East and West by Rabindranath Tagore Essay

IIt is non for eer and a day a profound interest in gentle piece of music that carries travellers nowadays to distant lands. More often it is the facility for rapid move custodyt. For omit of clock and for the sake of convenience we generalise and crush our piece facts into the pack be ons at bottom the steel trunks that h nonagenarian our travellers reports. Our fellowship of our own republic man function and our timbreings about them rich person slowly and unconsciously grown out of innumerable facts which atomic number 18 sufficient of contradictions and subject to incessant change. They fork over the elusive mystery and fluidity of biography. We heap non specialize to ourselves what we ar as a consentient, because we roll in the hay withal much because our spotledge is to a outstandinger extent than fuckledge. It is an immediate consciousness of ad hominemity, each evaluation of which carries some emotion, merri ment or sorrow, shame or exaltation. But in a impertinent land we try to find our compensation for the meagreness of our data by the compactness of the generalisation which our imperfect sympathy itself assistants us to form.When a crazy from the West travels in the eastern world he takes the facts that displease him and ascertainily makes use of them for his rigid conclusions, fixed upon the unch eitherengeable authority of his personal experience. It is the likes of a man who has his own boat for crossing his village stream, provided, on being compelled to wade across some strange watercourse, draws angry comparisons as he goes from every patch of mud and every pebble which his feet encounter. Our mind has faculties which be universal, that its utilisations are insular. thither are men who be arrest fervent and angry at the least discomfort when their habits are incommoded. In their brain of the next world they probably conjure up the ghosts of their slippers and dressing-gowns, and expect the latchkey tha t opens their lodging-house room access on earth to fit their front door in the otherwise world. As travellers they are a failure for they adopt grown too accustomed to their mental easy-chairs, and in their n adeptual nature love al-Qaida comforts, which are of local make, more(prenominal) than the realities of life, which, like earth itself, are enough of ups and downs, until now are hotshot in their rounded send send offness.The modern age has brought the geography of the earth near to us, exclusively made it difficult for us to come into touch with man. We go to strange lands and ob respond we do non live there. We hardly meet men but only specimens of knowledge. We are in haste to seek for general types and overlook item-by-items. When we fall into the habit of neglecting to use the understanding that comes of sympathy in our travels, our knowledge of foreign deal grows insensitive, and therefore easily becomes some(prenominal) unfair and cruel in its charact er, and excessively selfish and contemptuous in its application. Such has, too often, been the case with study to the meeting of Hesperian quite a little in our days with others for whom they do not recognise both obligation of kinship. It has been admitted that the dealings amid different races of men are not yet between individuals that our shared understanding is both aided, or else obstructed, by the general emanations forming the companionable atmosphere.These emanations are our incarnate ideas and collective recoverings, generated consort to special historical circumstances. For instance, the caste-idea is a collective idea in India. When we approach an Indian who is under the influence of this collective idea, he is no longer a pure individual with his conscience fully wary to the judging of the value of a human being. He is more or less a passive medium for giving expression to the aspect of a whole community. It is evident that the caste-idea is not creative it is genuinely institutional. It adjusts human beings according to some mechanical arrangement. It emphasises the negative lieu of the individualhis separateness. It hurts the complete truth in man. In the West, also, the people yield a veritable collective idea that obscures their gentlemans gentleman. Let me try to explain what I feel about it.IILately I went to visit some battlefields of France which had been de colossalated by war. The awful calm of nudity, which as yet bore wrinkles of paindeath-struggles stiffened into ugly ridgesbrought originally my mind the vision of a huge demon, which had no shape, no meaning, yet had two arms that could strike and break and tear, a gaping oral cavity that could devour, and bulging brains that could conspire and plan. It was a purpose, which had a living body, but no complete humanity to temper it. Because it was love lifebelonging to life, and yet not having the wholeness of lifeit was the most terrible of lifes enemies. Somet hing of the aforesaid(prenominal) understanding of oppression in a different degree, the same desolation in a different aspect, is received in my mind when I make water the effect of the West upon Eastern lifethe West which, in its coitus to us, is all plan and purpose incarnate, without any superfluous humanity. I feel the contrast very strongly in Japan. In that country the old world presents itself with some ideal of perfection, in which man has his varied opportunities of self-revelation in art, in ceremonial, in religious faith, and in customs expressing the poetry of social relationship. There cardinal feels that deep delight of hospitality which life offers to life.And