BOOK REVIEWS 501

The section on the 20th century is more of sociological than of artistic interest. Amusing insight is given into suc- cessive monarchs' attitudes towards their collections and to Sir Oliver's predecessors in the surveyorship. It is easy for skeptics to laugh at royal attempts to follow the modern movement (John Piper, Sidney Nolan) or to be condescend-

ing about such conventional pictures as Sir William Nichol- son's, but current changes in taste, reacting against that of the 1950's and 1960's, are likely to be less severe about royal ignorance of abstract art.

It is usually considered the reviewer's task to note

shortcomings. The author's scrupulousness in art-historical matters is such that I have found only one blemish. This concerns the Rembrandt Self-Portrait in the Walker Art Gal- lery, Liverpool. There is now some doubt whether this is the picture actually owned by Charles I, although the descrip- tion fits almost exactly, and several writers, including the present reviewer, have accepted the identification in the past.

The book is lavishly presented, with a number of decent color plates. There is a danger that this attention to elegance on the part of the publisher will cause the student reader to shun the contents as coffee-table material. Conversely, readers of genuine coffee-table volumes, whoever they are, might find Sir Oliver's meticulousness and inclusion of a

large amount of detail too great a challenge. In fact, both the general reader and the specialist should derive a good deal of pleasure from this book.

CHRISTOPHER WRIGHT London

ANANDA K. COOMARASWAMY, Selected Papers, Traditional Art and Symbolism, Vol. I; Selected Papers, Metaphysics, Vol. II; ROGER LIPSEY, His Life and Work, Vol. III (Bollingen Series,

XooXix), Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1977. Vol. I, 580 pp.; $30. Vol. II, 470 pp.; $30. Two-vol. set, $50. Vol. III, 312 pp.; $17.50

Coomaraswamy is popularly known as the author of The

Transformation of Nature in Art (1934). As a historian of Indian art, his "most important single contribution," as Roger Lip- sey says, was his discovery of Rajput painting.1 He is also well known for his critique of Western industrialism. Rus- kin's phrase, "Industry without art is brutality," quoted like

Scripture by Coomaraswamy, is one of the touchstones of his thought, and Lipsey gives him credit for coining "the very term Post-Industrialism."2 Hand in hand with this goes Coomaraswamy's Blakean conception of "idealistic in- dividualism," and his belief in a "Nietzschean aristocracy": those who, transvaluing Christian values, nonetheless dis- cover their moral connection with other men, in a new cul- ture. Art would be of its essence: in Blake's words, art would

cleanse "the doors of perception," so that "everything would appear . . . as it is, infinite."3

Coomaraswamy was obviously a man of parts: art and cultural historian, social and moral philosopher. The papers Lipsey has collected, from Coomaraswamy's prime years, 1932-1947, when he was curator in the Department of Asiatic Art at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts (where he built the first large collection of Indian art in this country), and the biography Lipsey has written, show the centrally determin- ing part, the intention that gave unity to the variety of Coomaraswamy's activities. In a brilliant critique of the crit- icism of intentional analysis launched by Monroe C. Beardsley and W. K. Wimsatt, Jr. -among the originators of the New (literary) Criticism -in their famous essay on "The Intentional Fallacy," Coomaraswamy wrote, "The only pos- sible literary criticism of an already existing and extant work is one in terms of the ratio of intention to result."4 Accepting this, I mean to determine the ratio of intention to result in Coomaraswamy's thought, particularly in those areas where his method becomes self-conscious and militant, viz., his sense of modern art and art history. His negative view of both, although having a certain validity, shows the lim- itations of his own intention, and makes us realize that his results are open to question.

Coomaraswamy's intention is outspokenly metaphysical and religious. He means to make clear the metaphysical na- ture of art, its mediation of basic truths. "The practice of an art is not traditionally, as it is for us, a secular activity, or even a matter of affective 'inspiration,' but a metaphysical rite."5 Coomaraswamy's identification of this view as tra- ditional is a self-identification: he viewed his own ideas as

