Why Not an Indian Academy?

BY DR. P. GUHA-THAKURTA, M.A., Ph.D.

Is it not time that we thought seriously of having an Academy of our own? It seems a misfortune that one has to plead for something one ought to have. And yet I have not so far noticed any indication of a craving in any of the well-known intellectual centres for the establishment of an Academy in India. Nearly a year ago I happened to notice in the Statesman a letter to the Editor, written on the subject by Mr. I. A. Chapman, formerly Librarian, Imperial Library, Calcutta. That is all the thought I have come across in connection with the proposal for an Indian Academy, and that again of an Englishman who evidently takes a great deal of interest in the future of Indian literature.

An Academy is not an institution which can be built out of a passing thought of this individual or that. It can only come into existence when there is a genuine demand for it–a demand, voiced and endorsed by the high-priests of Indian culture and all its lovers and votaries allover the country. Quite probably, as yet, there is no adequate realisation of the necessity for instituting the supreme intellectual tribunal, which an Academy usually is in other countries and must necessarily be.

In spite of the great stir discernible in some of the active vernacular literatures in India today, there is little or no tendency towards a close co-operation between them for obtaining recognition, individually and collectively, in the comity of world-culture. In other words, there is no harmony of purpose nor any clear idea as to how the objective of securing for Indian culture an international position of real worth and value, can be achieved. We talk glibly of "international cultural co-operation" and yet, we seem to ignore the necessity for a truly national instrument by means of which we can realise our goal. The vernacular Literatures follow their own specific lines of unfoldment. While there is no harm in each of these literatures pursuing its special aptitudes and inclinations, we shall never be able to build up a truly national culture, distinct from provincial or regional, without the help, guidance, and authority of a select body of belles-lettres men, who may be expected to set up the highest standard of the art of writing, to watch the growth of every renascent literature, encourage its growth, and obtain recognition for its finest products in world-literature.

Without an Academy such as I have just roughly sketched, it will never be possible for India to create or even find avenues of cultural communication and intercourse with the cultures of other civilised nations of the world. It is only through an Academy we can hope to bring to the world's notice not only the masterpieces of a Tagore but also the promising works of the young and struggling writers, setting on these the seal of the Academy's authority and approval. "The mere fact," writes Prof. Edward Thompson in his A Letter From India, "that a writer has to use one of the world's less-spoken tongues should not, in itself, mean that his influence is imprisoned within a tiny territory." But that is precisely how our promising young writers feel. They feel, as keenly as ever, the geographical and linguistic limitations as well as the handicaps imposed on them by provincial and regional environments. An Indian Academy alone can properly liquidate all these drawbacks, by becoming the centre of all hopes and ambitions of young writers writing in the "less-spoken tongues," and being at the same time the final arbiter of literary taste. It can give the necessary stimulus to a full efflorescence of literary promise in India.

India, we are told, is passing through a renaissance, but the renaissance still seems to be in a very fluid state, lacking in form, shape, and coherence. The Academy can give it the things it lacks and perhaps more. And all the things that Prof. Thompson suggests in his book for the development of a closer co-operation between Indian and Western literatures, can also be achieved through the medium and influence of the Academy. We can have, for instance, "Academy Books" of prose and verse, both classical and modern; we can have "Academy Year Books of Indian Art," containing specimens of pictures of all schools; we can have "Academy Year Books of Indian Literature," representing the best productions of every important vernacular; and we can have an "Academy Prize," awarded each year to the most outstanding writer in some vernacular. Thus, through all these activities of this Academy we can watch the progress of each vernacular, and know what recognised writers have passed away and what new writers are forging ahead. Every year, the Academy can also decide which Indian writer best deserves the attention of the world.

Now, who are to form the Academy? That is almost the first thing to find out. One would, of course, name Tagore as the very first choice for the Academy. Other names, Sarojini Naidu, Sir Muhammad Iqbal, Aurobindo Ghose, Sarat Chandra Chatterji, will claim attention. But pursuing the enquiry, of others who might be worthy of inclusion, one cannot say with any sufficient degree of certainty. Anybody might draw up a list; but getting these men together is much more important than the drawing up of a list. I have no doubt that they are all willing men, but they are also busy men, preoccupied with their different interests. So it will be necessary, in the first place, to create the conditions which might draw them to the project. The fact that no initiative has come from any of the men we want for the Academy need not make us assume that they are indifferent to such a proposal and will not co-operate once they can be induced to take the lead. As regards the problem of selection, I see no difficulty, because members of the Academy will select themselves, being masters proven and acknowledged. But the question has to be decided whether they should or should not be entirely belles-lettres men. If not, scientists and philosophers such as Sir. J. C. Bose, Sir S. Radhakrishnan, Sir C. V. Raman, Sir Brojendra Nath Seal and Dr. Paranjpye must be included. The total number of the members of the first Academy may be fixed at ten, and after they have met and decided the first programme of work they may decide whether they should add more members. If we do not restrict the membership to those who have already produced something with the hall-mark of originality on it, we shall soon have an Academy only of mediocres, snobs, provincial politicians, communal gas-bags, literary charlatans, and academic absurdities. The real purpose of having an Academy at all is to have a competent body which is fitted to lay down the law of literary taste and which will be universally respected. We have to drag out what men of letters there are in India, out of their seclusion into the light, in the hope of kindling a fire which will some day become a steady flame. To achieve this we need no backing of influential promoters and armchair dilettanti. And we want no mud in this pure fountain. In any case, let not more than one-third of the members of the Academy be non-belles-lettres men. The drawing up of the constitution and other formal details regarding the working of the Academy may be conveniently left to the members of the first Academy constituted on lines I have barely indicated.

As regards the aims and objects of the Academy, the following suggest themselves: (1) To run a journal, preferably a monthly; (2) To publish a certain number of works of outstanding merit submitted to it and to undertake translation into one or more foreign languages of any work likely to receive international recognition; (3) To organise periodic enquiries into the condition of Indian vernaculars, record their progress, formulate ways and means for their progressive development, encourage promising writers, and give writers in one vernacular every possible opportunity to make themselves known to writers in other vernaculars as well as to the public.

This is only the bare skeleton of work that I have envisaged for the Indian Academy; the rest must evolve out of itself in the fullness of time.

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