3 SEARCH FOR A GREAT TRADITION IN CULTURAL PERFORMANCES Milton Singer Source: Milion Singer. When a Great Tradition Modernizes: An Anthropological Approach to Indian Civilization. New York: Praeger. 1972. pp. 67 80. During a visit to India in 1954 55, I had an opportunity to do a methodological field study in South India. The purpose of this study was to chart an intellectual map of some of the researchable territory that lies between the culture of a village or small community and the culture of a total civilization. This study is not easy to classify in terms of prevailing conceptions about "research." since it falls between the intensive anthropological field study and the purely conceptual types of methodological analysis. But despite its unorthodox character, it seemed an appropriate study to undertake in a new and not-well-known field. Although the study was primarily designed to serve the methodological purpose of giving an empirical content to some very genera] ideas and to suggest concrete hypotheses for further research, it also turned up some substantive findings that have importance on their own account. In this report. I shall mention some of these in passing but will in the main confine myself to the problems of method posed by the study. Before I went to India I already had a fairly explicit framework of ideas for the study of civilizations. Most important of these was the view of a civilization, suggested by Redlield. as a complex structure of a Little Tradition and a Great Tradition.1 Using these ideas, as well as another distinction of Redfield's between "orthogenetie" and "heterogenetie" cities, I had tried to formulate several broad hypotheses concerning the relation of Little and Great Traditions in Indian civilization,2 These were: ' that because India had a "primary" or "indigenous" civilization which had been fashioned out of pre-existing folk and regional cultures, its Great Tradition was culturally continuous with the Little Traditions to be found in its diverse regions, villages, castes and tribes 57 frOLN DAT JONS AM; DI.HMIIONS 2. that ih>s cultural continuity wai> product and cause of a common cuhural consciousness shared b> most Indians and expressed in essential similarities of mental outlook and ethos 3. that this common cultural consciousness has been formed in India *nr. the help of certain processes and factors that also play an important role in other primary civilization* i.e.. sacred books and sacred objects as a fixed point of worship, a special class of literati (Brahmans) who have the authority to recite and interpret the sacred scriptures, professional storytellers, a sacred geography of sacred centers temples, pilgrimage places, and shnnes and leading personalities who b> their identification with the Great Tradition and with the masses mediate the one to the other 4. that in a primarv civilization like India's, cultural continuity with the past is so great that even the acceptance of "modernizing" and "progress" ideologies does not result in linear forms of social and cultural change but may result in the "traditionalizing" of apparently "modern' innov ations In considering how such broad hypotheses might be tested by a field stud;, m India. I got some help and encouragement from several other quarter* One of these was M. N. Srinivass study. Religion and Society Among tht Ctjorg.i <>j South India, from this work I learned that the Great Tradition of Indian civilization might be approximately identified with what SrinrtttS called "Sanskritic Hinduism' and u hat prev jous writers like Momer-W illiams called "Brahmanism" in contrast to popular Hinduism. As Snnivas defines It, Sanskritic Hinduism is the generalized pattern of Brahman practices and beliefs that have an all-India spread, in contrast to those forms of Hinduism with a local, regional, or peninsular spread. From Snnivas s work. too. I learned that Sanskritic Hinduism was not confined to the Brahmans but. as in the case of the Coorgs. might be taken over by non-Brahman groups as pan of an effort to raise their status. To this process Snnivas has given the name "Sanskrilization." and it is obviously an important way in which the Great Tradition spreads from one group and region to another group and region. Other ways of conceiving the relationship of the great Indie civilization to the culture and social structure of a particular Indian village were suggested by Ml Kim Marriott in a seminar that we held in Chicago during the spring of I954.J Between Srinivass conception of Sanskritic Hinduism as a generalized all-India phenomenon and Marriotts description of one village as the locus of interacting Little and Great Traditions, there appeared to me to be a gap which might be filled by a synchronic and functional type of field study- Defining (he unit of field study The unit of field study proved to be much smaller than the "intelligible unit ol Mudy" with which our methodological discussions in the Chicago seminar had dealt namely, a total civilization in its full historical and geographic# 58 GREAT TRADITION IN CULTURAL PLRFOR MANCKS sweep, did not, ol course, expect lo encompass the history of Indian civiliza-tion within a lew observations and interviews carried out over a period of several months. But I must confess I entertained some hope of making contact w.th Indian civilization on an all-India level. The basis of this- as it turned out -naive hope was the assumption that, if Hindu traditions were still cultivated by professional specialists and if Sanskritic Hinduism, at least, had an all-India spread, a strategy selection of the mam types of such specialists should offer a quick access to the structure of the civilization. 1 was not sufficiently familiar with India to feel confident in my selection of the -strategic"' specialists, but. with the help of my reading and the advice of some who knew India better than I did, I obtained introductions to caste genealogists (Bhats) in Uttar Pradesh, a subcaste of bards (Carans) in Rajasthan and Saurastra. some individual sddhus and pandits in Benares, a Sanskritist in Madras, a cultural historian in Bombay, and several political-cultural leaders in New Delhi. While this rather broad geographical spread was in part an accident of the location of my advisers, it seemed to assure a genuine all-India scope to my inquiry. When I arrived in India, I quickly saw that, however strategic such a selection might appear from 10,000 miles away, it did not take sufficient account of the cultural and noncultural realities of the Indian scene. The sheer physical problem of traveling around to these various points in India would leave little time for even a preliminary study of any of these groups. But this was not the decisive obstacle: in the end. I did get to almost all these regions and to several others. A more serious obstacle to my original program arose from the fact that, even if I had been able to make studies of these various groups. I did not see how I could directly relate them to one another and to Indian culture as a whole. Perhaps one deeply learned in the history of Indian civilization and familiar with its regional and local varieties could have brought off such an integration, but to a neophyte the task appeared overwhelming. The regional variations alone were sufficient to give me pause. Indians in the north and south did not speak the same language or identify with the same tradition. Beset by such difficulties. I decided to abandon the plan for an all-India unit of field study and to reformulate a plan that would limit the study to one region. Because I had met in Madras a very knowledgeable Sanskritist sympathetic with the study, and because Madras itself seemed to he a rich center of cultural activities. I selected the Madras area for an exploratory study. This selection, however, still left open a number of other alternatives. Should I set the bounds of the study by the boundaries of the linguistic region, that is, all of the Tamil-speaking country: should I concentrate on a village or a city, or on one group of specialists, or perhaps on one individual or on one institution, like a temple? Had I been doing an intensive field study over a longer period of time. I should probably have chosen the smallest manageable unit and concentrated on it alone. Since I was interested in charting the topography of Indian culture, its general terrain and its different ^untaim valleys, and river sources, such a procedure would have given me too narrow 59 FOUNDATIONS AND DEFINITIONS a perspective. For my purpose, it seemed belter to begirt with it rich and Complex cluster of Indian culture so that I could iind representatives of the major kinds of cultural institutions, cultural specialists, and cultural media. Such a cluster was olTered to me by the cultural activities and institutions of the city of Madras and the adjoining towns ol't'onjeeveram, Mahabalipuram. and Chingleput, as well as about six villages on the immediate outskirts of Madras. It is diflicull to characterize such a cluster with any degree of precision, and perhaps it would be futile to try for great precision. It might he characterized geographically in terms of the land area covered and in terms of the different kinds of settlement units included withm it. But since my criteria of selection were not geographical, this characterization would be misleading. The cluster could also be described m terms of political-administrative and cultural categories, Madras is the capital of the state, Chingleput is a district seal. Conjeeveram is an ancient temple and pilgrimage city. These characterizations, although quite apposite, were not the basis of selection. Perhaps the characterization that comes closest to describing my actual unit of field study is that which describes it in social terms as a community of people. For it was primarily the subeaste of Smarta Brahmans in the Madras area whose culture I found myself studying most persistently and intimately. It was their rites and ceremonies, their households, temples, and mathu. their Sanskrit and Ayurvedh colleges, their storytellers, devotees, patrons, scholars, and spiritual leaders that I got to know best. But even this description of the unit is inaccurate. For I did nol set out to study a community of Smarta Brahmans, and because of the dispersed character of this community, I doubt that it would be possible to do a community study on them. Through a series of coincidences, 1 simply found that members of the Smarta Brahman community were also leading representatives of the Great Tradition of Sanskritic Hinduism. While most of these representatives have face-to-face interpersonal relations, the relationships among these representatives alone would be a very fragmentary segment of the social relations to be found in the community as a whole. On the other hand, I was not prevented by a concentration on the Smarta Brahmans from studying other subcastes of Brahmans. like the SrTvaisnavas, or non-Brahmans, like the followers of Tamil Saivism. Sometimes I was led to take notice of these L'out groups" by the Smartas themselves, e.g.. of the non-Brahman performers of classical bharatanatya dancing and Carnatic music, because the Brahmans are patrons and connoisseurs of these arts; sometimes I came upon these other groups quite independently—as in the case of village tolk plays, still performed by lower castes in the villages and in the cities. Defining the units of observation: cultural performances When I got my program of observations and interviews in the Madras area under way. 1 discovered what I suppose every field worker knows, that the Q*l H I K \ IH I I U N IN i II I 11 K M r, K | i IIHI A N( I S umis o! cogitation ere nol uniti ol observation I hen wei nothing thai booU Ih< Mill) labeled ] lllk- luuhtion W Qmi hmhhon, oi Ythos" 01 world view " Inileed, i round myeell oon fronted with ;i leHeaol concrete experience*, thi observation end recording oi which warned lo discourage (In- mind from entertaining ind applying ihi lynthetk and Interpretativeconcerns Hi.m i had b.....Kh| with »t» l hew ftxpttitnoet had i......trineta le»ci nation, which alio landed to discourage the broad, rerKKtiveviev. to whieh I had been accustomed Ail arevi more famiiiaj with my environment, however, I greduall) w* amen jjmg the relation oJ the woodi to Ute treei rhere w§n unita al obcervetion; the) were quite distinct from the interpretative categoriei, but I came to hit in whai mental operation* one might pais from the one u» the othei I wus helped to Identify the unlti ol obeervation not b> deliberate!) look fog tot then but b) noticing the contraltt) and recunviiec ni cenám t\pe\ ol things i had obeerved In tin* experience ot Indians ihcmsclu's I shall mil these limine "cultural performancea,11 becauaa they include whai we In the West usually call h\ thai name foi example, playi. concerts and leoturea hut they Include also prayera, ritual reading! and recitatloni, ritee and cere monies. reetiveJa, end all those things we uauall) clanify undei religion and ritual mihei than wiili the cultural mid art i itk in the Madrai un and India generally, I lutpect the dininction cannot be i sharp one bacauat the playi are more often than not baaed on (heaacred Bptco and Purinai, and the conoerti and d an cm are 1111I with devotional souks i he religioui rituáli, on i he m hoi hrnul, m i:* > involve the use of musical uisti umentt, longi, and dance muiirns similar to those used m the concert! by cultural "artiste." (hie of the u .iiimr Madrai newepspendail) liata forthcomingcultural sventi undei Lhree headings; "Discourses.'' Cot religious readingi and discourses on the taored hooks: "Entertainments." foi performances ol pl.iw dances, and conoerti mostly classical; and ' Miscellaneous.'' loi meeting! ol political and prole* sioiuii groups, public lectures on current topics, and receptions. As i obeerved the range of cultural performancea (and wai illowed, some-times asked, to photograph and record ihem) it teemed to me that im Indian friends and perhaps all peoples thought ol ilien culture II encapsulated m these discrete performances winch they could exhibit to visitors and to themselves, ľhc performances became foi me the elementary conetitueoti of the culture and the ultimate mills of obscrvnlion. Inch one had .i dsflnltot) limited tune span, or nt Inisi n hcginnmH and im cm!, an orgaJUaOd program of activity, a set of performeri, an audience, and i place and occasion oi performance. Whether it was a wedding, an hjmwin would do/e. talk, walk around, go home and conic hack, and find other resources for diverting their .mention el. despite such qualifications, whenever I looked for the ultimate units of direct observation, u ua> to these cultural performances that I turned. \nal\sis of cultural performance* Once the units of observation had been identified. mv interest in the con oeptaal ordering and interpretation of the observed revived How were the cultural performances interrelated so as to constitute "a culture'"? And were there anions them persistent patterns and structures of organization, perhaps diverse patterns of cultural tradition, which were related as Lit tic Tradition and Great Tradition'"' Two tvpes of ordered patterns suggested themselves almost at once as being particulars obvious and natural One grouping included the cultural performances that marked and celebrated the successive stages of the individual life cvclc from birth to death (the rites J< /x;.vvtjg< i. and the other marked nature's cycle of seasons, phases of the moon, and the like. I was somewhat surprised to find, however, that neither grouping had any special prominence in the minds of m> friends and acquaintances. In fact. 1 do not recall a single instance when am one identified a particular cultural performance as belonging to one or the other of these two groups. In formal discussions of the iisranta system and in discussions of I Hi ahinan's duties, the individual life cycle is used as an ordering principle. But this usage in highly abstract and conventionalized and rarelv takes account of the prevailing local ntes and customs When I found that the ordering of cultural performances by these distinct principles was not in the forefront of consciousness of the participants and did not in any case include all of the cultural perfonnances I had observed, I ceased (o regard these principles ascompel-lingly "natural." It occurred to me then that the cultural perfonnances mav be susceptible to a number of different types ol patterning, varying in explicit -ness and degree of significance for cultural analysis. 1 therefore re-examined my materials to see what some of these alternative patterns might be The cultural stage One type of analysis might study the place where the cultural performance occurs. The home, for example, is the center for a fixed cycle of rites, ceremonies, and festivals (including both the life-cycle and nature-cycle riles), and the temple is a center for another set of daily rites and periodic festivals. Thai division is consciously recognized, and there are two quite distinct sets if 62 rtRUT IRM1ITIOS IN (LI 1 I R.U PERFORMANCES ntual functionary. Jomwn, and icmple pneMs. who mas conduct the nies ,n the two places Temples and pilgrimage Place> arc also specialised with respecT 10 thetvpeot deii> To whom thev are dedicated and the kind of motive for which (hey are visited: to have a specific request granted, to fulfil a vow; lo expiate for sins; lo gain spiritual edification, tor example Beyond the home and the temple is the nuihu. not so much a center for cultural performances as a seat of ihe highest spiritual authority of the sect, the taeaJeuru. who approves the annual religious calendar and whose blessings and advice are much sought after. The more secular pertormances or popular culture are put on in public halls before mixed audiences and are usuallv sponsored bv cultural associations or uihhas. when they are not complete!) commercialized. In the villages, thev mav still be performed in the houses of well-to-do patrons or in the temple hall, but there, too. the institution of the community center is introducing a new kind of stage, less closelv tied to individual. caste and sect. In all of these institutions, much goes on that is culturally significant but mav not be pan of an organized cultural performance. This is particularly (rue ol the informal and casual cultural "training" (hat children receive from their parents. But this function, too. is probably being increasingly professionalized and institutionalised in (raining centers -schools. Sanskrit academies, dancing schools. An analysis of cultural performances in terms of their institutional settings would he relatively comprehensive both as to The range of performances and the range of performers and institutions to be found in South India. 1( cannot deal, however, with those types of performance that have no fixed or recurrent institutional base—e.g.. a folk play u?rukkuriu\. uhtch i> given in a village field or city lot. or a group of devotees who sing devotional songs along a street or country road. It also fail* to include certain iv pes of cultural specialists whose primary function is not to participate in or conduct cultural performances bur to give advice about proper times iastrologers) or to supply the necessary props umagemakersi. Thus, a construction of the cultural pattern that starts from institutional sellings would have to be completed with constructions that include n on institutionalized performances and "n on performing" cultural specialists. Cultural specialists One w ants to know more about a cultural specialist than can be learned from watching him perform: his recruitment, training, remuneration, motivation, attitude toward his career, his relation to his audience, patron, other performers, and his community-all matters that can best be discovered b> interview™* the specialist himself While all of these Things cannot be directly observed in the field, some aspects of them can be observed in favorable circumstances, for example, the training process or the performers relation 63 II) LINDA ] IONS AND DEFINITIONS 10 an audience. In the main, however, the analysis of culture in terms of the careers and social roles of the professional cultural specialists is, like the institutional analysis, a construct for analyzing observable cultural performances. Rediield has suggested that such a construct is a specialization and extension of the social anthropologist's constructs of "social structure" and "social organization" to a community of cultural specialists: he therefore has called it the "social organization and the social structure of tradition." The Madras area provided representatives of live types of specialists thai 1 had on my original list as well as a considerable number of others that I had not previously known about. The only type I did not gel to hear or meet were the local bards and caste genealogists, although I was told that there were some in the area. Most of the specialists I interviewed were affiliated with special cultural institutions- temple priests with the temples, domestic priests orpurohhas with household ceremonies. Sanskrit pandits with Sanskrit schools and colleges, a Sanskrit research scholar with the university, and a whole group of reciters, storytellers, singers, dancers, dramatic performers, and instrumental musicians with the cultural associations oxsobhds. The press, the radio, and the movies have also developed new types of cultural specialists in the form of editors, program directors, story writers, and producers, and I interviewed several. As far as possible I tried to observe the performances of these specialists in their respective institutional settings as well as to interview them outside of these settings. There was also a group of cultural specialists, as 1 have already mentioned, without any fixed institutional affiliations, who nevertheless still play an active role in transmitting traditional culture. Among them were a specialist in Vedic mantras, an astrologer, a maker of metal images for temple and domestic shrines, leaders of devotional meetings, and an Ayurvedic doctor. Whether associated with an institution or not, the cultural specialist rarely stands alone. Supporting him are usually other specialists and assistants, a teacher or guru, a patron, an organizer of performances, an institutional trustee, a public critic of the specialty. Occasionally I was lucky enough to interview the several representatives of such a functionally linked senes. e.g., a dancer and her patron, a dance teacher, student dancers, the organizer of a dance school, and a publicist and critic of the classical dance. The patron, organizer, and critic are usually not themselves specialists, although they may know a good deal about a particular specialty and play an important role in setting standards of public taste and criticism. In this respect, they function as cultural policy-makers. I also found cultural policy-makers who assumed responsibility not merely for formulating the aspirations and standards governing a particular cultural specialty but for an entire cultural tradition. The head of a mafha in the region, a svami and sannyasin, highly respected and influential, showed much concern about the future of orthodox Hinduism in the area and throughout India. Another svami. without any institutional affiliation, was through public lectures urging a policy of democratizing the GklSl I K A t > I I III N IS (( | f( |t A I HIKMIKMAMI.S Veda* Such mailers, too were ihe concern ol some people who held pohiicaJ o*Ikt and who were in .1 position I., alkvi public opinion and legislative policy Thf wciai wr$juiimtim oftrudti'mn in the village In Ihe villages, loo. one can hnd cultural polio -makers, especial I > among individuals associated wuh the introducing ol villagedevelopment plans and extension services The heads of the village development committees and youth leagues, the social recreation olhcers. the village-lev el worker, although pnmanlv concerned wuh agricultural improvements sanuation, and similai mailers, are alv» .ii feeling cultural aspiration* and policies Ihe building of new village schools, community and recreation centers wuh then libraries, radios, and community stages are creating in the village single centers of cultural lite that formerl\ revoked around us several temples. The villages lack the variety t»l cultural specialist* 10 he found m ihe cities and towns In ihe villages I visited j temple pnesi. a domestic pnesi. and a schitoltcachcr seemed to he the usual minimum Several villages had more specialists, bul the social organization ol tradition in the village siill ditiered from lhai ol theciiv because it involved les» spectali/ation. less lull-lime and professional acto n> .in.I depended more on traveling speciahsis from oihct villages and ncarhv towns In one s ill age. the lemptc pnesi is also something oi a pandit, a ritual reciter ot sacred tests a singer o1 devotional songs, and an astrologer functions that tend to he rained oui h\ dilicrcnl people in the city In this same village a resident dramatics teacher trams the village boy* to perform in purine pbvs. but he is also a drummer and the village potter. There are no professional dancers, actors, doclorv ot image-makers in this village, although residents know about lhe>e specialist* from having seen them in neighboring villages and towns or occasionally when ihcv pass through the village Specialists representative ot the newer mass media the newspaper, radio, and him are ot course nol to be found in the villages J heard about villages in South India that until recently were the homes of famous musicians, dance teachers, poets, and pandits and were active cultural centers This situation is no Iongei common, however, since it depended on grant* of village lands of on grants of temple privileges to families of specialists, tixcept for the occasional village that is the seat ol a famous shnnc. the village looks 10 the city and 10 the planning eommiiiee foi ns cultural specialists Rven the most traditional cultural specialists told me how then itineraries have shifted from the v illages to ihe towns in the lasi twrntv \rars because ihe most educated and "cultured" villagers have moved to the cities and Inwm f>*pilc the declining position of the village a* a center for cultural specially for weral reason*, one nevvnheW *till finds a strong vnse oi cultural con iinuriy between villa *r and town Until recently, many village* were active toaaÉKBOtf. It & because they pcrtorm ano know Use tw stones thai w« Or. 10 pvi it More ^auiKHtsn and more operationally. a MNri analysis d cpk and paraaac stones wouwl r^obabry dksckfte an uncJerivmg cooqwm> v»\*lcdpc gave me a welcome sense of recognition when I heard some oi the stones, but it did not prepare me lor the nch variety ot ways in which they are loid and retold Seldom did I come across an Indian who had read these Mono as I did. simply in a hook This i> not how they learn them and it is no* how they think of them There is a sense of intimate familiarity *nh the character and incidents in the reference* nude to Haracandra. Rama and Síta. knshna. -\nuna. and Prahlada. as if die world of the stones were also the everyday world. Manx children are toW theae Monet from an earl> ape b> pařeni* and grandparents, bui ihi* is bv no means the only way in which they learn them. The verv ussuc of the culture i> made from purinic themes PracticaJI> every cuJtural performance includes one tn song, dance, play, recitation, and exposition Characters and scenes ■re ever present on the colored lithographs used in homes and public halls ia* wdl as in the brilliantly colored figure* on temple towers, for example, on the modem Sri kapiím tra temple in Mylapore. Madras! The culiurai and Phyucal landscapes are literally and imaginatively painted with them. A* I grew famihar with the different ways in which the stones were communicated in Ihe Madras area. I realized that ihc modes oi communication the on liRl M I R A Dl 1 ION IN t , I I ľ R A I |.,HIORM ol studx. lo. u was ,hťse lonm and iuM ľ..niod tvoks lha. cat.ied iheeonieol ol Mul and p-.kIkv tam* mg the hunu ouUooa ol i majorít) oTthe popuJaUon Such media too, are 'Yuliuial i.mootliei m-..>cs In,hen diflVivniialion ol loimsas >oug. dane* and drama, tne) oormitutt whai popukart) oonakkred "oulturt . and theaa lormal d.iloivutiatioua art m turn weJl artkuiated with oUm aapeca d třn culíme and mcict\ l ullural snev.al.Nis. lot cvamplo. are d»>i.nguished ac-cordmg ÍO musUm\ ol ihc dilVcivni media in singmg. dancing, actmg. tnowfedfc of Sanskrit, technique ofdramatk reoitation, and lha lika Bvea whon a perforrner is i heroditar) ipeciatist, iu> ttatus is not tafcen lbe granted hui in ludged ta ternu oJ hw proficienc) in lbe medium Spokon languagv is tho pio emineni culí mal nicdu.ni. u i* a consiituont i>l culturv, lyenftnlhaa atomaott ofbottaf and practtee, and ataa aotMty, amcu latcs \Mth OthCJ as|\vi\ ol socuvul.iual oigam/ation Noulinguistk media, howcxcr. also pla\c\l an important rolem ihoculiuial perťouuancvs I ohsvrvod Song. d.mcv. actmg out. and giaphic and plast.c art comhuu* in inan> Vtayi to exprva and oommunicata Um oontaol of Indián ooltura \ rtud) ol tne thiVcivm fórrra of cul tura] medu m ihcu soda! and outtural oontaati awnM> I htUtVit ívwal Ihem to lx- words in S;inskiii i> is miportani as understandiiig lhotr meaumg In ihesť resrxvts. it ivseinhles rwiiations and chanting ol \ aa^aoHorv Us chielpur^sc is to explam the vloi\ in tho regional language ramil. and to dl ivt morul lessons IVpendiug on the emdltma U^ŘfWmě$m and of his audience, the text ■ Sanvk.u 01 I l»'».l faratot Ulinoilld bj .. Tamil ,xvt. Kamhan. aKmt W >ears ago l vjv-uon uvuat.ons ara MMl^ mxen in public halls. although the> ma> also be g.u-n m P. o ale honws and m tcmplcs Brahnians most f.^uenih a.v the cxpoundoia, but mui-Hrahmam do it also A ihird lonu, íht tlUW Hi> ^■1" rcsemhks ihe swond in using cxrx^.orA narralioti m Vanul as tlíc chief medium bul dillers Irom ,t m adding relevant so.uw frxm» Sansknt. Tdugu. kannada. Huuit, Maralhi. and FOUNDATIONS AND DEFINITIONS Tamil with musical accompaniment. The performer in the latter case must be something of a singer, a linguist, and an "artist," as well as a dramatic storyteller. This art form is relatively recent in the Tamil country, having been developed about 250 years ago from Maharastrian models. It is practiced by non-Brahmans as well as by Brahmans. and one of the outstanding artists is a woman. Then there is the variety of dance and dramatic forms, traditional and modern, through which themes from the Ramayana are presented. Folk as well as classical forms are used, and both have been adapted to such mass media as the film. A detailed analysis of cultural media would cast much light on the ways in which cultural themes and values are communicated as well as on processes of social and cultural change. The ritual reading in the sacred setting seems to be the oldest form and differs from the others in types of institutional setting, specialists, values expected, and amount of Sanskrit used. Yet it is possible lo see strong links of continuity between this form and the less ritualized forms of popular culture. Even the most recent of the mass media, the movies, draws heavily upon the older cultural media and on the common stock of traditional devotional and mythological stories. From field study to the study of a total civilization Some anthropologists advised me before I went to India not to spend much time preparing myself by studying the history of Indian civilization or reading the Indian epics and other texts. A field study, they said, has a strict obligation to record only those realities which the field worker himself can observe within a limited area and what is within the living memory of the people he interviews. Historical and literary research would only clutter the mind with preconceptions and should be done, if at all. after the field work is finished. Although I did not take this advice, the course of the study would seem to justify it: I was compelled to limit my attention to a particular group of people within one region restricted enough to be brought under a single conspectus of interrelations; I had to set aside generic conceptual categories about total civilizations in favor of concrete units of observation like cultural performances: and even the analysis of cultural performances runs in terms of constituent factors such as cultural institutions, cultural specialists, and cultural media, which in part, at least, are amenable to the direct observation and interview of the field worker. Yet the necessity of concrete research does not quite end the story. The purpose of the study was to test some general concepts and hypotheses about Indian civilization as a whole—particularly about the cultural continuity of its Great and Little Traditions across the barriers of village and town, caste and caste, region and region, past and present. How can the results of a limited field study be relevant to hypotheses so general in scope? How can the "cultural pattern of Indian civilization" be found in a regionally delimited GREAT TRADITION ,N C L l. T I R A I PIRFORMASCIS cultural cluster with a very shallow h.stoncal depth' Must we then abandon the awlizational Irame of reference or reconsider how a limited and func-i.onal held stud> ,s relevant to the study of a whole civilization in its full regional and temporal scopeÍ Methodologically there are two different wavs to relate a limited 6eld study to a total civilization. One way is to consider the unit of field studv-whether it be a village or a cluster of villages, and towns- as an isolate that contains within it the culture pattern. Once the pattern is delineated lor one field unit, it may be compared with the pattern found in similar units in other regions until enough cases are studied to give good measures of central tendency and of the range of variation in patterns To give historical depth to such patterns, it would of course be necessary to supplement the field studies with historical and archaeological studies of similar isolates in the past This procedure results in a view of the cultural pattern of a civilization as a kind of statistical aggregate of the patterns of all the cultural molecules, past and present, that have been isolated for studv. If. however, a civilization is. as Redtield writes, "a great whole in space and in time by virtue of the complexity of organization which maintains and cultivates its traditions and communicates them from the great tradition to the many and ven small local societies w ithin it." then it is doubtful w hether the procedure will reveal the required complexitv of organization. Within a delimited unit of field studv. such as I started with, it was possible to find a variety of cultural institutions, specialists, and media that link Brahman and non-Brahman, villager and townsman, one sect and another, to a common cultural tradition. But if a unit is to disclose the cultural links with the past and with other regions, it cannot be regarded as an isolate but must be considered rather as one convenient point of entry to the total civilization, as one nodule in the organized network of cultural communication to which Redfield refers. Different field studies may of course choose different points of entrv—in terms of size, character, and location - but the interest in comparing their results will be not to count them as instances lor statistical generalization but rather to trace the actual lines ol communication wiih one another and with the past. The general description of this organization in its most embracing spatial and temporal reaeh will then be a description of the cultural pattern of the total civilization. In closing this preliminary report, I should like to mention several lines of cultural communication that lead out from my chosen unit of field study into other regions and other times The pilgrimage to the Ganges and to other sacred spots is undertaken by many ordinary people, but one also hears of many sannyasins who have been to the Himalayas or who are planning to retire there. Thus does the sacred geography of the land extend cultural consciousness beyond one region. One harikathá artist I interviewed told me that she has performed all over India, as well as in Burma and Ceylon Outside of the Tamil-speaking areas, her audiences rarely understood her 69 FOUNDATIONS AND DEFINITIONS Tam.l narration but never tailed to respond to her songs and pantomime because ihe\ were familiar with the puran.e and epic stones she mated. The links'to the past are plentiful in a culture based until reeeml) on the transmission of oral and w niton lexis within families «1 hereditary specialists. An image-maker I interviewed still knew a separate \edie numtra to help him draw each image and occasionally consulted on difficult points aiwiem manuals (Silpa&Hras) thai had been handed down to him on palm leal manu scripts. Specialists on different t>pes of xa.