"nothing but the Christian and Oriental philosophy of art, expressed anew."6 As Lipsey says, it was the return to first principles that mattered to Coomaraswamy. Any art that did not convey them, that did not bespeak the philosophia perennis, and any art history that did not educate us, that is to say, lead us to the principles embodied in the art, was not worth the name, and was misguided from the start. The expectation and pursuit of first principles leads directly to Coomaraswamy's rejection of modern art and art history. Neither of them, according to him, are concerned with first principles; neither pursue a vision of metaphysical truth. The one errs on the side of subjectivity, the other on the side of objectivity. Modern art is merely a matter of "aesthetics" (always used pejoratively by Coomaraswamy), i.e., an ex- pression of taste or natural sensibility, a response to the natural restlessness or irritability of the senses and emo-

tions.7 Art history tends to take the visual symbol for the metaphysical substance, making the visual reality the exclu- sive reality of art. For Coomaraswamy, modern art and art history are guilty of the same surface-orientation, the same over-objectification of the work of art into its matter-of-

1 Lipsey, 74.

2 Ibid., 111.

3 Ibid., 108f. 4 Coomaraswamy, I, 274. Coomaraswamy's critique is actually in response to the Beardsley-Wimsatt article on "Intention" in the Dictionary of World Literature (1944). There they developed ideas which crystallized into their conception of "The Intentional Fal- lacy," in The Verbal Icon (1954). s Coomaraswamy, I, 164. 6 Lipsey, 185.

7 For Coomaraswamy, "restlessness is essentially uncultured," and

contrasts with "recollectedness or detachment, a capacity for still- ness of mind and body" (quoted by Lipsey, 52). Modernity encour- ages restlessness, tradition cultivates stillness. For Coomaraswamy, the aesthetic involves an appeal to the irrational or "sensibly- perceptible," and can be identified with "what the biologist now calls 'irritability"' (Coomaraswamy, I, 13, n. 2.). The modern aesthetic is concerned, in Whitehead's words, "to excite emotions for their own sake" (quoted by Coomaraswamy, I, 14). Modern aesthetics tend to substitute "psychological explanations for the traditional conception of art as an intellectual virtue and of beauty as pertaining to knowledge" (ibid.). In general, the aesthetic reduces art to "a mere pleasure of the senses," which from the traditional point of view is "madness" (Coomaraswamy, I, 68f).

502 THE ART BULLETIN

factly given surfaces, the same reduction of the work of art to the object of art, the same elimination of the work by which the art becomes "principled" for the sake of the ob- ject which merely appears.

Coomaraswamy repeatedly attacks modern art and art history for their refusal to recognize that "aesthetic surfaces are ... 'visible meanings.'"'8 Correlatively, he condemns modern art and art history as "fetishistic." That is, they "stop at the enjoyment" of the surface of the art, reifying it absolutely, and so never "get to the underlying truth" the art mediates.9 Because of this, modern art and art history tend to empty art of meaning. A major example of this for

Coomaraswamy is the "degeneration of meaning" of the or- namental or decorative into the cosmetic or sophistic, the flattering, in modern art and life.'0 Similarly, there is a de- generation of iconographic meaning in art history, which studies iconographies because they transmit "stimulating ... cultural data" or "because their representation at a given time and place is beautiful," rather than "out of a need to reconstitute the traditional world-view and to experience what effect it can have on modern temperaments.""1 In gen- eral, the modern world is "increasingly emptied of mean- ing" for Coomaraswamy, i.e., of metaphysical and religious meaning.12 For him, modernity comes to mean the articula- tion of meaningless fact, fact whose principle and point for human life are willfully uncomprehended, and so fact that is ultimately unintelligible.

Coomaraswamy's critique of aesthetic positivism in mod- ern art and iconographic positivism in art history, of the two dominant kinds of formalism in contemporary art studies, is to my mind masterly if not always systematic, trenchant if not always tactful. Although usually presented in the course of other inquiries in an offhand, even seem- ingly arbitrary manner (and certainly prejudiced, as Lipsey

acknowledges, and without theoretical clarification), Coomaraswamy's critique of modern positivism as it ap- pears in the art context is nonetheless admirably consistent. Thus, his admiration for Stieglitz's photographs has nothing to do with their aesthetic quality, their surfaces, but with the view that they "are in the great tradition," stressing "precisely the right values," using "symbols . . . correctly," and so becoming an "'absolute' art, in the same sense that Bach's music is 'absolute' music."'3 One senses that one kind of absolutism is used to combat another, leaving us free to recognize the lack of absolute character in both surface and meaning, however empirical the one and primordial the other.

