t on, d erent ted rt ul t on w th n ulture, t more u e ul
to pe y th med t on w th n omewh t d erent r mework.24
Te very gener l typology ket hed below n ttempt to re nterpret
the not on o “m under t nd ng ” (wh h we nd n dequ te) n term o
ert n bro dly de ned o et l per pe t ve wh h ud en e m ght dopt

encoding and decoding in the t discourse |

tow rd the telev u l me ge. It ttempt to pply Gr m ’ work on “he-
gemon ” nd “ orpor te” deolog l orm t on nd Fr nk P rk n’ re ent
work on type o me n ng y tem .25 I hould l ke now ( d pt ng P rk n’
hem ) to put nto d u on our “ de l-type” po t on rom wh h de-
od ng o m ommun t on by the ud en e n be m de: nd thu to
re-pre ent the ommon en e not on o “m under t nd ng ” n term o
theory o “ y tem t lly d torted ommun t on .”26
L ter l or denot t ve “error ” re rel t vely unproblem t . Tey repre ent
k nd o no e n the h nnel. But “m re d ng ” o me ge t the onno-
t t ve or ontextu l level re d erent m tter. Tey h ve, und ment lly,
o et l, not ommun t ve, b . Tey gn y, t the “me ge” level the
tru tur l on t , ontr d t on , nd negot t on o e onom , pol t l,
nd ultur l l e.
Te r t po t on we w nt to dent y th t o the dom n nt or hege-
mon ode. (Tere re, o our e, m ny d erent ode nd ub- ode re-
qu red to produ e n event w th n the dom n nt ode.) When the v ewer
t ke the onnoted me n ng rom, y, telev on new t or urrent -
r progr m, ull nd tr ght, nd de ode the me ge n term o the
re eren e- ode n wh h t h been oded, we m ght y th t the v ewer
oper t ng n de the dom n nt ode. T the de l-typ l e o “per-
e tly tr n p rent ommun t on,” or lo e we re l kely to ome to t
or ll pr t l purpo e .
Next (here we re mpl y ng P rk n’ model), we would w nt to dent y
the pro e on l ode. T the ode (or et o ode , or we re here de l-
ng w th wh t m ght be better lled met - ode ) wh h the pro e on l
bro d ter employ when tr n m tt ng me ge wh h h lre dy been
gn ed n hegemon m nner. Te pro e on l ode “rel t vely nde-
pendent” o the dom n nt ode, n th t t ppl e r ter nd oper t on
o t own, e pe lly tho e o te hn o-pr t l n ture. Te pro e on l
ode, however, oper te w th n the “hegemony” o the dom n nt ode. In-
deed, t erve to reprodu e the dom n nt de n t on pre ely by br ket ng
the hegemon qu l ty, nd oper t ng w th pro e on l od ng wh h rel te
to u h que t on v u l qu l ty, new nd pre ent t on l v lue , telev u l
qu l ty, “pro e on l m,” et . Te hegemon nterpret t on o the pol t
o Northern Irel nd, or the Ch le n oup, or the Indu tr l Rel t on B ll re
g ven by pol t l el te : the p r t ul r ho e o pre ent t on l o on nd
orm t , the ele t on o per onnel, the ho e o m ge , the “ t g ng” o
deb te , et . re ele ted by the oper t on o the pro e on l ode.27 How the

