Abstract
The critical analysis of desire is a staple of classical Buddhist thought; however, modern scholarship has focused primarily on doctrinal and scholastic texts that explain the Buddhist understanding of desire. As a result, the contribution of kāvya (poetry) to the classical Buddhist philosophy of desire has not received much scholarly attention. To address this dearth, I explore in this article the notion of kāma (desire or love) in Aśvaghoṣa’s epic poem, the Saundarananda (Beautiful Nanda). I begin by framing the poem’s Buddhist interpretation of desire and highlighting the didactic and transcendental role of kāma in transforming Nanda, the poem’s protagonist. Then, I examine Aśvaghoṣa’s poetic depictions of Nanda, Sundarī, and the apsarases, outlining the Saundarananda’s phenomenology of desire. Overall, this article illustrates how Aśvaghoṣa employs the genre of kāvya to express a Buddhist critique of desire that focuses on the nature of the desirable object and the state of mind of the desirous subject.
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Notes
Kachru (2015) demonstrates the philosophical depth of some of the figures in Aśvaghoṣa’s kāvya. His analysis of the “figure of figuration” in the Saundarananda, specifically, unveils the intellectual treasure trove hidden in Aśvaghoṣa’s tropes.
There is a common refrain that philosophers work with concepts while poets work with figures. According to Nietzsche, for example, “the genuine poet” employs figures in the form of metaphors and characters as a substitute for the philosopher’s conventional use of concepts (1886/1999, p. 43). In the Birth of Tragedy, Nietzsche (1886/1999) implores modern thinkers to take a page out of the ancient Greeks who were able to develop some of their most complex notions by invoking figures rather than solely relying on concepts. With Nietzsche in mind, I would characterize Aśvaghoṣa as the type of thinker that relies on both concepts and figures in his exploration of broad philosophical notions.
Aśvaghoṣa explains in the final verses of the Saundarananda that his kāvya is therapeutic, and that his work has been composed for the sake of liberation. (Sn 18.63–64). On Aśvaghoṣa’s aestheticization of the Dharma and his distinguishable literary style, see Ollett (2019).
For an example of Aśvaghoṣa’s philosophical contribution to the Buddhist tradition see Eltschinger (2013).
For starters, one might consider how in the fourth canto of the Saundarananda, the female body is celebrated as beautiful in the portrayal of Sundarī, yet it becomes an object of scorn and mockery in the eighth canto. Later, in the tenth canto, the female form is described once more as glorious when Nanda encounters the apsarases, whose divine bodies transcend worldly limitations. However, even their celestial beauty is revealed as deceptive and harmful when Nanda acknowledges that the possibility of enjoying it is always ephemeral. This seesaw is an example of how Aśvaghoṣa develops his own unique position, which both remains loyal to the kāvya tradition and betrays it. On this sophisticated play of different perspectives in Aśvaghoṣa’s kāvya, see Tzohar (2019).
In making this claim, I am thinking of Nussbaum’s assertion that “some views of the world and how one should live in it—views, especially, that emphasize the world’s surprising variety, its complexity and mysteriousness, its flawed and imperfect beauty—that cannot be fully and adequately stated in the language of conventional philosophical prose, a style remarkably flat and lacking in wonder—but only in a language and in forms more complex, more allusive, more attentive to particulars” (Nussbaum 1990, p. 3).
Regan proposes that Aśvaghoṣa aims to extend the transformation of his main characters to the minds of his readers. In Regan’s words, “as the plots of Buddhacarita and Saundarananda unfold, and the Buddha and his brother Nanda go from erotic and ascetic scenes to the sites of liberation, readers are engaged and moved in ways that refine their perceptions, introducing forms of concentration and insight not unlike the Buddhist practices depicted in these works” (2022, p. 2).
Not all mahākāvyas necessarily have a main philosophical theme. However, I do believe that one feature that makes Aśvaghoṣa’s mahākāvyas unique is the focus on a broad philosophical subject, such as Dharma or kāma, which results in various perspectives and insights on its elusive nature.
yaṃ kāmadevaṃ pravadanti loke
citrāyudhaṃ puṣpaśaraṃ tathaiva /
kāmapracārādhipatiṃ tam eva
mokṣadviṣaṃ māram udāharanti // (Bc 13.2)
Throughout this article, the transcription of the Buddhacarita is taken from Johnston’s (1935) critical Sanskrit edition of the text. Olivelle (2008) translates Johnston’s edition of the Buddhacarita with a few rare emendations of the Sanskrit text.
devyām api yavīyasyām
araṇyām iva pāvakaḥ /
nando nāma suto jajñe
nityānandakaraḥ kule // (Sn 2.57)
madhumāsa iva prāptaś
candro nava ivoditaḥ /
aṅgavān iva cānaṅgaḥ
sa babhau kāntayā śriyā // (Sn 2.59)
Throughout this article, the transcription of the Saundarananda is taken from Johnston’s (1928) critical Sanskrit edition of this text. Covill (2007) translates Johnston’s edition of the Saundarananda.