\(rny as well as on the I'uraiias are >AiH regularh consulted to settle difficult cases, and Yedie prayers and chanting still accompany man> ntes and ceremonies. To follow up these \ a nous strands would require competence in the different regional languages, in Sanskrit, in Indian cultural history, and other subjects, and more time than is usualU gi\ai 10 a single held study, ll is obviously a task that requires cultural historians, linguists, and Sanskntists, as well as field anthropologists. Occasionally one finds, especially among the cultural leaders and scholars of Tamilnadu, persons whose outlook seeks to comprehend the total pattern of Indian civilization and to define its Cireat Tradition. A Sanskrit scholar, a Smarut Brahman, sees Sanskrhic and Vedie Hinduism as the Ureal Tradition that has in the course of history incorporated many elements of folk and regional cultures not included in the Vedie one. He sees the formative process as a constructive Sanskriti/aiion thai has conserved existing practices and customs, has reduced a bewildenng mass to some cultural homogeneity, and has resulted in a refinement and "civilization" of lower practices. A Vaifnavfte Brahman pandn. on the other hand, spoke of two lines of tradition that lie had inherited: one "familial and spiritual" the Vedie—and the other ''spiritual only"—Vaisnavism. The latter has its scriptures, rituals, temples, nuitiias, saints, and functionaries thai overlay a Vedie foundation and that he shared with non-Brahman Vaisnavites. A non-Brahman Saivite scholar made the cleavage between the Vedie and Tamil traditions sharper still. Respectful to the former, lie identified with a Saivism whose medium was Tamil and whose institutions, practices, and beliefs were, as he described them, largely non-Brahman and non-Sanskmic. And then there are individuals who speak only of a great Tamil and Dravidian tradition and who actively reject the Vedie and Sanskritic tradition as cunning impositions of a northern, Aryan, Brahman "fifth column." Representatives of this group, pursuing a program of de-Sanskritization, have rewritten the Ramayana, as a drama in which Ravana is the southern hero, and Rama the northern villain. All of these views represent in one sense "autodefinitions" ol the Great Tradition, since they all begin from some special vantage point-usually inhen.ed-of occupation, caste, sect, and region. But thev can also serve, especially the more scholarly and informed among them, as valuable guides in the efTon to add regional scope and historical depth to a limited field 70 ORE A1 IIUDIIION IN CULTURAL PL k I ORMANCES Notes 1 Robert Redficld, "The Social Organization of Tradition." FED 15 No I (November, 1955): 13-21. 2 Robert Redheld and Milton Singer, "The Cultural Role oi Cities." EDCCl No. 1 (October, 1954): esp. 64-73. 3 Snnivas, Coorgs (see note 15 to Chapter 2. above). 4 MeKim Marriott, "Little Communities in an Indigenous Civilization," in Marriott, ed.. 17 (see note f>. [ntroductiofl to Part One). 5 Rediield. "Social Organization of Tradition." 6 Oscar Lewis. "Peasant Culture in India and Mexico: A Comparative Analysis." in VI. 7 An ancient manual on the classical dance beautifully expresses this organic interrelationship of different media: "The song should be sustained in the throat: its meaning musi be shown by the hands; the mood (bhSva) must be shown h\ the glances: time [Jala) is marked by the feet. For wherever the hand moves, there the glances follow; where the glances go. the mind follows; where the mind goes, the mood follows: where the mood goes, there is the flavour (rata)" The Mirror of Gesture Being the Abhinnya Darpana oj Nandiketivani. trans, by Ananda K. Coomaraswamv and Duegirala Gopalakrishnayya (New York: E. Weyhc. 1936), p. 35. K Redheld, ■'Social Urbanization of Tradition." 71 Kl II'Al PK AM A AS "HUB Voll V UMMH H\sA> IW, ff II II' ľliť pe-noral peispcvine lhal Ii IntttWOVtfl vtUl Ott) Bttlhoddoj) ol analyui migfal bi lummtftl) cluirac-ieriml us u tht\*t v at i/iw«w \\ ť piopost- to uke rfftJjJítMUÉ (is the Ul lonu, I he "huh." Will» all OÜW HptOUOl uchou lu.uisi its spokes miimimu ľm m this hub I hit lit the lock] iphtrt is eon tkkwtd m itffw oTittuaUotu and total In oootfam with the plnými sphoiť. which is considered m mechanistic lenus, idcali/cd us a Ihn umso and afttfl oi stimulus and iťspoiise i ť i, i no n s I u | > HiUial diuimi is considered its lhc culaalnattnf Conn. front Uns polní of view* and an) oihci Fonn is 10 be eon ■odcicd ilu- "rtVuml ' o\ťfslrť!WH4J i^l OM W .inoiliei n I Ul^- lllgirdlMll lomui i» i mul iiiiiuiii \n ťssdusth' Mvitiisť oi scieiuiiie easi, loi imtance, would Iv \ lowed ;is a KmJ k^l I liimleuc sohlocjm. lis i In ihm slowed down lo it Niiiuľs pace. 01 ix'ihiips lo an m^iiLu |,^. ,uul the di.uiuiic smuiiion ol Urbich il is a [Mil usmaII) hentá" leti uimicihioiicd 1 l'hť ivľeivncv U* I Umlčí is osp-Umu ti tumdívd U'uis. we had hevn ucthtiji a lieimmi h unshlion ol H.imlct .( liansliinon in icíms oi loiimuhc idealism, ti translation Nought uiio t ny lith by lolci idpe, who inieipieled Haiulci U au ľliŕalvthau Cohfiflaa. ihc "manol iiMUton," ľhcitewei niidiuMei min pu-uiioti, which Maurice BvtM has done much to ivmoiv ľoi us. laitfcls In ihr simple expedient ol nwuf u> ihť pl*> uiiľiii, is tkal ot Hamlet ns iho "wiľnlisi," n nimi hiimoiis lo weijjli till (he objevme evidence pnoi lo iho «el. Among things, it has been piMnieil out, Ihciv w.o Mu- v um w k' ptohkm |.ts so c\»ikviuhI w H hm ihr beli*ľs ťuirvni m ShitkťspiMiť v iiaM ,i| .h-u'imuunii wheihci Uu- jihosi w.o mi/ÍMhť von* oj his ľmliei mi a ^lUum vkwpnon. Amt Ihunkuas piť|MUi hon loi Ins aci, employed ihc slohd Moraiio und ihť t use ol ihr pU\ wilhm u-plti\ us l'wmhols." u> mttkť suiv th the -cooperate competition ol the parliamentary Inimical amnions are invited 10 collaborate in the rvrtcvting o. the assertion In tact, the greatest menace IP dictatorships lies in (he lact thai, through their "emciencv" ,n silencing the enemy, they tkpnve themselves ol competitive collaboration. Their assertion lacks the opportunity to mature throush "agonistic" development. By putting the quietus upon their oPPon-ent thev bring themselves all the more rudely against the unans*rmhh opponent, the opponent who cannot be refuted, the nature ol brute reahtv itself. In so far as their chart of meanings is inadequate as a description ol the scene, it is not equipped to encompass the scene. And by silencing the opponent, u deprives itself of the full value 10 be got from the "collective revelation" to the maturing of which a vocal opposition radically contributes And there is a ■collective revelation." a social structure of meanings by which the individual forms himself Recent emphasis upon the greal amount of superstition and error in the beliefs of sa\ ages has led us into a false emphasis here. We have tended to feel that a whole collectivity can be "wrong" in its chart of meanings. On the contrary, if a chart of meanings were ever "wrong." it would die in one generation. Even the most superstition-ridden tribe must have had many very accurate ways of sizing up real obstacles and opportunities in the world, for otherwise it could not have maintained itself. Charts of meaning are not "right" or "wrong" they are relative approximations to the truth. And only in so far as they contain real ingredients of the truth can the men who hold them perpetuate their progeny. In fact, even in some of the most patently "wrong" charts, there are sometimes discoverable ingredients of "rightness' that have been lost in our perhaps '"closer" approximations. A ritual dance for promoting the fertility of crops was absurd enough as "science" (though its absurdity was effectively and realistically corrected in so far as the savage, along with the mummery of the rite, planted the seed; and if you do not abstract the rite as the essence of the event, but instead consider the act of planting as also an important ingredient of the total recipe, you see that the chart of meanings contained a very important accuracy). It should also be noted that the rite, considered as "social science," had an accuracy lacking in much of our contemporary action, since it was highly collet live in its attributes, a group dance in which all shared, hence an incantatory device that kept alive a much stronger sense of the group's consubstantiality than is stimulated today by the typical acts of private enterprise In equating "dramatic" with "dialectic," we automatically have also our perspective for the analysis of history, wh,ch is a "dramatic" process, involving dialectical oppositions. And if we keep thus always in mind, we are reminded £ZZl em bcquea!rhed us b> »»«°ry must be treated as a strawy for encompassing a muatton. Thus, when considering some document like the RITUAL DRAMA AS "HUB" American Constitution, we shall be automatically warned not to consider it in isolation, but as the answer or rejoinder 10 assertions current in the situation m which it arose. We must take this mto account when confronting now the problem of abiding by its "principles" in a situation that puts forth questions totally different from those prevailing at the time when the document was lormed. We should thus claim as our allies, in embodying the "dramatic perspective;" those modern critics who point out that our Constitution is to be considered as a rejoinder to the theories and practices of mercantilist paternalism current at the time of its establishment.J Where does the drama get its materials? From the "unending conversation" that is going on at the point in history when we are born. Imagine that you enter a parlor. You come late. When you arrive, others have long preceded you, and they are engaged in a heated discussion, a discussion too heated for them to pause and tell you exactly what it is about. In fact, the discussion had already begun long before any of them got there, so that no one present is qualified to retrace for you all the steps that had gone before. You listen for a while, until you decide that you have caught the tenor of the argument: then you put in your oar. Someone answers: you answer him; another comes to your defense: another aligns himself against you, to either the embarrassment or gratification of your opponent, depending upon the quality of your ally's assistance. However, the discussion is interminable. The hour grows late, you must depart. And you do depart, with the discussion still vigorously in progress. It is from this "unending conversation" (the vision at the basis of Mead's work) that the materials of your drama arise/ Nor is this verbal action all there is to it. For all these words are grounded in what Malinowski would call "contexts of situation." And very important among these "contexts of situation" are the kind of factors considered by Bentham. Marx, and Veblen, the materia] interests (of private or class structure) that you symbolically defend or symbolically appropriate or symbolically align yourself with in the course of making your own assertions. These interests do noi "cause" your discussion: its "cause" is in the genius of man himself as homo ioqiwx. But they greatly affect the idiom in which you speak, and so the idiom by which you think. Or, if you would situate the genius of man in a moral aptitude, we could say that this moral aptitude is universally present in all men, to varying degrees, but that it must express itself through a medium, and this medium is in turn grounded in material structures. In different property structures, the moral aptitude has a correspondingly different idiom through which to speak. By the incorporation of these social idioms we build ourselves, our "personalities," i.e.. our roles (which brings us again back into the matter of the drama). The movie version of Shaw's Pygmalion shows us the process in an almost terrifyingly simplified form, as we observe his heroine building herself a character synthetically, by mastering the insignia, the linguistic and man-nerislie labels of the class among whom she would, by this accomplishment, POUNDATIONI AND DM-INI 1 symbolically enroll herself tw,th the prom.se that this symbol.e e.i.olhncm would culmmate .n objective, matenal fulfillment I In Ms simplicity ilw plav comes close to heresy, as migh. be revealed bv matching it with a coun.e. heresv Joyces individualistic, absolutist. "dictatorial' establishment o| a language from within Shaw's heroine, in making her sell over h> aiiiliciallv acquiring an enqueue of speech and manners. ,s mic. nal.z.ng the external (the term is Mead's). But Joyce is "externalizing the internal I call bOtfl of ihese "heresies because I do not take a heresv to be a Hal opposition to an orthodoxy (except as s<» made to appear under the "dialectical pressure" arising from the fact thai the I wo philosophies may become insignia of opposed material lorces); I lake a heiesv rather to be the isola lion of one strand in an orthodoxy and its follow mg-through-wiih-ialional elheiency to the point where "logical conclusion" cannot be distinguished from *Wm no adahsurdum " An orthodox" statement here would require us la consider complementary movements: both an internalizing of the external and an externalizing of the internal. Heresies tend to present themselves as arguments rather than as dictionaries. An argument must ideally be consistent, and tactically must at least have the appeurantr ol consistency But a dictionary need not aim at consistency: n can quite comfortably locale a mean by terms signalizing contradictory extremes.'1 The broad outlines of our position might be codified thus: (1) We have the drama and the scene of the drama. The drama is enacted against a background (2) The description of the scene is the role of the physical sciences: the description of the drama is the role of the social sciences. (3) The physical sciences are a calculus of events: the social sciences are a calculus of acts. And human a flairs being dramatic, the discussion of human affairs becomes dramatic criticism, with more to be learned from a study ol tropes than from a study of tropisms. (4) Criticism, in accordance with its methodological ideal, should attempt to develop rules of thumb lhat can be adopted and adapted (thereby giving it the maximum possibility of development via the "collective revelation." a development from first approximation to closer approximation, as against the tendency, particularly in impressionistic criticism and its many scientilic vanants that do not go by this name, to be forever "starling from scratch") (5) The error of the social sciences has usually resided in the attempt to appropriate the scenic calculus for a charting of the act. (6) However, ihere is an interaction between scene and role. Hence, dramatic criticism lakes us inlo areas lhat involve the act as "response" lo the scene Also, although there may theoretically be a common scenic background for all men when considered as a collectivity, the acts of other persons become part of the scenic background for any individual person s act (7) Dramatic criticism, in the idiom of theology, considered the individual's act with relation to God as a personal background. Pantheism proclaimed 76 RITl AL DRAMA AS "HLB" ihe | 1 J1lB or th.s dj^ioc role U .. whereas theologv treated the scemc .unction ot Nature as a "representative" of God. panther made the natural background identical w,th God it narrowed ihe arcumlerenee of the con-teat m which the act would be located. Naturahsm pure and simple sought to eliminate the role of divine participation compleiek. thoueh often with theological vestiges, as w,th the "God-function" implicit in the idea of "pro-gresMve evolution, where God now took on a "rmioridsi" r©fc H.moiv however, deals wuh events." hence the increasing tendencv in the social sciences to turn from a calculus of the act to a "pure" calculus of the evem. Hence, in the end. the ideal of stimulus-response nsvcholoey. (8) ^haiever may be the character of existence in the physical realm, this realm (unctions but as scenic background when considered from the stand point of the human realm. I.e.. it functions as "lifeless." as mere "properly" for the drama. And an ideaJ calculus for charting this physical realm must treat 11 as lifeless (in the idiom of mechanistic determinism\. Bui 10 adopi such a calculus for ihe charting o! life t> to chart b\ a "planned incongruity" tie-, a treatment of something in terms of what it is nor) (9| The ideal calculus of dramatic criticism would require, not an incongruity, but an inconsistency I.e.. it would he required to employ ihe ux^rdinates of both determinism and free w ill. (10) Since, like biology, it is in a realm midway between \ital assertions and lifeless properties, the realm of the dramatic i hence ol dramatic criticism | is neither phystcalisi nor anti-physicahsi. but physicahsi-plus- Narrowing our discussion from consideration of the social drama in general to mailers of poetry in particular, we ma> noie ihat the distinction between the "internalizing of ihe external and ihe externalizing of the internal" involves two different functions of imagery: imagery as confessional and imagery as incaniatorv, ihe two elements that John Crowe Ransom has isolated from Aristotle's Poetics in his chapters on The Cathartic Principle" and "ihe Mimetic Principle " Imagery, as confessional, contains in itself a kind ot "personal irresponsibihtv. as we may e\en relieve ourselves ol private burdens by befouling the public medium. If our unburdening attains an audience, it has been "socialized" by the act of reception. In its public reception, even the most excrement*!" of poetry becomes "exonerated" thence the extreme anguish of a poet who. writing "with maximum efficiency" under such an aesthetic, does not attain absolution by ihe suffrage of customers I. But we must consider also ihe "incantaiory ' factor in imagery: its function as a device for inviting us to "make ourselves over in ihe image of ihe imagerv " Seen from this poini of view a thoroughly "confessional" art may enact a kind of "individual salvation at the evpense of the group Quite as the development of the "enlightenment" m the economic sphere was trom a collective to an individual emphasis (with "private enterprise as ihe benign phase of an attitude which has its malign counterpart in the philosophy ot -satnr qu, peut and ihe d^l lake ihe hindmost"), so have mass ntuals 77 FOUNDATIONS AND DEFINITIONS tended 10 be replied by baft .dualist revisions, with many discrumna-ons th adjust them whh special accuracy to the particular needs ol their ľen or nd "signer"; while this mode in turn attains its log,,, conclusion or eduction to abstrdity in poetry having the ™— efficiency, a kmd of Uterary metabolistic process thai may sal sly h la needs oľthe poet well enough, but through poci.e passages that leave oil. 1 in their train Such puns seem 10 have been consciously exploited by Joyce when he is discussing his on poetica in Famegans Wake, hence should be considered b] any reader looking for the work's motivations (i.e.. the center about which its structure revolves, or the law of hi development) Freud s "cloaca! theory would offer the simplest explanation as to the ways in which the sexually private and the e\cremetitall> pri\ate may become psychologically merged, so that this theme could be treated as consubstantial with the theme of incest previously mentioned. For if we test the efficient confessional (as perhaps best revealed in a writer like Faulkner) from the standpoint of the incantatory (from the standpoint of its exhortation to "come on" and make ourselves over in the image ol its miagen I, v\e quickly realize its sinister function, from the standpoint of overall social necessities. By the "incantatory" test, a sadistic poetry, when reinforced by the imaginative resources of genius, seems to be a perfect match, in the aesthetic sphere, to the "incantatory"" nature of our mounting armumeni in the practical or political sphere, or to the efficiency of newspaper headlines (got by the formation and training of worldwide organizations devoted to the culling of conflicts, calamines, cataclysms, and atrocities "rationally" selected from the length and breadth of all human society, and given as our "true" representation of that day's "reality"). Confessional efficiency, in its range from poem to report, has given rise to an equally fallacious counter-efficiency which, recognizing the incantatory function of imagery, diligently selects for "reassuring" purposes. Hence, the confessional emphasis of the nineteenth century was "dialectically complemented" by an aesthetic of easy optimism, merging into the sentimental and hypocritical, making peace with the disasters in the world by flatly decreeing that "alls right with the world." I think that much of Whitmans appeal resides m this poetic alchemy, whereby the dangerous destruction of our natural resources could be exaltedly interpreted as an "advance"-while simple doc- "ľiľnľifiľbiľ11" inCVitable pr0gľeSSÍVe eVolution were k '-plica in the So in sum. we had two opposite excesses: the "cathartic" poetry which « intľSr ľ"' °f SPC" b> lranSrCmng * tons ££ - ľof r i" }>Dľhcapah,ek°fdoín8 S° íaS thc AnCÍCIlt M-iner got a ľe Tedd^ĽZfľ T", ' 1 lr-st<™- from himself to th.iSÄÄÄIís ™nr,he p,,oťs boy)-11 is an ari as the "aesthetic of IV^Zv1a -ľ "! *£■ W0UJd proPosc lo *™ «P uneKoe story, a monotonia art. from which the reader 78 Kin \ i UK v\t v \\ - ni li" MMMtpenl) K ie1us.il. by Iving wholesomeh imul"enough io iv>pond but Mi|Vt»Ki,illN to I hi |svi\ nuanuiioits \,ut Vtt had a inmuiu poeliA tltll did piesoed on the iwogitiiiou Ol ilw inOMtatOT) ipialut m MIMgen tils umeiton m inviting us u> MsunM Um Rttituota oocmpoadina to in aaatorae). hut was disposed ivwvaids ihe ItialOg) ol ihe ' idealistic Ik-/ in ttmpl) iciiam tNj it o\ii as, a )1xhhI. «üblishini aalwoi bj mnateal device lYihaps lna situation is moü jeaiu lavaatol in music, in ihe fradnaJ chiw#ct'ivw v\iiiphom"io"tonep*vni, wiih I iatf asati impoiiant fukiuiu m ihe ofcnaaa ľne lyraphsnw tem oontainad .1 m." u.n tfcuroofh." and "wa\ out" h MHijihi to ptaná i tpati oťdnnaai opon uv and ia ihe Million ol Us riíM^t tvlease us Horn this s|vll Ihn the lone poOffi sought Jo k\ tkxix. io ha>e un smk Ivneaih ihe giouiid wiih Alpheus *nd MOM io icvmei |* with Nivtlnisa li aOttfjht 10 kt* ťh /> us and OOJ o«il\ promotion again*! it wascuhei irtviatít) ol response 01 micvuou h\ .i him dit\loihet witcheries, ,1 generalehiiiei of spells, so (alongKrom ona ftoothai on ilw has lhal m iheu confusion the) somewhat neu u.d i. od the ctUvis ol OIK* íHKMhCi \s tegaids Ina hoiytcilmc «na, m which the smuIvIk tot ol ail oyetlaps upon the symbolic aot ta hie. \ would noa otVci an aneottott dlustiaine of spells, and how one might seiva ilu- ends ol freedom, not b) the aiteiupi to eliminate spells iwiuch I oonsuia impossible* hut h\ 1 cnncai attempt 10 QOWn "jiOOsľ spells A man is. lei us *a\. suhpM to spells ol alcoholic dehnichety Fot weeks he suKstsls, in a duijajwd stupoi \tlet which he ioeo\eis. is puuti^l. ;iiul lot VAiMug Umgihs v>| ume njionnisU iihshiins Iumu AMoboi He idso has a si^uadie gill loi wuttiif Bot ba OtnitOt susi.uu this liappui KiikI ot s|vll and wlu-n he icUpses uuo ;m ide\>hok deKiueh. he tuts i^ poHat pt>*wanofartimrtafj than acaboaaa. H»flrianO)iai) thai his weakness lvu ,-tkvhol is gtaditdlK desinn uk his gii^ lor w nimg; and he also HAN this lo Iv the ease t hen nitei pivtaiion seems K>i ne out h\ a c\m ivlaiion K'twevn the two kinds ot spell, ihe mahiin iiitt tor" akvholism and the Ixmujiii 1 ivlaivses tmo" Willing lot aOei he has etulesl a dehaueh, and has aManuxt tu>m akvhol lot a lune, his lueraiv aptness irtmus He is especially api. kn us sa>, in depicting the eunviu sxvne b\ » tdMious iwist ^>l humor thai gels ihings pietiues%(ueK awn Vnd when the benign Mvll is mjvimi him, some \ei \ ap^vahivi! s^uiKs ibis sort oevui io him I hen he is hapf>> aiut his Iikíkís K-gin to ivikw then hopes tor him lhe\ tvsm ihcmsfhes tv^ assist htm in eeumť ihe items pubhstu\l Hui whai it tin* ctmataium bctwveit tlw nwlijín akvlu^k s(V» and ihe henijin hteraiA s|vll should he dttVeivnils uiteipiviest1 What il the> aiv l^ut ditlcivnt siaaes along the same jsiavk^l *cues. dilíerem p*Hs ol ttw same Ihe lueiaix *\\\ of leih nous disioiuon wouM ihu> be bul an incipient iimmlcsiaiion of Uw eviixw distoilio«s got b\ akvhol Henee. when om ■s) i (11 N I) A I 1 O N N ANI) im ľ I n I I H • N S ho.o «i nes. his aquibi......c belief lha.....-v ire the oi Ma eloohollim, herna) reall) be turning to the kind of incantation thai actieathe "way lnM to hji period of debauch, Practtilj when he.....iki he Ii on Um road m recovery, h« would hive hc-nim the liisi singe o! yielding the iquibi, Utni is. ut In his ptychit •oonom) ■ rtpreaenintive ol the ilcohol; thoy tra pan oftheiame eluitar; iIkv foiwtion lynocdoehically. ind ihui contain implicitly, u •toreehndowing/' the whole oi the eluitei I ienee, m w......y them, he is kiting alcohol dcurioualy Htii li nol to it) thai the iquiba ere * mere "aublimation" ol alcoholism; von euukl with more (uitioe iay thai the alcoholism la ■ more "efficient*1 emhodtmeni ol the Mithetk exemplified in theaquiba What la got In miteriaiiitic manipulation through ihe taking of the alcohol, *v\ o/wm apeřeW' is bul the attainment, in i sun phiieti, rettricted idiom, of the eflecti got m i fnore com pit* idiom through ihe willing ol the iquiba ihe i nim formula is borrowed bom theological controvert) aboul tht nature ol the leorameni in pagan magic, the material operationi of the lacramenl were deemed enough to produce the pui ifioatton, Ritual puriAca lion wns ii "scienlilic" process, wilh the purifying OffOCta got simply by the matrrfol opfruHoftí of the tin* No matter of conscience wns involved; no private "belief" wws thought necessary 10 the success ol the lite, I he piiiilu.i lion was, liiiher. thought to opei ate iikr the cures of modern medicine (from the mere performing of Ihe correct malci nil nets lhcmsclv.es) lis the effects ol oaatoi oil are the sume with "believer" and 'nonbeltaver" alike Theologloal tacticians hud the problem of taking out ihe 'scienlilic" magic ol paganism mid introducing a religious emphasis upon the need of conscience 01 belief as a facioi in I he cllecliveness of the rite, wilhoiii therein implying lhal the rite was purely "'symbolic." The magical doctrine was "realistic": and similarly, the religions sacrament was "realistic" (lhal is, the rile w:is held miJIv (0 have tiniisuhslaniintcd the hol v wafers mul Ihe wine into the D04> and bbod of Christ: the act was not deemed merely "symbolical." except among schismatics; it wus as materialistic | means of purification as castor oil, yet at the same lime its effective operation required ihe Collaboration ol belief, jn cashn oil docs not; thfl effect could not be got, as with pagan magic and scientific materialism, through (heohieclivc upcralioualone, i.e.. r\ optTuto). We liiul this delicate sintc of imlelerminacy in ihe relation between the squibs mid ihe alcoholism, though Ihe "picly" herc is of a son diflerviit from thai considered us the norm by orthodox ťlmslian theologians: a piet) more in keeping perhaps wilh the genius of iWhnnlic services, the cull ol methodic distortion that stressed the element of hiupic obscenities and finally became sophisiiciiicil. alembicated, and Itttftuiitcd in comedy, ihe writing ol the squibs corresponds lo the stage mined %\ hy the theologians u is a material opernímu, yet at the same time it requires '"belief " Ihe alcoholic Hingei ii purely materialistic, (he results now being ntiamed eliic.onllv hi ihe real power ol Ihe suhiUttncc alone. 80 JUTUAL UkAMA AS "HI B" But note the ironic element her,. If the writing of the squibs is in the same equation;.] structure with the taking of the alcohol. ,n writing the squibs ,t is as though our hero had "taken his lirst drink." This is the one thmg he knows he must not do. For he knows that he is incapable of moderate, once the first drink has been taken. Bui tf (he squibs and the alcohol are in the same cluster, he has vicariously taken the first drink in the very act which, on its social face, was thought by him and his friends to belong in an opposing cluster. Thus, he has begun his "way in." He has begun infecting himself with a kind ol incantation that syneudochically foreshadows, or implicitly contains, the progression from this less efficient, ritualistic yielding to an efficient, practical yielding: he has begun the chain of developments thai finally leads into alcohol as the most direct means for embodying the same aesthetic of distortion as was embodied in his squibs. The irony is that, if he wanted to guard properly against relapse, instead of wiling the squibs, he would resolutely refuse to write them. He would recognize that, however it may be in the case of other men. in his ease he conjures forth a djinn (or, if you will, gm) that will come at his beckoning but will develop powers of its own, once summoned. He may know the magical incantations that summon it; but he does not know ihc magical incantations that compel it to obey him, once it has been summoned; hence, let him not summon it. Would this mean that our hero should not write at all? I do not think so. On the contrary. I think it means that he should attempt to roach some other kind of writing, of a different incanuttory quality. From this kind he would rigorously exclude the slightest distortion, no matter how appealing such distortion might be. tor him. such distortions are in the category of intemperance, regardless of what category they may be in for others. Only thus, by deliberately refusing to cultivate such incantatory modes, would he be avoiding a "way in" to a dangerous state of mind and utilizing a mode of incantation truly oppositional to his weakness.' We are not proposing here a mere literary variant of Buehmanism. We take it for granted that our hero's alcoholism is also interwoven with a material context of situation, which has become similarly endowed with "incantatory" quality, and must be critically inspected from the standpoint of the possibility that many environmental ingredients would also require alteration. We do hold, however, that environmental factors which one is personally unable to change can be given a different incantatory quality by a change of one's relationship towards them (as with a change of allegiance from one band to another). It is. then, my contention, that if we approach poetry from the standpoint of situations and strategies, we can make the most relevant observations about both the content and the form of poems. By starting from a concern with the various tactics and deployments involved in ritualistic acts of membership, purification, and opposition, we can most accurately discover "what is going SI FOUNDATIONS AND DEFINITIONS on" in poetry. I contend lhat the -'dramatic perspective" is the undying hub for this approach. And that it is not to be "refuted." as a calculus, by introducing some "argument" from logic or genetics, or simply by listing a host of other possible perspectives: the only serviceable argument for another calculus would be its explicit proclamation and the illustrating of its scope bj concrete application. I do not by any means maintain that no other or better calculus is possible. 1 merely maintain that the advocate of an alternative calculus should establish its merits, not in the abstract, but by "filling it out," by showing, through concrete applications to poetic materials, its scope and relevance. Some students, however, seem to feel lhat this perspective vows us to a neglect of the "realistic" element in poetry. Its stress upon processes of ritual and stylization, they feel, too greatly implies that the poet is making passes in the air. mere blandishments lhat look silly, as tested by the "realistic" criteria of science. In the first place, I would recall my distinction between "realism" and "naturalism," as a way of suggesting that much we call "realism" in science should be more accurately called "naturalism." In the aesthetic field, "naturalism" is a mode of "debunking." Where some group ideal is being exploited for malign purposes (as when the scoundrel has recourse to patriotism in cloaking his unpatriotic acts), the "naturalist" will proceed "efficiently" by debunking not only the scoundrel but the patriotism. Or he will "debunk" the religious hypocrite by "debunking" religion itself. Thurman Arnold's "scientific" analysis of social relations in his Folklore of Capitalism is largely of this "naturalistic" cast, leading him finally to a flat dissociation between the "scientist" and the "citizen." To act as a "citizen," by his criteria, one must participate in certain forms of political mummery. But to diagnose as a "scientist." one should simply "expose" this mummery. Now, 1 grant that there is much faulty mummery in the world (indeed, I propose to wind up this discussion with a little burlesque revealing some of it). But where a structure of analysis is found to vow one to a flat antithesis between one's role as scientist and one's role as citizen, we should at least consider the possibility that the structure of analysis itself may be at fault. And I think that the distinction between the strategies of "realism" and "naturalism" may provide us with a handy way in to this matter. Scientific "naturalism" is a lineal descendant of nominalism, a school that emerged in the late Middle Ages as an opponent of scholastic realism. And we might sum up the distinction between realism and nominalism, from the standpoint of strategies, by saying that realism considered individuals as members of a group, whereas nominalism considered groups as aggregates of individuals. We thus observe lhat the nominalist controversy, finally incorporated in the Franciscan order, prepared for scientific skepticism in undermining the group coordinates upon which church thought was founded, and also prepared for the individualistic emphasis of private enterprise. 