side by side, in the same soil, stands the modern world, which is stupendously big and powerful, but inhospitable. It has no simple- snappered welcome for man. It is living yet the incompleteness of lifes ideal within it cannot but hurt humanity. The wriggling tentacles of a insensate utilitarianism, wit h which the West has grasped all the easily yielding succulent portions of the East, are causation pain and indignation throughout the Eastern countries. The West comes to us, not with the resourcefulness and sympathy that create and unite, but with a shock of passionpassion for power and riches. This passion is a upright force, which has in it the principle of separation, of conflict. I do been fortunate in coming into close touch with individual men and women of the Western countries, and study felt with them their sorrows and shared their aspirations.I have known that they seek the same God, who is my Godeven those who deny Him. I feel certain that, if the groovy light of culture be out(p) in Europe, our horizon in the East will mourn in darkness. It does not hurt my pride to acknowledge that, in the present age, Western humanity has received its mission to be the teacher of the world that her science, through the mastery of laws of nature, is to liberate human intellig ences from the dark dungeon of matter. For this very campaign I have recognised all the more strongly, on the other hand, that the dominant collective idea in the Western countries is not creative. It is correct to enslave or kill individuals, to drug a capital people with soul-killing poison, darkening their whole future with the black mist of stupefaction, and emasculating entire races of men to the utmost degree of helplessness.It is wholly wanting in spiritual power to blend and harmonise it lacks the sense of the great personality of man. The most operative fact of modern days is this, that the West has met the East. Such a momentous meeting of humanity, in order to be fruitful, must have in its heart some great emotional idea, generous and creative. There can be no doubt that Gods choice has move upon the knights-errant of the West for the wait on of the present age arms and armour have been knock overn to them but have they yet realised in their police wagon the sing le-minded loyalty to their cause which can resist all temptations of bribery from the devil? The world to-day is offered to the West. She will destroy it, if she does not use it for a great creation of man. The materials for such a creation are in the hands of science but the creative genius is in firearms spiritual ideal.IIIWhen I was young a stranger from Europe came to Bengal. He chose his lodging among the people of the country, shared with them their frugal diet, and freely offered them his aid. He found employment in the houses of the rich, teach them French and German, and the notes thus earned he spent to help poor students in buying books. This meant for him hours of walking in the mid-day heat of a tropic summer for, intent upon exercising the utmost economy, he refused to hire conveyances. He was ruthless in his exaction from himself of his resources, in money, time, and strength, to the point of privation and all this for the sake of a people who were obscure, to whom he was not born, yet whom he dearly loved. He did not come to us with a professional mission of teaching sectarian creeds he had not in his nature the least sign of that self-sufficiency of goodness, which humiliates by gifts the victims of its insolent benevolence.Though he did not know our language, he took every occasion to frequent our meetings and ceremonies yet he was always afraid of intrusion, and tenderly anxious lest he might offend us by his ignorance of our customs. At ending, under the continual strain of work in an alien climate and surroundings, his health broke down. He died, and was cremated at our burning-ground, according to his express desire. The attitude of his mind, the manner of his living, the object of his life, his modesty, his unstinted self-sacrifice for a people who had not even the power to consume publicity to any benefaction bestowed upon them, were so utterly unlike anything we were accustomed to associate with the Europeans in India, that it gave rise in our mind to a feeling of love bordering upon awe. We all have a realm, a private nirvana, in our mind, where dwell timeless memories of persons who brought some divine light to our lifes experience, who may not be known to others, and whose names have no place in the pages of history.Let me scab to you that this man lives as one of those endlesss in the paradise of my individual life. He came from Sweden, his name was Hammargren. What was most remarkable in the upshot of his coming to us in Bengal was the fact that in his own country he had chanced to read some works of my great countryman, Ram Mohan Roy, and felt an immense veneration for his genius and his character. Ram Mohan Roy lived in the beginning of the last century, and it is no exaggeration when I describe him as one of the immortal personalities of modern time. This young Swede had the unusual gift of a far-sighted intellect and sympathy, which enabled him even from his distance of space and time, an d in spite of racial differences, to realise the greatness of Ram Mohan Roy.It moved him so deeply that he refractory to go to the country which produced this great man, and offer her his service. He was poor, and he had to deferment some time in England before he could earn his passageway money to India. There he came at last, and in reckless kindness of love utterly