Lipsey takes great pains to emphasize, again and again, Coomaraswamy's "habit of erudition, his high valuation of factual knowledge,"'14 the "erudite, detailed, impartial" character of his scholarly work,15 his "early scientific train- ing.'"16 (Coomaraswamy, trained as a geologist, discovered a new mineral, thorianite, in 1904.17) All of this seems de- signed to soften the impact of Coomaraswamy's critique of positivism, to redeem his scholarship for some conventional conception of art history by suggesting that, however "ten- dentious" his scholarship may be, it is still sound. Over and over again, scholarly impartiality is held up by Lipsey as both a mythical ideal and a concrete necessity. He does not seem to realize that it is subject to the same critique as the one Husserl made of scientific exactitude. Lipsey can ask: "If the impulse [behind Coomaraswamy's scholarship] is re- ligious, is it not perhaps to the same degree lacking in schol- arly impartiality?," as if every kind of significant schol- arship did not have, wittingly or unwittingly, some ulterior human motive behind it, a motive Coomaraswamy dared to acknowledge openly, as if to gain firm control of it and its effect.'" Lipsey only obscures the issue: it is not whether the

8 Coomaraswamy, I, 66, n. 65. Coomaraswamy constantly reiterates this idea, or else its correlate, that "art is not a mere matter of aesthetic surfaces" (ibid., 124). Again: "The aesthetic surfaces are by no means terminal values [as he thinks modern art thinks], but an invitation to a picture of which the visible traces are only a projec- tion, and to a mystery that evades the letter of the spoken world" (ibid., 168). For modern man, the "'aesthetic' approach stands be- tween us and the content of the work of art, of which only the surface interests us" (ibid., 179). In discussing the "aesthetic shock" "induced by some physically or mentally poignant experience," he characterizes it as "the realization of the implications of what are strictly speaking only the aesthetic surfaces of phenomena that may be liked or disliked as such. The complete experience transcends this condition of 'irritability'" (ibid., 182). 9 Coomaraswamy, I, 283, n. 35. This is an adaptation of a quotation from Meister Eckhardt. Quoting Clement Greenberg's assertion that the "modern painter derives his inspiration from the very physical materials he works with," Coomaraswamy (I, 31f., n. 70) argues that what this "actually means is that the modern artist may be excited, but is not inspired." He quotes with approval (I, 48) Guenon's as- sertion (which he characterizes as having a "bitter clarity") that "in the whole of medieval art, and otherwise than in modern art, we meet with the embodiment of an idea, and never with the idealiza- tion of a fact." Continuing his condemnation of modern art and the modern attitude, he insists that "from our individualistic position which aims at the greatest possible freedom for oneself," we cannot possibly understand traditional philosophy and art, which "also aims at a greatest possible freedom; but from oneself," (ibid., 50). He argues that prehistoric or primitive art "was a more intellectual art than our own" (ibid., 53), and that it was a more truly abstract art than our own, for it was "adapted to contemplative uses and implies a gnosis" (ibid., 152). He believes that modern art, whether repre-

sentational or non-representational, is essentially naturalistic ("aesthetic"), and that "naturalism has always and everywhere been a sign of religious decay" (ibid., 102). He attacks the whole idea, which he attributes to "modern consciousness," that "art is an individual creation, produced only by persons of peculiar sen- sibilities working in studios and driven by an irresistible urge to self-expression," rather than "the form of our civilization" (ibid., 104). Finally, he thinks the difference between the traditional and the modern is the difference between the aristocratic and the dem- ocratic: "It has been well said that civilization is style. An imma- nent civilization in this way endows every individual with an out- ward grace, a typological perfection, such as only the rarest beings can achieve by their own effort (this kind of perfection does not belong to genius); whereas a democracy, which requires of every man to save his own soul, actually condemns each to an exhibition of his own irregularity and imperfection; and this imperfection only too easily passes over into an exhibitionism which makes a virtue of vanity, and is complacently described as self-expression" (ibid., 120). As for fetishism, it involves "an attribution to the physi- cally tangible symbol of values that really belong to its referent or, in other words, a confusion of actual with essential form" (ibid., 159).

lO Coomaraswamy, I, 241f.

11 Lipsey, 194. 12 Coomaraswamy, I, 241.

13 Quoted by Lipsey, 159. 14 Lipsey, 140.

is Ibid., 136.