82 RITUAL DRAMA AS HIB" ( his individualist emphasis led in turn to naturahsm Thus, i should call Dos I'assos a naturalist rather than a realist. And I should call the 'hard-boiled style today a kind of "academic school of naturalism" (a characterization suggesting that Steinbeck's soaahty is still encumbered bv "nonicahMic" vestiges I. As used hy Arnold, the naturalist-nominalist perspective hnallv leads in the assumption thai Ihe devices employed in Kroup act are mere ■illusions.'' and that the "scientilic truih" ahout human relations is discovered from an individualistic point of view, from outside the requirements of group action. One reviewer, intending to praise his book, hit upon the most damning line of all. in calling it a "challenge to right, center, and left," which is prctly much the same as saying that it is a "challenge to any kind of social action. Hut let us try out a hypothetical case Suppose thai some disaster has taken place, and that 1 am to break the information to a man who will suffer from the knowledge ot'il. I he disaster ^ a fat r. and 1 urn going to ■■ uniminn, ate rhi\ fait. Must I not still make a choice of stylization in the communication of this fact? I may communicate it "gently" or "harshly," for instance. I may try to "protect" the man somewhat from the suddenness of the blow; or I may so "slrategize" my information that I reinforce the blow Indeed, it may even be that the information is as much a blow to me .is it is to htm. and that I may obtain tor myself a certain measure of relief from my own discomfiture by "collaborating wiih the information": I may so phrase it that J take out some of my own stilTcrmg from the mformation by using it dramatically as an instrument for striking him. Or ! may offer a somewhat similar outlet for both of us. by also showing that a certain person "is to blame" for the disaster, so that we can convert some of our unhappmess into anger, with corresponding relief to ourselves Now, note that in every one of these cases I have communicated "the fact." Vet note also that there are many different styles in which I can communicate this "fact." The question of "realistic accuracy" is not involved: for in every case, alter I have finished, the auditor knows that the particular disaster, about which 1 had to inform him, has taken place. I have simply made a choice among possible styles and f could not avoid such a chotce. There is no "uusiylized" feature here except the disastrous event itself (and even that may have a "stylistic" ingredient, in that it might be fell as more of a blow if coming at a certain time than if it had come at a certain other time—a "stylistic" matter of timing that I. as the nnparier of the information, may parallel, in looking for the best or worst moment at which to impart my information). I should call it a "naturalistic" strategy of communication if I so stylized the informative act as to accept the minimum of "group responsibility" in tin choice If I communicated the fact, lor instance, without sympathy for the auditor, Or even more so, if I did have sympathy lor the auditor, and the fact was as disastrous to me as it was to him, but 1 "took il out on'- him by 83 FOUNDATIONS AND DEFINITIONS reinforcing the blow rather than softening it And 1 should call il a "realistic" strategy if 1 stylized my statement with the maximum sympathy (or "group attitude1'). K Do not get me wrong. I am not by any means absolutely equating science with "naturalism." I am saying that there is a so-called science that identifies ■truth" with "debunking"- and I am simply trying W point out that such " truth" is no less a "strlizathtr than any other. The man who embodies it in his work may be as "tendcrminded" as the next fellow: usually, in tact, 1 think that he is even more so—as will be revealed when you find his "hard hitting" at one point in his communication compensated by a great humanitarian softness at another point (which, as I have tried to show elsewhere, is partly the case with Arnold). Stylization is inevitable. Sometimes it is done by sentimentalization (saying "It's all right" when it isn't). Sometimes by the reverse, brulalization. saying it with an overhluntness, in "hard-boiled" or its "scientific'' equivalents {sadism if you like to write it. masochism if you like to read il). I recall a surrealistic movie that revealed the kind of "protection" we may derive from this strategy, in the aesthetic field where the information to be imparted is usually not quite so "disastrous" as the hypothetical event we have been just considering. The movie opens with a view of a man sharpening his razor. We next see a close-up of his eye, an enormous eye rilling the entire screen. And then, slowly and systematically, the blade of the razor is drawn across this eye, and in horror we observe it splitting open. Many other horrors follow, but we have been "immunized" by the first shock. We are calloused: we have already been through the worst; there is nothing else to fear: as regards further pain, we have become roues. Sometimes the stylization is by neutral description, the method more normal to scientific procedure. And tragedy uses the stylization of ennoblement, making the calamity bearable by making the calamitous situation dignified. From this point of view we could compare and contrast strategies of motivation in Bentham, Coleridge, Marx, and Mannheim. Bentham, as "debunker." discusses motives "from the bottom up." That is: they are treated as "eulogistic coverings" for "material interests." Coleridge's motivation is "tragic," or "dignifying," "from the top down" (in his phrasing: ~aJove prmcipium% He treats material interests as a limited aspect of "higher" interests. Marx employs a factional strategy of motivation, in debunking the motives of the bourgeois enemy and dignifying the motives of the proletarian ally. Since he has reversed the values of idealism, he would not consider the material grounding of pro let ana n interests as an indignity. The proletarian view is dignified by being equated with truth, in contrast with the "idealistic lie" of a class that has special prerogatives to protect by systematic misstatements about the nature of reality. Mannheim seeks to obtain a kind of "documenl- Z t^TT °n SUbjCCl °f m°tiveS' 0n a "sec™d of generalization. That ts: he accepts not only the Marxist debunking of bourgeois motives, 84 RITUAL DRAMA AS "HUB" but also the bourgeois eounter-debunk.ng of proletarian motives: and he next proceeds to attenuate the notion of "debunking" ("unmasking") into a more neutral concept that we might in English call "discounting" or "making allowance for. Or let us consider another hypothetical case. A man would enroll himself in a cause. His choice may be justified on thoroughly -realistic" grounds. He surveys the situation, sizes it up accurately, decides that a certain strategy of action is required to encompass it and that a certain group or faction is organized to carry out this strategy. Nothing could be more "realistic." Yet suppose that he would write a poem in which, deliberately or spontaneously, he would "stylize" the processes of identification involved in this choice. His act. no matter how thoroughly attuned to the requirements of his times, will be a "symbolic act." hence open to the kind ofanalysis we have proposed for the description of a symbolic act. If his choice of faction is relevant to the needs of the day. its "realism" is obvious. If the chart of meanings into which he fits this choice of faction are adequate, the relevance is obvious. And to call his poetic gestures merely "illusory" would be like calling it "illusory" when a man, wounded, "stylizes" his response by either groaning or gritting his teeth and flexing his muscles. There is. in science, a tendency to substitute for ritual, routine. To this extent, there is an antipoctic ingredient in science. It is "poetic" to develop method: it is "scientific" to develop methodology. (From this standpoint, the ideal of literary criticism is a "scientific" ideal.) But we can deceive ourselves if we erect this difference in aim into a distinction between "reality" and "illusion." maintaining that, as judged by the ideals of scientific routine or methodology, the ideals of poetic method, or ritual, become "illusions." The body is an actor; as an actor, it participates in the movements of the mind, posturing correspondingly; in styles of thought and expression we embody these correlations - and the recognition of this is, as you prefer, either "scientific" or "poetic." It will thus be seen that, in playing the game of life, we have at our command a resource whereby we can shift the rules of this game. It is as though someone who had been losing at checkers were of a sudden to decide that he had really been playing "give away" (the kind of checkers where the object is not to lake as many of your opponent's men as possible, but to lose as many of your own as possible). Where our resources permit, we may piously encourage the awesome, and in so encompassing it, make ourselves immune (by "tolerance," as the word is used of drugs, by Mithndatism). Where our resources do not permit, where we cannot meet such exacting obligations, we may rebel, developing the stylistic antidote that would cancel out an overburdensome awe. And in between these extremes, there is the wide range of the mean, the many instances in which we dilute, attenuate, mixing the ingredient of danger into a recipe of other, more neutral ingredients, wide in their scope and complexity, a chart that concerns itself with the world in all 85 i hi NDA I IONS AN!) 1)1 MM I IONS ,is miraculous diverse plenitude And for this plenitude oil he Creation, being n But om" mbolic acts can vary greatly in relevance and scope II we enact hv tragedy a purificatory ritual symbolizing our enrollment in a cause shaped to handle a situation accurately, lor instance, we may em bod y the same pin 111— m if we enacted a purificatory ritual symbolizing our enrollment in a cause woefully inadequate to the situation. And the analyst of the two tragedies may, by reason of his over-all classificatory terms, find much in common between the two symbolic acts. The fact remains, however, that one of these acts embodies a chart of meanings superior lo the other (and if the chart is too far out of accord with the nature of the situation, the 'unanswerable opponent." the objective recalcitrance of the situation itselt. will put lorth its irrefutable rejoinder! To illustrate the point. I will close this discussion by a burlesque in which a certain important faultiness of chart may be revealed Our form here mav be like that ol the (ircek drama, where the tragic trilogy was regularly lopped oil bv a satyr-play exemplifying the same heroic processes, but in caricatured equivalents So we would offer a kind of "critical analogue" to such a program, rounding out our observations on the nature of tragic purification by a burlesque in which our democratic elections are charted bv the same coordinates, hut with the President in the role of the Sacrificial King. FJeetioneerinK in INychoanalysia Psychoanalvsia. .in island situated in a remote area of the Not-so-Pacific Ocean, was given this name by the Western sociologists who went there to study its customs. The natives call their island Hobo-i, which means nearly the same as "En Route" in our idioms, and is also the Psychoanalyses" word for 'investment." The most sinking charactenslic of Psychoanaiysia is the natives' vivacious interest in popular elections, which are conducted in a vocabulary slnkingly similar lo that of our Freudian and post-Freudian psychologies Notes 1 The Paget theory of "gesture speech ' obviously makes a perfect tit with this perspect.ve by correlating ihc origins of linguistic action with bodilv action and posture 2 An exceptionally good instance revealing the ways in which dramatic structure underlies e*wy«i.c material may be got by inspection of Max Lemer's article. Const.lalion and I nun ,s Symbols" t 7V Yale Lau Journal. June 1^7) The «ay .* divided into four parts, or as we should say. lour acts (In modern Plav« nimg. dramT.h i m aS rcplHLcU lhc t]v**« {»™ «rf earlier Weslem drama, the climax coming m the tlnrd act, with the aftermath ol acts IV and V telescoped into one ) I T U A L DRAMA AS " II LI II" Act 1 Symbol, Posses* Men [ Mm dramatist acquaints us with the situation in which his tragedy ,s to be enacted He describes the wavs „, which leaders Pn>d PL-op e to desired to. ins of action by mampula.m, the symbols with wh.eh these people think. He then narrows the held to .he "eonstuuHon ts symbol." and places the Supreme C ourt as a personalized vessel of the Const.tulional authority. Act II. Constitution into fetich." The action is now under way. Reviewing American history, the dramatist develops in anecdotal arpeggio the proposition summed up b> a tuneless level ot attraction in Act I. The act ends on "evidence of the disintegration ol Ihe constitutional symbol," a theme that will be carrel an important step tarther in— Act HI, "Divine Right: American Plan " The Justices of the Supreme Court are here presented as our equivalent for kingship and godhead. And the act ends on the tragic crime, the symbolic slaying of the sacn1ici.il kmc .is the authot is attacking our "kings." (i.e., he advocates their deposition from authority). In a footnote, the symmetry is rounded out by a kind of "funeral oration" that gives the slain fathers their dues: "There seems to be something about the judicial robes that not only hypnotizes the beholder but transforms the wearer: Marshall and Taney are the principal, but not the only, instances of men whose capacities tor greatness mi one suspected until they faced the crucial tasks of the Court." Thus, in both their malign and benign functions, these offerings are "worthy" of sacrifice. Act IV, "New Symbols for Old." The result of ihe slaying is indeed a surprise, if approached from other than the dramatic point of view. For a new vision emerges, a vision of the basic motives by which men are moved. And strangely enough, these "transcendent" motives are hunger and /ear. They are nuturalistk motives. The dramatist, released by the slaying of the fathers, has "gone primitive." The coordinates of the previous acts had been distinctly stnuii. and. as anyone acquainted with Lerner's brilliant studies is aware, the coordinates customary to this author arc social: but here, for the moment, the symbolic slaying surprises him into a new quality, a "Saturnahan" vision. The episode is. of course, essayistically refurbished elsewhere so that social coordinates are regained. I am here but discussing the form of this one article, taken as an independent integer. In work on which I am now engaged, as a kind of "Prolegomena to any future imputation of motives," I have been applying coordinates that can, 1 think, carry a step further the ways of locating and distinguishing motivational clementv I now distinguish the three voices, active, passive, and middle (reflexive), as they show motivationally in theories stressing action, passion, and mediation. And instead of the situation-strategy pair. I now use five terms: act. scene, agent, agency, purpose. These five terms, with a treatment of the purely internal or syntactic relationships prevailing among them, are I think particularly handy for extending the discussion of motivation so as to locate the strategies in metaphysical and theological systems, in accounts of the Creation, in theories of law and constitutionality, and in the shifts between logic and history, being and becoming, as these shifts occur in theories of motivation. The use of this fuller terminology in the synopsizmg of fictional works would require no major emendations in the methods discussed. But 1 might, as a result of it, be able to state the basic rules of thumb in a more precise way, thus: The critic is trying to synapsis the given work. He is irymg to synopsize it, not in the degenerated sense which the word "synopsis" now usually has for us, as meaning a mere "skeleton or outline of the plot ot argument, but in the sense of "convey.ng comprehensively." or "getting at the basis of." And one can work towards this basis, or essence, from without, by "scissor-work as objective as the 87 1 OL Nil A 1 lllNN \M) DIIIM I MINN nature of the materials permits, in focussing all one's attention about the moth* livit. which is identical with strueturc. Hence, one will watch, above all. even reference that bears upon expectancy and foreshadowing, in particular every overt reference to any kind ol "calling*' or "com-pulsion" |i.e.. active or passive concept of motive). And one will noie particularly the situational or scenic material (the "properties") in which such references are contexts: for in this way he will tind ihe astrological relationships prevailing between the plot and the background, hence being able to treat scenic material as representative of psychic material (for instance, if he has distinguished between a motivation in the sign ol day and a motivation in the sign of night. a> explicitly derivable by citation from the book itself, and if he now sees night falling, he recognizes that the quality of motivation may be changing, with a new kind of act being announced by ihe change of scene). In this connection, we might note a distinction between positive and dialectical terms—the former being terms that do not require an opposite to define them, the latter being terms that do require an opposite. "Apple." for instance, is a positive term, in that we do not require, to understand it. the concept of a "counter-apple " But a term like "freedom" is dialectical, in that we cannot locate its meaning without reference to some concept of enslavement, confinement, or restriction. And "capitalism" is not a positive term, but a dialectical one. to be defined by reference to the concepts of either "feudalism" or "socialism." Our courts consider ihe Constitution in accordance with theories, of positive law—yet actually the Constitution is a dialectical instrument; and one cannot properly interpret the course of judicial decisions unless he ireats our "guaranties of Constitutional rights" not as positive terms but as dialectical ones. Our Bill of Rights, for instance, is composed of clauses ihat descended from two substantially different situations. First, as emerging in Magna Carta, they were enunciated by the feudal barons in iheir "reactionary" struggles against the "progressive" rise of central authority. Later, in the British Petition of Right and Bill of Rights, they were enunciated by the merchant class in their "progressive" struggles against the "reactionary" resistance of the Crown. It is in this second form that they came into our Constitution. BUT: Note this important distinction: in the British Bill of Rights, they were defined, or located, as a resistance of the people to the Crown. Thus they had. at this stage, a strongly collectivistic quality, as the people were united in a common cause tftttM the Crown, and the rights were thus dialeelically defined with relation to this opposition. The position of the Crown, in other words, was a necessary term in giving meaning to the people's counter-assertions. In the United States document, however, the Crown had been abolished. Hence, the dialectical function of the Crown in giving meaning to the terms would have to be taken over by some other concept of sovereignly. And the only sovereign within the realm covered by the Constitution was the government elected by the people. Hence, since the opposite "cooperates" in the definition of a dialectical term, and since the sovereignty or authority against which the rights were proclaimed had changed from that of an antipopular Crown to that of a popularly representative government, it would follow that the quality of the "rights" themselves would have to change. And such change of quality did take place, in that the rights became interpreted as rights of the people us individuals or minorities ugainst a government representing the will of the people as a collectivity or majority. Eventually, this interpretation assisted the rise of Ihe greal super-corporations, linked by financial lies and interlocking directorates. And these super-corporations »I I HAI I) k A MA AS "JMU" ',,a,MlV;,,l,l|l'l,,,,,,;('■"■''•^"^^N.l aiMhori.y, placed outside.he due,. n"1 'ni11;em«r> B,8C*'P" Atd m Lhii k........buriniie^ereigniy becomes remfftod es hima fuU sovereignty, you begin to im i new aheap taking place... Ihr dialectical cmccpl ,.| < OlWitUÜOtUl right* I o, tMOfiltt hepm im* tO Hunk ol these right* us assertions against ihe encro.u |lflK.nlH (l| „lc ^ncr-corporatiooi (ths New ( rown) iii.i .s: the tendency is.........k once ......c rirzhti as dunned by the people as « aga,mm ihe miIv ol the supcr-corpomlmns as a Miu'inni milloiity However, ll.c statement th.it a let in is dtitloctiv.il." in that .1 derives it* meaning ..........1 "Pposilr term, and 11i.i4 Ibc opposite- leu , may he dilleienl al dilferenl lustomal periods, does mil m all imply th.u sneh icons .ne "nwenhlgfr«ľ All winced do is lo dee i de whal they arc m.wiw al ,i given period tin hriel, to iccogni/e that the Constitution Linn.it he mlcrprctcd .is ,i positive document, hut imisi continually k-1 retted as ,m ,i, i mu \crnr outside u, hence to recognize thai we must always consulľi "the < oiulJtutioii fotntath the< onititution," oi "theConstitution tiiui\r the I onsiitulioii." m 'iliet inistiiiiii.ui bt) and I Ik- ( aéwtltution." which may as y mi pieler he highct I.tu iIimuc l.iw. the laws ol biology, or of big husiness, or of little husmess el. ) Mm. Ii ..Mlie . i mlei ImguiMi. analysis dune hy I lie dehimko-seiimnlicisl school involves ihe simple fallacy ol billing lo note (he distinction between positive and dialectical letnis. whereby m applying to ttiuiit liml Icons the iiisliiiinrtiis ol analysis pro|vi tu /mw/nr icims, they can persuade themselves thai the u-ttiis are meaningless Also. H is ni I his "unending coiivcisnnon" llnil I he assertions ol any given philo-sopliei arc gioundcd. Stmlt'glcalJy, til may present Ins \n.ik as departing front some "lock-bottom tact" ihe starts, loi instance I look al this table I jvrccivc il to have "etc ) Actually. ihe vet y selechoiiol his "lock bottom tact" derives its line gi oumliug from the em rent IteU ol Ihe COnvenuttlon, and assumes mule a different place In the "hierarchy ol lads" when ihe locui ol dlM lllSÍon has shifted An ideal philosophy, liotn ihis pomi ol view would seek i>. salislv the requirements ol a |Vilect dictionary It would hea calculus (matured by couslant reference to the "collective levelalion" lhal is gol by a social luuh ol llioughll lot charting ihe nature of events end for clarifying dllmportanl relationships, In practice, however, I philosophy is developed partially m »/i/msiUon h> otlui phdusophies. so that tactics Of refutation are involved, thus lending to give ihe philosopher's calculus the stylistic loim .>l a lawyer's plea ihe connection between philosophy end law (montl tod political) likewise c.iiitnbiites to tiie "lawyer*! bnei strategy ol preeeatetioa ľbe philosopher iims is olien letl to atiempl piovmg" his philosophy bv proving its "justice" in the absiiacl. wheieas the only "proof" ol i philosophy, considered as a calculus, reside* m showing, by concrete application, the icope, complexity, md accuracy ol Us coordinates toi charting Ittel nature ol events Ilms. ílu- mime for ■house" would noi Ik- pi umu ilv tested lot "eonsisienev" with l he names for "nee" or "money." One would leveal tlie value ol IÍM names bv revealing their correspondence with mum Impo........hing, Iiiiiciioii, oi relationship ľhis is what we mean by laying thai i philosophy, as i "chart*" is quits 11 home m txmtradietioni I recall ■ man. foi instance, of "heretical" cast, who came to me with a sorrow ol this Mil "How can you ever have a bvliel in human rationality." he complained, "when you see things like thin?" And he showed me it news clipping about a truck driver who hid received i pfiw fot driving nil truck the msximum diitence without an ,iu uleut When asked how hedid It, ÜM IfUCk diovi answered I had two rules; i iivc as much ol the......I as you can. anil take as imit I. as yoiu.in I saw in tins no grounds to denpaii of human reason, on the contrary, I thought ih«t ihe pn/e FOUNDATIONS AND IMIINITIONS winner had been ,i \a> mnkil truck driver. and I was glad In read that, fur once ill least, such great virtue had been rewarded. This was true Aristotelian truck driving, if [ ever saw it: and whatever else one may say against Aristotle. 1 never heard him called "irrational." What, in fact, is "rationality" bul the desire for an accurate chart for naming what is going ami Isn't this what Spinoza had in mind, when calling for a philosophy whose structure would parallel the structure of reality'.' We thus need not despair of Human rationality, even in eruptive days like ours. I am sure that even the most arbitrary of Nazis can be shown 10 possess it; for no matter how inadequate his chart of meaning may be as developed under the deprivations of the quietus and oversimplifying dialectical pressure, he at least wants it to tell him accurately what u going on in his world and in the world at large. Spinoza perfected an especially inventive strategy, by this stress upon the "adequate idea" as the ideal of a chart, for uniting free will and determinism, with [iiuonaliu iis the bridge, For if one's meanings are correct, he will choose the wiser of courses; in this he wilJ be "rational"; as a rational man. he will "want" to choose this wiser course; and as a rational man he will "hare to want" lo choose this wiser course. 7 I should contend that our hero, in thus altering his mcantator) methods, would gel greater freedom by acting more rationally. Others, however, might consider any incantation as per se a sign of "irrationality." The issue probably resolves into two contrasting theories of consciousness. There is a one-way theory, which holds that freedom is got by a kind of drainage, drawing something ("energy"?) from the unconscious and irrational into the conscious mid ulional. I c.ill this ilie " resen.oir theory." according to which a "dark" reservoir is tapped and its contents are gradually pumped into a "light" reservoir, the quantities being in inverse proportion to each other. Against this. 1 should propose a two-way, "dialectical" theory, with "conscious" and "unconscious" considered as reciprocal functions of each other, growing or diminishing concomitantly. An infant, by this theory, would be sparse in "unconscious" (with sparse dreams) owing to the sparsity of its consciousness (that provides the material for dreams). And by this theory, the attempt to "drain off " the unconscious would be absurd. Instead, one should seek to "harness" it. I beliese that this dialectical theory, as ultimately developed, would require that charitas, rather than 'intelligence," be considered as the primary faculty of adjustment. 5 LECTURE I IN HOW TO DO THINGS WITH WORDS J, L. Aim hi Source: J 0. Urmson and Marina Sbisi (eds) How to Do Things with Words (2nd edn>, Cambridge Harvard University Press, 1975. pp. I II. What 1 shall have to say here is neither difficult nor contentious; the only merit I should like to claim for it is that of being true, at least in parts. The phenomenon to be discussed is very widespread and obvious, and it cannot fail to have been already noticed, at least here and there, by others. Yet I have not found attention paid to it specifically. It was for too long the assumption of philosophers that the business of a 'statement' can only be to 'describe' same state of affairs, or to 'state some fact, which it must do either truly or falsely. Grammarians, indeed, have regularly pointed out that not all 'sentences' are (used in making) statements:1 there are, traditionally, besides (grammarians') statements, also questions and exclamations, and sentences expressing commands or wishes or concessions. And doubtless philosophers have not intended to deny this, despite some loose use of ^sentence' for 'statement'. Doubtless, too. both grammarians and philosophers have been aware that it is by no means easy to distinguish even quL'siions. commands, and so on from statements by means of the few and jejune grammatical marks available, such as word order, mood, and the like: though perhaps it has not been usual to dwell on the difficulties which this fact obviously raises. For how do we decide which is which? What are the limits and definitions of each? But now in recent years, many things which would once have been accepted without question as 'statements' by both philosophers and grammarians have been scrutinized with new care. This scrutiny arose somewhat indirectly at least in philosophy. First came the view; not always formulated without unfortunate dogmatism, that a statement (of fact) ought to be 'verifiable', and this led to the view that many 'statements' are only what may be called pseudo-statements. First and most obviously, many 'statements' were shown FOUNDATIONS AND DIHMTIONS to be. as k\m perhaps hrst argued systematically, strictly nonsense despite an unexceptionable grammatical form: and the continual discovery of fresh t\pes of nonsense, unsystematic though their classification and mysterious though their explanation is too often allowed to remain, has done on the whole nothing but good. Yet we. that is. even philosophers, sci some limits to the amount of nonsense that we are prepared to admit we talk: so thai it was natural to go on to ask. as a second stage, whether many apparent pseudo-statements really set out to be 'statements' at all. It has come to be commonly held that many utterances which look like statements are either not intended at all. or only intended in part, to record or impart straightforward information about the facts: for example, ethical propositions" are perhaps intended, solely or partly, to evince emotion or to prescribe conduct or to influence it in special ways. Here too k.ant was among the pioneers We very often also use utterances m ways beyond the scope at least of traditional grammar. It has come to be seen thai many specially perplexing words embedded in apparently descriptive statements do not serve to indicate some specially odd additional feature in the reality reported, but to indicate (not to report) the circumstances in which the statement is made or reservations to which it is subject or the way in which it is to be taken and the like To overlook these possibilities in the way once common is called the 'descriptive' fallacy but perhaps this is not a good name, as 'descriptive' itself is special. Not all true or false statements are descriptions, and for this reason I prefer to use [he word 'Consiaiive*. Along these lines it has by now been shown piecemeal, or at least made to look likely, that many traditional philosophical perplexities have arisen through a mistake—the mistake of taking as straightforward statements til tact utterances which are either (in interesting non-grammatical ways) nonsensical or else intended as something quite different. Whatever we may think of any particular one of these views and suggestions, and however much we may deplore the initial confusion into which philosophical doctrine and method have been plunged, it cannot be doubted that they are producing a revolution in philosophy. If anyone wishes to call it the greatest and most salutary in its history, this is not. if you come to think ot it. a large claim. It is not surprising thai beginnings have been piecemeal, svith parti pn\. and for extraneous amis; this is common with revolutions. Preliminary isolation of the performative2 The type of utterance we are to consider here is not. of course, in general a type of nonsense; though misuse of it can. as we shall see, engender rather special varieties of 'nonsense1. Rather, it is one of our second class the masqucniticrv Hut u does noi by any means necessarily masquerade as a statement of fact, descriptive or constative. Yel it does quite commonly do fH>. and thai, oddly enough, when it assumes its most explicit form. 92 TURE 1 IN HOW TO DO THINGS WITH WORDS Grammarians have not, I believe, seen through this 'disguise, and philosophers only at best incidentally. It will be convenient, therefore, to study it first in this misleading form, in order to bring out its characteristics by contrasting them with those oi ihe statement of fact which it apes. We shall take, then, for our first examples some utterances which can fall into no hitherto recognized grammatical category save that of 'statement', which are not nonsense, and which contain none of those verbal danger-signals which philosophers have by now detected or think they have delected (curious words like 'good' or 'all', suspect auxiliaries like ought' or *can\ and dubious constructions like the hypothetical): all will have, as it happens, humdrum verbs in the first person singular present indicative active.4 Utterances can be found, satisfying these conditions, yet such that A. they do not 'describe' or 'report' or constate anything at all. are not 'true or false"; and B. the uttering of the sentence is, or is a part of, the doing of an action, which again would not normally be described as, or as just', saying something. This is far from being as paradoxical as it may sound or as 1 have meanly been trying to make it sound: indeed, the examples now to be given will be disappointing. Examples: (E. a) 'I do (sc. take this woman to be my lawful wedded wife)'—as uttered in the course of the marriage ceremony/ (E. b) 'I name this ship the Queen Elizabeth'—as uttered when smashing the bottle against the stem. (E. c) T give and bequeath my watch to my brother— as occurring in a will. (E. d) '1 bet you sixpence it will rain tomorrow.' In these examples it seems clear that to utter the sentence (in, of course, the appropriate circumstances) is not to describe my doing of what 1 should be said in so uttering to be doing6 or to state that I am doing it: it is to do it. None of the utterances cited is either true or false: 1 assert this as obvious and do not argue it. It needs argument no more than that 'damn1 is not true or false: it may be that the utterance 'serves to inform you'—but that is quite different. To name the ship is to say (in the appropriate circumstances) the words J name, &c.\ When I say, before the registrar or altar, &c., '1 do', I am not reporting on a marriage: I am indulging in it. What are we to call a sentence or an utterance of this type? 1 propose to call ft a performative sentence or a performative utterance, or, for short, 'a performative'. The term 'performative' will be used in a variety of cognate ways and constructions, much as the term 'imperative' is.* The name is derived. 93 FOUNDATIONS AND DEFINITIONS of course, from -perform', the usual verb with the noun "action": it indicates that the issuing of the utterance is the performing of an action—it is not normally thought of as just saying something. A number of other terms may suggest themselves, each of which would suitably cover this or that wider or narrower class of performatives: tor example, many performatives are contractual (*1 bet) or declaratory (1 declare war) utterances. But no term in current use that 1 know of is nearly wide enough to cover them all. One technical term that comes nearest to what we need is perhaps operative', as it is used strictly by lawyers in referring to that part, i.e. those clauses, of an instrument which serves to effect the transaction (conveyance or what not) which is its main object, whereas the rest of the document merely 'recites' the circumstances in which the transaction is to be effected.'* But "operative" has other meanings, and indeed is often used nowadays to mean little more than important". I have preferred a new word, to which, though its etymology is not irrelevant, we shall perhaps not be so ready to attach some preconceived meaning. Can saying make it so? Are we then to say things like this: To marry is to say a few words', or Betting is simply saying something? Such a doctrine sounds odd or even flippant at first, but with sufficient safeguards it may become not odd at all. A sound initial objection to them may be this: and it is not without some importance. In very many cases it is possible to perform an act of exactly the same kind not by uttering words, whether written or spoken, but in some other way. For example. I may in some places effect marriage by cohabiting, or I may bet with a totalisator machine by putting a coin in a slot. We should then, perhaps, convert the propositions above, and put it that 'to say a few certain words is to marry7 or 'to marry is, in some cases, simply to say a few words' or 'simply to say a certain something is to bet'. But probably the real reason why such remarks sound dangerous lies in another obvious fact, to which we shall have to revert in detail later, which is this. The uttering of the words is. indeed, usually a. or even the, leading incident in the performance of the act (of betting or what noi). the performance of which is also the object of the utterance, but it is far from being usually, even if it is ever, the sole thing necessary if the act is to be deemed to have been performed. Speaking generally, it is always necessary that the circumstances in which the words are uttered should be in some way, or ways, appropriate, and it is very commonly necessary that cither the speaker himself or other persons should also perform certain other actions, whether 'physical' or 'mental' actions or even acts of uttering further words. Thus, for naming LECTURE 1 [N HOW TO IX) THINGS WITH WORDS the ship, it is essential thai I should be the person appointed to name her. Cor (Christian) marrying, it is essential that 1 should not be already married with a wife living, sane and undivoreed. and so on: for a bet to have been made, it is generally necessary for the offer of the bet to have been accepted by a taker (who must have done something, such as to say 'Done'}, and it is hardly a gift if 1 say ] give it you' but never hand it over. So far. well and good. The action may be performed in ways other than by a performative utterance, and in any case the circumstances, including other actions, must be appropriate. But we may, in objecting, have something totally different, and this time quite mistaken, in mind, especially when we think of some of the more awe-inspiring performatives such as 'I promise to . ..'. Surely the words must be spoken 'seriously' and so as to be taken ■seriously'? This is. though vague, true enough in general—it is an important commonplace in discussing the purport of any utterance whatsoever. 1 must not be joking, for example, nor writing a poem. But we arc apt to have a feeling that their being serious consists in their being uttered as (merely) the outward and visible sign, for convenience or other record or for information, of an inward and spiritual act: from which it is but a short step to go on to believe or to assume without realizing that for many purposes the outward utterance is a description, true or false, of the occurrence of the inward performance. The classic expression of this idea is to be found in the Hippolytus (I. 612). where Hippolytus says r\ yXdao' 6}iiuu-Ox'. q Se pnv avco|joi:6<;. i.e. 'my tongue swore to, but my heart (or mind or other backstage artiste) did not'.111 Thus "I promise to. ..' obliges me—puts on record my spiritual assumption of a spiritual shackle. It is gratifying to observe in this very example how excess of profundity, or rather solemnity, at once paves ihe way for immodality. For one who says promising is not merely a matter of uttering words! It is an inward and spiritual act!' is apt to appear as a solid moralist standing out against a generation of superficial theorizers: we see him as he sees himself, surveying ihe invisible depths of ethical space, with all the distinction of a specialist in the sui generis. Yet he provides Hippolytus with a let-out. the bigamist with an excuse for his 1 do' and the welsher with a defence for his 'I bet*. Accuracy and morality alike are on the side of the plain saying that our word is our bond. Jf we exclude such fictitious inward acts as this, can we suppose that any of the other things which certainly are normally required to accompany an utterance such as "I promise that. . .' or M do (take this woman ... )' are in Tact described by it, and consequently do by their presence make it true or by their absence make it false? Well taking the latter first, we shall next consider what we actually do say about the utterance concerned when one or another of its normal concomitants is absent. In no case do we say that ihe utterance 95 FOUNDATIONS AND DEFINITIONS was false but rather that the utterance -or rather the oci,11 e.g. the promise was void, or given in bad faith, or not implemented, or the like. In the particular case of promising, as with many other performatives, ins appropriate that the person uttering the promise should have ■ certain intention, viz. here to keep his word: and perhaps of all concomitants this looks the most suitable to be that which 1 promise1 docs describe or record. Do we not actually, when such intention is absent, speak of a 'false1 promise'.' Yet so to speak is not to say that the utterance '] promise that. . is false, in the sense that though he states that he docs, he doesn't, or that though he describes he misdescribes misreports. For he does promise: the promise here is not even void, though tt is given in had faith. His utterance is perhaps misleading, probabh deceitful and cinubtle^ wrong, bui h is noi a lie or a misstatement At most we might make out a case for saying that n implies or insinuates a falsehood or a misstatement (to the effect that he does intend to do something): but that is a very different matter. Moreover, we do not speak of a false bet or a false christening: and that we do speak of a false promise need commit us no more than the fact that we speak of a false move. "False' is not necessarily used of statements only Notes 1 It is. of course, not really correct ihat a sentence ever is a statement: rather, it is used in making a statement, and the statement itself is a logical construction- out of the makings of statements. 2 Everything said in these sections is provisional, and subject to revision in tlie light of later sections. 3 Of all people, jurists should be best aware of the true stale of affairs. Perhaps some now are. Yel they will succumb to their own timorous fiction, that a statement of 'the law' is a statement of fact. 4 Not wiihout design: they are all 'explicit' performatives, and of thai prepotent class later called ' e iterci lives'. 5 [Austin realized that the expression 'I do' is not used in the marriage ccrcmoro loo late to correct his mistake. We have let it remain in the text as it is philosophically unimportant that it is a mistake J. O. U.] 6 Still less anything that 1 have already done or h;i\e yet to do. 7 'SenienceV form a class of utterances*, which class is to be defined, so far as 1 am concerned, grammatically, though I doubt if the definition has yet been given satisfactorily. With performative utterances are contrasted, for example and essentially, "constanve' utterances: to issue a constat]ve utterance fi.e. to utter it wdh a historical reference) is to make a statement. To issue a performative utterance is. for example, to make a bet See further below on 'illoculions' 8 Formerly I used 'pcrformatory': but ■ performative' is to be preferred as shorter. lcs> a e a. more Instable. ;iMl| mm e traditional in forma I i on 9 I owe this observation to Professor H. L. A. Han. 10 Bat I do not mean to rule out all the offstage performers -the lights men. the n .ni) duiI......Ill experience which. having passed, umso» hrmu iiwll and assumes I he ontolo uk-ill Malus ol uicuioř) s.i ihe Criterion ol pioseiilness ihvsii'i leiilK distinguish |h-i Ioi iiuiiicv I (KM to mention pei lonuaitcc ail I houi othei loiins of experience), and I assume Phelan would have 10 ugiec I he ie.il question would M umlet what eon dttiortl is piesence hi ought about? She goes OB tO M) (hal 'Tci loimauec Otnnot In- sa\cd. iccoidcd. dot iiincnicd. 