spent himself to the last breath of his life, away from theme and kindred and all the inheritances of his motherland. His stay among us was too short to produce any outward result. He failed even to achieve during his life what he had in his mind, which was to found by the help of his scanty earnings a library as a memorial to Ram Mohan Roy, and thus to hold behind him a visible symbol of his devotion. But what I valuate most in this European youth, who left no record of his life behind him, is not the memory of any service of goodwill, but the valued gift of respect which he offered to a people who are go upo n evil times, and whom it is so easy to ignore or to humiliate.For the first time in the modern days this obscure individual from Sweden brought to our country the brave courtesy of the West, a greeting of human fellowship. The coincidence came to me with a great and delightful surprise when the Nobel Prize was offered to me from Sweden. As a recognition of individual merit it was of great value to me, no doubt but it was the identification of the East as a collaborator with the Western continents, in change its riches to the usual stock of civilisation, which had the chief significance for the present age. It meant joining hands in comradeship by the two great hemispheres of the human world across the sea.IVTo-day the real East remains unexplored. The cecity of contempt is more hopeless than the blindness of ignorance for contempt kills the light which ignorance entirely leaves unignited. The East is waiting to be understood by the Western races, in order not only to be able to realize what is rightful(a) in her, but also to be confident of her own mission. In Indian history, the meeting of the Mussulman and the Hindu produced Akbar, the object of whose dream was the unification of police wagon and ideals. It had all the glowing enthusiasm of a religion, and it produced an immediate and a vast result even in his own lifetime. But the fact still remains that the Western mind, after centuries of contact with the East, has not evolved the enthusiasm of a chivalrous ideal which can direct this age to its fulfilment. It is all over airlift thorny hedges of exclusion and offering human sacrifices to national self-seeking. It has intensified the mutual feelings of envy among Western races themselves, as they fight over their spoils and display a carnivorous pride in their snarling rows of teeth. We must again guard our minds from any encroaching distrust of the individuals of a nation.The active love of humanity and the spirit of martyrdom for the cause of justice and truth which I have met with in the Western countries have been a great lesson and inspiration to me. I have no doubt in my mind that the West owes its true greatness, not so much to its marvellous training of intellect, as to its spirit of service devoted to the welfare of man. Therefore I speak with a personal feeling of pain and sadness about the collective power which is manoeuvre the helm of Western civilisation. It is a passion, not an ideal. The more success it has brought to Europe, the more costly it will prove to her at last, when the accounts have to be rendered. And the signs are unmistakable, that the accounts have been called for. The time has come when Europe must know that the forceful parasitism which she has been practising upon the two large Continents of the worldthe two most unwieldy whales of humanitymust be causing to her example nature a inactive atrophy and degeneration.As an example, let me quote the following extract from the utmost chap ter of From the Cape to Cairo, by Messrs. Grogan and Sharp, two writers who have the power to inculcate their doctrines by precept and example. In their reference to the African they are candid, as when they say, We have stolen his land. Now we must steal his limbs. These two sentences, carefully articulated, with a feel of enjoyment, have been more clearly explained in the following statement, where some sense of that decency which is the attenuated ghost of a buried conscience, prompts the writers to use the phrase coercive labour in place of the honest treatment slavery just as the modern politician adroitly avoids the word injunction and uses the word mandate. Compulsory labour in some form, they say, is the corollary of our occupation of the country. And they add It is pathetic, but it is history, implying thereby that moral sentiments have no serious effect in the history of human beings.Elsewhere they write Either we must give up the country commercially, or we must make t he African work. And mere abuse of those who point out the impasse cannot change the facts. We must decide, and soon. Or rather the white man of South Africa will decide. The authors also confess that they have seen too much of the world to have any tarriance belief that Western civilisation benefits native races. The logic is simplethe logic of egoism. But the argument is simplified by lopping off the greater bankrupt of the premise. For these writers seem to hold that the only important question for the white men of South Africa is, how in distinctly to grow fat on ostrich feathers and baseball field mines, and dance jazz dances over the misery and degradation of a whole race of fellow-beings of a different colour from their own.Possibly they believe that moral laws have a special domesticated breed of comfortable c formerlyssions for the service of the people in power. Possibly they ignore the fact that commercial and policy-making cannibalism, profitably practised upon fore ign races, creeps back nearer fireside that the