16 Ibid., 11.

17 Ibid., 14.

18 Ibid., 195.

BOOK REVIEWS 503

ulterior purpose pollutes or interferes with the scholarly method, but whether the purpose is what it claims to be, and whether it realizes itself through the scholarship-that is, makes the scholarship illuminating and itself articulate. Also, it is important to see how well the ulterior purpose, with its entourage of meanings, does in fact prevent the bifurcation of meaning and fact, intellectual and informa- tional intention, that scholarship is all too prone to. On both these counts, Coomaraswamy leaves something to be de-

sired, however much he is to be cheered for insisting, to

paraphrase Lewis Mumford, that factual information about art is not to be equated with artistic existence.19

In reading Coomaraswamy, one becomes aware of a dis-

crepancy between the papers on art, applied metaphysics, as it were, and those on pure metaphysics, a discrepancy that signals a problem with Coomaraswamy's realization of metaphysics. The papers on art are spirited, those on

metaphysics seem to pay more attention to the letter than the spirit, to a letter that, in Coomaraswamy's rendering of

it, hardly seems to communicate spirit. In the papers on art, the dialectical character of both the metaphysical pursuit and the artistic enterprise is brilliantly rendered. There is a sense in which artistic sign spontaneously converts to

metaphysical marker, in which the spiritual impulse behind the practical symbol reveals itself. As Lipsey beautifully puts it, describing Coomaraswamy's narrative powers, there is "the characteristically swift Buddhist movement from fact to

principle."20 In the papers on metaphysics, there is simply principle, with no sense of how it was arrived at. Presented as such, principle seems to be more quoted than conceived,

dogmatically given rather than diligently pursued, doctrine rather than moving force. There is a sense of the tradition

being preserved, in the best scholarly fashion, but also a sense of the one-dimensional, authoritarian character of the

metaphysics, which altogether belies its point. Coomaras-

wamy is acutely conscious of the way art presents itself

metaphysically and of the way metaphysics presents itself

artistically, but he is less conscious of the way metaphysics presents itself as such, and thus of the way it can seem to

falsify its character by presenting itself directly, non-

dialectically. In the papers on art, there is a sense of dialecti- cal initiation into metaphysics.21 In those on metaphysics this sense is missing, and they appear mechanical. The

polarities at stake do not seem self-evident. All of this sig- nals a dialectic not fully at Coomaraswamy's command:

spirit that has not been truly realized. That Coomaraswamy's conception of metaphysical truth

is explicitly dialectical is easily shown. The highest formula- tion of metaphysics involves the concept of transcending opposites, release from conflict, whether conceptual or per- ceptual, whether in the contemplative life or active life.

'The will of the Paradise in which thou dwellest,' he

(Nicholas of Cusa) says, 'is composite of the coincidence of contraries, and remains impenetrable for all who have not overcome the highest Spirit of Reason who keeps the

gate' (De visione Dei, ch. 9). These 'contraries' (past and future, good and evil, etc.), in the traditional symbolism of the Janua Coeli, are the two leaves or sides of the 'Active

Door,' by which, as they 'clash,' the entrant may be crushed. The highest spirit of Reason must be overcome

(cf. John 10:9 and JUB 1.5) because all rational truth (cf. BU 1.6.3 and Isa Up. 15) is necessarily stated in terms of the contraries, of which the coincidence is suprarational. Lib- eration is from these 'pairs' (dvandvair vimuktah, BG xv.5).22

Metaphysical truth means liberation from the seemingly in-

escapable dialectic that pervades life and thinking, but by a realization of this dialectic, a working through it. Art af- fords an opportunity for this realization simply by the at-

tempt to work through its aesthetic surfaces to its spiritual meanings, and thereby to make concrete their reconcilia- tion. For Coomaraswamy, the Buddhist realization of the

Immateriality and, finally, Emptiness of all Principles perhaps makes the dialectical point and the trans-dialectical

purpose of the metaphysical spirit most explicit. "Emptiness is like this: let one conceive, 'Whatever is in motion or at rest (i.e., the whole phenomenal world) is essentially nothing but the manifested order of what is without duality when the mind is stripped of all conceptual extensions such as the notion of subject and object."23 In a letter to Coomaraswamy about his essay on the Symplegades, Mircea Eliade remarks: "You have admirably presented the multivalence of the

myth, and the concluding analysis-the transcendence of the human condition by means of passing through all the

polarities-is worthy of a master."24 Commenting on this, Lipsey writes: "Eliade's distinction between a masterly work of scholarship and a concluding passage where Coomaraswamy spoke with the voice of a spiritual master is a fundamental one to be made."25