01 othei wise pa i Impale m Ilie oil CUlation ol lepiesciil.ilioits of tepicsenlalious once il does tO, il becomes somethingothei iimn petfoirnanoB " Am attempt to lave i ptitoimince wnh a rtdocunwntituj cameia [ma on!) be] a spin 10 memory, mi wtoouriujwmeni oľ memory lo hovoim pMMnl ' Here a difficulty emerges, loi inc. though ii max lesi on tin lllipropei iindeisLumling ol Wfhtl I'helnii HIMAI In "lepies enlalioiis ii/ i epieseiiLiliiuis " 01 wools like "saved" ol "documented " I can see how allentpls lo doitiineni tliealic oi "11\c' pel Ioi uuiu es ion film 01 w i men ,icct mills) eiilch on U a "nu-iiidi \ t al lu i iii, in l he pet loi uuiu e 11 sc 11 I am less convinced (hal pel loi maiice ,ttiiu h dhMppMr* in such cases Hul die ule.i becomes lueliK pinhleinalu.il in othei kinds ol pei Ioi niauce and peiloimaiiee an eg. painting, smlpitnc and photography which don't have the saiuc tcnipoitil and onlologiciil "lite" as ihcnhuul pcilointaiicc lor instituce. elsewhere in the hook I'helnn Ileitis M applet hoi pes utd Cindy Shci man's phologinphs .is examples ol peiloinuiuv an llei discus sions aie documented'' hv phologiaphs u Inch ap|vai in Ilie hook Al whtl point, ilauy. do ihese plioios become "soineihmgj othei llian peiioiiiiniuv' since when soniellimg "(inns into thot document a phologuipli, a singe dcMgn. k video iu|H- h; ceases to he pet lot mulice ml"?"' Nhei man's own pet Immuner IMMI then lo be reduced to a repiodnctiou from which ľliolan chums mih (he mcmot \ ol a pMlotnuince can possibly iinse Ilm wheicdul (m does) ihe original pei Ioi niaiiee occur'' Might n have been in Hie pholo lltupher'n uci ol phologiupluug ihe snbtecl? Ii im fell imeleai Mill. I'helnn presumably evpeilenced a Mieim,m pcrfortuunce piecisely In mlci acting Willi the phoios that ate only evidences ol a pei lot nialivc ' moment", olherwitc how emild ta* btve written about Shermnn\ |h'iioniiaiiceV N ei hor daMM* sum ol the iiMlure <>l SIiciiihui'h peilonmince is quite convmcmg I rvml hci tevi on Sheiiiinu. check n ugmnsi ihe phoios ami I can see Ilie pcrformiHive qmililv, litis mimipdlmi,,,, ol lemuune Misguises".....eeiiain end \iul 11 an clow Ihe book, pul il on my Midi. ťo...e back lo u hue, ...ul Hu-.e is tins I If. performance as metaphor performative quality leaking out of the photos again. In fact, the more limes I see the photographs the better 1 understand them and what Phelan has said about their performative quality. And surely this understanding couldn't be improved iff were looking at a better or more "authentic" set of photos than one finds in Phelan s book {say, Sherman's personal "originals"), because as Walter Benjamin pointed out long ago. "to ask for the 'authentic' print [of a photograph] makes no sense."" So it would seem that the performance of the photograph can only occur by means of reproduction, that photography is the quintessential art (j/'reproduction, and that it survives only in the encounter and re-encounter of the spectator. Performance, then, is recoverable in time, though it is obviously never the same performance, even for the same individual. To be fair, 1 should add that in an earlier discussion Phelan suggests that the performative quality of photography as performance art rests in a "staged confrontation" taking place at the surface of the print ("The surface is all you've got," as Richard Avedon puts it); performance is "a manipulation" of imagery that goes beyond the camera's claim "to reproduce an authentic 'real' [and brings] the status of the real. .. under scrutiny."'1'1 So it isn't simply the ontological status of the photograph that makes it performative. The performance consists in the thematic manipulation of imagery to a non-reproductive end. The thing that remains unclear, however is whether any manipulation away from an (in)authentic "real" might constitute performance, or must it be the kind that attends performance art of the last decade or so? How, for example, would Sherman's or Mapplethorpe's manipulations differ from, say, Niepce's Dinner Table Around (1823), the first photograph, or Malevich's White on While (1918) which is (or was) a painting commenting on all previous (absent) painting, or Magritte's "Ceci n'est pas une pipe" which directs the viewer's attention to the paradox in the perception of graphic art (the pipe is there/not there)?41 At any rate, Phelan's notion of performance seems to come down to a thematic matter, rather than to an ontological one; not, that is, to a matter of thing-ness or the basic process of interaction between work and viewer that always takes place in art but to a specific kind of political commentary the work is making on its own medium. How otherwise would the ontology of Sherman's performance differ from my coming back again and again to experience the performance in a musical recording or in the painting that hangs in my living room? Nor do I see, otherwise, wherein it is different from the experience 1 have on reading or re-reading a novel. Granted, there are big differences between reading and viewing, but what have they to do with performance if performance's presence/disappearance is simply something that happens between an auditor/reader and a tangible "work" when it is examined in any given "present"? Indeed. Mikel Dufrenne insists that a reader (of a novel or poetry) becomes the performer of the work and can "penetrate its meaning only by imagining the performance in his own way—in short, by 117 FOUNDATIONS AND DEFINITIONS being a performer, if only vicariously and in imagination.""'- The reader, you might say. does to the text of a book what an actor does to the text of a play. except that the enactment takes place in a mental space."1. You can debate or reject this claim, of course, but it does stick tenaciously to the point that something is "essentially performative" when the spectator and the work interact, regardless of the medium. What then is the justification for the claim one frequently hears ih.it performance should be restricted to the ■performing arts" I theatre, dance, music I simply, because they have squatter's rights on the term performance or because they present ihcir performances only at a given time and place before an invited audience, as opposed to those arts which give their "performances" (painting, sculpture, books) a> soon as someone appears and "interacts" with the work? I am not claiming that all these things should be considered as performances, only that before you can know w hat performance is. in the phenomenal sense, you w ill have to know why these arts aren't performances. You might find all this so much caviling over hairs. But there is a real problem lurking in such limit-cases, and it is the problem of how far performance can go and remain performance, or at what point rjerfomitf/m/v begins to appear (i.e., Eco's "defness")—that is. something falling, "by a sort of illusory transitivity." within the shadow of true performance. In short: meta-phorization. If you "deconstruct" performance at what precise point does it disappear? What is the without-which-not of performance? Or. to come back to Goffman and Turner, if you "reconstruct" or manipulate reality at what point, under what conditions, does it appear as performance? Or is there no such point? Perhaps performance is unquantifiable. Reception is obviously an extremely complex process, and when we speak ontologjcally of aesthetic perception we cannot divide it into categories based on the kinds of media available and be done with it, if only because new media are arriving by the month. Some of these problems might be avoided if we think of performance as a way of seeing—not, that is. the thing seen or performed (from ritual to parade to play to photograph! but seeing that involves certain collaborative and contextual functions (between work and spectator) which are highly elastic. Performance, as Dufrenne puts it, involves the expectation that we are willing "to play the game" on which all aesthetic perception is based.44 That is the position I want to take, at any rate, and one I think is consistent with Peggy Phelan's principle of "interaction," albeit without the political implications. But if that it true, she is evoking a principle that has a long history in aesthetics and does not define performance or performance art any more than it defines any other kind of art. II I turn now to my final example, Richard Schechner, whom I see as complementary to Phelan in that both are working at different ends of the same 118 ri-Ri OR\l \v. \,, , v nil,K "insider scale Phclan in i w«.irA,ii mu 11 s appropriation ol ílu i wofd pi rribrmanui itnd us pa.. ihir rata I ion i«» Ins own dailnition <>i períbrraanoe put lintpiy. tJoOrnan'i "pci i«ii m,im r-, dnu i k .lot r im s 111111 ľ they limply "i i m Ai an) rea i. i read i hi pannage Si I in liiwi i. awuming lhal to tha aataiil that ordinal') lili I ttkt port oi iiniiH c u nu t si ihi'iľlniľ hr like mi. meaning 11 iu»pw t) thaatra an w'hni pris Mii'Muiľi ii hero, however, is the originär) imt ilmi theatre. Ii pat aarnad on lire, rathei than liľa on thaatra ins < tollman was Hii|tnc»tmih m his inelnplim I 1111111 y 11 (Ins is piUiiiť it n lilllf Inn one snli'ilh Indent I he I wi« r iMhaved bahavioriol theatre and "othati performative genrea" are normative!) himcd on IvhtlMoi in olillllim hlť ihnl is ilsell tihunh tum-hthmrtl Ihr thaatra reheareal pi <>» en then, would in sunu- tleuicc Iv aimed ni perfei imy II sciUf ol i Hill Mitt \ llle's i \ \, nihil Ih-Ii.iv n>i , m I In lun ľ Inlinu il lint in r n| i m hnu i \ líh' l limps we ilo uol an, r Inil n iniiiihai Ol 1nui-s Im example, Wľ inilV snlel\ nssuniĽ thill I l.imlrl s fnli.nmi m tni u ľ iniiľ«|)v, "Ihimlťtlľ" Ih'Iuivioi win a tread) 'iwuľ bahavad" horore Nhukeipeare and Burbag* llľil Hnltilel, nml I lu- i hni m lei i/.iln m would Ii.im been im nninpless lllllľHH Ii WIIS hlISfd iui U'llllMOl lIlC lllullľlH'ľ Iľl njMII/ťd iii Oldinai \ lift I "i ■ ľ. I')« bahavad bohaviot refera to aontatbini ih.u doaen't exial m hm im n exparianoo, oi it letal m the ĽÄpťi lom r ihiil llieiiUr. in ih* Iiiiii. nl n vrh lo icsimc l'OI ľ\itmph'. I sninel Unes ílu .in mul ,i I n 'ii ul luv.I'll in I Ii«, i Inssiunni I" illijMiiuiľ n iľiiain it«|xv< oi iMi|ieraonatioti I do not change my ilyle oi way ol Mummy, Inn I lell urn studeníš ihnl I will imw dn mi nini.iin m "I lafl Sliilrs und ihm. idler nn iippropintlc pause Ins R framing dovioa), I go 0*1 heina niYhľli im iweniv ureomls oi so rhen I boo. and take a curtain call li hIwhys ggH .i ImujJiIi (.mil usnnlb .i|>|«I.ium'I 11n m^li I Jmi i llitnk u is hei misi I do u 11111 s piece ol ni liny 1 1111 ■ i k Ihr m udelili' ictulloii eoiiies holil lln pcťuliin »den of sonteoriľ (li'lilu'i nlrlv iniilittinu hi mučil omtt'*l iuy\rU i iV/nu there would bl no i \ nli m . 11 nil n pn Im mum r wns Ink nip plm*' apart, thai is. hoin m\ pei lotnniiu e ns n lem hoi Hul m Immiiiy H. mv nnitiHion iippmnilly ipiulillrtl jin ii peilniinitiuY m every neiiw. Imwrvei hurl It may have boon aa a "ilrip of behavior.'' (hie could certiunlv M)f ihm I had irslmed (he heliuvnu nl Itetl SliHcm, ii" liv ihnl we ninin Huti I aimed lh*' »luden t»to wf thni ill ti m Innp fieri Miiicuhtid been iwiee-hchiivinn hmmrll PERFORMANCE AS METAPHOR Perhaps this is an unusual case, but I don't think so. It suggests that framing and performance are. at the very least, overlapping, if not conterminous principles. Framing is simply the way in which the an work sets itself up, or is set up. to be performed, in Dufrenne's sense of offering a sensuous presentation to the spectator and in Phelan's sense of producing an interaction between itself and an auditor. We might say that framing and presence are the two slopes of the keystone that holds up the arch of performance. And since almost anything can be framed, almost anything can be painted or impersonated and hence become susceptible to performance. Moreover, there is the possibility that the framing might be done by the spectator. For example, you can point to someone and teU your friend. "Look at that man trying to juggle all those packages " and lo and behold, you have a kind of performance that you have created, or at least released, from its empirical invisibility. It is hard to look at the man simply as another man juggling packages; he now becomes "a man juggling packages," or more Platonically, Man Juggling Packages, a garden-variety archetype, something you have seen, without seeing it, a hundred times. We have, to use another of Goffman's terms. Idealized his behavior, or as the phenomenologist would say, we have "bracketed" it. This is not a performance in any artistic (or other) sense; it represents a "first step" in the direction of performance, that incipience in certain human activities that gave rise to the word performativity which is a term with a built-in metaphorical capability. This is the perspective from which the artist views the world in order to wrest from it its twice-behavedness. An artist is someone who says. "This is the way people behave n number of times," and knows how to put the n into expressive form, I am suggesting only that any specialized vocabulary or set of terms does not exhaust the phenomenon it is intended to describe (performance, theatre, art), but simply "fixes" it from one possible angle of intcntionalily or expressiveness; for the phenomenon is always nameless and multiform before a vocabulary traps it in one of its manifestations. This is one reason that we can never define a phenomenon like performance: its constitution is not the same as that of a machine, a disease or a molecule of water. It is a concept with "vague boundaries," as Wittgenstein says,66 that is permeable to new meanings. By the year 2010. the perfection of virtual reality alone will have added unheard of dimensions to the field of performance. We can only seek the essential nature of performability, not a taxonomy of performable objects or behaviors. Thus one might perform the same act (of performance) to many different intentional ends, as I want to suggest below, though the structure of performance remains relatively constant. To sum up the point: I realize that the term behavior is not the same in and out of art and that twice-behaved, in Schechner's meaning, implies a conscious and deliberate artistic control and choice of behavior. But what is this control/choice process if not one of perfecting something "already understood" that has not yet passed into the frame of art? It is the getting of it into 125 FOUNDATIONS AND DEFINITIONS art. out of its natural, excessive, and unremarkable twice-behavedness in daily life, that constitutes the transformation of art. What isn't twice-behaved behavior (in my sense) can't be restored artistically (in Schechner's), or wouldm be worth restoring, even if you could find an example of it. because no one would know what it was. This may put a different spin on what Scheehner means by twice-behaved: but it helps us to keep in mind that performance depends for its liveliness on three phases: it begins in the natural (or twice-behaved) behavior of Goffman's and Turners "raw" society or nature, gets refined in Schechner's composition or rehearsal process, and it is completed in Phelan's interaction of the work and the spectator who "already understands'" what the work is about, having lived it in one way or another.bl III I want to turn finally to a boldly argued book by a philosopher, Robert P. Crease, who has recently applied the concept of performance to the "theatre" of scientific experimentation. Departing from Husserfs phenomenology. Dewey's pragmatism, and Heidegger's hermeneutics (and the fact that theatre and theory spring from the same Greek root) Crease defines scientific experiments as unique events in the world undertaken for the purpose of allowing something to be seen. What comes to be seen is not something unique and peculiar to that event, but something that can also be seen in similar performances in other contexts. . .. Scientific performances are addressed to specific communities and are responses to issues raised within those communities. But properly preparing and viewing the performances requires a detached attitude, one interested in seeing what is happening for its own sake rather than for some practical end. The outcomes of the detached seeing of such performances, however, can be a deepened and enriched understanding of the world and our engagement with it.6* Crease is well aware of the differences between scientific performance and theatre performance, but the performative act, he argues, is the same in either case, if we look beyond the cliches we hear about how far apart scientists and artists are in their procedures and goals. This is his definition of a performance: Performance is first of all an execution of an action in the world which is a presentation of a phenomenon; that action is related to a representation (for example, a text, scrip!, scenario, or book), using a semiotic system (such as a language, a scheme of notation, a mathematical system); finally, a performance springs from and is presented to a suitably prepared local (historically and culturally bound) 126 performance as metaphor community which recognizes new phenomena in it. The field develops through an interaction of all three.'4 I can't do justice here to a discussion that is two hundred pages in length and far more complex than Goffman's casual use of the theatre metaphor to describe ordinary behavior. Indeed. Crease isn't invoking theatre as a metaphor for what goes on in science: theatre and science stand in a mutual relationship in which the same specified features appear, mutatis mutandis. Chiefly, both aim "'at achieving the presence of a phenomenon under one of its profiles."71' What can this mean, specifically, in terms of the performative arts? What is the phenomenon that comes forth? To keep our vocabulary from proliferating, we might sum it up in a term I take from Richard Schechner: transformation. In theatrical presentation something is always transformed: it is simultaneously "not itself" and "not not itself." Other well-known terms for transformation are "making strange." "estrangement," Shklovsky's "defamiliarization," Heidegger's "deconcealment." and more recently Wolfgang Iser's "fictionaliza-lion,"7t all of which involve transformations. As audience, we go to theatre to witness a transformation of the things of reality (or fantasy) and presumably the actor performs in order to undergo a transformation, or to become a twice-wfted self. So theatre, and as I will argue, artistic performance at large, offers us the pleasure of transformation. And I think this is a fundamental pleasure at the very core of mind and memory. "Memory [itself]," as Gerald Edelman writes, "is transformational rather than replicative."" Hence, the endless ability of "the brain to confront novelty, to generalize upon it, and to adapt in unforeseen fashions."7- All perception, all memory, is creative, which is to say adapted to the specifications of the organism, and performative art-making (of all kinds) is one of the extensions of this principle into the collective life of the community."1 1 want also to mention Crease's division of performance into four categories: failed, mechanical repetition, standardized, and artistic." In a failed performance the phenomenon does not appear (as in an inadequate interpretation of a play or an experiment which does not produce the expected result). A mechanical performance presents the same events over and over (an experimental "run"; film, player piano). A standardized performance simply fulfills the standards of the tradition (Kuhn's "normal" science: summer stock, a business-as-usual play in which the roles, as reviewers say, could well have been "phoned in"). Most interesting of all is Crease's conception of artistic performance which coaxes into being something which has not previously appeared. It is beyond the standardized program; it is action at the limit of the already controlled and understood; it is risk. The artistry of experimentation involves bringing a phenomenon into material presence in a way which requires more than passive forms of preparation, yet in 127 FOUNDATIONS AND DEFINITIONS a way so that one nevertheless has confidence that one recognizes the phenomenon for what it is. Artistic objects "impose" themselves they announce their presence as being completely or incompletely realized—but this imposition is not independent of the judgments and actions of the artist.7'1 This changes our normal understanding of artistic in a refreshing way. We. in the arts, tend to use the word artistic as a generic way of distinguishing what we do from what scholars or scientists do. and we tend to use it in a self-congratulatory way, when we are not using it defensively in a university system that often pays lip service to art. Thus if you are painting or writing a play or a novel you are doing "artistic" work. And this is certainly a legitimate use of the term. What it obscures, however, is another aspect of art that isn't restricted to what "artists" (painters, dancers, actors, etc.) do, but refers to any display or application of human skill (OED 1). In Crease's sense we might better define a lot of things that go by the name of art as "failed" or '"standardized" or "mechanical" performances, that have nothing to do with art in his sense of the term artistic, in any case, scientists perform artistic work too, and this doesn't mean that they use metaphors and analogies (though they do), and above all it doesn't mean that the word artistic is being used metaphorically. The truly great scientific discoveries and experiments are artistic productions in the sense that they are "actions at the limit of ihe already controlled and understood." They are '"risks" that succeed in making the phenomenon appear. And the fact that they aim to produce results that are repeatable and quantifiable shouldn't lead us to think that the process leading to the quantification isn't based on the imaginative construction of models. The very same kind of thinking that went into the Sistine Chapel or the plays of Shakespeare was occurring in the performances by Einstein, Copernicus, Galton, Cavendish, Godel. and Charles Darwin, who were artists of extraordinary vision and imagination. Artistic, or creative, thinking has nothing to do with the nature of the result or the discovery that is made: it is a modus operandi.77 What an artistic experimental performance produces may be a proof of how a certain phenomenon behaves in the field of physicaJ matter; but how does this differ from a Cezanne painting or a John Gielgud performance that offers proof of something "true" about rocks and trees and human nature? So we might put beside our concept of performance as "restored behavior" this close variation from Crease: "Each artistic performance, rather than repeating or echoing, is a creation that pushes forward to produce what is repeated."™ Thus, to come back to Hamlet, we may say that even if there had been no Shakespeare, and therefore no Hamlet, there is still the "something" out there in human empirical behavior that finally got represented in the behavior of Hamlet, the character. This is the field of "invariance" Shakespeare tapped into by means of his own pungent "semiotic" system, the same (or a similar) 128 1*1 K I 11 R M A N ( I- AS Ml I A phoi laid of to variance thai Maltarme in the nineteenth centur) would call HumiciiMu end -luics de Gaul tier, tracking a variant variation, referred to (after Flaubert) as "ftovarysme." So performance is always preceded by, and huili on. an "invariant" liold ol' Iwia'behaved behavior; somewhere, at all tunes, one of the profiles of human behavior Shakespeare embodied in Ins creation ofHamlet, Macbeth. I ear. lady Maebeth. Rosalind, el af, isdelcel-ahlein the world, if one had the wit (or the artistry) to see it.'" And i pool who did see it out there, or deep inside, could presumably recreate it whether there were a Shakespearean precedent or not (though obviously uol in the Shake snearean version). This oomei near the foundation oft lease's enlightening argument: this is the mode of thinking thai performers in science ami per formers in "the performing arts" share in common. There is one other matter that Crease clarities very well, and tins is ihe business of the presumed division between performer and audience. Depart ing from (iadamer's essay on plav in Vruth tmd \h'th<>d. Crease notes thai when an experimental performance ("enacted by the equipment") causes (lie phenomenon of. sa\. electrons lo appear, n is present equally lo I he scientist (the playwrighi-produeer-direcior) who designed the performance and "to those who merely look on." So lot* with i heat re. riluiil and oilier perforin Stive ceremonies (including athletic events): "line performance of whatever soil absorbs players ;iiul audience in one comprehensive event, an event dominated by the appearance of u phenomenon.""" Or, n s tiadaiuer puts I he idea, "Artistic presentation, by its nature, exists For someone, even if there is no one there who listens or watches only,""1 And finally, wilh particular relation to the theatre, I might cite Herbert Mian's massive study of ///<■ Audivmr winch, among many other of Ms interests, chronicles theatre's continual attempts to return ihe spectator to "the center of the stage.11*3 it seems shori-sighied. then, to insist that there be an audience separate from the performers if there is to be ;i performance. Surely I lie chamber music quartet (cited by CJadaiuer) Illustrates this idea perfectly When a quartet gels together to play there are often only four people m the room and Ihey are Ihe musicians. It does no good lo say that each member of the quartet becomes an audience when (and only when) his or her instrument isn't playing and the musician "only" listens. The work is being performed and the performers an there to hear and feel it, and lo insist that the two variables be different cut hies seems a misunderstanding of the pleasurable purpose of performance. The notion that a performance must have this sort of audience seems lo derive from two sources: (I) the historical I'ael. and hence setnnnlic expcclu lion, that performances usually have (separale) audiences, being intended primarily for them; and (2) Ihe idea thai ■ performance, in order to be such, should have a witness, an ear in Ihe forest, so lo speak, lo hear the iree full. These Iwo sources are noi really separable in their influence; and Ihe upshot is that it seems peculiar lo call something a performance that was heard only by the performer. 12«* I oi'nim I IO\n \NU di I IM i IONS Hut tl we |«iii aside tin" nolion. all llM OOadhkHM "I |h-iIoiiiuiuc ,.u uiithed bj the qnertai Miu.......i wherein mutic is played In ord« in gta plcasuie lulhe plrtVen NOJ sluviiUI the tail lh.il ihcic Iff loin plavcis, i.ilhei Hun one, m.ike ÚM pjáijiliu^i dillcicmv \S lien I mill Uatt til down .it ihr ptáno, .iiui cfceuaer, ke tem) lofne ( bopin ft* HlmeeM*, »«an*! he performing i hopni Um i raní 11^1 to the tame end thai he mifhi havi performed n hu iiiciuK' One can aaaeana aaei ha aaaatad to hati the aautto, though tins does not iiiipls lhal he also didil i en|>>\ plautig the musu V\ as he |hi Im mine ' \mt was iluie u.ilK .1 dilletcncc between |Viiormuig and listening' II he was performinj t hoptn and i think hr was ihcn I was pciloinimg Shake s|vaie in ni\ cai l.isi week (quality ol peilmmanee is iiiclcvanll. which I frequent IN do. not because ľni so good at U hut krause the language nio\es me \iivw,i>, i don't hcai im own miseiLihle rendition i heai an ideal" 01 "imugman" Heil States iccilmg ÍI tio honow lint nek s vvoidsh |iist as tl is an ideal Itei i Stales who sings so heaulil nils in the avousiical enhancement ol ihe dtowci In t'llui wmds, I heal a knul ol composite ol all the gieal performance! I lamaiabei in m) minda aw One might mj thai 1 dteappeat as performei and reappeai as hcatci ol the swccl "unheard melodies" thai ol course would escape ins wile's mote disciminiating on. wcic she nearby.*1 It could be .ugucd lhal this kind ol lliiuking leaves us Mo lomu lo scp.uatc true pcrlotniaiiee liom. sav, leheaisal 01 anything else in creation, Ibi that mallet Hul i don t Ihmk this is ihc case i he slung ipiaiui isn'i icluuising il is performing lot itsell, ihough n is likely linn ihc group al sonic point mav have i el lea i sei! 11 u- miisu n plas s m u s pitváte pel loi mance I he reheat sal almosplietc. on the other hand, is one ol dial and enoi. seeking, inicnnpt »ng. luuhiig in general I lie Ivst way n> ncttimu And ihis is dillcicul from peilmiiuug n gi\en vvoik liom beginning lo end, loi oneself ot I'm others In »hört, "the arlisii \ is .mistry," mm t lease says, "m fin mv vn c ol the appealing ol the phenomenon." not m ihc sei vice ol pcrlccimg ihc technique ol the Becforcner, There is no doubl some ol Ihc lallet going on in all "linul" |)ciloi mance. and some ol the hnmei going on m ichcaisal. u in ihc altilude ol the ixtloimct lowurd Ihc urhstry lhal I am concerned with heie So i m suggesting ihm u thcoi y ol pa fat niancc has lo begin al ihc ontolo-gical llooi where ihc human desue in pm impale in pel loi malive liansloiina lions begum. i his is ihc point whcie ibeie is not vel a d i Ileum nation between ,v11-1 -'"dienee, ihe.e is only abiding mlc.csi „1 the spcUuuilui poss.hilH.es ol the wo.hl (,he so.ee, sound, physical utulet.ul. In-ha mo, l "Inch one unoovetl m perception and al once Iccls ihc pleasme ol H.e del fi.veiy Study all tniisis respond to then work us an audience in ihc ven •icl ol cu-atmg ,( Svuelv ihe act ol panning a landscape is not evl.ai.sicd ,n Ihc tramlonnauonol what Hie p.un.c. sees "mil ,he,e.' bul includes,, uvip.ocal degree ol ■pcctmion. So we m*y say ,|u„ art (in which i include science) ■ lUnw.ncwiud.wha.eve.....,„ ihmgs,, may achieve lleir.swhul wc might call Ihe kernel or gene of pc.formativily from which all divided lortm of I Ml ľl «■ "KMANl I Al Ml U......H "■■'*,h 'v,u,Kr S«,,,M»* ««w colluing Ol „u-.u.s a.,,1 ......,.,ull ,,„lťl thi limuluneii) ol producitii iomtthin| lad mpmcjinj to H m ihc ume hchnYloiul iicl All a.t.slu |kHom.m..u- íl mmindol n. ih.s plMMifl and prfbrataitoi ihouMiKi |Qii luoulturaJ tvt) lowtrd ni.ihss formi ol diíTci cmiiUh.n and loienUotulit) wb^fob) othtn (101 otiltd perfonoon) Hlad arwrl tuul perlonu ľoi us (CMHni uiuI.ukvm Hu- "IhmuI indoduV ol ilu-.n solws and oiluis n m Ipon thii plttiytihli hm ttaa u im h ptfforn.....m 'prlnfr, bo* ewi, llun .m\ dlllmMilMli.ni oj sjvui-s ol iviIoiiimikv is upi lo leud l»l .« Lontumon ol dcnoiumulon I los is ihť piitlili-m wiili imiir i.« aitouni loi t. ml Im,in s wiu M ol m u i.il |h-i loiin.iiKv in i lu- \a niť unns ili.it onc is h \ uijŕ 10 aooowil fbi ihi* forma "i .iiiľ.in performanoe i thinh Si b*hnoi »•» rí|hl to suspcel ili.il ( HilTinan is ilctilmt, wilh un iJtoplhtl dillm-ni kind ol pfrfOJTO nikj Kaši < >n Iml.iiKľ, sním- ol ihc ilimus Sclu-chiui uppuícnil) u»n*ulcis as PCiIoihiuikys hosi.ivM \ uscs, k-iioiisl .u n\Hus. Hi |) mali, and \sild aiiinwl p.nks seťin ii> mc as ľni ľrom btinj pfifcnmaoooi on <*in- MlrtOM (moJud IBJDI) wllovs v ľWN, ol voiusoj as (loMniaii s i-\i-i\il.t\ s.kml K-liuvioi is on 1 lu- ollui I liuiiklv don'l knovs wlu-iť lo "pni" iliom il \u- tnusi Mll llu-ni unwshuť. ľni iooliotd (O lluiik Wŕl nught m»Iw ihi pinMuu in tbt iv9) tfal I skllllos miKiiI ihi- pmMuil ol I0OO l>> imui|i M louilcvtl 01 so dillcľriil iianu-s Mul I 1111 ■ i k Svhťvhhťl is Iving no h-ss nicluplimu.il t h u 11 l lollinan in lu-alinf! siuh iViiils as jk*i Ioi ihuikts vshuh is l<' s.i\ and .puk* nglilly, Ihcy íl r c hkt pciloMii.iiRv-s tu snincwhut tlie w.w ili.n a muulimn haiul is hke a oeotrptdl I ho\ .in- io |h-iIoiiii.iihi- wh.it dci is u* '.iK". iliai is. ihc) hnvť soinc ol I tu- sami- "lamilN usiiiibl.ou i s tmi llu\ au- niau luny lo allogcllu-i díťttreni lunea iNoloi Wilhaim., Kaymoud. Ai moflé I I .<♦.//>"/.<'» <>) < híímu ■HľľiŕOlQ lN*-« Noik (Uloul, ls»7l»>. I ' ll 1« huni Im .uiťw iiH-aiiiiiif «•! a w.m.U--Uml "«-<\ mto lliť dk h.'M.n \ .iml soliiť nevn 00 In DM *n*c, llu-dKlionun .sa ivhahlr uuidc i" Mivamnu, bui m anolhťi u» dchmiions an- perpetuall) om ....."> '.....»*■ xUn'1 ,,,k....."»» M.v comiitiMlh ťxolv.nn I lu- optratfvt dHm.no.» ol .i *otil I um iclni.nn muinh lo kťv*m.U and ilu-u dcoaloo umounls lo liow il 1« u^il al u pu.lk.ila. momcnl" m uilluu. u,.i »lwt íl o^ UjrdkUo.Mn Iclls us only vshul u vsord Iim» mcanl imos. ol sshkh .. sl.ll mcansi WIh-icu* Hu- MOV. .....„mu,! .s ,,|U,noll th, ťMH-i..... n,,,l ... ...i-l.il......kal slavr ol wl.oh Ihc mlmnous Sťt.Mull cllnl ol t l.uos iluvn would sugyes. ll... *o.ds hki • hry mcum las. monlh, Ihough »h- i-h-nge nuo hr as suh.U «i ihc Ji-ngi m > m.n.mn.........i.........>ossihSV k, au* d.c srn írsu.irmr......- . ... .i « -mrx.......s.aml> rspunds Us srmanlk I..... I I..........'« «HJ 1 rvr, m1k.,ass...lvs.'dsl.kr.ka.u |h,t............ ,ťs, and so on kiuio. llk v ■o, ,o hMv, ailov as mrlap.......S*r t mhrUo I n I>» A.l» h.* I 11 I 1111 N p A I MINN A NM IH I I Nil lnNS we&titMK) upwri «>i nutkphoi i Mortovtr, am ul the pruWenw with a*......i word*, k«yworU> wpociilly, thai lh«) we* to &■ wordi Ml ill m wow p...... ti twit "neutrel" word*, end betonte lymhol« gf Irutitutlom end lllfttll........nl 01 revolultomir) thinking Worth, In ^ «nie, art like lind ind prnperl) lhe) .m unUlleietll ti* lln'ii .mil dilpOMll Ami ilispeisuui hut thf duu** Ufoní dilk-u hlu dona itnonf lie.....nerfowneni I ^ emmpie In* pmlitrutfiuwltal n«mhuI.....the terra* tnuli, tts .mil n/'írví'rj/iíŕJoH wai maniltud) weged ovei tin- Idee that newple believed mlmetia Impllei imitation in the Mtw ol 'i u>») No lerluui leetheti iiiiii would edvenut »iwh u nill) tu«*, bul pnsisinu i.....Ii-'^ munied ihäl Mus wh* ,i widespread belief, ne* oni) -i ni....." *n*tur*lliilt " me.......| iri the word, und 1niu|vi1íi mwidinilu'i "received"no nowordillkifAf w# ffwrA, řnrtmfnjf, utnmn. tfuuttiHi. tk* mukat, hmtmtm, w*Wi> p**»ttH*,etc Hull rtgnlňed the old Ideo logy, n mtnueJi buken In Im nrlgluHl Ariitotetlei] (uoppoeed in EMetoniu)wum, lhe moil uhlu ill peiloiuiiiikv trUllI iff lUjI lomnnUinn thtlln ><< inimois iiisolni ,is iIk'\ mgigt In perfbrnuutuoi lu which they ire "nol thomwlve*. Ihm not not therntetvet™ a conveniem definition ol.......«Iioceur« in Hem t borg tledtmer'i I'ntttt.Mii Wr/WtNeu Yetit; Craetmid. I WS): "The concept of ml menil did noi mean u copy so mucti ei the ippeereňc* of whei m represented Without (hi inlrnttji ol tin work ihr woild i*m>i i Ihm i- n Ft n in theti in the work, und withoui reproduction the work is not there" (121 23), t pttwutrwffon li (hi1 moil RpectavuliJ reeenl txtrapk the word hud been hum there snuv the niueteenili ivnimv l"l fcvoiiNlruCI to take In plecei"): but M nevet haul u plmv n loutti..Ji ti home, rhtteh leu n otuM to eetehmtei until the ideu tHVlUIVil lo Iks, iii tili" ildviilieed Hlnw* Ol model ti skepitelMlt. ihtll tiling weidl'l nelly tukťit lo picee-n hm were "ulwuys already" in piceex lo begin Willi 4 Jtidiih Ihnlci. "ľťHdľiiinlivľ Ails iiiid tiťudľi runsiihihnii: An lvsn> in I'he nomenology tod Funlnlit Theory,H rfUHitrtJottrnaUd[\9fä) 'ľ' M 5 leim R. Si-ink-. "M»t»phor,H in Miitifilu'i titui ľfuiuyjn, tá Aiuhew Ortony (t'limbriiljie: <*i«mhrid(íŕ Pmvťisilv ľivss, III? í* UwbertOBOO, "Ui-Iwíniik" řVew InrA Keviťw nt fítm/is, 4? i.lunc ??, I*íl>^J. 14. / WlttgKutiia'i ivli-i^itiicil trettmenl of ihii proelnm of eoneeptii with "blurred i-djjťs." p.iilkiiluily names, mvuis in Phihxuphiall tHWStifutiúnS, Iniiifi. ti ľ M AiinĽnmhť(New York. Mmniiiinii,196i). ieetlon»64 ÍJ.orpp tl H Klťhnrd Si-lioelinor, H v itfiwu ŕi/ Ptfformanct litietmiiumi Stuďtti i>f Thěůpt ittiíi /Hnuli, ed Ukliiiid Nľlici'hnci ind Willn Appľl iNe-w V tuk autl CefttbridH l"iimbriiljiť Hntvťfsiiv I'ivhn. l'ľíin. ?k ^ Willuinu. ^f'ni(W,vt 12. Hl Ibid",, 77, II lín. Rohvfth* tííWrŕ, Hl. \2 Whiil ťixiuintjiM iImn lumping, imoffg oilier thíii^, In Mu* dtVirM power oľ the wiml'ü niiIIUun: -/«Ii. -iímr, mul -ufiir Sonjcone wlu> wotildiľl meliidr ni'iil|iluiv am! pniniintt mmmg llu- perlinniAijv uMh iomIU nuiuvIv deny ihm iiilmiiliinw to iviŤiiriHimcť mi. where both nem m iloumli. Moreover, meny ictivJtieii outildf ihe nmtliMvon tvitiniiwrrn- quality, in u mettphorlael wnv, end oftce u in pt......k1 0U1 One Noun be«iii« lu Npenk nl iheii perlormenre So then- Ii no hope nl bp.....a m elciin Nhul nt h eure mciitiiim Wť um hope only lo Ufiderttind Ihr lomí Ivlnml itH prolileiNlioii us n keyword. 1.1 living (lnHin.ui. Ihm.' Amthxto An ti^y m hW fhmUnuUm of t>\iu>rtwT MtiiHlnn: NoitlivnMeiM IIntvcrttily ľtm, lUNli) It M ľ^ngllirflhMiti. ľtw ľrwnmhnofSvytn EWyéxyLfrWw* York hni.hleihiy, 1^ Seheelmci, «c il/«vmi uf ľ\'rfi>rntotuv. 2«, PERFORMANCE AS METAPHOR 16 Gofl'man. The Presentation of Self, 72. 17 Bruce Wilshire offers a critique of Goffman's theory in Role Playing and Identify; The Limits of Theatre As Metaphor (Indiana: Indiana University Press, 1982), 274-81. 18 Victor Turner. From Ritual to Theatre: The Human Seriousness of Play (New York: Performing Arts Journal Publications, 1982), 68-69. 19 One of the things that marks a poor play is its "unrealistic" depiction of its conflict: it poses either weak extremes (breaches), convenient developments to the crisis, or easy solutions—that is, solutions that in real social life would scarcely occur, given the odds. The sudden unexpected arrival of a rich uncle might be a good example, though under some circumstances the rich uncle is part of the form (sentimental drama), hence part of what we expect. 