The god of love is mentioned here by one of his epithets anaṅga, which means, “he who has no body.” Aśvaghoṣa chooses this epithet of Kāmadeva to create a word-play between the term aṅgavān, which literally means “possessing a body,” and anaṅga, which means the exact opposite. To put it simply, while the god of love is without a body, Nanda resembles him yet he possesses a body or a “human form.” In the fourth canto, Aśvaghoṣa also likens Nanda to a target of the god of love (Sn 4.8), possibly insinuating that Nanda is not an incarnation of Kāmadeva but a person who seems as if struck by his flower arrows. One might consider this to be at odds with the characterization of Nanda as the god of love in human form; however, the complex mythology of Kāmadeva works with the idea that in his disembodied state, the god of love manifests in different forms and takes on different bodies (Killingley 2004, pp. 281–282). In other words, Kāmadeva is considered to have various incarnations, and I am suggesting that according to Aśvaghoṣa, Nanda is one of them.
The tension between the two brothers is especially conspicuous in the first ten cantos of the poem.
ity eṣā vyupaśāntaye na rataye
mokṣārthagarbhā kṛtiḥ
śrotṝṇāṃ grahaṇārtham anyamanasāṃ
kāvyopacārāt kṛtā /
yan mokṣāt kṛtam anyad atra hi mayā
tat kāvyadharmāt kṛtaṃ
pātuṃ tiktam ivāuṣadhaṃ madhuyutaṃ
hṛdyaṃ kathaṃ syād iti // (Sn 18.63).
It is difficult to determine Aśvaghoṣa’s sectarian identity; however, there is no question that his work reflects a deep familiarity with the early strata of Buddhist scripture. For further reading on Aśvaghoṣa’s conception of the Path and the issue of his Buddhist sectarian identity see Choi (2010).
pravṛttiduḥkhasya ca tasya loke
tṛṣṇādayo doṣagaṇā nimittam /
naiveṣvaro na prakṛtir na kālo
nāpi svabhāvo na vidhir yadṛcchā // (Sn 16.17)
Throughout this article I address the term kāma along with a variety of terms in Sanskrit that share with it a certain semantic field that roughly overlaps with the modern English word “desire.” When addressing such terms, I will mention them and explain how I interpret their meaning in the specific context in which they appear.
For a survey of the Pāli versions of the Nanda story see Covill (2009, pp. 57–64).
sa vā jano yatra gatā taveṣṭiḥ (Sn 10.16d)
doṣāṃś ca kāyād bhiṣag ujjihīrṣur
bhūyo yathā kleśayituṃ yateta /
rāgaṃ tathā tasya munir jighāṃsur
bhūyastaraṃ rāgam upānināya // (Sn 10.43)
mahac ca rūpaṃ svaṇu hanti rūpaṃ
śabdo mahān hanti ca śabdam alpam /
gurvī rujā hanti rujāṃ ca mṛdviṃ
sarvo mahān hetur aṇor vadhāya // (Sn 10.45)
Using the word “passion” to translate rāga in this verse is fitting because of the etymological connection between desire and suffering evoked by it. Rāga, notably, is one of the most common terms in Buddhism, more broadly, and in this poem, more specifically, for denoting desire or passion. Aśvaghoṣa employs this term and the term kāma alternately throughout the Saundarananda, yet in the tenth canto, rāga is the particular term Aśvaghoṣa uses most frequently to refer to Nanda’s desire.
Faure (1998, p. 15) addresses this function of desire and its rootedness in ignorance.
On the different dimensions of Sundarī’s figure in the Saundarananda, see Kachru (2019).
In some cases, kāma may also refer to the pleasure one experiences from obtaining or making contact with an object.
Regarding my suggestion that, according to Aśvaghoṣa, the apsarases could be rendered the paradigmatic object of desire that invites any person to critically reflect on the tendency to form an attachment to objects in general, one might rightfully raise the objection that the Saundarananda’s Buddhist critique of desire I present here, and throughout this article, is largely constructed from a male perspective and for a male audience. This objection is valid, yet properly addressing this criticism of Aśvaghoṣa’s work goes beyond the scope of this study. I will add, however, that if one wishes to examine Aśvaghoṣa as a poet (kāvi) or a Buddhist thinker through the critical lens of gender studies, for example, I think it is important to do so while remaining sensitive to the “literary logic” (Kaul 2006) of Aśvaghoṣa’s texts. Careful consideration of Aśvaghoṣa’s period and the intellectual milieu to which he belongs are vital for thoroughly exploring the type of masculinity associated with his work.