| chaPter 8
bro d t ng pro e on l re ble both to oper te w th “rel t vely utono-
mou ” ode o the r own, wh le t ng n u h w y to reprodu e (not
w thout ontr d t on) the hegemon gn t on o event omplex
m tter wh h nnot be urther pelled out here. It mu t uf e to y th t
the pro e on l re l nked w th the de n ng el te not only by the n t tu-
t on l po t on o bro d t ng t el n “ deolog l pp r tu ,” but more
nt m tely by the tru ture o ( .e., the y tem t “over- e ng” o
el te per onnel nd “de n t on o the tu t on” n telev on).28 It m y even be
d th t the pro e on l ode erve to reprodu e hegemon de n t on pe-
lly by not overtly b ng the r oper t on n the r d re t on: deolog l
reprodu t on there ore t ke pl e here n dvertently, un on ou ly, “beh nd
men’ b k .” O our e, on t , ontr d t on , nd even “m under t nd-
ng ” regul rly t ke pl e between the dom n nt nd the pro e on l gn -
t on nd the r gn y ng gen e .
Te th rd po t on we would dent y th t o the g or po-
t on. M jor ty ud en e prob bly under t nd qu te dequ tely wh t h
been dom n ntly de ned nd pro e on lly gn ed. Te dom n nt de n -
t on , however, re hegemon pre ely be u e they repre ent de n t on
tu t on nd event wh h re “ n dom n n e,” nd wh h re gl b l. Dom-
n nt de n t on onne t event , mpl tly or expl tly, to gr nd tot l z -
t on , to the gre t ynt gm t v ew -o -the-world: they t ke “l rge v ew ” o
ue ; they rel te event to “the n t on l ntere t” or to the level o geopol -
t , even they m ke the e onne t on n trun ted, nverted, or my t ed
w y . Te de n t on o “hegemon ” v ewpo nt ( ) th t t de ne w th n
t term the ment l hor zon, the un ver e o po ble me n ng o whole
o ety or ulture; nd (b) th t t rr e w th t the t mp o leg t m y—
t ppe r oterm nou w th wh t “n tur l,” “ nev t ble,” nd “t ken or
gr nted” bout the o l order. De od ng w th n the g on-
t n m xture o d pt ve nd oppo t on l element : t knowledge the
leg t m y o the hegemon de n t on to m ke the gr nd gn t on ,
wh le, t more re tr ted, tu t on l level, t m ke t own ground rule ,
oper t ng w th “ex ept on ” to the rule. It ord the pr v leged po t on to
the dom n nt de n t on o event , wh le re erv ng the r ght to m ke more
negot ted ppl t on to “lo l ond t on ,” to t own more po -
t on . T negot ted ver on o the dom n nt deology thu hot through
w th ontr d t on , though the e re only on ert n o on brought
to ull v b l ty. Negot ted ode oper te through wh t we m ght ll p rt -
ul r or tu ted log : nd the e log r e rom the d erent l po t on o

encoding and decoding in the t discou rse |

tho e who o upy th po t on n the pe trum, nd rom the r d erent l
nd unequ l rel t on to power. Te mple t ex mple o negot ted ode
th t wh h govern the re pon e o worker to the not on o n Indu -
tr l Rel t on B ll l m t ng the r ght to tr ke, or to rgument or w ge
reeze. At the level o the n t on l- ntere t e onom deb te, he m y dopt
the hegemon de n t on, gree ng th t “we mu t ll p y our elve le n
order to omb t n t on,” et . T , however, m y h ve l ttle or no rel t on
to h w ll ngne to go on tr ke or better p y nd ond t on , or to oppo e
the Indu tr l Rel t on B ll t the level o h hop oor or un on org n-
z t on. We u pe t th t the gre t m jor ty o o- lled “m under t nd ng ”
r e rom the d jun ture between hegemon -dom n nt en od ng nd
negot ted- orpor te de od ng . It ju t the e m m t he n the level
wh h mo t provoke de n ng el te nd pro e on l to dent y “ lure
n ommun t on .”
F n lly, t po ble or v ewer per e tly to under t nd both the l ter l
nd onnot t ve n e t on g ven to n event, but to determ ne to de ode the
me ge n glob lly ontr ry w y. He detot l ze the me ge n the pre-
erred ode n order to retot l ze the me ge w th n ome ltern t ve r me-
work o re eren e. T the e o v ewer who l ten to deb te on the
need to l m t w ge , but who “re d ” every ment on o “the n t on l ntere t”
“l ntere t.” He oper t ng w th wh t we mu t ll n l
. One o the mo t gn nt pol t l moment (they l o o n de w th
r -po nt w th n the bro d t ng org n z t on them elve or obv ou
re on ) the po nt when event wh h re norm lly gn ed nd de oded
n negot ted w y beg n to be g ven n oppo t on l re d ng.
Te que t on o ultur l pol e now ll , wkw rdly, nto pl e. When
de l ng w th o l ommun t on , t extremely d f ult to dent y
neutr l, edu t on l go l the t k o “ mprov ng ommun t on ” or o
“m k ng ommun t on more e e t ve,” t ny r te on e one h p ed
beyond the tr tly denot t ve level o the me ge. Te edu tor or ultur l
pol y m ker per orm ng one o h mo t p rt n t when he ollude
w th the re- gn t on o re l on t nd ontr d t on they were
mply k nk n the ommun t ve h n. Denot t ve m t ke re not
tru tur lly gn nt. But onnot t ve nd ontextu l “m under t nd-
ng ” re, or n be, o the h ghe t gn n e. o nterpret wh t re n t
e ent l element n the y tem t d tort on o o o- ommun t on
y tem they re te hn l ult n tr n m on to m re d deep-
tru ture pro e or ur e phenomenon. Te de on to ntervene n

| chaPter 8
order to m ke the hegemon ode o dom n nt el te more e e t ve nd
tr n p rent or the m jor ty ud en e not te hn lly neutr l but pol t -
l one. o “m re d” pol t l ho e te hn l one repre ent type
o un on ou ollu on w th the dom n nt ntere t , orm o ollu on
to wh h o l en e re e r her re ll too prone. Tough the our e
o u h my t t on re both o l nd tru tur l, the tu l pro e
gre tly l t ted by the oper t on o d rep nt ode . It would not be the
r t t me th t ent re e r her h d “un on ou ly” pl yed p rt n the
reprodu t on o hegemony, not by openly ubm tt ng to t, but mply by
oper t ng the “pro e on l br ket.”