20 Richard Scheduler would probably disagree with this "one-way" judgment. For example, referring to Turner's social drama he says: "Artistic action creates the rhetorical and/or symbolic possibilities for social drama to 'find itself.' and the events of ordinary life provide the raw stuff and conflicts reconstructed in art works" {Between Theater mid Anthropology [Philadelphia: Pennsylvania University Press, 1985], 116. 1 In.). And in his previous book. Essays in Performance Theory: 1970 -76 (New York: Drama Book Specialists. 1977), he applies Turner's social drama theory to the 1975 imbroglio of President Gerald Ford's dismissal of the cabinet members and then to Shakespeare's tragedy Romeo and Juliet (140 44). finding that both follow Turner's social drama pattern perfectly. First, 1 don't disagree with Schechner's sense of a two-way street in the least. It is quite true that social action uses the rhetorical and symbolic language of artistic works (not to mention the rhetoric of religion, military strategy, and perhaps even science and domestic life); but this is far from a structural adaptation. Second, my point is that social drama came first; it invariably follows the same pattern (as Schechner says, "it has always been this way in politics, from the village level on up" [143]). and drama modeled itself directly on this pattern. There was simply no other choice, and I would be surprised if the "dramatic conflicts" that take place in the psychical, physical, and animal worlds, if we cut them at the right joints, didn't follow a similar pattern. Particularly enlightening on this subject is Rudolf Arnheim's discussion of the struggle between the calaboltc and the anabolic forces in the field of entropy (he calls this "the structural theme") in Entropy and Art: An Essay on Order and Disorder (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1974). 21 See Zenon W. Pylyshyn. "Metaphorical Imprecision and the 'Top-Down' Research Strategy," in Metaphor und Thought, ed- Andrew Ortony (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986). 429. 22 Presentation of Self 254. 23 Ibid.. 106, 24 Ibid.. 80-81. 25 On this matter of the theatre metaphor as interpretative tool, see Mária Minich Brewer: "Theatre provides, on the one hand, a vast integrative reference for interpretation and. on the other, it narrows the field to the place of the desiring subject within those interpretive frames" ("Performing Theory." Theatre Journal 37 [1985], 17). 26 Philip Auslander discusses the beginnings of performance art in Presence and Resistance: Postmodernism and Cultural Polities in Contemporary American Performance (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. 1992). 35-55. See also Michael Vanden Heuvel, Performing Drama/Dramatizing Performance; Alternative Theater and the Dramatic Text (Ann Arbor, University of Michigan Press. 1991), chiefly pp. I - 66. 133 FOUNDATIONS AND DEFINITIONS 27 Susan Sontag, Styles of Radical Will Ibid.. 37. Ml Schechner. R\ Means of' Performance. 2X 61 Schechnci. Heiwcen I heater and .trainlogy, 97. 62 Of COUne, II you put a cow on the stage and made il pari ol ihe action ol a play, that's another matter enlnely I he familiarity ol ihe animal disappears and is replaced by ihc shock of its appearance in an unaccustomed place. This, I take n. would be the source of the fascination with Hippo-drama in the nineteenth century 63 This is Heidegger's term ol course Sec "The Origin ol ihc Work ol Art." in hn-n i LanituaKe, Ilun^hi. Iran- Albert Holsladter < New York. Harper. 1975), 32IT. 64 Schechner, Between Theater and Anthropology. 52. 6> Roger G Schank. and Robert I' Abclson. Scripts, Plans, thuds and I nderstandinx An Inquiry into Human knowledge Structures (Hillsdale. NJ; Lawrence Erlbauni. 1977). 67. 66 Ludwig Wittgenstein. Philosophical Investigations, trans, G. E M. Anseombc (New York; Macmillan. I96K), 34. 67 1 am not saying something that Schechner doesn't realize I or instance, see his essay on ihc relation of social drama to aesthetic drama in Essays in Performance Theory: ivli) 76 (New York: Drama Book Specialists. 1977). 140 56 Indeed, with a few changes his diagram on Social Drama/Aesthetic Drama (144) might be adapted to my point. I do share Victor Turner's reservations that the digram "suggests cyclical rather than linear movement" {Prom Ritual to Theatre The Human Seruwsncss ofPkty\NtM York; Performing Arts Journal Publications. 1982). 74) between theatre and society: that is. it overemphasizes the respect in which thcalTc influences life. When Schechner suggests lhat Gerald Ford "takes techniques I rum ihc theatre" in order to conduct his cabinet shake-up to besi public advantage (Essays in Performance Theory. 143 44). I would ask where the theatre learned these PR techniques it not from realpolttik itself. In other words. anything the theatre knows was tuuxht to it hy reality. Maybe people deliberately "theatricalize" themselves in dress, maimer, or lite-style according to populai theatre stereotypes (James Dean. Madonna), hut where did the stereotypes originate'.' 6K Roberl P Crease. 77ie Plav of Nature: Experimentation as Performance (Bloonungton Indiana University Press. 1993). 96 m I hid . ILK) 70 Ibid . 103 71 Wolfgang Iscr, The Fictive and the Imaginary: Charting Literary Anthropology (Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press. I993|. 4 72 Gerald Edelman, Neural Darwinism: The Theory of Neuronal Group Selection (New York: Basic Books, I9K7). 2nV 73 Ibid.. 329. 74 Again Kdelman: "We must look at all acts of perception as acts of creativity (Memory) is not a replicative recall ol stored physical descriptors. It is an imaginative act. a form of dynamic recategorization with decoration by exemplars. Its very lack ol repetitive precision is the source of creative possibility for generalization 136 PERFORMANCE AS MrTAI'HllK and pattern recognition" ("Neural Darwinism: Population Thinking and Higher Brain Function," in Wow We Know, ed. Michael Shalto [San Francisco- Harper & Row. 1985]. 24). 75 Ibid.. IU9. 76 Ibid.. 110. 77 The best sustained case for the thought-parallels beiueen scientific and artistic discover) is made by Arthur Koestler in The Act 0/Creation (N.p.: Maemilhm. 1969). "The logical pattern of the creative process is the same in humor, scientific discovery, and art; it consists in the discovery ot hidden similarities" (27). This is more complex than it sounds in this reduced form. The thing we must hear in mind in studies like Crease's and koestler's is not that they are arguing For an across-the-board identification between science and art, only that the mental process of discovery is the same, along with certain procedures. There is not an awful lot of difference, in short between finding the right metaphors and designing the right experimental model (which, as koestler points out. is always "a caricature of reality , . . based on selective emphasis on the relevant i'aeiors and omission of the rest" [72]—just what we do unconsciously when we interpret I metaphor.) So when we separate art and science as different pursuits of understanding, we ought to know precisely what we're separating and what is identical. To quote Nelson Goodman on the point: "Even if ihe ultimate product of science, unlike that of art, is a literal, verba! or mathematical, denotalional theory, science and art proceed in much the same way with their searching and building" (Ways of Woridmaking [Indianapolis and Cambridge: Haekelt, 1978], 107). 78 Crease. The Play of Nature, III. 79 Is this not exactly the main reason for "reviving" old oul-of-fashion plays in which we (the stage director) suddenly detect a contemporary theme? Or, to reverse the order, why we do classics in updated locations (a Creole Othello, a Barbados Winter's Tale, etc.)? 80 The Play of Nature. 119. 81 Gadamer. Troth and Method 99. 82 Herbert Blau, The Audience (Baltimore & London: Johns Hopkins University Press. 1990). 17: see also Vanden Heuvel. Performing Omnia, -16; and Selimilt. "Casting the Audience." 83 On this same line, the Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 199?) defines performance as "The recitation of poetry either by its author, a professional performer, or any reader either alone or before an audience; the term normally implies the latter" (892). 84 The ur-forms of all performance would be the day dream and the nocturnal REM dream, the most private instances of "restored behavior." 137 16 THEATRICAL AND TRANSGRESSIVE ENERGIES1 Freddie Rokem Source: Aisaph. Stttdkl in ilu Unmix IS I 1999): l>> The theatre like the plague release* Conflicts, disengages powers, liberates possibilities, and if these possibilities and these powers are dark, it is the fault not olThe plague nor of the theatre, but of life. Anlonin Arlaud Discourses on the theatre as well as performance in general frequently refer to the different kinds of energy created on stage and transmitted to Ihe audience. This notion of 'energy' as a rule depicts how some form of uncompromising engagement on all levels of theatrical communication, mainly through the art of acting, is achieved. The number of texts on theatre and performance referring directly to the notion of 'energy', or drawing on concepts closely related to it. is even quite surprising. Usually, however, these concepts, and in particular the notion of 'energy', are employed without indexing them formally in any way; they simply appear as a central cord around which many discussions about Ihe theatre arc actually organized. The notion of'energy'does not of course belong primarily to the world of theatre, but refers lo how some kind of machinery or technical aid uses physical or chemical changes to produce a labor that has in effect; or to the ability of human intentions to perform actions with concrete results. Il was Aristotle who was the first to use energtfa (vigor or force) or tnargvia (vividness or shining forth) as rhetorical terms, signifying the actualization of that which had previously only existed potentially. The two terms very early overlapped, pointing at a visually powerful description that recreates something or someone, as several theorists say, 'before your very eyes'.2 These terms became important also in legal contexts to designate rhetorical excellence. Implicitly, for Aristotle, energy also meant accumulated 291 elements and circumstances Oi PtRKlRMANCE force For us today the concepts 'perform' and •performance* also imply some form of creation and expenditure of energy that are not simply the result of technological achievements, like in the "performance' of my ear 01 computer, but concern human actions in all fields, including theatre, Energy' is undoubtedly also a concept that carries strong ideological implications and it has been used to describe the causes of social changes and upheavals. In discourses on theatre and performance the notion of 'energy' has perhaps been most frequently employed in the contexts of acting and directing. But it has also been used to discuss those energies that are present in dramatic texts from the distant past and which still make them relevant to us, centuries after these texts were first written and performed. The energies of acting can thus be seen as a theatrical or performative mode that makes it possible both to tell and show the spectators watching a performance something from and about that past, as supposedly preserved in these texts. The notion of "energy' has also been employed for pointing out and defining different modes of communication and semiosis in the theatre. In addition to examining these discourses. 1 also attempt here to develop different theoretical notions on the basis of which certain metaphysical and ritual dimensions of theatrical energies can be examined. These in turn arc also closely related to what we usually refer to as catharsis, the energies that can be experienced by spectators watching a performance. The widespread and quite different ways in which the notion of'energy' has been employed in discourses on the theatre serve 10 indicate the complexity of this cultural practice. In such discourses, it is a concept floating around "out there', and to date no attempt has been made to examine this notion more systematically, as a key concept for the theory of theatre and performance. Although Aristotle was the first to use terminology directly relating to energy in the field of rhetoric, already in Plato's dialogue Ion, which explores the art of the so-called rhapsode - the singer of the Homeric epics - there is an extensive discussion about the sources of his power and inspiration. Here Socrates explains to the young actor, bearing the same name as the dialogue itself, that The gift which you possess of speaking excellently about Homer is not an art but an inspiration; there is a divinity moving you, like that contained in the stone which Euripides called a magnet, but which is commonly known as the stone of Heraclea. This stone not only attracts iron rings, but also imparts to them a similar power of attracting other rings; and sometimes you may see a number of pieces of irons and rings suspended from one another so as to form quite a long chain: and all of them derive their power of suspension from the original stone. In like manner the Muse first of all inspires men herself; and from these inspired persons a chain of other persons is suspended, who take the inspiration. For all good poets, epic as 242 ,',B,u*,vllL ' KAngstiRESSIVK ENERGIES well as lyric, compose their beautiful poems not by art, but because they are inspired and possessed.1 The power-fields of these 'magnetic energies' of Ion's performances are created by what Socrates terms enthusiasmos, a term still used in contemporary English with more or less the same connotations, and according to Plato they are subject to an a priori hierarchy, in which each link in the creative chain refers back to a divine source, thus creating an integrated totality. This understanding of the actor as someone who is inspired or 'charged' with divine or metaphysical powers has had a very profound influence on the discourses on acting, as they have developed in most cultures. Plato's explicit aim, however, was to prevent a situation in which each link in the communicative chain preceding the performance, and in particular within the performance itself, is given some form of autonomy in which the actor can be seen as an independent source of this charismatic power and inspiration. The moment such an autonomy is accepted and mapped out -and Plato was no doubt aware that this is possible, otherwise he would not have banned poets and all other artists from his ideal state - each and every link in the creative chain of the theatre can become a source of independent energies. Artistic creativity. Plato claimed, contains a strong transgressive potential. And, furthermore, as he most certainly also recognised, such a transgressive potential will not always be totally confined within the more limited field of art itself, but can in different ways also influence the social and ideological spheres as well. However, even if such transgressive energies can at least potentially upset the existing social order - 1 believe that one of the reasons why art still interests us today is related to this possibility - they are nonetheless still deeply ambiguous. Pierre Klossowski, for example, reflecting on the ideas of the Marquis de Sade in the context of the French Revolution, even considered the very notion of 'transgression' itself to be radically paradoxical, because it seems absurd and puerile when it [transgression] does not succeed in resolving itself into a state of affairs in which it would no longer be necessary. But it belongs to the nature of transgression that it is never able to find such a state. Transgression is then something else than the pure explosion of energy accumulated thanks to an obstacle. It is an incessant recuperation of the possible itself - inasmuch as the existing state of things has eliminated the possibility of another form of existence.4 Only a Utopian situation would make the need for transgressions unnecessary. What we usually witness in situations of social and psychological change » rather, as Klossowski seems to imply, an 'explosion ot energy accumulated thanks to an obstacle'. But even when such revolutionary energies are released 293 elements and circumstances of performance to the social sphere they do not lead to any significant changes, particularly ^SmtS hokis such an ambiguous and even paradoxical posihon in social discursive practices as well as those connected to the arts, it d« v o be carefully examined. What 1 wish to argue here is that the theatre has become a point of convergence or union for such differently constituted energies which are generally conceived of as belonging to completely separate ontological spheres or fields. It is this form of violation of boundaries between spheres that was apparently most threatening for Plato, who argued for a transcendental metaphysics and could only accept that the aesthetic field too had but one, divine source. But it seems, rather, that the different forms of energies created and constituted by performances are somehow able to bring together a broad variety of such ontological spheres. It is even possible to argue that one of the basic constituent features of theatrical performances, what is gcnerall) termed their 'theatricality', is at least partially based on such a mingling of ontological spheres, which as a rule do not co-exist to the same extent in other contexts. The theatre itself is of course not just an indistinct blur, but designates borders between different ontological spheres such as between the aesthetic and the social, the fictional and the historical, the natural and the supernatural, the static and the dynamic, the naive and the metatheatrical. But the theatre also seeks to bring these spheres together; first to make them interact, at least for the duration of the performance itself, and in some cases even to unify them. The 'friction* such meetings give rise to is the source of the unique energies created by the theatre. The notion of 'energy' in the context of performance thus serves both as a unifying and a separating or dividing force. The ability to bring many totally disparate ontological spheres together is no doubt one of the reasons why it has been so difficult to delineate theatre and performance as aesthetic phenomena, even if this is of course an issue that basically concerns all the arts. But the live presence of the human body, both on the stage as actors-performers (presenting characters) and in the auditorium as spectators, has made it much more complex to define the 'theatrical' than to delineate the 'fictional' in prose fiction, for example. Theatre, in addition to the complexities of the theatrical signs and in particular the presence of the human body, also has to confront the issues of nationality. But the comprehensibility with which theatre simultaneously brings a vast number of different ontological spheres into play is of such a magnitude that the theatrical field has even become paradigmatic for human behaviour in different academic disciplines. However, theatre research, I believe, has not been able fully to take up the challenge of this paradigmatic aspect of its own field of research, the t«S™i Z 5Cen aS act,valine different kinds of energies from SatS^S^ metaeh^ Perspectives, as well as from the Afferent^ The leXtUaJ » based on radically different ontological assumptions to the performative one, which as a 294 THEATRICAL AND TRANSGRESSIVE ENERGIES integrates the human presence both on the stage as well as in the auditorium. The metaphysical dimensions of theatre are activated by quite different assumptions from the textual and performative ones, sometimes contradicting them, but frequently also supplementing or even reinforcing them. The fact that theatre at critical stages in its development has been closely associated with ritual and religious practices has no doubt inlluenced our perceptions of this form of art. And finally, it is the spectator who carries away the meanings of the theatrical performance, making us imagine or even believe that it is possible to change the world we live in by trying to activate the different psychological and social energies the performance has triggered. This response is caused by the kind of catharsis a particular performance has been able to trigger among the individual spectators. This may perhaps sound somewhat too optimistic, because the complex interaction between performance and this historical world is. as Artaud -whom I quote in the motto to this article - quite clearly understood, also based on the fact that this world is permeated by destructive energies. The creative energies of the theatre can. however, in certain cases be seen as a kind of force that counteracts the destructive energies of history and its painful failures. The Second World War, in particular the Shoah and the use of the atom-bomb, both of which contain clearly distinct but almost unimaginable destructive energies, have profoundly affected our understanding of all expressions of culture, including; the theatre. The notion of 'energy' in the theatre thus also raises the issue of to what extent performances are capable of creating and developing vital and creative energies that are not inherently destructive, and can therefore, ai least ideally, also have a restorative function. Textual energies In his book Shakespearean Negotiations, subtitled The Circulation of Social Energy in Renaissance England. Stephen Greenblatt raised the seemingly obvious question of why Shakespeare's plays are still so relevant to readers and audiences of today. In answering this question Greenblati makes an interesting move between a Foueaultian approach, focusing on the power hegemonies of a certain society, and a much more non-focalised understanding of the textual and performative energies with which Shakespeare's writings are imbued. Greenblatt relates the notion of'energy' both to the power and the hegemony in the social sphere, as expressed in different public discourses and social practices at the time, and to the literal and metaphorical expressions of these practices in the dramatic texts from the same period, On the one hand, and this is a position closely following Foucault, Greenblatt argues that Shakespeare s dramas, 'precipitated out of a sublime confrontation between a total artist and a totalizing society.'s In order to examine the complex interactions between the completely self-absorbed artist and the surrounding society, with Us 'occult network linking all human. 245 ELBM8NT« IND CIRCUMSTANCES Ol P.KFORMANCh i . mic powers [which] generates vivid dreams of access to the :zcj£> n a and T hUr«„ ux at who,e pinnacle „ the symbolic Injure at the monarch. Greenblatt educes the aotioa of'social energy'. This notion, he argue, will enable us " explain a hv the aesthetic power of a Pla> like Kmg Lear m spite ol the foci that .« has been radically refigured' since the play was written almost tour hundred yean ago Mill so strong!) affects ustoday K\ the same time, however, and this enables a much less hegemonic strategy of reading, these rettgurations do not cancel history, locking us into a perpetual present", but are. Greenblatl continues. the signs of the mescapabihty of a historical process, a structured negotiation and exchange, already evident in the initial moments of empowerment. That there is no direct, unmcdiated link between ourselves and Shakespeare's plays does not mean that there is no link at all. The life' that literary works seem to possess long both after the death of the author and the death of the culture for which the author \\\ule i> the l:i-v-ik.r consequence, howc\ cr transformed and refashioned, of the social energy initially encoded in those works. These social energies are. according toGreenblati. embedded within a network of inieriexlual webs, which continue to reverberate within these individual plays long after they were written. He goes on to argue that the aesthetic modes of such social energies have been so powerfully encoded in certain works of art [thai this energy] continues to generate the illusion of life for centuries. Greenblatt closely examines the contemporary textual evidence of certain specific social practices at the time of Shakespeare and how the texts about them can serve as such intertexts with the Shakespearean masterpieces with the aim 'to understand the negotiations through which works of art obtain and amplify such powerful energy.'9 The issue Greenblatt has been able to confront by examining these mter-•c>!u-'1 negotiations is also indirectly concerned with the transformation of the classical masterpieces into performances, and in particular with how the '■■'> - o.. iIn- suge .ire able to communicate the social energies embedded in them to the spectators of today. Because of the living ongoing dialogue that every culture has with the past, such performances will ideally not merefy become archaeological reconstructions or a theme park re-enactment of the "us dialogue will, rather, create a tension between the performance and events depicted, which contain their own social energies based on the ability to perceive and interpret the distance both in time and space between the textual past and the performative present In today's lsraeli culture the Hebrew Bible, i.e. the Old Testament, un- Ztull ?mT": thC5C kinds °f social !«• text has served as the MM both lor the Jewish religion and its traditional practices as well as being 296 THEATRICAL AND T R A N SG R ISSI V E ENERGIES a central ideological platform for the Zionist movement and the establishment of the State of Israel. Hebrew theatre (before the foundation of the State) and Israeli theatre (after 1948) have constantly explored Biblical subjects in order to comment on the present, but also to say something about the past. A play like Hanoch Levin's Job's Sorrows, based on the Book of Job. situates the action of the play in the Roman period, critiquing the Israeli cults of suffering, self-pity and hero-worship. It presents a Job who is unwilling to accept the new Caesar as the ruler of the universe who has decreed that he is the only God. Job. who has denied the existence of God because he has lost all his family and possessions, has a vision of his father, who he believes is God. and since he no longer has anything to lose, he announces his belief in God. His punishment is to have his anus skewered by a spear. Rina YerushalmTs Bible Project, which consists of two performances based on a collage of Biblical texts also presents a critique of the more traditional readings of these texts in the Israeli context. The recital of some of the most familiar Biblical texts by a group of actors who do not play specific roles of Biblical figures, but rather are presented as a group and as individuals, creates a powerful verbal space with moving bodies. Secular audiences, who have studied most of these texts in school, strongly identify with these productions on the emotional as well as intellectual levels. Both these productions, and several more, have taken the Bible as a point of departure for a radical refiguration of the traditional textual materials within a contemporary performance context. Besides their obvious intertex-tual relations to the one singular text, the Bible, which undoubtedly carries a strong mythological weight in contemporary Israeli culture, these productions are indicative of the current hierarchical power structures. They create what Greenblatt has termed "a sublime confrontation between a total artist [or rather a totally absorbing text] and a totalizing society', struggling to overturn the Jewish orthodox hegemony over these classical texts. The two productions I have mentioned here were able to create subversive or transgressive energies by removing the canonised texts from their religious context, and situating them instead within a theatrical one. The very dialectics between the two contexts is in itself a source of theatrical energies. Representation and semiosis Most theatrical performances depict situations in which the individual characters invest different efforts or energies in changing their private or social situation. But the themes represented on stage as a rule also interact on different levels with the aesthetic means of representation. Michael Goldman has described this correlation as a situation in which An actor is not simply a man presenting a careful behaviour of other men. or even of his own behaviour. His relation with what he imitates 297 ILBIIINTS vM-.KdM^-'.......tPOHMANC. i „.wl „wl of rough oquivthncj.....jpresonutioii Wune is ..cvc „ ;>k mimetic.. ...mv-.1v m us becueeof lonKothe. o. more inch* ' P owe, Wefed an energ) preaeul man) goodactoi i perforinaiice [hatgoes beyond the domoaitnitioiioi« hat lome ^ pwsoo «, Uke,M Gokfan in Roee oa to describe .ins energ) of the actor's tn as 'a "terrific" jnern bearing in mind that words root suggestion ol the iwesome and the Icarlul I h^ 1» clearh something thai is also related to catharsis Goldman presents i position that has undoubted!) been strong!) influenced b\ the School of New Criticism, arguing thai there is always something w the drama itself, us plot 01 iU characters, thai enables the actors to realise these energ) potentials of then an structure is meaning. Most forceful in thi> respect are different forms of aggression. But, Goldman argues, I he aggression of the plot is not ihe result of some dramatic law requiring struggle, debate, event, emphasis all of which can he quite undramatie It springs from other aggressions the aggressions of impersonation and performance Ihe plot must offer the actors aggressive energy laud the related aggressive energy of the audience) ample and interesting scope I he effort of the actoi to act and the pleasures thai act me generates are pctveiv cd as pai I of the action of the play, which forms their field.1 It only. Goldman continues when the energies ol the aciing become combined with those of the drama itself that the performance will actually take Us 'real' course. "1 his multi-faceted collocation between the themes of the play and the means of theatrical representation through the acting on the stage clearly contains a meta-ihealrieal dimension, a mode of expression that is self-reflexive. It can perhaps even be viewed as a 'universal of performance* in Herbert Blau'l sense of the term. The theatrical sign, at least as a Utopian potential, actually becomes a kind of In? in itself. For Blau. 'the theatrical genus, the signifying element of theater "can become a sign", as Foucault says, "only on condition that it manifests, in addition, the relation that links it to what -signifies | . . J"'1 The meta-thealrica! link between the theatrical gefftff, ■ specific sign-systems of the theatre, and what a performance signifies, servt-as the basis for the theatrical energies in Blau's thinking. Or. as he has stated •n a more recent publication: 'When we grow weary of the disorder of the world whose disorder spreads through our language so that wc grow exhausted, we retreat to or look for energy in the apparent order of art. its ingrown autonomy. The issue as | hope will become even more clear later on. is ho* ne relationships between the energies in the social field, the revolunon.i transgress.ve energies, and the energies that stem from what Blau terms the mgrown autonomy' of'the apparent order of art' are constituted. THEATRICAL AND TR A N SGRESSI V E ENERGIES This issue, which stems from Plata's critique of the arts, has also quite strongly informed and influenced what we can term the lsemiotic project', the attempts among theatre scholars over approximately the last three decades, to expose and explicate the theatrical codes. One of the basic strategies of this project has been to emphasise the autonomy of the individual components of the 'theatrical text", and this has primarily been based on different principles of segmentation combined with the investigation of their communicative potentials in the synchronic/systemic context of individual performances. Gradually, however, these communicative potentials have in many cases also been formulated theoretically in terms that are closely related to the notion of 'energy1. I will briefly mention two such attempts here. For Patrice Pavis, who has gradually moved in the direction of analysing the individual performance in terms of different vectors or power fields through which it is dynamically organised, developing on a temporal axis, the energies are an expression of the most ephemeral elements of the performance. Pavis has focused on the performance totality of the mise-trt-scene, including such elements as the rhythm and kinetics of the performance, which, he argues, the available scientific language is not yet fully able to depict, In order to confront this apparent embarrassment, the point of departure Pavis has established is that L[t]heatrical production has become impregnated with theorisation. Mise-en-scene is becoming the self-reflexive discourse of the work of art, as well as the audience's desire to theorise."!i The energies of the performance, Pavis argues, have thus become transformed into the desire of the individual spectators to determine how a specific performance functions and is constructed. This desire is based on a curiosity to locate the creative processes through which the performance has been produced, which, ideally at least, are revealed by its meta-theatrical superstructures. Erika Fischer-Lichte's semiotic project has a similar basis. But she has taken a much more direct recourse to psychoanalytic theory in order to answer the question of how it is 'possible for the different subjects participating in the production of a theatrical text to constitute themselves as subjects in the process of that production?'w In her theoretical deliberations Fischer-Lichte refers directly to Julia Kristeva, who offers a formulation of how the instinctual drives of an individual are articulated, and how (quoting Kristeva), Discrete quantities of energy move through the body of the subject who is not yet constituted as such and. in the course of his development, they are arranged according to the various constraints imposed on this body - always already involved in a semiotic process - by family and social structures.17 The basis for Fischer-Lichte's semiotic model of the theatre is the interface between the pre-linguistic, semiotic sphere, and the symbolic one, in the Lacanian sense even, through which the subject is constituted by letting some 299 elements and circumstances of performance kind of (almost irtstinctuaJ) energy flow through the body. This energy in turn becomes organised according to its own con.t.tuhonal constraints in craning what Fischer-Lichte terms the 'body-texl\ She focuses on the work of the actor and how his individual physique masters the text by making it u extension of itself *. creating The text a second lime - under his body's own specific conditions - both as something foreign to him and as something integral to his body.'" We must, therefore, she argues, '[concentrate predominantly on the question how the praxis of individual interpretation is accomplished by the different subjects involved in the process of constituting the theatrical text?" And this is clearly a question of how different instinctual energies are channelled into social communication. I he question Pavis focuses on is the constitution of the mise-en-scene as an assembly of elements, which in various ways creates a meta-theatrical key to the performance. A dieainca] performance is in some way always self-reflcxive. drawing attention to the way it is made, and the energies created by a specific performance stem from the curiosity of the spectators to solve the riddles this specific performance poses. For Fischer-Lichte on the other hand the energies expressed by a specific production basically stem from the constitution of a 'subject-in-process' within the framework of a performance. This process has its source in the instinctual drives of the actors, but il certainly does not exclude the possibility that il can also directly affect the spectators. For both, however, the communication created by a performance remains within the spheres of the "semiotic project' examining sign-systems, which by themselves, but primarily in alignment with each other, give rise to dynamic and constantly changing processes of interpretation. Performance energies The notion of 'energy' has undoubtedly been most frequently used in the writings of theatre directors summarising their experiences of working with actors for specific performances or in different workshop contexts. These views have no doubt been formulated from a hegemonic position, summarising what these directors have been able to 'do' to the actors, releasing or liberating various kinds of performative energies from or through them while working with them or thinking about the work retrospectively. Examining the ways in which the notion of'energy' has been employed in the writings of three contemporary directors (Richard Sehechner, Eugenio Barba and Peter Brook) provides just a sample from the wealth of writings in this specific area, and enables the distinction between several interesting kinds of emphasis. According to Schechner. who is the most academic of these directors, "the sense of heing taken over by a role, of being possessed by il in its "flow" or in the flow ol the audience's appetite for illusion, f udus. Hla: play,'31 is of central importance, The transformation that takes place during the performance itself, he claims, is a kind of 'absorption into the center' This, he adds is 300 THEATRICAL AND T K A N SG R ESS I V E ENERGIES point where The chief parallel between performance and ritual process" can be discerned.1 Schechner presents what could be termed a more passive-view of the energies generated in and by a performance, arguing that the •surrender to the flow of action is the ritual process" through which what he terms the 'restored behaviour' of acting originates.