our-yoga

Practice this morning was... interesting, because of the combination of physical heaviness and emotional heaviness in me. There was emotional heaviness, because of the lingering effects of watching Les Miserables yesterday; as I was breathing and moving through the asanas, bits and pieces of songs from Les Miz would come into my mind, and I would actually get goosebumps. There was also physical heaviness, because after watching Les Miz yesterday, I went to a Mexican restaurant and indulged in my secret Mexican vice: Huevos Rancheros! I probably have enough cholesterol in my system right now to last me the entire week, maybe even the rest of the month. Why do I do this to myself? I don't know; there's just something about packing a lot of carbs and protein and corn into myself every now and again that is mind-numbingly satiating; getting drunk on carbs, if you will.

Despite the physical and emotional heaviness, I still did a pretty satisfactory full primary. Took longer breaths in the standing postures, ala Grimmly. And in the finishing backbends, I did six UDs instead of the standard three, because I felt that I needed to do more to open my body for dropbacks and standups. The whole practice took an hour and a half. Not exactly Sharath's pace, but respectable enough, I think, especially given the extra things I did.

This morning, I had some more time to think about Les Miserables, and to ponder the question of why more Americans do not like musicals. As I understand it, the Golden Age of musicals in America was during the forties and fifties, when Rodgers and Hammerstein wrote all their wonderful pieces (Oklahoma, South Pacific, etc), and when the likes of Judy Garland entertained millions with their on-screen singing. In the ensuing decades since, despite a few attempts to revive the genre here and there (Chicago, Hairspray, etc.), the musical has never quite caught back on. I get the sense that most Americans think musicals are weird or dorky.

Why do they think this? I'm not entirely sure. Perhaps many Americans think that musicals are weird because they require the audience to suspend too many common-sense beliefs about reality. For example, a student in one of my classes a few semesters ago said, "In real life, people don't break out into song after they have been shot and are dying! They just... die." Interesting point.

Another related reason for the lack of general interest in musicals may be this: The very nature of singing requires the singer to maintain a sort of artistic distance between what she is expressing through her singing and the emotion that is supposedly conveyed through the singing. I know this is a very awkward way of saying what I'm trying to say, but think about it this way: If you are really, really sad and devastated about something, you probably wouldn't be singing about your sadness. You would be crying, sobbing, bawling or doing whatever else it is that you do when you give vent to your emotions. Being able to sing about something requires you to put a certain poetic distance between you and the raw emotions that you are supposedly feeling. I suspect that it is the presence of this poetic distance that alienates many people from musicals: After all, "real people" do not sing when they are sad. They just cry or sob or bawl or whatever. So musicals are "not real", from this point of view.

I don't really know if the above represent the reasons why many Americans do not like musicals (although I think I am on to something). I also don't really want to change anybody's minds about musicals. After all, as one reviewer puts it, "Either you are in or you are out when it comes to musicals." There is no middle ground.

This may be so. But I wouldn't be doing my duty if I don't make at least a feeble attempt at possibly changing somebody's mind. So here goes. To its credit, the latest interpretation of Les Miz actually makes a very credible attempt at bridging the artistic distance between artistic expression and emotion. It does this by having its performers sing their parts while they are filming, instead of pre-recording everything in the studio and then having the actors lip-synch on screen. This, combined with lots of extreme close-ups of the actors while they are singing and emoting, gives a certain immediacy to the delivery. For instance, take a look at Anne Hathaway's "I Dreamed a Dream", which was sung and filmed in a single take... well, actually, it looks like they don't have the actual scene on Youtube yet. But I found a clip below that at least has her voice in it. Take a listen. And then maybe go see the movie. And then maybe you'll change your mind about musicals. Or not :-)

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These past couple of days, I have been reading, thinking and preparing for my philosophy of art class that meets on Wednesday evening. The questions that my class will be discussing this Wednesday are: What is artistic value? Is the artistic value of a work separate (or separable) from other values that it may possess; values such as cognitive value, moral value, social value, educational value, historical value, therapeutic value, or economic value, among others?