Did Coomaraswamy truly transcend the polarities, how- ever, truly work his way through them, thereby becoming a spiritual master? Did he realize the metaphysical truth of reconciliation? His art-historical studies suggest that he did; his view of modern art suggests that he did not. He came, in practice, to reconcile himself to art history, even though in theory he believed: "Of art itself there can be no more a history that there can be of metaphysics: histories are of persons and not of principles."26 He never came, either in theory or practice, however, to reconcile himself to modern art. His own principle, to read surface as meaning, fell away when it came to modern art. Its aestheticizing sur-

19 Lewis Mumford, The Pentagon of Power, New York, 1970, 317.

20 Lipsey, 17. 21 Lipsey, 190, notes that Mircea Eliade, "with whom Coomaras- wamy maintained a warm correspondence," "has analyzed the taste for difficulties and obscurities in modern art and literature as an unconscious nostalgia for initiatory experience," using James Joyce as a major example. For Lipsey, "this speculation sheds light on Coomaraswamy's most intricate essays. Coomaraswamy cannot be said to have had an unconscious nostalgia for spiritual initiation; he explicitly looked upon his research and writing as 'intellectual preparation' for a spiritual initiation that was unfortunately un- available in the West." 22 Coomaraswamy, I, 235, n. 5. 23 Ibid., 135f. Compare this with p. 124, where "already in the Up- anisads the physical ecstasy (ananda) of union is an image of the delight of the knowledge of Brahman: 'As a man united to a darling bride is conscious neither of within nor without, so is it when the mortal self embraced by the all-wise Self knows neither what is within nor what without. That is his very form."' "Ananda," inci- dentally, is Coomaraswamy's first name. 24 Quoted by Lipsey, 213, n. 17. 25 Ibid., 213. 26 Coomaraswamy, I, 44. For Coomaraswamy, the only "use for 'his- tory' as such" was to give us a "lively sense" of the work of art, to make it "a part of our life forever" (ibid., 65). Thus, "the study of 'influences' should be regarded as one of the least important aspects of the history of art," since it is not part of the "in-knowing" of the work of art (ibid., 228).

504 THE ART BULLETIN

face was never more than a masquerade of meaning for him. He hardly dated acknowledge the "significance" of modern art, and he would hardly have known how to begin to inves-

tigate it should he have acknowledged it. The integration of surface and meaning was too immediate in modern art. The art could no longer have contemplative use, lure us to a

meaning beyond, an unexpected possibility of an unex-

pected spirit in us. One senses here a refusal of reconcilia- tion, a satisfaction with contradiction, which altogether be- lies Coomaraswamy's own proclaimed metaphysical spirit and transcendental purpose. It is as though, to flourish, tra- dition needed to postulate a permanent opposite, an abso- lute enemy, a straw man it might constantly attack to show its strength. From such a battle there can only come a Pyr- rhic victory. The irony of Coomaraswamy's concept of the

metaphysical tradition that informs art, and that makes the

slightest craft a religious practice, is that modern art is de- nied any participation in this tradition. The very thought would be grotesque to Coomaraswamy, however much one

might acknowledge that the tradition is distorted and dis-

quieted in modern art. By refusing modern art the spirit of transcendental reconciliation as articulated by the

metaphysical tradition, Coomaraswamy betrays, even vio- lates and fails it, that is to say, he even undermines the power of the tradition. Coomaraswamy's refusal of the mod- ern and, correlatively, his confinement of the metaphysical spirit to tradition, suggests a sudden lapse into the involun- tary, the operation of a memory trace, the loss of genuine individuality and autonomy of thought in the face of an inchoate personal factor. One cannot but become personal and wonder if Coomaraswamy's attribution of a monopoly on the metaphysical to the Oriental and medieval Christian traditions represents an effort to deny the Anglo-American world he inhabited most of his life, an ancestry he had, but one he never fully explored or exploited until he entered that world. Son of a Ceylonese father and an English mother, he delved to the depths of his father's world after he had

grasped, in his youth, the "scientific" surface of his mother's world. Persistent identification with the tradition of the father led to a loss of insight into the modern world of the mother.