- Some of Schechners formulations even point in a direction where it would be possible to draw the conclusion that acting is like a kind of sleepwalking activity. Eugenio Barba, on the other hand, for whom 'energy" is a very central notion in his thinking about theatre, presents a much more activist understanding of the actor's energies. Stemming from what Barba terms the 'dilated body', the energies are like a kind of theatrical Trickery*, because '[t'here are certain performers who attract the spectator with an elementary energy which •seduces" without mediation. This occurs before the spectator has either deciphered individual actions or understood their meanings."'1 The performer's presence holds a special force and attraction: The dilated body is above all a glowing body, in the scientific sense of the term: the particles which make up daily behaviour have been excited and produce more energy, they have undergone an increment of motion, they move further apart, attract and oppose each other with more force, in a restricted or expanded spaced4 The metaphors Barba has employed are taken from a more scientific field than those of Schechner. From a more practical perspective, the energy of the actor is most effectively produced by what Barba calls The negation principle'. This principle can be applied to the concrete work of the actors, both in training as well as during their work on the stage: There is a rule which performers know well: begin an action in the direction opposite to that to which the action will finally be directed. This rule recreates a condition essential to all those actions which in daily life demand a certain amount of energy: before striking a blow, one draws one's arm back; before jumping, one bends ones knees; before springing forward, one leans backwards: rentier pour mieux sauierr* This principle can, as Barba himself has no doubt also seen, somewhat simplistically be transformed into a kind of magic Trick' in which the actor uses The negation principle' to seduce the spectators rather than inviting them to participate emotionally or intellectually in the theatrical creation. At ihe same time, however, it is important to note that Barba conceives of theatrical energy as a visible tension between two directions of bodily movement, not primarily as a flow, as Schechner does. 301 elements ^ND CIRCUMSTANCES Of PERFORMANCE peter Brook baa presented s more dialectical view of theatrical energies. He claimed thai l[w]e know thai the world of appearance is a crust [... andl under the crusi is the boiling matte, we see if w* peer into a volcano. 1 his leads him lo the question: How can we tap dus energy?" In another interview Brook developed his quasi-scientific metaphors, first comparing the theatrical event with an explosion', in which sometimes the exact same combination of element^ * ill cause an explosion, while at other times nothing at all will happen. Brook then reflected on how (he carhon-arc lamp, when the two electric poles meet, generates light. The crucial difference for the intensity of the light produced depends on the resistance to the flow of energies. For this reason Brook also sees the meeting between audience and actors as crucial At the outset, these two elements are separated. The audience represents multiple sources of energy, as many as there are spectators, but these sources are not concentrated. In itself, the audience is just like the carbon-are lamp: it has no intensity, each individual's energy is diffuse and dispersed. There is nothing inside any of these individuals which could make them sources of intensity in themselves. An event will only occur if each one of these individual instruments become attuned. Then all you need for something to happen is for a single vibration to pass through the auditorium but it cannot be produced if tile thousand harps that represent the audience are not tuned in the same way, to the same tension. The same thing occurs with the actors. The first step in a performance is a process of gathering and focusing the dispersed energies of the audience, which in turn reflect the dispersed energies of the aciors.'K The goal in any theatrical event is to tune the different energy sources, thos of the actors as well as those of the spectators, and to make them flow within the new collective that has been created. The aim is of course to make these energies visible and understandable for the spectators, to make Ihem eomniun icative on the aesthetic as well as on the emotional and the intellectual levels According lo Rrook the actor constantly struggles between opposing principles Acting is in many ways unique in its difficulties because the artist has lo use the treacherous, changeable and mysterious material olTiim-sell as his medium. He is called upon to be completely involved while distanced - detached without detachment, He must he sincere, he must be insincere: he must practice how to be insincere with since it < and how to he truthfully.29 f his paradoxical situation creates the basis for quite a different undei standinp ot the energies on which the actor bases his/her art compared t. Schechner and Barba. Instead of the unidirectional How proposed h\ s 302 THüATRlfAL AND TRANSCJRLSS1VK ENERGIES or the bidirectional conjuring movement of Barha, Brook sees the art of acting as an expression of forces or energies working simultaneously in different directions and on different levels. The interaction between revolutionär) and theatrical energies, the energies that have changed the world and almost brought about its destruction and those that are hoped to become significant on the stage, creates a performance in which political and social changes can sometimes be both creatively imagined and perceived. Metaphysical energies The question of in what sense theatre and performance reveal metaphysical energies is much more complex than the discursive practices examined so far. My aim here is not to define what such energies are. 1 am not sure this can be done. But since theatre as an art-form has always been considered in the context of different religious and ritual practices, and since these practices are supposedly also a source of energy and power, what I wish to examine very briefly here is in what sense do such practices intensify an individual theatrical performance? As I have argued above, theatre has the ability to make sudden leaps between different ontological spheres that as a rule arc separated from each other, and to combine them in new and unexpected ways. The stage is actually the 'site' where such ontological systems are brought together, even within ihe fictional world itself. 7 he ontological sphere, which frequently appears in theatrical performances and which is obviously connected to different religious belief-systems, is represented by the appearance of supernatural creatures. Even people who are deeply committed to a secular world-view - and today this seems to be the norm rather than an exception, at least among theatre-goers are willing to accept that super-natural creatures can appear on the stage in performances. Throughout the history of the theatre various stage-machineries and other theatrical conventions have been employed to enable the appearance of supernatural beings. The most obvious examples are the pagan gods in the Classical Greek theatre, God and the Devil on the medieval stages, and the appearance of ghosts of dead people in Elizabethan theatre. Even the non-appearance of Godot in Beckett's now classical Waiting for Godot, around which the entire 'action' of this play revolves, alludes directly to such a metaphysical dimension, which like so many other things in the world of Didi and Gogo no longer exists. Regardless of whether the appearance of such supernatural creatures is aimed at affirming the belief in them or is presented in an ironic light, as a critique of their 'existence', they are usually endowed with a kind of energy and authority that radically changes the given situation on stage. The appearance of the ghost of Hamlet's dead father, regardless of the beliefs of the spectators, is the supernatural force from whose appearance the whole play evolves. The theatrical machineries and conventions through which such supernatural clitics appear on stage in contemporary theatre are still saturated with traces 303 ELEMENTS AND CIRCUMSTANCES OF PERFORMANCE from earlier historical periods, when there was a much greater acceptance of the belief-systems on which their 'existence' was based. While our enjoyment today of the Oresteia is probably not impaired by the tact that we do not believe in the Greek gods, our understanding of Aeschylus' trilogy is undoubtedly more limited than it was in the society for which it was composed. Even if we only have a very limited access to the belief-systems on which this play is based we are. however, still able to appreciate the use of theatrical conventions like the deus ex mm him. The appearance of a god on stage, usually from above, in the central back-stage area, traditionally expresses the belief that the sods possess the power and ability to change the lives of humans in a positive manner. But even if the gods supposedly no longer possess this kind of power, the machineries through which they appeared on the stage are still frequently used on our own contemporary stages as a kind of 'memory-trace' of the power they apparently possessed in the past. This potential to change the human situation can even be seen as a kind of energy, which the theatrical traditions themselves have preserved, although the device itself can no longer claim its traditional potency. As I have shown in detail in another context, transformations or ironical elaborations of the deus ex machina have also frequently been employed in modern theatre, in plays such as August Strindberg's The Dream Play or in Bertolt Brecht's Three Penny Opera and The Good Person of Sezuan: while Waiting for Godot clearly shows that this traditional machinery does not work anymore.30 In the modern theatre this convention is an expression of a metaphysical rupture and a void that can apparently not be filled. We are now. 1 believe, at a stage when the actor can also gradually be redefined in metaphysical terms, as an individual human being imbued with otherworldly energies and forms of knowledge. This view of course has strong roots in different Oriental practices of the art of acting, which have become integrated in Western theatre through direct or-theoreticians such as Stamslavski, Brecht and Artaud. One of the most poignant contemporary expressions of such metaphysical understanding of the actor in a Western context can be found in Wim Wenders' film Der Himmel tiber Berlin {Wings oj Desire, 1987) depicting the then still divided city, in which the actor is viewed as a fallen angel. Its sequel So Weit und so Nahe (So Far and So Close, 1993), which takes place in Berlin after the wall was dismantled and the two Gennanies were unified, more or less preserves this initial metaphysical conception. The first film depicts the fall of the angel Damiel, because of his love for the trapeze artist, Marion. As a fallen angel, who is also an exceptional human being, he meets the actor Peter Falk, who confesses that he too is a lormer angel. This is undoubtedly also a form of deus ex machina. The second mm shows how the fallen angels (the artists) and the angels who remain angels perform good deeds together. They are. however, not able to change the evils of the world in any radical way ™l?d,t'°nal,!y the angel nas been seen both as a servant of the divine powers as well as a figure of revolt against them. Through its fall, the angel 304 THEATRICAL AND TR A NSG RES SI V E ENERGIES accumulates a kind of spiritual power and knowledge, which for Wenders is directly connected with the art of acting and the ability to tell the story of the past In the wake of Second World War the angel has become a witness of the tragic failures of history. Walter Benjamin's seminal formulations on history in his essay 'Ober den BegrilTder Geschichte' (Theses on the Philosophy of History) written in 1941. during the Second Woild War. presents Mich a position. According to Benjamin; to articulate the past historically does not mean to recognize it The way it really was' (Ranke). It means to seize hold of a memory as it flashes up at a moment of danger. Historical materialism wishes to retain that image of the past which unexpectedly appears to man singled out by history at a moment of danger. The danger affects both the content of the tradition and its receivers/ The theatre, when it is good, could be seen as the arena or locus where such sparks of memory can both be created and perceived in the form of theatrical images. The memories from the past through which history can be performed appear during such moments of danger, when we have a sense that something from such a fearful past is repeating itself, that it is appearing again, just like the ghost of Hamlet's father. When this happens, Benjamin argues, it affects not only that past, as it is reformulated in the present, but can also have a deep effect on the spectators in the theatre. In one of the more famous passages from his fragmentary essay on history, Benjamin has also presented a concrete image of such a memory - Paul Klee's painting Angelus Novus": A Klee painting named 'Angelus Novus' shows an angel looking as though he is about to move away from something he is fixedly contemplating. His eyes are staring, his mouth is open, his wings are spread. This is how one pictures the angel of history. His face is turned toward the past. Where we perceive a chain of events, he sees one single catastrophe which keeps piling wreckage upon wreckage and hurls it in front of his feet. The angel would like to stay, awaken the dead, and make whole what has been smashed. But a storm is blowing from Paradise; it has got caught in his wings with such violence that the angel can no longer close them. This storm irresistibly propels him into the future to which his back is turned, while the pile of debris before him grows skyward. This storm is what we call progress/2 rhis is the angel of history who is at the same time both historian and actor, ^ught by the destructive energies that it perceives as one smgle catastrophe. •« its attempts to tap these creative energies, to awaken the dead, to resurrect ELEMENTS AND CIRCUMSTANCES OF PERFORMANCE them (which is one of the things that the theatre can do), the angel is hurled into the gradually evolving future by the storm 'we call progress'. This is indeed a very complex image, which can be given a constantly growing number of interpretations. In Klee's painting, however, the angel is facing the viewer and we do not see its back. This means, if we interpret the painting in theatrical terms, that the viewer's back is turned on the past and s/he is looking into the future. This points at an implicit Utopian dimension, another way of reading and performing the failures of the past through the completion of history. Benjamin also confirms such a Utopian possibility in his essay on the philosophy of history, claiming that in every era the attempt must be made anew to wrest tradition away from a conformism that is about to overpower it. The Messiah comes not only as the redeemer, he comes as the subduer of Antichrist. Only that historian will have the gift of fanning the spark of hope in the past who is firmly convinced that even the dead will not be safe from the enemy if he wins. And this enemy has not ceased to be victorious.33 The theatre constantly strives to reaffirm such impulses for liberation expressed by the actor who through his or her creative energies is able to stand up for the dead. This is at least one of the reasons why the theatre can have such an exciting and deep effect on us and can even, in some cases, become restorative. The energies of the spectator The final issue I want to examine briefly here is that of how the energies that the spectator might experience during and as a result of a theatrical performance - what we usually call catharsis, usually referred to in English as purgation of the emotions of pity and fear - can be formulated. The wide range of discussions on catharsis that have been carried out since Aristotle undoubtedly points at the inherent difficulties of formulating the more general principles concerning the subjective reactions of spectators watching a specific performance. There seem to be no objective criteria for communicating and examining the feelings a performance elicits among its spectators. The emotions it triggers must rather lead to a mixture of conjectures and speculations. One of the possible strategies to cope with this problematic issue is based on an attempt to distinguish performance devices, which are likely to create a strong emotional impact among the spectators. One such device is the participation of a spectator-witness in the performance itself. As I have previously pointed out,3,1 because such an on-stage witness is a transgressive 306 THEATRICAL AND TRANSGRESSIVE ENERGIES Character, trying to gam information about the other characters in illicit ways, the witness frequently becomes a victim of some form of violence. Polonius' who is killed by Hamlet while eavesdropping behind the arras in Gertrude's closet, actually becomes the victim of his own transgression, while trying to find out the cause of Hamlet's madness. The Transgression' of the actual spectators of the performance, however, who are in a sense also eavesdropping on the characters on the stage, remains unpunished. One of the reasons for this is that instead of "punishing' the spectators for eavesdropping, performances as a rule contain situations in which the on-stage eavesdropper-witness becomes victimized as a sacrificial scapegoat. The eavesdropper is sacrificed instead of the spectator. The cathartic process consists of the more or less unconscious negotiation a spectator makes with him/herself, from having identified with the eavesdropper at the moment he (and eavesdroppers are as a rule men) becomes exposed to some kind of threat. When the transgression of the eavesdropper on stage is punished, the spectators, who according to this scheme have fell both pity and fear, become ritually cleansed of these feelings. This cleansing carries a potential for creating emotional energies for the spectator, for not having been punished for his/her transgressive scopophilic activity. This process of identification with the eavesdropper, which is interrupted when the eavesdropper becomes victimised, also constitutes the basis for the theatrical ritual. The emotional process this implies can also bring all the other onto-logical fields of energy together, unifying them in what we could call the 'total experience' of a theatrical performance. Notes 1 This article is based on my lecture at the symposium on "Revolution and Institutionalization in the Theatre', at the Department for Theatre Studies, Tel Aviv University, June 1999. It is a somewhat different and more expanded version ol a chapter in my forthcoming book Performing History: Theatrical Representations of the Past in Contemporary Theatre, which will be published by the University of Iowa Press in November 2000. 2 See Richard Lanham, A Handlist of Rhetorical Terms, Berkeley. University ol California Press. 1991: 64-65. xi 3 Plato, Ion*. In The Dialogues of Plato, Vol. 1. Trans. B. Jowett. New York: Random House. 1937:288-289, . . r _ t( 4 Pierre Klossowski. Sade my Neighbour. Trans. Alphonso Luga. London: Quartet Books, 1992: 21 [emphasis mine. F.R.]. , . . . _ „„, 5 Stephen Greenblatt, Shakespearean Negotiations. The Circulation o Social Energy in Renaissance England, Berkeley: University of California Press. 19««. -. 6 Greenblatt, ibid,; 2. 1 Greenblatt. ibid.; 6 (emphasis mine. F.R.). 8 Greenblatt, ibid.; 7. 9 Greenblatt. ibid.; 7. , _, en,,,*, N^York "> Michael Goldman. The Actors Freedom: Toward* Theory of Drama. New York. The Viking Press. 1975; 5. 307 ELEMENTS fc.NI) CIRCl MSI \M IS Ol PI RHiKMASi i- 11 Goldman, ibid.; 7. 12 Goldman, ibid.: 23 24. 13 Herberl Blau, /7k fve oj Prey: Subversions oj the Postmodern, Bloomington; Indiana l ni\orsit> Pros. 1987: 165. 14 Herben Blau. To \il Appearences Ideology and Performance, New York and London: Roulledee. I1)')1. 5f. I> Patrice Pavis. Theatre at the Crossroads oj Culture. Trans. Loren Krüger London and New York: Routledge. 1992; 39. 16 Erika Fischer-Lichte, The Semiotics of Theater. Trans. Jeremy Gaines and Doris L. Jones. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. 1992: 182. 17 Quoted by Fischer-Lichte, ibid.: 183. 18 Fischer-Lichte, ibid.; 183. 19 Fischer Lichte, ibid.: 185. :n Richard Seheehner. Between Theatre ami Anthropol<>i!\ Philadelphia; l ikutmu of Pennsylvania Press. 1985; 124. 21 Seheehner. ibid.: 119. 22 Seheehner. ibid.; 124. 23 Eugenio Barba. Tin Seen t Art <■! tin A t immer- I />/: a,-nary of Theatre Anthropology. London: Rout ledge. 1991; 54. 24 Barba. ibid.; 54. 25 Barba, ibid.: 57. 26 Peter Brook, The Empty Span-. New York: Atheneum. 1982: 57. 27 Peter BtooL Any Event Stems from Combustion: Actors, Audiences and Theatrical Energy' (Interview with Jean Kaiman). New Theatre Quarterly. VIII. May J992: 107. 28 Brook, 1992. ibid.; 108. 29 Brook, 1982. ibid.; 117. .10 Freddie Rokem. A Walking <\ngel On the Performative Functions of the Human Body', Assaph: Studies m the Theatre, 8, 1992: 113 126. 31 In Waller Benjamin. Illuminations. Trans. Harry Zohn. New York: Schocken Books. 1969; 255 32 Benjamin, ibid.: 257-8. 33 Benjamin, ibid.: 255. 34 Freddie Rokem. 'To hold as 'twere a mirror up to the spectator: 'Katharsis' - A Performance Perspective'. Assaph: Studies in Theatre, 12. 1996; 101-109. 79 PERFORMANCE ART AND RITUAL Bodies in performance Erika Fischer-Lichte Source Theatre Restart h International 22( 111199"?): 22 37 1. Discovering performativity During the summer school at Black Mountain College in 1952. an 'untitled event' took place, initiated by John (.'ago. The participants included, besides (age. the pianist David Tudor, the composer Jay Watts, the painter Robert Rauschcnbcrg. the dancer Merce Cunningham and the poets Mary, Caroline Richards and Charles Olscn. Preparations for the event' were minimal. Each performer was given a 'score" which consisted purely of 'time brackets' to indicate moments of action, inaction and silence that each performer was expected to fill. Thus, it was guaranteed that there would be no causal relationship between the different actions and 'anything that happened after that, happened in the observer himself",1 The audience wn^ gathered from other participants at the summer school, members of the college staff and their families, and people from the surrounding countryside. The seals for the spectators were set out in the dining hall of the college in Iront of each wall in the form of four triangles, whose tips pointed to the centre of the room without touching each other. Thus, a large free space was created in the centre of the room in which, as it happened, very little action took place. Spacious aisles between the triangles crossed the room diagonally. A white cup was placed on each seat. The spectators did not receive an> explanation; some used the cups as ashtrays. From the ceiling were bMft Paintings by Robert Rauschcnbcrg his "white paintings". age. in a black sun and tie, stood on a stepladder and read a text on 'the ;M 1,1 Tm,Mt',n Buddhism" and excerpts from Master Eckhart. U«r « Wormed a composition with a radio". At the same time, Rauschenberj Played old records on a wind-up gramophone u ,th a trumpet while a listening PERFORMANCE ART AND RITUAL dog sat beside it, and David Tudor played a "prepared piano". A little later Tudor started to pour water from one bucket into another, while Olsen and Richards read from the.r poetry, either amongst the spectators, or standing on a ladder leaning against one of the walls. Cunningham and others danced through the aisles chased by the dog who, in the meantime, had turned mad.: Rauschenberg projected abstract slides (created by coloured gelatine sandwiched between the glass) and clips of film onto the paintings on the ceiling; the film clips showed first the school cook, and then, as they gradually moved from the ceiling down the walls, the setting sun. Jay Watt sat in a corner and played different instruments. At the end of the performance four boys, dressed in white, served coffee into the cups, regardless of whether the spectators had used them as ashtrays or not. There can be no doubt that the 'untitled event' is to be regarded as a remarkable event in the theatre history of Western culture, as much of the relationship created between performers and spectators, as of the kind of interaction between the different arts. At first glance, it may appear as though the spatial arrangement favoured a focusing of the centre. During the performance, however, it became clear that such central focus did not exist. The spectators were able to direct their attention to different actions taking place simultaneously, whether in different parts of the room, or joining and overlapping. Moreover, they were in such a position that wherever they looked, they always saw other spectators involved in the act of perceiving. In other words, the actions were not to be perceived in isolation from each other, nor were they unrelated to the other perceiving spectators, despite the fact that they were not causally related to each other, and the perspective on other spectators was not determined or controlled. On the other hand, by placing a cup on each seat, one element was introduced that challenged the spectators to act without, however, prescribing how. They could pick it up. handle it. put it on the Moor, throw it to another spectator, hide it in their bags, use it as an ashtray. Whatever the case, the cup challenged the spectators to act at the beginning of the performance as well as at the end (after the boys had poured the coffee) without forcing them to do anything in particular. In the performance, different arts were involved; music, painting, film, dance, poetry. They were not united into a Wagnerian Gesamtkunsmerk-rather, it seems that their unrelated coexistence closely approximated Wagner s nightmare, 'of, for example, a reading of a Goethe novel and the performance of a Beethoven symphony taking place in an art gallery amongst various statues',3 nor was their use motivated, caused or justified by a common goal or function; they were only co-ordinated by the Time brackets'. None the less correspondence did occur in the particular style of their appearance. They all Privileged the performative mode: the music was played, the poetry recited, the film shown, painting was performed in so far as Rauschenberg changed his white paintings by projecting slides onto them, 'pamtmg them over , and 229 VISUAL ART AND PI KK)RMA\( I A K I dance is always realized as an action - or movement. The 'union of the arts', the iransüivssion of the borders or the dissolution of the borderlines separating one art From another, was accomplished here because all were realized in a performative mode. Thus the performative function was foregrounded, cither bv radically reducing the referential function (for instance, in the unrclatedness of the actions, which could not be connected into a stars or a meaningful symbolic' configuration: or by the refusal to give the untitled' event a title), or by emphatically stressing the performative function (for instance, by the arrangement of actions or by the emphasis put on the fact that it was an 'untitled event'.) Thus, one can conclude that the historical relevance of the "untitled event' is founded on its discovery of the performative. That is not to say that European culture has not been performative before the 1950s. Quite the contrary going back through the centuries we find that from the Middle Ages to the end of the eighteenth century, European culture can most adequately be described as a predominantly performative culture. Even in the eighteenth century, when alphabetization and literacy grew among the middle class, reading was seldom performed as a silent act in isolation from others, but rather as reading aloud to others in different kinds of circles. Therefore it is noi an exaggeration to -täte that Furopean culture, at least until the end of the eighteenth century (and in many areas throughout the nineteenth century, too) consisted largely of different genres of cultural performance. The term 'cultural performance' was coined by the American anthropologist Milton Singer. In the 1950s Singer used the term to describe 'particular instances of cultural organization, for instance, weddings, temple festival recitatives, plays, dances, musical concerts, and so on'.4 According to Singer, a culture articulates its self-understanding and self-image in cultural perform anccs which it presents and exposes to its members as well as to outsiders. 'For the outsider, these can conveniently be taken as the most concrete observable units of the cultural structure, for each performance has a definitely limited time span, a beginning and end, an organized programme of activity, a set ol performers, an audience and a place and occasion of performance.*5 Whereas until the 1950s, a consensus existed among Western scholars that culture is produced and manifested in its artefacts (texts and monuments which, accordingly have been taken as the proper objects of study in the humanities. Singer drew attention to the fact that culture is also produced anJ manifested in performances. He established the performative as a constitutive function of culture and provided another convincing argument for the importance of the performative mode in culture. Culture as a predominantly material culture, consisting of and formed bv documents and monuments, had become a prevailing concept in the nun teenth century, although, even then, the notion was vigorously attacked as. lor instance, by Friedrich Nietzsche. None the less, it was this action which greatly influenced, if not determined, the development not onl> oftbe 230 ľi RFORMANCI \i< i ani. MTUAI ,umlll„,i,os. bul iIm ol othni cultural dometna In theatre foi example the ptrfermativo arl p» MfeWW, the Meiningei foregrounded the Hieran lťXi of Dm dumm, on the one hand which nftoi man> yenn ol adaptation wrts thin no longei opon to reviaion and the preaorvable elementu ol the tatfbrmance auch is the sei nud the coetumea, on the othei i 'ulture, accord taj to nineteenth eontur) common belief, was manlteated in and raaulted In irteňtcU which could be preserved and handed down ii> the nexl generation U was againtl this thai avani gardhtl movement« such aa the luturiata] dadaiata and aurrealiata directed their tierce attacka, proclaiming thedeatruc don of the museums and hailing velocitj and ephemerality 11 the true culture oreating forcaaol the future In thiareipect, the Futuriat iww*and the Padalai xoirtrs can be seen as 'forerunnera1 to Cage'i 'untitled event1 Bui while the luiuiisis and dadalata Ibcuaed on the dealruotive tones ol theh parformancea in order to shock lite audiences 'dpMtOI le bourgeoll' Prepared pmno\ to dance through the aisles, climb a ladder, or operate ihc projector, and so on. When the performers spoke, they cither recited their auth. , L7k y 11 c,mr ,hat lhc* wcre from texts bs other authors In tins way questions concerning fictional characters, their histories. 232 PERFORM a nc] a h i AND RITUAL actions, or psychological motivations could not arise: real people performed real actions in a real space in a real time. What was at slake was the performance of actions-not the relation of actions to a fictional character in a fictional story in a fictional world, or to one another, so that a 'meaningful whole-might come into existence. Even the role of the spectator was redefined. Since the referential function lost its priority, the spectators did not need to search for given meanings or struggle to decipher possible messages formulated in the performance. Instead, they were in a position to view the actions performed before their eyes and ears as raw iuaten.il. and let then eyes wander between the simultaneously performed actions; they were allowed not to search for any meaning, or to accord whatever meaning occurred to them to single actions. Thus, looking on was redefined as an activity, a doing, according to their particular patterns of perception, their associations and memories as well as on the discourses in which they participated At the beginning of ihe 1950s, the artefact in Western culture was held to be the absolute constitutive factor of any art. Dramatic theatre proceeded from a literary text, music composed or interpreted scores, poetry created texts and the fine arts produced works. Various hermeneutic processes of interpretation proceeded from such artefacts, and returned to them in order to substantiate or justify different interpretations 1 he ai icfact dominated the performance process to such an extent that its production (writing, composing, painting, sculpting), or its transformation into a performance (in theatre and concert) as well as of the performance itself and its reception, had almost entirely slipped out of sight. The 'untitled event' dissolved the artefact into performance. Texts were recited, music was played, paintings were painted over'- the artefacts became the actions. Thus, the borders between the different arts shifted. Poetry, music, and the fine arts ceased to function merely as poetry, music, or fine arts— they were simultaneously realized as performance art. They all changed into theatre. Not only did the 'untitled event' redefine theatre by focusing on its performative function; it also redefined the other arts. These were realized and described as performance. But, as mentioned before, the different arts did not unite' in a Wagnerian liesanuktmstwerk. but into theatre, the performative art par excellence. Thus, the -untitled event" not only blurred the borderlines between theatre and the other arts, but also those between theatre and other kinds of cultural performance'. A theatre performance is to be regarded as a particular genre of cultural performance which, by realizing the features identified by Singer, partly differs from other genres of cultural performance as. tor instance, ritual, political ceremony, festival, games, competition, lectures, concerts, poetry readings, film shows, and so on, and partly overlaps with them. The untitled event' was realized as a theatre performance m the course of which lectures, poetry readings, a film show, a slide-show, concerts, tableaux 233 PĽRhORMANCH ART AND RlTlJAI actions, or psychological motivations could run arise: real people performed real actions in a real space ,n a real time. What was at stake was the performance of actions-not the relation of actions to a fictional character in a fictional story in a fictional world, or to one another, so that a 'meaningful whole-might come into existence. Even the role of the spectator was redefined. Since the referential function lost its priority, the spectators did not need to search for given meanings or struggle to decipher possible messages formulated in the performance. Instead they were in a position to view the actions performed before their eyes and ears as raw material, and let their eyes wander between the simultaneously performed actions; they were allowed not to search for any meaning, or to accord whatever meaning occurred to them to single actions. Thus, looking on was redefined as an activity, a doing, according to their particular patterns of perception, their associations and memories as well as on the discourses in which they participated. At the beginning of the l°ot)i. the art e tact in Western culture was he k I to be the absolute constitutive factor of any art. Dramatic theatre proceeded from a literary text, music composed or interpreted scores. poetry created texts and the fine arts produced works. Various hermeneuttc processes of interpretation proceeded from such artefacts, and returned to them in order to substantiate or justify different interpretations. The artefact dominated the performance process to -.uch an extent that its production (writing, composing, painting, sculpting), or its transformation into a performance (in theatre and concert) as well as of the performance itself and its reception, had almost entirely slipped out of sight. The 'untitled event' dissolved the artefact into performance. Texts were recited, music was played, paintings were 'painted over' -the artefacts became the actions. Thus, the borders between the different arts shifted. Poetry, music, and the fine arts ceased 10 function merely as poetry, music, or line arts— they were simultaneously realized as performance art. They all changed into theatre. Mot only did the "untitled event' redefine theatre by focusing on its performative function; it also redefined the other arts. These were realized and described as performance. But, as mentioned before, the different arts did not 'unite' in a Wagnerian Oesamtkumtwerk, but into theatre, the performative art par excellence. Thus, the 'untitled event' not only blurred the borderlines between theatre and the other arts, but also those between theatre and other kinds of cultural performance'. A theatre performance is to be regarded as a particular genre of cultural performance which, by realizing the features identified by Singer, partly differs from other genres of cultural performance as, for instance, ritual, political ceremony, festival, games, competition, lectures, concerts, poetry ladings, film shows, and so on, and partly overlaps with (hem. The 'untitled event' was realized as a theatre performance in the course of which lectures, poetry readings, a film show, a slide-show, concerts, tableaux 233 MM M A K I AND PERFORMANCI A U I ^< ami in culture in general, was unmistakably articulated and uncompromisingly realized in the untitled event' One could state thai Cage's untitled event' and Austin's speech act ihcory heralded the era of a new performative culture and were its first momentous manitesiations. I or such a performative culture, theatre understood as performative art pmr excelkme* as realized in performance art could serve as a model. [f theatre is understood as the paradigm of performative art and. in this sense as the model of performative culture, what, since the I9ť>0s, has it contributed to ihe development of such a new performative culture? This issue will be addressed h\ drawing on some examples from so called performance art. Many performances consist ol the performance of everyday practices. For instance, in the piece Cycle for Water Buckets, first performed in 1962, the ILUXUS artist lomas Schmil, knelt in a circle formed by ten to thirty buckets or hordes, one of which wlis filled with water Clockwise, he poured ils contents from bucket to bucket until all the water was spilled or evaporated. H> taking the action out of all possible context, the search for its intention, purpose, consequence or meaning was doomed to be as unsuccessful or, at least to remain as undecided as in the case of the elements in the untitled event'. The focus lay on the very process by which the action was perlormed. The spectators witnessed how Schmil poured water from bucket to bucket, and since the context in which such an activity could be performed in everyday life was lacking, one could not attribute a meaning to it- as. for example, preparing to clean the floor, extinguishing a fire, tilling a Hough, cleaning a bucket/bottle, demonstrating a safe hand, and so on: Schmil'* action could moan all this, something else or just what it was: pouring water Irom one bucket/bottle into the next. Oilier performances allude to or draw on different genres of eulti pe rniancc: r,,Ui,,s- fertiv*»*. services of all kinds, carnival, circus perfor ' '°*s ■'' ' i.'i'-gio.md, sion idling, ballad singing, concerts, spor -us ;„h1 st, on. In such cultural performances, culture always was (and is defined and realized as performative. That is not to say thai artefact* are 04 * l1° ,U>1 P,a> a P^minent role. Quite the contrary, in many culU 234 PERFORMANCE ART AND RITUAL performances some kind of artefacts are needed, some are even essential for the realization of the performance. However, they only function or are able to display their special power as elements of a performative process, and not as artefacts. Therefore the use of artefacts in a cultural performance by no means entails a reduction of its performativity. Since cultural performances emphasize the performative character of culture, it seems wise to proceed from performances that refer in one way or another to a genre of cultural performance when embarking on an investigation of theatre's contribution to the development of a new performative culture. In view of the great variety of possible genres of cultural performances referred to by performance artists, however, I shall restrict my explorations to performances which, in one way or another, have taken recourse to a particularly basic genre, namely the performance of rituals. 