To illustrate these questions better, let's use an example. Suppose a person who is having some issues in a romantic relationship feels better after watching Woody Allen's Vicky Cristina Barcelona, not because the movie offers any direct solutions to his relationship troubles (knowing Woody Allen, it probably doesn't :-)), but because the plot of the movie and its characters somehow function to help this person better put his relationship troubles in perspective. So the movie has psycho-therapeutic value for this person. But an art critic may say that the therapeutic value of this movie has nothing to do with its value as a work of art: Just because the movie is effective as a psycho-therapeutic tool says nothing about the production value of the movie, or about the aesthetically relevant aspects of the movie (cinematography, story, character development, etc.).

There is a lively debate in contemporary philosophy of art over whether the artistic value of a work is related to the other values (such as therapeutic value) that the same work may possess. Our art critic above believes that there is no relation between artistic value and other kinds of value the work may possess. But others may disagree.

On a related note, there is also a lively conversation over the question of whether the moral value of a work of art is separable or distinct from its artistic or aesthetic value. Should proper appreciation and understanding of a work of art function to make us better people? If we do not become better people as a result of engaging in artistic endeavors, have we in a sense failed to engage in art properly? Again, different people have different views about this. The American poet and literary critic Yvor Winters argues that poetry is and should be a means of strengthening intellectual and moral character:

"Poetry... should offer a means of enriching one's awareness of human experience and so of rendering greater the possibility of intelligence in the course of future action; and it should offer likewise a means of inducing certain more or less constant habits of feeling, which should render greater the possibility of one's acting, in a future situation, in accordance with the findings of one's improved intelligence. It should, in other words, increase the intelligence and strengthen the moral temper; these effects should naturally be carried over into action, if, through constant discipline, they are made permanent acquisitions."  

But I suspect that many will disagree with Winters here. After all, history seems to provide abundant examples of seemingly highly cultured individuals who nevertheless are highly morally deficient; Joseph Goebbels, Hitler's minister of propaganda, was a published novelist who also had a doctorate in romantic drama. Or maybe these individuals have failed to understand and appreciate the significance of art in some important sense; perhaps, despite their extensive engagement with art, they have failed to bring about the strengthening of the moral temper that proper engagement and involvement with art should bring about.

I don't have an answer to any of these issues. But I think there is much to think about here. But there is definitely a certain parallel set of issues with yoga practice here. One recurring theme in my posts over the last few months has been the relationship between asana practice and moral development or character. Should "correct", "proper" practice of asana result in some kind of strengthening of the moral temper and make us better people? We know that, as with the case of art, real life seems to provide us with abundant examples of advanced asana practitioners who nevertheless do not appear to be very morally evolved: See, for instance, Claudia's recent story about the coconut-men-yellers in this post. Actually, we don't even have to go all the way to Mysore to look for examples: I myself have engaged in some assholic behavior that I am definitely not proud of (which is not to say I am an advanced asana practitioner, of course; hmm... does this get me off the moral hook? :-)).

I guess the question is: What is the diagnosis for these asana-practicing assholes (myself included)? The way I see it, there are at least three possible answers:

(1) One straightforward answer could be that these folks (again, myself included) may be proficient at asana, but have not done enough to incorporate the other limbs (especially yama and niyama) into their yoga, so that they are really not practicing yoga, but only appearing to. 

(2) Another possible answer could be that the yoga is working even on these assholes: If you think I'm an asshole now, wait till you see me when I don't practice...

(3) Yet another possible answer could be that despite everything we've been brainwashed--uh, I mean, taught--to believe, yoga really isn't all it's cracked up to be. You do whatever yoga you can do, but whether or not you become self-realized in the end has nothing to do with the yoga (maybe it's genetically determined?). Which means the system really doesn't work. Quick! Jump ship while you still can! Maybe go do Pilates or Taichi or something...

Again, I don't know what the answer is: I'm hoping it's (2), but what do I know?   

Anyway, time to go eat some dinner. This is what happens when I don't blog for a couple of days: You get subjected to one long-ass post! Well, I hope you find at least some of this useful (or at least entertaining...).

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Today, in my philosophy of art class, we were pondering the question: "What gives a work of art its artistic value?"