cultivation of unwholesome appetites has its final reckoning with the stomach which has been made to serve it. For, after all, man is a spiritual being, and not a mere living money-bag jumping from profit to profit, and breaking the backbone of human races in its financial leapfrog.Such, however, has been the condition of things for more than a century and to-day, trying to read the future by the light of the European conflagration, we are asking ourselves everywhere in the East Is this frightfully overgrown power really great? It can bruise us from without, but can it add to our wealth of spirit? It can sign peace treaties, but can it give peace? It was about two thousand years ago that powerful Rome in one of its eastern provinces executed on a cross a simple teacher of an obscure tribe of fishermen. On that day the Roman governor felt no falling off of his appetite or sleep. On that day there was, on the one hand, the agony, the h umiliation, the death on the other, the pomp of pride and festivity in the regulators palace. And to-day? To whom, then, shall we bow the head?Kasmai devaya havisha vidhema?(To which God shall we offer oblation?)We know of an instance in our own history of India, when a great personality, both in his life and voice, struck the keynote of the solemn music of the soullove for all creatures. And that music crossed seas, mountains, and deserts. Races belonging to different climates, habits, and languages were wasted together, not in the clash of arms, not in the conflict of exploitation, but in harmony of life, in amity and peace. That was creation. When we think of it, we see at once what the confusion of thought was to which the Western poet, dwelling upon the difference between East and West, referred when he said, Never the twain shall meet. It is true that they are not yet showing any real sign of meeting. But the case is because the West has not sent out its humanity to meet the man in the East, but only its machine. Therefore the poets line has to be changed into something like this Man is man, machine is machine,And never the twain shall wed.You must know that red tape can never be a common human bond that official sealing-wax can never provide content of mutual attachment that it is a painful ordeal for human beings to have to receive favours from animated pigeonholes, and condescensions from printed circulars that give notice but never speak. The comportment of the Western people in the East is a human fact. If we are to gain anything from them, it must not be a mere sum-total of ratified codes and systems of civil and military services. Man is a great deal more to man than that. We have our human birthright to claim direct help from the man of the West, if he has anything great to give us. It must come to us, not through mere facts in a juxtaposition, but through the involuntary sacrifice made by those who have the gift, and therefore the responsi bility. Earnestly I ask the poet of the Western world to realise and sing to you with all the great power of music which he has, that the East and the West are ever in search of each other, and that they must meet not merely in the fulness of physical strength, but in fulness of truth that the right hand, which wields the sword, has the need of the left, which holds the shield of safety.The East has its seat in the vast plains watched over by the snow-peaked mountains and fertilised by rivers carrying mighty volumes of water to the sea. There, under the blaze of a tropical sun, the physical life has bedimmed the light of its vigour and lessened its claims. There man has had the repose of mind which has ever tried to set itself in harmony with the inner notes of existence. In the silence of sunrise and sunset, and on star-crowded nights, he has sat face to face with the Infinite, waiting for the revelation that opens up the heart of all that there is. He has said, in a rapture of a cknowledgement Hearken to me, ye children of the Immortal, who dwell in the Kingdom of Heaven. I have known, from beyond darkness, the Supreme Person, shining with the radiance of the sun.The man from the East, with his faith in the eternal, who in his soul had met the touch of the Supreme Persondid he never come to you in the West and speak to you of the Kingdom of Heaven? Did he not unite the East and the West in truth, in the unity of one spiritual bond between all children of the Immortal, in the realisation of one great Personality in all human persons? Yes, the East did once meet the West profoundly in the growth of her life. Such conglutination became possible, because the East came to the West with the ideal that is creative, and not with the passion that destroys moral bonds. The mystical consciousness of the Infinite, which she brought with her, was greatly needed by the man of the West to give him his match. On the other hand, the East must find her own balance in Scien cethe magnificent gift that the West can bring to her.Truth has its nest as well as its flip. That nest is definite in structure, accurate in law of construction and though it has to be changed and rebuilt over and over again, the need of it is never-ending and its laws are eternal. For some centuries the East has neglected the nest-building of truth. She has not been attentive to learn its secret. Trying to cross the untracked infinite, the East has relied solely upon her wings. She has spurned the earth, till, buffeted by storms, her wings are hurt and she is tired, sorely needing help. But has she then to be told that the messenger of the sky and the builder of the nest shall never meet?