2. Performing ritual or the ritualization of performance? Second action of Nitscft's 'orgy mystery theatre' The walls of the main room are covered in white hessian splashed with paint, blood and bloody water, on a meat hook, at the end of a rope hanging from the ceiling, hangs a slaughtered, bloody, skinned lamb (head down), a white cloth is spread out on the gallery floor, beneath the lamb, and on it lie the blood-soaked intestines, the lamb is swung across the room, the walls, the floor and the spectators are splashed with blood, blood is poured out of buckets over the lamb's innards and the floor of the gallery, the actor losses raw eggs against the walls and onto the floor and chews a tea-rose, the bloody lambskin hangs on the blood spattered hessian wall, more blood is splashed over it.6 The action lasted thirty minutes and was accompanied by music by the Greek composer Logothetis: loud noises were created by the composer as he drove his hand, in rubbing and pressing movements, over the taut skin of a drum. The action was performed by Hermann Nitsch on 16 March 1963 in the Dvorak gallery in Vienna. It was his second 'action'. Nitsch had trained as a graphic designer and developed the later so-called 'action art' by way of 'action painting', in which he poured red colour on a canvas in the presence of onlookers. After initial attempts at concrete poetry and drama. Nitsch's second action already contains almost all the elements constitutive of his 'Orgy Mystery Theatre', which are constantly repeated regardless of whether the performance lasts thirty minutes, fifteen hours (as his seventh action, which took place on 16 January 1965 in his apartment and studio) or six days (as the play planned for the Prinzendorf Schloß). AH the elements used by Nitsch in a performance are characterized by two main features. They are all highly symbolic and they provoke a strong sensual 235 VISUAL aki aim' rr.Tvrwi\j*irt^t l j\ j mtprcssion Nitsch himself has listed a number ol symbolic associations that can be presupposed tor any of the elements. Concerning the entrails he specl.es: •slaughter house, sacred killing, slaughter, animal sacrifice, human sacrifice, primitive sacrifice, hunt. war. surgical operation". Amongst possible sensual impressions he mentions: blood-warm, blood-soaked, malleable, resilient, stuffed to bursting, to puncture, to crush, a stream of excrement, the intensive odour of raw meat and excrement'. To the element 'blood' Nitsch assigns symbolic associations: Ted wine. Eucharist, the blood of Christ, sacrifice, human sacrifice, animal sacrifice, slaughter, primitive sacrifice, sacred killing. hfe luiees". and sensual impressions: body-warm, warm from the slaughter, blood-soaked, wet. bright, blood-red liquid, to be splattered, poured, paddled in. salty taste, wounding, killing, a white dress smeared with blood, menstrual blood, the stench of blood'. With regard 10 'flesh" Nil sell names the following symbolic associations: "bread. Eucharist, the transformation of bread into the body of Christ lllesh). sacrifice, animal sacrifice, human sacrifice, sacred killing, slaughter, wounding, killing, war. hunt". The corresponding sensual impressions he cites are: 'body-warm, warm from the slaughter, blood-soaked, wet. raw. bright blood red. malleable, resilient, the taste of raw meat, wounding, killing, the stench of raw meat*. The tea-rose', according to Nitsch, provokes the symbolic associations 'erotic flower (lust), rosary (Madonna), queen of the flowers' and releases the sensual impressions 'scent of tea-roses, the taste of tea-rose petals, the voluptuous opulence of tea-roses, the tea-rose stamen, the pollen of the tea-rose'.8 It is striking that most of the symbolic associations Nitsch assigns to the constitutive elements of his actions point either to archaic/mythic or to Christian/Catholic rituals. They are intended to operate as links between the action/performance taking place here and now (in the early 1960s) and certain kinds of ritual which still operated in the context of Western culture (in Vienna m the early 1960s) such as the rituals of the Catholic church or those which we imagine as having taken place-or which still do take place m ancient Greece and other cultures. This does not necessarily imply that the spectators shared the symbolic associations proposed by Nitsch. But, at the very least, we can assume that as members of the Viennese culture of the 1960s, they disposed of a universe of discourse which w;is open to the possibility of such associations.4 In any case, not only the symbolic associations but also the sensual impres-!:' : ' 0 accessible to performers and spectators alike. In Nitsch's actions,' performances, the spectators were involved, even acted as performers 1 be) were splashed with blood, excrement, dish-water and other liquids and were given the opportunity to do the splashing themselves, to gut the lamb. 10 consume the meat and the wine I he sensual impressions and the symbolic associations triggered by the diflcic.it elements of the performance, however, were ordered and siructured through reference to one dominant element: the lamb. In Western Christian 236 PERFORMANCE ART AND RITUAL culture, the lamb symbolizes Christ and his sacrifice. Therefore, the lamb, as the focal centre of almost all of Nitsch's performances, opens up a dimension which strengthens the allusion to Christian rituals to which the possible symbolic actions may refer. Nilsch labels it the 'mythical leitmotif of the orgy mystery theatre (mythical expression of the collective need to abreact) the transformation'. communion: TAKE, EAT, THIS IS MY BODY. BROKEN FOR YOU FOR THE REMISSION OF SINS ... DRINK YF. ALL OF THIS, FOR THIS IS MY BLOOD OF THE NEW COVENANT; SHED FOR YOU AND FOR MANY... the crucifixion of jesus christ the tearing apart of dionysus the blinding of oedipus ritual castration the killing of orpheus the killing of adonis the castration of attis ritual regicide killing and consuming the totemic beast the primitive excesses of sado-masochism consuming food: meat and wine in sumptuous measure1" The rituals to which Nitsch refers are scapegoat-rituals, exorcisms, cleansing and/or transforming rituals. Like all rituals they do not only signify a particular action, they also perform it: the referential function indicated by the symbols used in the process of ritual is closely linked to. even dominated by. the performative function. The ritual is able to achieve (he desired effect to *hich the symbols (objects and/or actions) allude as cleansing the community, healing an individual, transforming a group of individuals, and so Ob—only because it is performed in a particular way. By equating his performances with ancient Greek and Catholic ntuals the artist claims that by performing his actions he performs a particular kind oi ntual. Such a claim seems problematic in many respects, for it ignores basic differences between rituals that operate within a community and the actions ^formed by the artist. When, for instance the Holy Communion to which Nitsch refers, is performed as a ritual, this procedure is eert.hed as a ntual. 237 VJ SUAL ART AND PERFORMANCE ART because an authonzed person executes the actions in a particular context and under particular conditions and because the congregate is convinced tha( Zi- entitled to perform the actions. In this respect the ritual is comparable to a soeech act. It can only succeed when it is performed in a particular spacei a sneecn aeL-ii—J . , . , *», a a particular time, in a particular way by a person who is entitled to perform it If someone other than the priest sprinkles water on somebody's forehead and utters the words: "Ego te baptisto in nomine Pains et Fill et Spiritus SanCu'< he has by no means performed a christenings best, a joke. Benveniste makes the point succinctly: De toute maniere. un enonce perfomiatif na de realite que s'il est authentifie comme acte. Hors des circonstances qui le rendent per-formatif, un tel enonce nest plus rien. N'importe qui peul crier sur la place publique: 'Je decrete la mobilisation generate.' Ne pouvant etre acte faute de 1'autorite requise, un tel propos n'est plus que parole; il se reduit a une clameur inane, enfantillage ou demence. Un enonce performatif qui n'est pas acte n'existe pas. 11 na d'existence que comme acte d'autorite. Or, les actes d'autorite sont loujours et d'abord des enonciations proferees par ceux a qui appartient le droit de les enoncer." Applied to rituals, it means that they will only work when performed by an authorized person. Thus, s/he is part of ihe particular framing which the ntual needs in order to succeed:1 the frame may include a particular occasion, place, time, setting, specific actions; in any case, it will be put up by persons who are entitled to perform these actions. Therefore, when an artist like Nitsch proclaims that he is performing a ritual by performing particular actions, the question arises as to what entitles him to perform a ritual— whether in his own eyes or in the eyes of participants/spectators? Another question concerns the relationship between the performed actions and their possible meaning. If we assume that the action he performs succeeds in causing exactly that effect which it signifies, we have to explain how sign and signified merge. In the rituals to which Nitsch alludes, this occurs either because of the presence of divine or cosmic/magic forces/energy released by the ritual. What, in Nitsch's performance, operates as a substitute for such forces? What can initiate the merging of signifier and signified? Before investigating these questions—and in order to broaden and strengthen the ground from which to proceed—I will first briefly describe two other performances which, in one way or another, also refer to ritual: Joseph Beuys's action Coyote. I like America and America likes me which took place in May "»i m the Rene Block Gallery in New York, and Marina Abramovics m 1lHe UpS °f THomas »ven al ^ Krinzioger gallery in Innsbruck as wHi 1 f° Perf°nnanccs were very different from Nitsch's perform** wen as from each other, and both referred to ritual in very different way* 238 PERFORMANCE ART AND RITUAL Coyote: I like America and America tikes me ore even Beuys started his action during the flight to the United States ben. reaching the American continent. He closed hjs eyes in order not to see thing. At J. K Kennedy Airport, completely wrapped up in lek he was t-iken to the gallery by an ambulance, He left the same way. During his seven-day stay he did not see anything of America other than a long, bright room with three windows in the Rene Block Gallery which he shared with a wild coyote for a full week. The room was divided by a wire screen which separated Beuys and the coyote from the spectators. At the far corner, straw was put down for the coyote. Beuys brought along with him two long felt cloths, a walking stick, gloves, a torch and fifty issues of the Wall Street Journal (to which, each day, the latest issue was added), He presented them to the coyote to sniff at and urinate on. Beuys placed the (wo felt cloths in the centre of the room. One he arranged as a heap in which he hid the lit torch so that only its glow could be perceived. The issues of the Wall Street Journal were piled up in two stacks behind the wire screen to the front of the room. With the brown walking stick hooked over his arm. he approached the other fell cloth, put on the glo\es and covered himself completely with the felt; all that could be seen was the staff sticking out. Beuys created the image of a shepherd who underwent a scries of transformations thanks to the position of his staff: squatting down in an upright position, he held it up, swung it horizontally, pointed it to the floor. In response to the movements of the coyote, the figure turned on its own axis. Then, unexpectedly it would drop sideways to the floor where it remained stretched out. Then, all of a sudden licuys would jump up, len ing the felt slip down and hitting the triangle which hung around his neck three times. When the last sound had died away, he turned on a tape recorder placed before the bars, so that for twenty seconds the noise of running turbines was heard. When silence returned, he took off his gloves and threw them to the coyote which mauled them, Beuys went to the issues of the Waif Street Journal which the coyote had scattered and torn, and rearranged them into piles. After-wards he lay down on the straw to smoke a cigarette. Whenever he did this, the coyote would move towards him. At other times, the coyote preferred to lie on the heap of fell. It looked in the same direction as the light of the torch and avoided a position where the spectators would be behind its back. Often it restlessly paced the room, ran to a window and stared out. Then it would return to the papers and chew them, drag them through the room or shit on them. The coyote kept a certain distance from the figure in felt. Occasionally it c^led him sniffing and excitedly jumping at the stick, it bit the felt and shred ■ W° Pieces. When the figure lay stretched out on the floor the coyote smiled prodded him, pawed or sat down beside him and tried to crawl under the fe!<- Mostly, however, it stayed away, fixing the figure with its eyes. Only 239 VISUAL ART AND PERFORMANCE ARl when Beuvs smoked his cigarette on the straw did ,1 approach him. Having finished his cigarette. Bcuyi got to his feet, rearranged the felt and covered h'wit-nTweek had passed, Beuys vers s» used everyday objects -such as the papers, cigarettes, torch, straw, felt, walking stick, gloves- and performed everyday actions- such as arranging the papers, smoking a cigarette, switching on a tape recorder. Accordingly, neither the objects nor the actions implied any allusion whatsoever to ritual. Moreover, it is difficult, if not impossible, to ascribe to the objects and actions symbolic associations shared by artist and spectators. However, the elements were accorded a symbolic value by the artist, not in the sense of fixed symbols but of 'vehicles of experience, transmitters and communicators [...]. They represent hidden effects and can be made conceivable and transparent."14 This is particularly true of the materials and objects. For instance, Beuys established a relationship between the possible implications of the felt and his former actions when he states: The way in which felt operates in my action, with double meaning, as isolator and warmer, also extends to imply isolation from America and the provision of heal for ihe coyote'.1' He used the torch as 'image of energy': 'First, the torch houses the energy in concentration, then, the energy disperses throughout the course of the day until the battery has to be renewed.'"' The torch was hidden in the felt because it was not to be presented as a technical object: it should be a source of light, a hearth, a disappearing sun glowing out from under this grey heap."7 The brown gloves which Beuys threw to the coyote after each turn represented 'my hands [... j the freedom given mankind through the hands. They are free to do all kinds of things, an infinite range of utensils are at their disposal. . . The hands are universal."* Beuys showed the manifold meanings of the bent walking stick for the lirst time in his action Eurasia (1965): it represented the streams of energy that float in EURASIA from east to west and west to cast. The Wall Street Journal on the other hand, embodies 'the calcified death stare of CAPITAL thinking (in the sense of being forced to capitulate to the power of money and position) [. . . ] Time is the measure of the symptoms of the fact that CAPITAL has long been the only artistic concept. That, too, is an aspect ofthe United States.'19 Even the two sounds produced in the performances, the hitting ofthe triangle and the noise of the turbines, were accorded such meanings The no.se of the turbines was 'the echo of the ruling technology; energy which is never harnessed', while the sound of the triangle is reminiscent of the unity and the one' and is conceived of 'as a stream of consciousness directed at the coyote',20 °f f^'l perfonniu,ce' the ^olic associations assigned U> various elements by the artist are not necessarily shared by his spectators. 240 PERFORMANCE ART AND RITUAL although a kind of communion was ultimately possible, since the elements of his perlormance belong to a general universe of discourse. In Beuys's per-formance. this assumpt.on cannot be made. Rather, it is most likely that the American visitors did not share the associations suggested by Beuys at all and accordingly, made quite different associations when perceiving the objects However, there are two aspects which overcome such objections and point to the special status ol the performance. First, the objects were not linked to the meanings explained by Beuys in the sense of fixed symbols. Rather they were thought to be able to unfold and realize their potential meanings and effects only in the context of the event that constituted the performance; the meeting of Beuys and the coyote. Second, a certain mythical dimension was accorded to both partners. Beuys designed and staged himself as a shepherd-like figure, alluding to the Good Shepherd, on one hand, and to a shaman, on the other—that is to say. to a figure which possesses divine and/or cosmic/magic forces. As his partner in the performance he chose a coyote which represents one of the mightiest Indian deities. The coyote is said to be blessed with the power of transformation, able to move between physical and spiritual states. The arrival of the white man changed the status of the coyote. Its inventiveness and adaptability admired and revered by the Indians as subversive power was denounced as cunning by the white man. Thus, it became the 'mean coyote" which could be hunted and killed as a scapegoat. Accordingly, Beuys's performance touched on a Traumatic moment' of American history: We should settle our score with the coyote. Only then can this wound be healed.'21 Beuys undertook the action in order to reach this goal. It was performed as an 'energy dialogue'" between man and animal, aimed at triggering the spiritual forces necessary for 'healing this wound' in the performer. He acted as a kind of shaman who performs a healing ritual that will save the community by restoring the destroyed—cosmic—order. Although the participants/spectators were not in a position to share the possible meanings accorded the objects by the performer it was assumed that they would benefit from the shaman's actions as he conjured up or exorcized the hidden potential meanings and effects of the objects employed, thus releasing the "healing forces", i.e., the spiritual forces within himself which enabled him to act as a representative of a community—at least in his own view. That is to say in terms of Beuys s performance, the questions formulated above become even more pressing. The lips of Thomas The third example radicalizes and, thus, brings into focus an aspect that was similarly constitutive of the two other performances, namey ^ ™* *™ treatment of the performer's body. In her performance. The hps of Thomas, Marina Abramovic abused her own body for two hours ,n various ways. 241 A I ART AND t> I R r O R M A N I t A R I Abramowe started b\ undressing totally and everything she was per-funned naked She then sal down at a table covered with a white cloth and set with a bottle of red wine, a glass of honey, a crystal glass, i silver spoon and a whip Slowly she ate the hone> with the silver spoon, poured the red wine into the crystal glass and drank it. After swallowing the wine, she broke the crystal glass in her right hand, hurting herself. She got up, went to the back wall where, at the beginning of the performance, she had fastened a picture of herself and framed it by drawing a five-pointed star around it. She then look a razor blade and cut a five-pointed star into the skin of her belly. Then she seized the whip, knelt down under her picture, her back to the audience, and started to Hog herself violently on the back. After this, she lay down, arms stretched out. on ice cubes laid out in I cross. A radiator hung from the ceiling was directed towards her belly. Through its heat, the slashed wounds of the star began to bleed copiously again. Abramovic remained on the cross of ice for thirty minutes until some spectators spontaneously removed the ice and thus broke off the performance. No doubt, the most striking aspect of this performance was the self-mutilation. However, the objects Marina Abramovic employed in order to execute the self-mutilation also allow for a vanetv of symbolic associations. The five-pointed star, for instance, may be interpreted in various mythical, metaphysical, cultural-historical and political contexts (even as a fixed symbol of a socialist Yugoslavia). The same holds true for other objects: the whip may point to Christian flagellants, to flogging as punishment and torture or to sadomasochistic sexual practices; the cross of ice may be related to the crucifixion of Christ—but also to icy prison cells or to winter and to death. Eating and drinking at a table using a silver spoon and a crystal glass may be perceived as an everyday action in a bourgeois surrounding but may equally allude to the Last Supper. Whatever symbolic associations were triggered by the objects, they were not caused by objects in isolation—the objects as such—but because they were used as instruments of self-mutilation. The actions which Marina Abramovic performed with these objects structured the performance in a way that us similarity to a scapegoat ritual (or a ritual of initiation), in which the performer played the victim, became obvious. By undergoing a series of clearly perceivable physical transformations such as the intake of certain substance*, mutilations by the incision of the star, flogging, bleeding and freezing, in short, by undergoing such an ordeal, the naked performer acquired a new identity. None the less, it is difficult to classify the performance as a ritual-either a scapegoat ntual or a rite of initiation-, for such rites not only suppose a consensus among members of a community concerning the symbolic conr^v8H f JCCtS ^P10**1 bl* such violations and mutiUti**--ZZbt °f aS "0nstltultivc eIe™nts °rthe rite-are usually inflicted on the victim by members of the community empowered so to do Here, it was the PERFORMANCE ART AND RITUAL performer who inflicted the pain on herself and the spectators were the ones to end the ordeal by removing the ice. As in the case of the performances by Nilsch and Beuys, though in other respects very different, Abramovic's performance alluded to a particular genre of ritual without actually realizing it. All these artists introduced or used ritual structures in their performances They followed, for instance, the three phases of a rite identified by van Gennep.2J They started with a clearly marked separation phase: Nitsch. by arranging the environment and by putting on a white garment; Beuys' by letting himself be wrapped in felt at the airport; Abramovic, by setting the environment and by undressing. The actions described above constitute the transformation phase. The final incorporation phase was indicated by the shared meal at the end of Nitsch's ritual/performance, by the wrapping up of the figure in Beuys's, and by the spontaneous actions of some spectators in Abramovic's performance. It does appear that the structure and the process of these three performances derive from rituals. 1 hesitate, however, to class them as rituals despite the claims and interpretations of the artists themselves, as my initial question remains unanswered: 'What entitles an artist to perform a ritual not only in his/her own eyes but also in the judgement of the other participants, namely, the spectators?' 3. The body in performance In each of the performances which I have described, the artist used her/his body in a striking manner. Nitsch polluted his body with blood and excrement; he put his hands deep into the entrails of the lamb and thus, almost literally, carried out the lamb's disembowelment himself. He exposed his body to various sensations through contact with blood, wine, paint, dish-water, urine, excrement; and he inflicted violence on the carcass of the lamb with his own hands. Nitsch's body was the locus of performance. By using different materials and objects, he not only changed them but also transformed his own body. In Beuys's performance the performer's body obviously served a different purpose. By living in the company of a wild coyote for seven days and nights, Beuys created a particular situation. On the one hand, he exposed his body to the risk of being attacked, bitten or perilously hurt by the coyote. On the other, he employed his body to communicate with the animal. The energy of this 'dialogue' proceeded from and was received by his body. The spiritual forces which were meant to bring about the 'healing' were to be released in and out of his body. And this body, in turn, did not remain unchanged am.dst all these risks and dangers even if it was ultimately unharmed. The seven days and nights shared with the coyote left their imprint. 243 VISUAL AK1 AND Pi RIORMAM on Abramovic abused her body, literaJIycul into her own Resh. inflicted mjunoj , „ thai caused pain and left lasting traces But she did not art.culalc her pains by screaming. She simpK performed sell-mulilalmg actions and presented her blecdine. sulTering body to the spectators She exposed the process of hurt and its visible traces, bul not her pain this had to be sensed by the spectators. But obviously this sense became so strong and unbearable that they interfered and put an end lo the performer's tortures. In these actions the performers put their bodies at risk ihrough trans-forinaiions. ihtvais and injuries which legitimized the performance Since the performer put her/his body in danger, the construction of her/his own fiction'-* the mythical dismemberment of a god. the dialogue with a coyote, the acquisition of a new identity was substantiated and. in this sense, transformed into "reality*, it was precisely the defiled, endangered, violated body that entitled the performer to perform such actions as if the performance were a ritual. This condition clearly marks the principal difference between an acknowledged ritual and an artist's performance. Traditional riluals originate in collective constructions such as myths, legends and other traditions: to perform a ritual is to re-substantiate ihem and to reaflirm their effects. The artist's performances, on the contrary, proceed from subjective constructions. Here, it is onl\ the defiled body of ihc artist. the endangered and still unharmed body, the body in pain, which is able to substantiate these constructions for the spectators. The performers' acting and suffering bodies, thus, gain the power of evidence ol" proof in the e\es of the spectators. However, the spectators do not participate in a ritual as do the member* of a Catholic congregation at Holy Communion, or the participants at shamanist demon exorcism. For even if the particular use of the body substantias the performer's subjective constructions in the eyes of the sf tutors, it does not follow that they will "believe" in these constructions, u that they will be convinced that they are participating in the dismemberment ol a god, in the healing of America's traumatic wound, in the birth of a n identity, or a sacrifice. At best, (hey will sense or even believe that the artis use of the body manifests and reveals a new attitude towards the body: the attitude ol "being my body' instead of only having it, as Plessner put it* Even if the particular use of the body does not entitle the artist to perform ritual or transform the performance into ritual, it endows the human bods with values long since forgotten and ignored in western culture-values that, at other times or m other cultures, were realized when such rituals were performed as those to which the artist's performance alludes. If we conclude that the artist does not perform ritual, what happens to ti* n'! u P thc aCl,°ns Panned >"d/or the objects used and the* possible meanings, to the relationsh.p between the signified and the signified blood on " liT1™ PerCC,Ve h0W the art,s,s Perform the actions: pounruj blood on a wh.te canvas, teanng the entrails from the carcass of a lamb. 244 PERFORMANCE ART AND RITUAL wrapping himself in a long fell cloth, arranging papers, smoking a cigarette, drinking red wine, cutting a live-pointed star into her belly, and so on. And since the artists perform ihese actions not only themselves but as themselves, in their own name (not in order to represent actions of a given stage persona) the spectators will ascribe to them these obvious meanings: Nitsch tears entrails from a lamb's carcass, Beuys wraps himself into felt, Abramovic cuts a five-pointed star into the skin of her belly. In this sense one could state a momentary merging of signifier and signified. But all these actions and objects contain an abundance of possibilities which trigger symbolic associations depending on the universe of discourse of each spectator. This semantic accretion prevents simple merging of signifier and signified. However, the performance does not structure the process of perception and meaning constitution in such a way that any symbolic associations are emphasized and foregrounded. Therefore the semantic accretion may result in a similar process as the merging: it may draw the spectator's attention away from possible meanings of a gesture—that may mean anything—and focus on its materiality, back to the body of the performer. Such focus, at the same time, emphasizes that the action causes certain effects on the performer's body. When Nitsch tears the entrails from the Jamb's carcass he is tainted by them; when Beuys wraps his body in felt, he makes it disappear and creates a particular image; when Abramovic engraves a five-pointed star in her belly, it bleeds. Thus, despite the semantic accretion, the semantic dimension is devaluated as secondary. The spectator s attention, in tins case, is not directed towards a possible meaning, but focuses first on the physical execution of an action, then on the effect it has on the performer's body. While participants in a ritual may take recourse to the collective construction which enables them to assume that by performing the ritual exactly only those actions are caused which it signifies—the transformation of a wafer into Christ's body, the exorcism of the demon because the merging of signifier and signified is based on collective construction, in the artist's performance they fall apart. Though the subjective construction may be substantiated in the eyes of a spectator because of the particular use of the body, none the less, the spectator will be able to relate signifier and signified to each other without considering this construction. The divine/cosmic/magic forces which the collective construction presupposes and whose working the 'correct' performance of the ritual will guarantee, are replaced in the artist's performance by her/his individual demonstration of her/his being a body and not only having a body (as the common basis of human culture) and the spectators individual response to it—be it particular sensations, emotions, reflections or even the execution of certain actions (as in Nitsch's performance) or in preventing the performer from continuing her actions. Thus, the performer's body, in many respects, appears to be the basic condition for the 'success' of the performance. The risks taken and the injuries substantiate the artist's subjective construction in the eyes of the spectators 245 \ i s l \ I XK I '•» Kl »»KM * NI i \R » lltal „, ,|m ».i\ Iťgiimwic lier/hw ncrftif IMH M » Ifci trtiil i phxMCa| aťt,ó„ which iii^swimii'^ cmotiOM .nul impulses in l»n s,hm,(o,> , , ihcmscKc* .nul *hiťh miiiaies iťlkvlioiw which xxill lUow iln-m U) ha ,»K.eMvriciKV ol hcnuj « hody. IH* milx lux my I bod) 11,, recept ion puKYsMNch.ilíuuiiml b\ lealures ih.n .necommoa lo* ■UOm nl iIkmiiumI lonuniinn.ilion .nul tlc.ulx diNlmguish il hom iceepli puKVSM-s ni ollici .in lonm. which dkpOM. ol unclnii* \n iiriclacl ullo Ihc levípicui lo allnbutť exci ikw incuningK i in.um' I 01 ilu-m. ilu- oulx pouil ol uTcr-oiicc ts liliu »»11 111011101 \ cngiuvcd 111 ihcii imn luulirs Hnis, xxc cm loiicliuli' ih.it ilu .nhsťs nulivulu.il ituiislotmatuui ol T genie 'mini' ,»s tcaliml 111 ilie pcilonnauce has consulcrably slnlicil Ilu* cu hnal loeus h hiin^s back utlo \ ieu .111 insighl which lias lony been loigol! .uul lepiessetl in wesieni eiiltme even il nevei eomplelelv lhal ihe b.isis any iultiii.il puuluclion is ihc luiinan bodyJV nnd lhal this bmly crea cultuie bv ivrloiinmy aclions Mete. ihe locus oloes nol cenlie on aitelať eii.iuil In such uelioiis pnvilee.ed bv western ciiltinv 111 gencrul mul l" luiinaniiiť* 111 pailuular; rathei, allenlion is alliacteil \o lbe veis moment which ihcachon ,iu ivrlonneil. Ihis momeiii. 111 ils ephcineial piesi-nce. is accouled a linie iluneiíMon Ivciiiscol HMekieiur 10 snh|eeli\e lonsinKiu.ns li is piecedctl b\ iIkmuD-leelive eonsinaiuHi ol i ho arlisi who has designeil ihc uclions. .nul M flotw "'lo lbe subieclive conslruction ol ihc specialois who laici. 111 ihc pnH-ťwúl Kcolkviion, alti ibiuc dillcieni incuunys 10 them. W hite dui mg the pcrfoT i,,uv-Meeting momenl. s.gmiícr and itigiiilieil seem lo i.nige. bcfol»í ■iltei ,1. m the „ubjcctivc conxtruction» oťlhc pc.lo.n.e.s aiul ilu- speciaion. '7 ,,K'lllt'v'11^ ' 'II ap.i.l h, ih.s lespru. o,,, ,„,g|„ ,Nl.n Jiso.xeripfl "''I ulopia 111 ihc peiloiinance 1 iis ph\ sical pcrroim.nnv and its rccollcelion ipptHi to Iv ilu p< nwi "Icullimil priHludion und .1 is„nly iheinomeui ol plusu..1 [v.lormi PERFORMANCE ART AND RITUAL that is endowed With the power to transform subjective construction into sensually perceivable realizations which, in turn, become the point of depar ture for other subjective constructions. However, a theory of culture that would proceed Irom the moment of performance, taking this as its pivot is still to be developed. Regarding the process of reception, the artists' performances described here fundamentally question the traditional concept of aesthetic distance. When the spectators' bodies are splashed with blood, when the audience becomes eyewitness to actions by which the artist exposes her/his body to risks and inflicts on it severe injuries, how will they be able to keep an aesthetic distance? In such performances, is it still valid to hold aesthetic distance as the •adequate' attitude of reception? A theory of aesthetic perception taking into consideration the body in pain has still to be developed. For it is highly questionable as to whether the aesthetics of the sublime already deal with this aspect satisfactorily. And such a theory seems all the more desirable, since theatre, from the 1960s and 1970s, increasingly employs the performer's body m a way which literally puts it at risk and violates it. whether in the performance of individual artists or of theatre groups. In the 1960s and 1970s the Viennese artist Rudolf Schwarzkogler. for instance, abused his body with cables and bandages (1960); Chris Burden had himself locked up in a locker measuring 2' x 2' x 3' for five days, nourished only from a water bottle placed in a locker above (1971); in the same year, in a performance entitled Shooting Piece. Burden was shot through his left arm by his friend; Gina Pane was cut on the back, face and hands and, lying on an iron bed, scorched and burned her body by candles placed underneath.