One prominent answer that many philosophers have given to this question is: Experience. According to these philosophers, a work of art has whatever artistic value it has because of the value of the experience that it affords the connoisseur. For instance, a particular piece of music has artistic value because of the experience it affords you, the listener, as you go through the process of listening to it, appreciating its formal qualities and various layers of meaning in its lyrics, as well as savoring whatever emotions and raw feelings the music brings up in you.

This answer, however, brings up some interesting problems. For instance, if there were something else which can give you the exact same experience as actually listening to this piece of music, would this thing then have the same artistic value as actually listening to the piece of music? For instance, suppose there were a pill that you can take that can evoke in you the exact same experience that you would have if you were actually listening to this piece of music. Suppose this pill contains certain sophisticated hallucinogens which can put you into a state in which you experience exactly the same images and experiences you would experience if you were actually listening to a live performance of the music, down to the last detail, so that your conscious mind is unable to distinguish between this hallucinogen-induced musical experience, and the actual real-world experience of being in a concert hall and listening to the piece of music being performed live. Would you then say that this hallucinogenic musical experience has the exact same artistic value as the real-world musical experience?

If the answer is yes (i.e. the hallucinogenic musical experience has the exact same artistic value as the real-world musical experience), wouldn't this mean that works of art don't even have to be actual or exist in the real world in order for them to have artistic value? All that is needed is for them to be experienced in somebody's consciousness at some point in time or other. And if we take this line of thought a little further, wouldn't this imply that virtual works of art, i.e. works of art that only exist in somebody's mind, have just as much artistic value as works of art that exist in the real world? Interesting, don't you think?


This thought experiment can be applied to yoga, with a few changes. Suppose there were a pill that you can take that can evoke in you the exact same experience that you would have if you were, say, doing full primary... Actually, let's take this a little further. Suppose this pill is so sophisticated that it can induce not just the process of doing yoga, but also the end result: Samadhi. Suppose that, in addition to replicating the sensations of doing the yoga practice, this pill also replicates whatever experiences one would have when one finally experiences Samadhi after so many years of practice. (Note: It is important that the pill replicates not just the experience of Samadhi, but also the experience of the process of practice that is undertaken to get to Samadhi. Otherwise, the experience wouldn't feel authentic.) So suppose this pill puts you into the exact same states that you would experience in the real world if you were to undertake the entire journey of yoga practice and attain Samadhi, down to the last detail, so that your conscious mind is unable to distinguish between this hallucinogen-induced yogic experience, and the actual real-world experience of going through a yoga sadhana and attaining Samadhi. Would this hallucinogenic yogic experience then have the exact same, uh, yogic value as the real-world yogic experience? Would you take this pill?

Hmm... I think this makes for a fun poll question. So I'm going to conduct a poll on this. It's in the upper right-hand corner of this blog, as always. Please take a moment to cast your vote. I think I already know what the response to this poll is going to be like, but I'll try to keep my mind open anyway, and see what comes up. :-)      

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A few days ago, in my philosophy of art class, we continued our ongoing discussion of the question of what art is. We continued to study the views of Monroe Beardsley. Beardsley's view is that art serves a distinct need in society: A need for aesthetic experience. Briefly, his view is that as a society attains a certain level of maturity and develops a distinct culture, its members cease to only be occupied with fulfilling basic survival needs such as the needs for food and shelter, and begin to develop other needs that are distinct from such basic needs. The need for aesthetic experience is one such need. It is not entirely clear if this need is a single need, or a conglomeration of various other needs; at any rate, the idea is that members of any society that has a distinct culture experience such a need. The relationship between culture and the need for aesthetic experience is a mutually reinforcing one: The existence of the culture gives rise to this need, the fulfillment of which, in turn, further nourishes and enriches the culture.

All of this casts an interesting light on the question of whether yoga is art. If yoga is art in Beardsley's sense, does it then serve to fulfill some kind of aesthetic need? What is this need like, and how do we experience it in the course of our daily yoga practice? Is the practitioner fulfilling this need in himself or herself as he or she does the practice? Or is he or she fulfilling this need in others around him or her?

If yoga is not art in Beardsley's sense, then in what sense might it be thought of as an art, if it is?

Well, I'll have to keep this post short, as I need to go fulfill a basic need now: The need for food. But maybe all this might be good food for thought (no pun intended)?    

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