parasparodvīkṣaṇatatparākṣaṃ
parasparavyāhṛtasaktacittam /
parasparāśleṣahṛtāṇgarāgaṃ
parasparaṃ tan mithunaṃ jahāra // (Sn 4.9)
aindraṃ vanaṃ tac ca dadarśa nandaḥ
samantato vismayaphulladṛṣṭiḥ /
harṣānvitāś cāpsarasaḥ parīyuḥ
sagarvam anyonyam avekṣamāṇāḥ //
sadā yuvatyo madanaikakāryāḥ
sādhāraṇāḥ puṇyakṛtāṃ vihārāḥ /
divyāś ca nirdoṣaparigrahāś ca
tapaḥphalasyāśrayaṇaṃ surāṇām // (Sn 10.35–36)
While I am highlighting the contrast between the lover’s private chambers and Indra’s heaven, Kachru (2012, p. 22) points out that Aśvaghoṣa also likens Nanda and Sundarī’s residence to heaven and compares the two lovers to divine beings.
tāḥ niḥsṛtāḥ prekṣya vanāntarebhyas
taḍitpatākā iva toyadebhyaḥ /
nandasya rāgeṇa tanur vivepe
jale cale candramasaḥ prabheva //
vapuś ca divyaṃ lalitāś ca ceṣṭās
tataḥ sa tāsāṃ manasā jahāra /
kautūhalāvarjitayā ca dṛṣṭyā
saṃśleṣatarṣād iva jātarāgaḥ //
sa jātatarṣo 'psarasaḥ pipāsus
tatprāptaye 'dhiṣṭhitaviklavārtaḥ / (Sn 10.39–41ab)
The word tarṣa appearing in these verses from the Saundarananda (Sn 10.40; 10.41) is interchangeable with tṛṣṇā, the more common word for thirst in Buddhist texts. Both words derive from the root tṛṣ and share the same literal and figurative meanings.
In this case, the term desire is expressed by using the desiderative form, which is implemented on the root pā (to drink), leading to the meaning of “one who desires to drink.”
The feeling of loneliness Nanda experiences while trying to meditate in the secluded forest is carefully examined by Tzohar (2021). Much like the exploration of desire in the Saundarananda, Aśvaghoṣa’s portrayal of Nanda’s solitude (viveka) in this poem is another good example of his unique ability to draw on both the kāvya and Buddhist traditions when tackling a complicated subject matter.
A mark on the forehead made with sandal.
kāmātmakaś cāsmi guruś ca buddhaḥ
sthito 'ntare cakragater ivāsmi //
ahaṃ gṛhītvāpi hi bhikṣuliṅgaṃ
bhrātṝṣiṇā dvirguruṇānuśiṣṭaḥ /
sarvāsv avasthāsu labhe na śāntiṃ
priyāviyogād iva cakravākaḥ //
adyāpi tan me hṛdi vartate ca
yad darpaṇe vyākulite mayā sā /
kṛtānṛtakrodhakam abravīn māṃ
kathaṃ kṛto 'sīti śaṭhaṃ hasantī //
yathaiṣy anāśyānaviśeṣakāyāṃ
mayīti yan mām avadac ca sāśru /
pāriplavākṣeṇa mukhena bālā
tan me vaco 'dyāpi mano ruṇaddhi // (Sn 7.16cd–19)
My rendering of the “turning wheel” (cakra-gati) as a kind of torture device is predicated strictly on this example from the Saundarananda. I could not locate other instances in classical Sanskrit literature where cakra-gati refers to a torture device, nor could I find examples of using a breaking wheel as an instrument of torture in classical India.
Regarding the closed structure of the lover’s mind, Roland Barthes (1978) opens his book, A Lover’s Discourse, by discussing some of the amorous subject’s characteristics. He argues that the lover is captured in his role, like a sculpture. Barthes explains that the closedness of the amorous subject is derived, among other factors, from his coded language, which “the other,” i.e., anyone but his or her beloved, could never understand. Barthes’ description of the lover differs in many ways from the manner in which Aśvaghoṣa portrays Nanda; however, the locked-up structure found in both cases opens an opportunity for a constructive dialogue involving the two thinkers. On the closed structure of the amorous subject, see Barthes (1978, p. 4).
saṃvṛtena ca śāntena
tīvreṇa madanena ca /
jalāgner iva saṃsargāc
chaśāma ca śuśoṣa ca //
svabhāvadarśanīyo 'pi
vairūpyam agamat param /
cintayāpsarasāṃ caiva
niyamenāyatena ca // (Sn 11.5–6)
Madana in another term that denotes desire or passion in the Saundarananda. As Covill translation indicates, it expresses Nanda’s violent or terrible (tīvra) passion for the apsarases.
The possibility of distinguishing between different forms of desire is common in the Buddhist tradition. In the Pāli canon, for example, we find both a terminological distinction between different types of desire (Webster 2005), as well as claims that attachment to the Buddhist rules of conduct is preferable to an attachment to the pleasures of the senses (Gethin 1998, p. 71). Similarly, I have drawn a distinction in Aśvaghoṣa’s poem between different modes of desire by evaluating which are perceived to be more harmful to the subject’s pursuit of liberation and which are less.
Abbreviations
- Bc:
-
Buddhacarita
- Sn:
-
Saundarananda
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