s
Umberto E o, “Doe the Publ H rm ele v on?,” p per or It l Pr ze Sem n r,
Ven e, .
See Dell Hyme ’ r t que o tr n orm t on l ppro he to l ngu ge, v on ept
o “per orm n e” nd “ ompeten e”: “On Commun t ve Competen e,” n S -
l gu , ed. J. B. Pr de nd J net Holme (H rmond worth, UK: Pengu n, ).
J. D. H llor n, “Under t nd ng ele v on,” p per or the Coun l o Europe Col-
loquy on “Under t nd ng elev on,” Un ver ty o Le e ter, .
H llor n, “Under t nd ng elev on.”
Ph l p Ell ott, “U e nd Gr t t on : A Cr t que nd So olog l Altern t ve,”
unpubl hed p per, Centre or M Commun t on Re e r h, Un ver ty o
Le e ter, .
George Gerbner et  l., V l :AS u S b l Fu -
(Ph l delph : Annenberg S hool or Commun t on, Un ver ty o Penn-
ylv n , ).
T ex mple more ully d u ed n p rt , Al n Shuttleworth, M r n C r-
m rgo, Angel Lloyd, nd Stu rt H ll, “New Appro he to Content,” n V l
h tv -S , Centre or Contempor ry Cultur l Stud e : Report to
Home Of e Inqu ry nto V olen e, orth om ng.
H lde H mmelwe t, “ nd the Ch ld,” U L R w ( ).
Ol v er Burgel n, “Stru tur l An ly nd M Commun t on ,” S u
B g [N ppon Hō ō Kyōk ] ( ).
For “propo t on- n ly ,” George Gerbner, “Ideolog l Per pe t ve nd Pol t l
enden e n New Report ng,” J u l Qu l ( ); Evelyne Sullerot,
“Etude de Pre e . . . ,” L , no.  ( ); nd or “norm-
n ly ,” George Gerbner n V l M h M , k For e Report to E en-
hower Comm on on C u e nd Prevent on o V olen e, US Pr nt ng Of e, .
Peter L. Berger nd Tom Lu km nn, T S lC u R l
(H rmond worth, UK: Pengu n, ).

encoding and decoding in the t discou rse |

V. W. urner, T R u l P (London: Routledge nd Keg n P ul, ).
S gmund Freud, T S E h C l P h l g lW k
S g u F u , vol. , T (F P ) (London: Hog rth
Pre , ).
Robert W r how, Ex :M ,C ,T Oh
A P ul Cul u (New York: Doubled y, ).
Umberto E o, “Art ul t on o the C nem t Code,” C ( ).
For development o th rgument, Stu rt H ll, “Determ n t on o New Photo-
gr ph ,” W k g P Cul u l S u ( ); nd H ll, “Open nd Clo ed
U e o Stru tur l m,” Centre or Contempor ry Cultur l Stud e O on l
P per, .
C. S. Pe r e, S ul G , bk. , vol. o Pe r e’ C ll P (C m-
br dge, MA: Belkn p Pre o H rv rd Un ver ty, ).
E o, “Art ul t on o the C nem t Code.”
H ll, “Determ n t on o New Photogr ph .”
Rol nd B rthe , “Rhetor o the Im ge,” W k g P Cul u l S u
( ).
Rol nd B rthe , El S l g (London: Jon th n C pe, ).
H ll, “Determ n t on o New Photogr ph ,” nd more gener lly Stu rt H ll,
“Dev n e, Pol t nd the Med ,” n M ry M Into h nd P ul Ro k (ed .), -
S lC l (London: v to k, ).
P. ern , “Memor ndum,” Coun l o Europe Colloquy on “Under t nd ng ele v -
on,” Un ver ty o Le e ter, .
E o, “Doe the Publ H rm elev on?”
Anton o Gr m , S l h P N b k (London: L wren e nd
W h rt, ); nd Fr nk P rk n, Cl qu l P l lO (London:
M G bbon nd Kee, ).
See Jürgen H berm , “Sy tem t lly D torted Commun t on ,” n R
S l g 2, ed. H. P. Dretzel (London: Coll er-M m ll n, ).
“Extern l In uen e on Bro d t ng: Te Extern l/Intern l D le t n
Bro d t ng— elev on’ Double- B nd,” n th volume.
Lou Althu er, “Ideology nd Ideolog l St te App r tu e ,” n h L
Ph l h Oh E (London: New Le Book , ).

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