For whatever reason -and I don't claim the reason I offer is anywhere near sufficient, although I do claim that it is a

necessarily personal or psychological reason -

Coomaraswamy does not sufficiently realize the dialectical

spirit of the metaphysical tradition he endorses, and the dialectical situation of his own life and mentality. He re- mains bogged down in the tension between tradition and modernity. To escape from this unresolved tension, which is unresolvable because of the poverty of his conception of the modern, Coomaraswamy becomes a dogmatic tra- ditionalist, that is, an absolutist in the name of a supposedly lost ideal, one he looks for nowhere but in tradition. Clearly, the dialectic was misconceived in the first place. The notion of radical discontinuity between tradition and the modern is generally too readily taken for granted, and its "resolu- tion," if that is what one can call the turn to, and absolutiza- tion of, tradition, is clearly lopsided. Coomaraswamy has gotten caught, if not altogether crushed, in the clash of the opposing sides of the Active Door of the dialectic of his own

life. A word should be said about Lipsey's biography. Lipsey is

masterly both in his scholarly handling of the data of

Coomaraswamy's life and in his grasp of Coomaraswamy's ideas. For all its brilliance and clarity, however, Lipsey's biography seems to me to fail in an area where no biography should fail, or at least fail to make a serious effort: this is in the attempt to recover the personal life of the subject. Lip- sey's failure to do so becomes particularly evident in his

prudish, reticent treatment of Coomaraswamy's love life, particularly his affair with Stella Bloch and his private life with his various wives. Admittedly, the writer offers us an intellectual biography; but he also dwells, at some length, on Coomaraswamy's personality and the erotic side of his life. Lipsey ought therefore to have been as analytic about these aspects of the man as about Coomaraswamy's ideas. A

good biography, it seems to me, should do everything pos- sible to recover repressed material, or at least to adumbrate it. It must become intimate, even if that means becoming speculative if it is not to become superficial. Lipsey's pre- sumptive moral judgments about the "unbecoming" charac- ter of some of Coomaraswamy's behavior,27 or his assertion that Coomaraswamy "loved knowledge more than women, and women probably loved him precisely for that reason,"28 are cliches that block rather than help recovery of the man.

They do not truly serve Coomaraswamy, to help us under- stand how his ego was created. Such judgments are neither informative nor analytic, and are to my mind rather unsub-

tly repressive of psychological analysis. They are in fact more

speculative than the results of any intelligent psychological inquiry are likely to be.

The evidence Lipsey reports is undoubtedly pre-selected (and thus compromised) so as not to offend the surviving family, but even so, on its basis it is not hard to see that

Coomaraswamy was sexually unsettled much of his life, and that his commitment to tradition was perhaps a response to his inability to make a durable emotional commitment to a woman. Tradition gave him a stability he obviously needed, saved him from all kinds of personal conficts: tradition was so obviously "settled." Although this, if it is true, does not

bring into question the authenticity of Coomaraswamy's commitment to tradition, it does shed light on the stub- bornness with which that commitment was held, and the

way it became a weapon against the modern, against the world Coomaraswamy in fact inhabited. And also, as noted, it makes us aware that Coomaraswamy may not really have understood in the best scholarly fashion the dialectical spirit of tradition, however much he acknowledged it. We must ask whether Coomaraswamy's monolithic conception of tra- dition and the art informed by it does justice to both. There is the possibility that he offers still another, if more sophis- ticated, archaizing approach to both (bearing in mind his own conception of "archaism" as "servile ... reproduction" and "proof of a deficiency"29). Until these questions are an- swered, one can only acknowledge the ceremonial majesty of Coomaraswamy's scholarship, the fervor of his commit- ment to a mythologized conception of tradition, and the absurd ferocity of his attack on, and view of, modern life and art; and-following the logic of his own pursuit of sym- bolic significance-one can speculatively view his commit- ment to scholarship and tradition as initially a sublimation and finally a repression of his all-too-modern, that is, dialec- tically inconclusive life.

DONALD B. KUSPIT

State University of New York at Stony Brook

27 Lipsey, 155. 28 Ibid., 145. 29 Coomaraswamy, I, 259.