-'' In the 1990s, Sieglinde Kallnbach walked on lire and trickled hot wax onto her skin;:? in The Reincarnation of the Holy Orion,2* the French performance artist Orlan, underwent cosmetic surgery to shape her face according to a computer-synthesized ideal that combined the features of women in famous paintings—such as Bolicellľs Venus, Leonardo's Mono Lisa, Boucher's Europe. Diane from the Fontainebleau school. Gérôme's Psyche. The operation was directly transmitted from the surgical theatre to a New York gallery. Since the 1980s, performers increasingly use the body in violent ways, both 'n dance and theatre groups. Injuries and pains are inflicted on the performer's bodies as, for instance, in the theatres of Jan Fabre. Einar Schleef. R«a Abdoh, Lalala Human Steps or Fuera dels Baus. In productions ol Harry Kupfer. Frank Castorf. Leander Haussmann and others, singers and actors are thrown about and made to fall dangerously. If the endangered, scorched, pierced or otherwise injured body is the locus attention, the question arises as to how this affects aesthetic perception. A* Elaine Scarry has shown, pain cannot be communicated: So, for the person in pain, so incontestably and unncgotiably present »it that -having pain' may come to be thought ol as the most vibrant 247 MSI M AK1 AND HI R I <> K M A N ( I AKI • x iniPlc of * hat U in -io have ccriaiiily'. while lor the other person it ' ' > Susive thai hearing about pain' may exist as the pr.mary model d wh It H is to have doubt-. Thus pain comes unsharably into our midst ai at 01« thai wtkt cannot be denied and that which cannot be confirmed."*" To perceive pain can onl> mean to perceive ones own pain, never the pain another The spectators perceive the action by which the performer hurts her/himself bul not the pain which s/he suffers. They are only in a position to assume that s/he feels pain. Thus, a kind of paradoxical situation presents itself. The Heeling instant at winch an action is performed and. thus, significr and signified seem to merge, is experienced b> the spectator at the very moment when perception and meaning fall apart and the signified irretrievably separates from the significr. While the action of hurting her/himself is perceived, the pain which it causes can only be imagined A gap opens up for the spectator between what is performed an the performer's body, and what happens in the performers bod), a gap that seems to be bridgeable only b> way of imagination. While the performer makes her/his body the scene of violent actions, the spectator is forced to move the scene into her/his imagination. The real presence' of performance is questioned not only by the subjective constructions of the artists and the spectators, bul also by the performer's pain. For her/his pain can only gain presence for the spectators in their own imaginations and not in the performance of the action by which the performer hurts her/himself. Thus, the performance, in a way. turns into a scapegoat ritual. The perlbnner exposes her/his body to risks and injuries against which the spectators aim to protect their bodies; the performer causes her/himself the pains which the spectators seek to avoid. The performer, in this sense, suffers in place of the spectators. S/he saves them from their own physical suffering. The 'sacrificial victim' at the torment and death of a martyr, or even at the execution of a repentant Christian up to the eighteenth century, held "a magic power' and the onlookers hoped for "the healing of certain diseases and similar miracles' from the tortured or executed sinner, from 'his blood, his limbs or the rope'" While here it was the tortured and violated body of the sinner that seemed to promise and to guarantee the onlookers' own physical integrity, in the aftiM* performance, it is the imagination of the spectator which replaces the magic Their imagination saves" them from the anxieties of violence and pain directed towards their own body by imagining the performer's pain and by attempting to sympathize with it and to sense it themselves. The aesthetic perception, thus initiated, triggered and provoked by the Performance can hardly be described as 'disinterested pleasure'. On the one nand. the spectators feel shocked and deny what they see; on the other, tftf) arc fascinated because someone violates h.m/herself voluntarily and because action conjures up taboos of torture and physical punishment, Spectator* 24H PERFORMANCE ART AND RITUAL are fascinated and shocked by their own curiosity since, according to cultural norms, they should feel disgust or horror. It is this ambiguity in the reception process to which the performance artist Rachel Rosenthal refers: "In performance art, the audience, from its role as sadist, subtly becomes the victim. It is forced to endure the artist's plight empathetically, or examine its own responses of voyeurism and pleasure, or smugness and superiority. [... ] In any case, the performer holds the reins. [.. . ] The audience usually 'gives up, before the artist/11 Here, aesthetic perception may be described as a kind of perception which transforms the spectators into involved participants and. in this sense, into performers themselves by projecting the scene of the body onto the scene of the imagination an imagination which, however, is tied to the body, or is even part of the body, i.e., a physical imagination that causes physical sensations. Therefore, the spectators usually 'give up' before the performer; their imaginations have replaced the performer s body with their own and, thus, penetrated into the realm of the incommunicable—to the pain of the other, which, now becomes manifest in a physical sensation, a physical impulse, in a physical response in the spectators. As van Gennep has shown, rituals work in a community in order to secure a safe passage from a given status to a new one at moments of life or social crisis in an individual (such as birth, puberty, marriage, pregnancy, illness, changes in professional positions, death). The performances created by individual artists over the last thirty years alluding to or transforming rituals seek to secure and accelerate the passage of Western culture from the state of a prevailingly material culture to a new performative culture. This passage is also to be understood as a passage from the given order of knowledge, the given sign-concept, as well as semiotic processes, towards a new, yet undefined order of knowledge. The performances, thus, operate as the signature of a time of transition. Notes 1 John Cage, quoted in Roselee Goldberg, Performance Art. From Futurism to the Present (New York: Harry Abraham, Inc., Publishers, 1988), p. 176. 2 Rauschenberg's dog barked loudly throughout the performance, running alter anyone moving in the hall. The dog had been a very popular performer in the nineteenth century, but not to everyone's taste. Rumour has it that Goethe resigned his directorship at the Weimar Court Theatre because in Der Hund von Auhry a live dog was desecrating the holiness of the stage. 3 Richard Wagner, Gesammelte Schriften und Dichtungen, I-IX, Vol. IV (Leipzig: E. W. Fritzsch, 1887/8; 2nd edition), p. 3. 4 Milton Singer, ed.. Traditional India: Structure and Change {Philadelphia: American Folklore Society, 1959), p. xii. 5 Ibid. p. xii fT 6 Hermann Nitsch. Das Orgien Mysterien Theater. Die Partituren aller aufgeführten Aktionen 1960-1979, Erster Band, L-32. Aktion. (Neapel/München/Wien: Edition Freiborg. 1979), p. 50. 249 VISUAL ART AND PERFORMANCE Akl 7 n ,rmitl,i Nitseh 'Die Realisation desO. M. Theaters' <1973). In f [ermann N,tSĽh RcsKktu-Verlag, 1990), pp. 67 107 & pp. 103 ff í Tríkifngľtheplaa to investigate the special tradiiions on which Nits* draws in particular the Viennese tradition. Concerning this question, see Ekkehard Stark Hanumn .Witsch. Das Orgien Mysterien Theater unddie Hysterieder Griechen Quellen und Traditionen zum Wiener ÁntikenbUdseit /ÄJÖ(München: Fink-Verlag, 1987). Kl Das Org ten Mysterien-Iheutcr. p. üf. 11 Emile Bciiveuiste, Probleme* de finguistique generale [t ans: Galhmard t73: 'In any ease, a performative statement can only achieve reality when it h confirmed as an action. Outside the circumstances which make it performative, sucha statement is nothing more than a mere statement. An^nic can call nut in the market square. '1 declare general mobilization1. But this statement cannot become action because it lacks authority, it is just speech; it is limited to an empty shout, childishness, or madness. A performative si a lenient without ad ion cannot exist. An authoritative action will always be derived from statements made by those who have the right to express them.' 12 Concerning the concept of frame, see Gregory Hateson. 'A theory of play and fantasy; a report on theoretical aspects of the project for study of the role of paradoxes of abstraction in communication", in: APA Psychiatric Research ReportsH, 1955). 13 Marina Abramovič is Yugoslav. But it would restrict her performance to. take it as a statement about Yugoslavia. 14 Joseph Be u y s. in Carolin Tisdall, Joseph Beuys C oyote. 3rd edition, 1988 (München, first published in 1976). p. 13. (My description of Ihe performance follows the description jjivcn h\ Tisdall). 15 Quoted in Tisdall, p 14 16 Ibid. 17 Ibid. p. 15, 18 ibid. p. 15 (T. 19 Ibid, p, 16. 20 Ibid. p. 15. 21 Cited in Tisdall, p. 10. 22 Tisdall. p. 1.1. 23 Arnold van Gennep, The Rites of Passage, translated by Monika Vizedom and 7d £.abriÍel|e Cafl'M (CnÍĽať°: ;- nivciMiy of Chicago Press. Í960). ae ,Heimuth Plessnen Anthropologie der Sinne. Gesammelte Schriften in drei Bütoten (Frankfurt am Main, 1980), and Helmuth Piessner, Laughing and Crying. A study aj the Htnits oj Human Behaviour (Evanston. IL: Northwestern University Press. 1941, reprmt 1970}, 25 See also Thomas J. Csordas, ed., Embodiment and Experience. The Existential 26 Thľr^í^^ ^(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994). X The Omhtummg, Part I of'Auto-Portrait1 1972 27 Frankfurt am Main, 1991 28 New York. 1990 IT, 29 York'ox^t u" Body in Pain: The Hakit* ™d Unmaking of the WorkHF* 30 if?" °xford,U™™™ty Press, 1985), p. 4. " l^]^.neater Reckens. Gerichtspraxis und Strafrituale in -nee (Wimľr gj'/* the M^hi*< Tradition". In; High Perfol PERFORMANCE Critical Concepts in Literary and Cultural Studies Edited by Philip Ausländer \ olumi l\ IJ Routledge i ONtxiN *w Nrw yv*» Tl9857b I UM pilNlHlKtl by K on (ledge ) i Htm I iMu-i i lim-, i oedori i * 4P 41 I siMHiluitu-ousis published m the USA rod Ctiudi hj Routlctlgc .»> Wem 1Mb Street. New Yolk. NN HKNil Roulittlxf i\ ffl im/nim <>/ f/n /mycí it hutu i\ tirou/t i ditorial matt* rod itftTftfri C 2003 Philip AusleneJen m*h\iduel owner* iclam copynghl in then own mnlcunl lypcuel in I tulen by (iiuphtciuH I united. IlORf Kunu Punted and lionu.I in < ileal Hulám M International I id, Pudiwtw. * 'oinwall All rights reserved No pnu i»l ihm b«n»k umy Iv mm..... I 01 icpioduced 01 utilised m ,uiv lutui ni by any ťliu tuml* , mechanical. 01 ulhei incam. dum knuwii nr lieieallei invented, including photocopying and iccoidlng. 01 in jiný inlorniulion montge m retrieve! iy»teni. wilhont primmulun 111 writing from the publishers Hrttnli I limit 1 ( ,n,it<'Ki PuMklwrr'« NcH» Reference within euch chapter «rc n» they appear in the nriytmil CMMiplele work CONTENTS VOU'MK IV Acknowledgements PART I Identity and the self /, / The performing .self 6K The performing self RICHARD poirier 69 Presenting and re-presenting the self: from not-acting to acting in African performance FRANCES HARDING 1.2 Performing identity 70 Doing difference CANDACE WEST AND SUSAN FENSTERMAKER 71 Prologue: performing blackness KIMBEREY W. BENSTON 72 Performative acts and gender constitution: an essay in phenomenology and feminist theory JUDITH BUTEFR 73 Choreographies of gender SUSAN LEIGH FOSTER CONTENTS 74 Performing lesbian in the space of technology; part 1 SUE-ELLEN CASE 141 PART 2 Visual art and performance art 2.1 Visuai art 163 75 Art and objecthood 165 MICHAEL FRIED 76 The object of performance: aesthetics in the seventies 188 HENRY SAYRE 2.2 Performance art 11 Performance and theatricality: the subject demystified 206 JOSETTE FERAL 78 British live art 218 NICK KAYE 79 Performance art and ritual: bodies in performance 228 ERIKA FISCHER-LICHTE 80 Women's performance art: feminism and postmodernism 251 JEANIE FORTE 81 Negotiating deviance and normativity: performance art, boundary transgressions, and social change 269 BRITTA B. WHEELER PART 3 Media and technology 289 3.1 Media and mediatization 82 Film and theatre SUSAN SONTAG 83 The presence of mediation ROGER COPELAND 291 306 vi CONTENTS 84 -The eye rinds no fixed point on which to rest.. CHANTAL PONTBRIANI) 85 Listening to music: performances and recordings TIMODORE GRACVK 3.2 Performance mid technology 86 Negotiating presence: performance and new technologies ANDREW MIJ Rl'HIE 87 The art of puppetry in the age of media production STEVE TILLIS 88 I lie screen test of the double: the uncanny performer in the space of technology MATTHEW CAUSEY 89 The art of interaction: interactivity, perform a tivity, and computers DAVID 2. SAITZ Index vii PERFORMANCE Critical Concepts in Literary and Cultural Studies Edited by Philip Auslander Volume III IJ Routledge I % Taylor iFrincu Group LONDON AMD NEW VOUK 198573 First published 2003 by Roulledge ] I New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Roulledge 29 West 35th Street. New York. NY 10001 Rout ledge it an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group Editorial matter and selection C 2003 Philip Auslander: individual owners retain copyright in their own material Typeset in Times by Graphicrafl Limited. Hong Kong Printed and bound in Great Britain by TJ International Ltd, Padstow. Cornwall All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN 0-415-25511-2 (Set) ISBN 0-415-25514-7 (Volume III) Publisher's Note References within each chapter are as they appear in the original complete work. 1001155515 CONTENTS VOLUME III A cknowledgements PART 1 Science and social science I. J Performing science 45 From science to theatre: dramas of speculative thought GAUTAM DASGUPTA 46 Performance and production: the relation between science as inquiry and science as cultural practice ROBERT P. CREASE 1.2 Social behavior as performance 47 Verbal art as performance RICHARD BAUMAN 48 A performance-centered approach to gossip ROGER D. ABRAHAMS 49 Becoming other-wise: conversational performance and the politics of experience LEONARD C. HA WES 50 Social dramas and stories about them VICTOR TURNER CONTENTS 1.3 Performing ethnography 51 Performing as a moral act: ethical dimensions of the ethnography of performance ^4 DW1GHT CONQUERGOOD 52 Performance science ^9 MICHAL M. McCALL AND HOWARD S. BECKER 53 The efficacy of performance science: comment on McCall and Becker 169 RICHARD A, HILBERT 54 SNAP! Culture: a different kind of "reading1' 173 E. PATRICK JOHNSON PART 2 History, politic*, political economy 199 2.1 Performing history 55 Disappearance as history: the stages of terror ANTHONY KUBIAK 201 56 Historical events and the historiography of tourism MICHAL KOBIALKA 213 57 Spectacles of suffering: performing presence, absence, and historical memory at U.S. Holocaust museums VIVIAN M. PATRAKA 234 2.2 Political activism and performance 58 Spectacles and scenarios: a dramaturgy of radical activity LEE BAXANDALL 253 59 Fighting in the streets: dramaturgies of popular protest, 1968-1989 266 BAZ KKRSHAW CO NT EN TS 2.3 Theorizing political performance dl! There must be a lot of fish in that take: toward an ecological theater 293 UNA CHAUDHURI 61 Brechtian theory/feminist theory: toward a gestic feminist criticism 305 ELIN DIAMOND 62 The ontology of performance: representation without reproduction 320 PEGGY PHELAN 63 Praxis and performaliiity 336 ANDREW I'Alt k I.R 2.4 Work. Production. Political economy 64 The future that worked 344 JOSEPH ROACH 65 Rhythm and the performance of organization 353 RICHARD A. ROGERS 66 The performance of production and cunsumption 372 MIRANDA JOSEPH 67 Legally live 405 PHILIP AUSLANDER vii IMKIOR M A N C T! C'riticul C oiKVpls im l Unaiy and c ultural Studies Edited by Philip Auslander \ otiinu 11 Knullrilijr Uyttri f. i lilii li 11.....|i I I INI H >N ANO NIW Vi iN h i 11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group Editorial matter and selection © 2003 Philip Ausländer; individual owners retain copyright in their own material Typeset in Times by Graphicraft Limited, Hong Kong Printed and bound in Great Britain by TJ International Ltd, Padstow, Cornwall All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN 0-415-25511-2 (Set) ISBN 0-415-25513-9 (Volume II) Publisher's Note References within each chapter are as they appear in the original complete work. 1001155514 N LL Li S III I Mi INN II NN i iiiľiiu") i *•! DOI lA4|A|)*UUOJJtd '«HiBj(| nZ N US I H V I NI \HVI«J , tlMIII.)|lUlllS in -lilftiumiini M«|»t|««U| 'uo||itJ|«.H||| :,M..«mii..|i.Ml |iimj|imi|| g r ihn.i NN mo i m .»«Kinn io| i.»il pun Nudiuílimiml m i.ipu.iil piN M!|i!ii\.>s :.ii|s.i|i |0 s.miimitp M|| Pt S \ INil I IM I \ H V II M N II m. ÍI|tM|| 'sjs\'nmiu»i|.UMl :iln .)iiihj.| ťj t Dl N I i i N I S IM '*N N M I NN II gm M\l *l||llO| II N 111 !l íl Kl S lilO n I j llti||tl|ll.«s.thl >l |d nilsnp M|| |lll|t \||.)lll> |n 1 >1 lt »H1 ,l|| I I* I iuiiM'ni»s>ul.>^ I INN.I II IIV l H>\ S I N aJ HOJ CONTENTS 27 Presence and the revenge of writing: re-thinking theatre ^ after Derrida ELINOR HJCHS 2H Performance writing RIC Alt.SOP 29 Making motions: the embodiment of law in gesture 124 BERN AKI) ). HIBHITTS PART 3 Bodies 30 The actor's bodies OAVII> < «RAVER 155 157 31 The body as the object of modern performance 175 JON ERICKSON 32 Strategic abilities: negotiating the disabled body in dance 188 ANN CtJOPhR Al hriüht 33 Feminine free fall: a fantasy of freedom 207 PETA TAIT I*ART 4 Audiences/spectatorship 217 34 OramaUirgy of I he spectator 219 MARCO DE MARINIS 35 The pleasure of the spectator 236 ANNE UBERSFELO 36 The audience: subjectivity, community and the ethics of listening 249 ALICE RAYNER 37 Odd, anonymous needs: the audience in a dramatized sociely 269 HERBERT BLAU 38 Spectatorial theory in the age of media culture 282 ELIZABETH KLAVER VI CONTENTS PART S Culture 5. J Cultural studies 301 39 Drama in a dramatised society ^ RAYMOND WILLIAMS 40 Why modern plays are not culture: disciplinary blind spots 313 SHANNON JACKSON 41 Embodying difference: issues in dance and cultural studies 334 JANE C. DESMOND 5.2 Intercultural studies 42 Twins separated at birth? West African vernacular and Western avant garde performativity in theory and practice 359 CYNTHIA WARD 43 Western feminist theory, Asian Indian performance, and a notion of agency 382 AVANTHl MEDURI 44 Interculturalism, postmodernism, pluralism 395 DARYL CHIN PERFORMANCE Critical Concepts in Literary and Cultural Studies Edited by Philip Auslander Volume T 11 Routledge jjj Taylor & F rantis Group LONDON AND NEW YORK NARODN! KNIHOVNA ■iiiiiiii *1001155513* 198433 I'irst published 2003 by Routlcdgc 11 New I cller Lane. London IX'41* 41-1:. Simullaneously published in ÜM I 'SA and Canada by Rout ledge 29 Wesl VSlh Si reel. New York. NY 10001 lit mi If ike b mi imprint of the Taylor A Francis (iroltp Editorial matter and selection ■< 21HH Philip Ausländer; individual owners retain copyright in their own material Typesel in Times by üraphierafl Limited. Hong Kong Printed and bound in (»real Britain by TJ International Ltd. Pudslow. Cornwall AH rights reserved, No part of lhis book may be rcprinlcd or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, orolhcr means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for ihis book is available from I he British Li brut Library of C 'ongftH C 'atatogtng in Publication Data A catalog record for this book hus been requested ISBN 0-415-25511-2 (Set) ISBN (M15-25512-0 (Volume I) Publisher'!! Note Refcrcnces within each chapter lire bh they appcur in Unoriginal complete work. CONTENTS VOLLME I Acknowledgements xv Chronological Table of reprinted articles and chapters xviii General Introduction 1 PART 1 Foundations and definitions 25 /. / Foundational texts and concepts 1 The territorial passage 27 ARNOLD VAN GENNEP 2 Nature and significance of play as a cultural phenomenon 36 JOHAN HUIZINGA 3 Search for a great tradition in cultural performances 57 MILTON SINGER 4 Ritual drama as "hub" 72 KENNETH BURKt 5 Lecture I in How to Do Things with Words 91 J. L. AUSTIN 6 Introduction in The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life 97 ERVING GOEFMAN v CONTENTS 1.2 Definitions, distinctions, and debates ids 7 Performance as metaphor BERT O. STATES g Approaches to "performance": an analysis of terms 138 GRAHAME P, THOMPSON 9 The politics of discourse: performativity meets theatricality 153 JANELLE REINELT 10 Virtual reality: performance, immersion, and the thau 16H JON MCKENZIE 1.3 Disciplinary actions 11 Blurred genres: the refiguration of social thought 189 CLIFFORD GEERTZ 12 Life as theater: some notes on the dramaturgic approach to social reality 203 SHELDON L. MES51NGER WITH HAROLD SAMPSON AND ROBERT D, TOWNE 13 A paradigm for performance studies 215 RUNAl.n J. PEL1AS AND JAMES VANOOSTING 14 Performance studies as women's work: historical sights/sites/citations from the margin 232 ELIZABETH BELL PART 2 Elements and circumstances of performance 261 15 Performers and spectators transported and transformed 263 RICHARD SCHECHNER 16 Theatrical and transgressive energies 2°<1 FREDDIE ROKEM 17 On acting and not-acting |aq MICHAEL KIR BY 18 Screen acting and the commutation test ^4 JOHN O. THOMPSON V! CONTENTS 19 Poetry's oral stage FETER MIDDI.ĽTON 20 The integrity of musical performance STAN GODLOVITCH VOLUME 11 A cknowledgements IX PART 1 Representation 1 21 The theater of cruelty and the closure of representation 3 JACQUES DERRIDA 22 The tooth, the palm 25 JEAN-FRANCOIS LYOTARD 23 Frame-up: feminism, psychoanalysis, theatre 32 BARBARA EREEDMAN 24 The dynamics of desire: sexuality and gender in pornography and performance 57 JILL DOLAN PART 2 Textuality 25 Theatrical performance: illustration, translation, fulfillment, or supplement? MARVIN CARLSON 26 Drama, performativity, and performance W. B. WORT HEN 27 Presence and the revenge of writing: re-thinking theatre after Derrida ELINOR FUCHS 28 Performance writing RIC ALLSOP VII CONTENTS 29 Making motions: the embodiment of law in gesture BERNARD J. HIBBMTS PART 3 Bodies 30 The actor's bodies DAVID GRAVER 31 'I"he bod\ as the object nf modern performance JON ERICKSON 32 Strategic abilities: negotiating the disabled body in dance ANN COOPER ALBRIGHT 33 Feminine free fall: a fantasy of freedom PETA TAIT PART 4 Audiences/spectatorship 34 Dramaturgy of the spectator MARCO DE MARIMS 35 The pleasure of the spectator ANNE UHERS1ELD 36 The audience: subjectivity, community and the ethics of listening ALICE RAYNER 37 Odd, anonymous needs: the audience in a dramatized society HERBERT BLAU 38 Spectatorial theory in the age of media culture ELIZABETH KLAVER part 5 Culture 5. \ Cultural studies 39 Drama in a dramatised society RAYMOND WILLIAMS viii CONTENTS 40 Why modern plays are no! culture: disciplinary blind spots SHANNON JACKSON 41 Embodying difference: issues in dunce and cultural studies JANE C. DESMOND 5.2 Inter cultural studies 42 Twins separated at birth? West African vernacular and Western avant garde performativity in theory and practice CYNTHIA WARD 43 Western feminist theory, Asian Indian performance, and a notion of agency AVANTHI MEDUR1 44 Interculturalism, postmodernism, pluralism DARYL CHIN VOLUME III A cknowledgements PART 1 Science and social science 1.1 Perfo rm ing scien ce 45 From science to theatre: dramas of speculative thought GAUTAM DASGUPTA 46 Performance and production: the relation between science as inquiry and science as cultural practice ROBERT P. CREASE 1.2 Social behavior as performance 47 Verbal art as performance RICHARD BAUMAN 48 A performance-centered approach to gossip ROGER D. ABRAHAMS ix CONTENTS 49 Becoming other-wise: conversational performance and the politics of experience LEONARD C. HAWtS 11IS 50 Social dramas and stories about them VICTOR TCRNI.K 1.3 Performing ethnography 51 Performing as a moral act: ethical dimensions of the ethnography of performance 134 DWIGHT CONOUERGOOD 52 Performance science ^9- MICHAL M. llcCAlX AND HOWARD S. BECKER 53 The efficacy of performance science: comment on Met all and Becker 169 RFC HARD A. HII.BERT 54 SNAP! Culture: a different kind of "reading" 173 E. PATRICK JOHNSON PART 2 History, politics, political economy 199 2.1 Performing history 55 Disappearance as history: the stages of terror 201 ANTHONY KUBIAK 56 Historical events and the historiography of tourism 213 MICHAL KOBIALKA 57 Speclacles of suffering: performing presence, absence. and historical memory at U.S. Holocaust museums 234 VIVIAN M. PATRAKA 2.2 Political activism and performance 58 Spectacles and scenarios: a dramaturgy of radical activity 253 LEE BAXANDALL 59 Fighting in the streets: dramaturgies of popular protest, 1%H-19*W BA7 M-Ksii.jhw 266 I CONTENTS 2.3 Theorizing political performance 60 "There must be a lot of fish in that lake"; toward an ecological theater UNA CHAUDHURI 61 Breelitian theory/feminist theory: toward a gestic feminist criticism ELIN DIAMOND 62 The ontology of performance: representation without reproduction PEGGY PHELAN 63 Praxis and performativity ANDREW PARKER 2.4 Work. Production. Political economy 64 The future that worked JOSEPH ROACH 66 Rhythm and the performance of organization RICHARD A. ROGERS 66 The performance of production and consumption MIRANDA JOSEPH 67 Legally live PHILIP AUSLANDER VOLUME IV Ackno wledgemen ts PART 1 Identity and the self 1.1 The perfo rm ing self 68 The performing self RICHARD POIRIER CONTENTS 69 Presenting and re-presenting the self: from not-acting to acting in African performance FRANCES HARDING 1.2 Performing identity 70 Doing difference CANDACE WEST AND SUSAN FENSTERMAKER 71 Prologue: performing blackness KIMBERLY W. BENSTON 72 Performative acts and gender constitution: an essay in phenomenology and feminist theory JUDITH BUTLER 73 Choreographies of gender SUSAN LEIGH FOSTER 74 Performing lesbian in the space of technology; part I SUE-ELLEN CASE PART 2 Visual art and performance art 2.1 Visual art 75 Art and objecthood MICHAEL FRIED 76 The object of performance: aesthetics in the seventies HENRY SAY RE 2.2 Performance art 11 Performance and theatricality: the subject demystified JOSETTE FERAL 78 British live art NICK K A VI 79 Performance art and ritual: bodies in performance RRIKA H5CHER-LICHTE xii CONTENTS 80 Women's performance art: feminism and postmodernism 251 JEANIE FORTE 81 Negotiating deviance and normativity: performance art, boundary transgressions, and social change 269 BRlTTA B. WHEELER PAST 3 Media and technology 289 3.1 Media an d media t iza turn 82 Film and theatre 291 SUSAN SONTAG 83 The presence of mediation 306 ROGER CDPELAND 84 "The eye finds no fixed point on which to rest. . ." 323 CHANTAI PONTBRI AND 85 Listening to music: performances and recordings 332 THEODORE GRACYK 3.2 Performance and technology 86 Negotiating presence: performance and new technologies 351 ANDREW MURPMIi: 87 The art of puppetry in the age of media production 365 s11 mi is 88 The screen test of the double: the uncanny performer in the space of technology 381 MATTHEW CAUSEY 89 The art of interaction: interactivity, performativity, and computers 395 DAVID Z. SALTZ Index 411 XIII Chronological Table of reprinted articles and chapters Dute Author Tille Source Vol. C hap 1908 Arnold Van Gennep The territorial passage x 1938 Johan Huizinga 1957 Kenneth Burke 1959 Erving Goffman 1962 Sheldon L Messinger, Harold Sampson and Robert D. Towne 1966 Susan Sontag 1967 Michael Fried 1969 Lee Baxandall 1970 Roger D. Abrahams 1971 Richard Poirier 1972 Michael Kirby 1972 Milton Singer Nature and significance of play as a cultural phenomenon Ritual drama as "hub" Introduction in The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life Life as theater: some notes on the dramaturgic approach to social reality Film and theatre Art and objecthood Spectacles and scenarios: a dramaturgy of radical activity A performance-centered approach to gossip The performing self On acting and not-acting Search for a great tradition in cultural performances Arnold Van Gennep, The Rites of Passage. Translated by Monika B. Vizedom and Gabrielle L. Caffee, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1960 [1st edn). pp. 15-25. Johan Huizinga. Homo Ludens- A Studv of the Play-Element in Culture, Boston: Beacon Press. 1955. pp. 1-27. Kenneth Burke. The Philosophy of Literary Form: Studies in Symbolic Action, New York: Vintage Books, pp, 87 113. Erving Goffman, The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, New York: Doubleday. pp. 1 16. Sociometry 25(1): 98 110. The Drama Review 11(1): 24-37. Artforum 5(10): 12 23. The Drama Review 13(4): 52-71. Man, New Series. 5(2): 290-301. Richard Poirier, The Performing Self. New York: Oxford University Press, pp. X6 Ml The Drama Review 16(1): 3-15. Milton Singer. When a Great Tradition Modernises An Anthropological Approach to Indian Civilization. New York: Praeger. pp 67-80. IV IV III III IV 12 82 75 58 4S 68 17 t 0 1 TO O z r o Q > - > OS r n If. 53' 1975 J. L. Austin 1975 Richard Bauman 1975 Raymond Williams 1976 Jean-Francois Lyotard 1978 Jacques Dernda 1978 John O. Thompson 1979 Clifford Geertz 1980 Victor Turner 1981 Richard Schechner 1982 Josette Feral 1982 Chantal Pontbnand 1982 Anne Lbersfeld 1983 Henry Say re 1985 Herbert Blau Lecture I in How io Do Things with Words Verba! art as performance Drama in a dramatised society The tooth, the palm The theater of cruelty and the closure of representation Screen acting and the commutation test Blurred genres: the reriguration of social thought Social dramas and stones about them Performers and spectators transported and transformed Performance and theatricality: the subject demystified "The eye finds no fixed point on which to rest..." The pleasure of the spectator The object of performance: aesthetics in the seventies Odd, anonymous needs: the audience in a dramatized society J. O. Urmson and Manna Sbisa (eds) How to Do Things with Words (2nd Edn), Cambridge: Harvard LJniversitv Press, pp. 1-11. American Anthropologist 77(2): 290-31 L Raymond Williams, Drama in a Dramatised Society (Inaugural Lecture). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 1-21. Translated by Anne Knap and Michel Benamou, SubStance 15: 105 110. Jacques Derrida, Writing and Difference. Translated by Alan Bass, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, pp. 232-250 Screen 19(2): 55-69. The American Scholar 49(2): 165-179. ( nticai Inquiry 7(1): 141-168. The Kenyan Review, New Series, 3(4): 83-113. Translated bv Terese Lyons. Modern Drama 25(1): 171-181. Translated by C. R. Parsons, Modern Drama 25(1): 154-162. Translated by Pierre Bouillaguet and Charles Jose, Modern Drama 25(1): 127-139. The Georgia Review 37(1): 169-188. Performing Arts Journal 9(2/3): 199-212. II) I IV IV II 50 15 77 84 35 > r H > u r IV 76 II 37 I 7 > i i'\ \ 11\ " i s a B s I a - B - B i • 1 T i í I j 11,1*1 j 5 í 1 i • i h, * ä íl* Í Í im hi HLi »I! nuítílíí tú i 13 s í s i m i'* es« i li i ísi l!i i i íl i! 1 «mm ü í^íiit i > ú! .ílr:'i y ii .;''! j 1 1J! ] lil ! * S « « i i i i t ! ! I x 1989 1990 I wo 1990 Dar Roger Co pelu rul Ion Erieksort. Richard V Hilbert MiJi.il VI Met .ill and Howard S. Becker C.1990 Andrew. Murphie 1992 Avambi Meduri 1999 l:)i/abeth Bell 1993 Robert IV Cratae IW3 1993 199* Jane C DeMiiond Stan (iodlovitch IVjijiy I'helati 1993 Alice Ra>ner 1994 Nick Kaye Interculturalism, postmodernism, pluralism The presence of mediation The body as the object of modern performance I he efficacy of performance science comment on MeCall and Becker Performance science Negotiating presence: performance and new technologies Western feminist theory. Asian Indian performance, and a notion of agency Performance studies as women's work: historical sights/sites/cilalions from the margin Performance and production: the relation between science as inquiry and science as cultural practice Embodying difference: issues in dance ami cultural studies The integrity of musical performance The ontology of performance: representation without rcprixJuction The audience: subjects ity. community and the ethics of listening British live art Performing Arts Journal III 3) / 12(1): 163 175 / J)R Journal of Performance Studies .Ut4) 28 44. Journal of Dramatu I hear i and ( ntu < m 5tl>: 231-245. Social Problems 37< 1>: 133 135 Social Problems 37( 1 >: 117 132 Philip Havward led.). Culture, /ethnology A Creativity, London: John Libbcy. pp.209-226. Women and Performance 5(2): 90-103. Text and Performance Quarterly 13(4): 350-374. Robert P. Crease. The Play of Nature: Experimentation a\ Per formante. Bloominglon: Indiana University Preaa, pp. 158-177. Cultural Critique 26: 33-63. Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 51(4): 573 -587 Peggy Phelan, Cnmarked: The Politics of Performance. London: Routledge. pp. 146-166. Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism 7(2): 3-24. Live Art: Definition & Documental ion*. Contemporary Theatre Revie* 2(21 1-7. D 44 IV 83 II 31 (II 53 III 52 IV 86 II 43 14 III 46 II 41 III 62 II 36 IV BJj : : - Chronological Table continued Date Author Title Source Vol Chijp 1994 Jon McKenzie 1994 Richard A. Rogers 1994 Cynthia Ward 1995 Sue-Ellen Case 1995 Una Chaudhuri 1995 Bernard .1 Hihbitts 1995 E. Patrick Johnson 1995 Elizabeth KJaver 1995 Candace West and Susan Fenstermaker 1996 Michal Kobialka 1996 Andrew Parker 1996 Vivian M. Patraka 1996 Bert O. States \ 'J96 Peta Tait 1997 Philip Auslander Virtual reality: performance, immersion, and the thaw Rhylhm and the performance of organization Twins separated at birth? West African vernacular and Western avant garde performativity in theory and practice Performing lesbian in the space of technology: part I "There must be a lot offish in that lake" toward an ecological theater Making motions: the embodiment of law in gesture SNAP! Culture: a different kind of "reading" Spectatorial theory in the age of media culture Doing difference Historical events and the historiography of tourism Praxis and performativity Spectacles of suffering: performing presence, absence, and historical memory at t'S holocaust museums Performance as metaphor Feminine free fall: a fantasy of freedom Legally live The Drama Review Journal of Performance 1 Studies 38(4): 83 106. Te\t and Performance Quarterly 14(3)". 222 237 Text and Performance Quarterly 14(4): 269 288 Theatre Journal 47(1): 1 18. Theater 25( 1): 23 31. Journal oj Contemporary Legal Issues 6: 51-81. Text and Performance Quarterly 15(2): 122 142. New Theatre Quarterly 1 H44): 309-321. Gender and Society 9( 11: 8-37. Journal of Theatre and Drama 2: 153- 174. Women And Performance 8(2): 265-273. Elin Diamond (ed ), Performance and Cultural Politic\, London: Routledge. pp. 89-107. Theatre Journal48(1): I 26. Theatre Journal 48( I): 27-34. The Drama Renew: Journal of Per/or/nan. ■ Studies 41(2): 9 2<> 111 II 10 65 42 IV 74 111 60 II 29 III 54 11 38 IV 70 III 56 III 63 III 57 1 7 ir 33 in ft" n x c z 0 r C Q n > r - > ■ - n X 1997 Erika Fischer-Lichte 1997 Theodore Gracyk 1997 David Graver 1997 Baz Kershaw 1997 David Z Saltz I99S Ann Cooper Albright I99X Susan Leigh Foster 1998 Leonard C. Hawes 1998 Miranda Joseph 1998 Joseph Roach 1998 W. B. Worthen 1999 RicAllsop 1999 Matthew Causey 1999 Franca Harding 1999 Peter Middle-ton Performance arl and ritual: bodies in performance Listening to music: performances and recordings The actor's bodies Fighting in the streets: dramaturgies of popular protest, 1968-1989 The art of interaction: interactivity, performativity, and computers Strategic abtlities: negotiating the disabled body in dance Choreographies of gender Becoming other-wise: conversational performance and the politics of experience 1 he performance of production and consumption The fmure that worked I >i .i :n.i pccformaiivit} and performance Performance writing The screen test of the double: the uncanny performer in the space of technology Presenting and re-presenting the self: from not-acting to acting in African performance Poetry's oral stage Theatre Ruemch htumaMomU 22i l): IV 79 22-37. Journal of Aesthetic* and Art Criticism IV 85 55(2): 139-151. TextandPerformance Quarterly 17(3): II 30 221-235. New Theatre Quarterly 13(51): 255-276. Ill 59 Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism IV 89 55(2): 117-127. Michigan Quarterly Review 37(2): 475-501. II 32 Signs: Journal of IVomen in Culture and IV 73 Society 24(1): 1-34. Text and Performance Quarterly 18(4): III 49 273-299. Social Text 16(1): 25 62. Ill 66 Theater 8(2): 19-26. HI 64 Publications of the Modern Language 11 26 Association 113(5): 1093-1107. Performing Arts Journal 21(1): 76-80. II 28 Theatre Journal 51(4): 383-394 IV 88 TOR: The Journal oj Performance Studie* IV 69 43(2): 118-135. Salin) Kemal and Ivan Gaskell (eds). I 19 Performance and Authenticity in the Art, Cambridge: Cambridge Universit) Press, pp. 215-253. Chronological Table continued Date Author Title Source Vol. Chap. n 1999 Freddie Rokem Theatrical and transgressive energies Assaph: Studies in the Theatre 15: 19-38. 1 16 r ;= J 999 Steve Til lis The art of puppetry in the age of media production The Dream Review: Journal of Performance Studies 43(3): 182 195. IV 87 z z o 1999 Britta B. Wheeler Negotiating deviance and normalivity: performance art, boundary transgressions, and social change Marilyn Corsianos and Kelly Amanda Train (eds). Interrogating Social Justice: Polities, Culture, and Identity, Toronto: Canadian Scholars" Press, pp. 155-179. IV 81 — — 2000 Kimberly W. Benston Prologue performing blackness Performing Blackness: Enactments of IV 71 African-American Modernism. London: _, Routledge. pp. 1 21. 40 > 2001 Shannon Jackson Why modern plays are not culture; Modern Drama 44(1): 31 51. II disciplinary blind spots Substance 31(1-2), I - 2002 Janelle Reinelt The politics of discourse: performativity meets theatricality 9