Mahatma Gandhi: The Man Who Became One With the Universal Being

by Romain Rolland

In other words, just as Goethe in 1818 refused to reject French civilization and culture, Tagore refuses to banish Western civilization. While Gandhi's doctrine does not really set a barrier up between the East and West, Tagore knows it will be interpreted as doing so, once Hindu nationalism is stirred. Tagore fears the development of the spirit of exclusion, and he explains his feeling of doubt and anxiety when his students at the beginning of the non-cooperation movement came to seek his advice. What does the boycotting of schools and colleges mean? asks Tagore. "That students shall make a sacrifice—for what? Not for a more complete education, but for non-education." During the first Swadeshi campaign[103] a group of young students told him that they would leave their schools and colleges at once if he ordered them to do so. And when he refused to do so, they left him, in much irritation, doubting his patriotism.[104]

In the spring of 1921, when India began boycotting English schools, Tagore had seen an aggressive example of intellectual nationalism in London. During a lecture of one of Tagore's friends. Professor Pearson, some Indian students gave vent to misplaced national manifestations. Tagore became indignant, and in a letter addressed to the director of Santiniketan he condemned this spirit of intolerance and held the non-coöperation movement responsible for it. And to this accusation Gandhi replies:

I do not want my house to be walled in on all sides and my windows to be stuffed. I want the culture of all lands to be blown about my house as freely as possible.... But I refuse to be blown off my feet by any of them ... Mine is not a religion of the prison-house. It has room for the least among God's creations. But it is proof against insolent pride of race, religion, or color.

While expressing his doubts as to the merits of an English literary education, which has nothing to do with the building up of character, an education which, he said, has emasculated the youth of India, Gandhi regretted the excesses mentioned and claimed that his attitude was not narrow, as Tagore seemed to imply.

These were frank and noble words, but they did not disarm Tagore's misgivings. Tagore did not doubt Gandhi, but he feared the Gandhists. And from the first contact with his people, after his return from Europe, he began to fear the blind faith which the people placed in the Mahatma's words. Tagore saw the danger of mental despotism loom near, and in the "Modern Review" of October, 1921, he published a real manifesto, "An Appeal to Truth," which was a cry of revolt against this blind obedience. The protest was particularly strong because it was preceded by a beautiful homage to the Mahatma. After describing the first Indian independence movement in 1907 and 1908, Tagore explained that in those days the political leaders were inspired by a bookish ideal, based on the traditions of Burke, Gladstone, Mazzini, and Garibaldi, and their message could be understood only by the elite. They advanced, in short, an English-speaking ideal. But then came Mahatma Gandhi! He stopped at the thresholds of the thousands of disinherited, dressed like one of their own. He spoke to them in their own language. Here was truth at last, and not only quotations from books! Mahatma, the name given by the people of India to Gandhi, is his real name. For who else had felt, like him, in communion with the people? Felt that they are of his own flesh and blood? At the Mahatma's call the hidden forces of the soul have blossomed forth, for the Mahatma has made the truth into something concrete, visible. In the same way, thousands of years ago, India blossomed forth to new greatness at Buddha's call, when he made men understand that there must be compassion and fellow-feeling among all living creatures. India, stirred to new life, expressed her strength in science and wealth, spreading across oceans and deserts. No commercial or military conquests ever spread so magnificently. For love alone is truth.

But then Tagore's tone changed. The apotheosis stopped. Deception followed. In Europe, across the seas, Tagore felt the quiver of India's great revival. Thrilled, filled with joy at the thought of breathing in the fluid breeze of the new freedom, he returned to his home land. But on his arrival his elation fell. An oppressive atmosphere weighed on the people. "An outside influence seemed to be bearing down on them, grinding them and making one and all speak in the same tone, follow in the same groove. Everywhere I was told that culture and reasoning power should abdicate, and blind obedience only reign. So simple it is to crush, in the name of some outward liberty, the real freedom of the soul!"

We understand Tagore's misgivings and his appeal. They are of all times and ages. The last free minds of a crumbling old world voiced them at the dawn of the new Christianity. And whenever we ourselves encounter the rising tide of some blind faith in a social or national ideal we feel the same misgivings stir within us. Tagore's revolt is the revolt of the free soul against the ages of faith which it has suscitated, for while faith to a handful of chosen ones means supreme liberty, it means only another form of slavery for the masses who are led by it.

Tagore's criticism is aimed above and beyond the fanaticism of the crowd. Over the blind masses it strikes the Mahatma. No matter how great Gandhi may be, isn't he taking upon himself more than a single man can bear? A cause as great as India's should not be dependent on the will of a single master. The Mahatma is the master of truth and love, but the attainment of Swaraj home rule, is vastly complicated. "The paths are intricate and hard to explore. Emotion and enthusiasm are required, but also science and meditation. All the moral forces of the nation must be called upon. Economists must find practical solutions, educators must teach, statesmen ponder, workers work.... Everywhere the desire to learn must be kept up free and unhampered. No pressure, either open or hidden, must weigh on the intelligence." ... "In older days, in our primeval forests," says Tagore, "our sages, gurus, in the plenitude of their vision, called on all seekers of truth.... Why does not our guru, who wants to lead us to action, make the same call?" But the only command that Guru Gandhi so far has launched is, "Spin and weave!" And Tagore asks, "Is this the gospel of a new creative age? If large machinery constitutes a danger for the West, will not small machines constitute a greater danger for us?" The forces of a nation must cooperate, not only with each other, but with other nations. "The awakening of India is bound up in the awakening of the world. Every nation that tries to shut itself in violates the spirit of the new age." And Tagore, who has spent several years in Europe, speaks of some of the men he met—men who have freed their hearts from the chains of nationalism in order to serve humanity—men who constitute the persecuted minority of world citizens, cives totius orbis—and he classes them among the sannyasins, that is, "those who in their soul have realized human unity."[105]

And should India alone, asks Tagore, recite the chapter of negation, dwell eternally on the faults of others, and strive for Swaraj on a basis of hatred? When the bird is awakened by the dawn, it does not only think of food. Its wings respond to the call of the sky. Its throat fills with joyous songs to greet the coming day. A new humanity has sent out its call. Let India reply in her own way! "Our first duty, at dawn, is to remember Him Who is One, who is indistinguishable through class or color, and who, by his varied forces, provides, as is necessary, for the needs of each class and of all. Let us pray Him, who gives wisdom, to unite us all in understanding."[106]

Tagore's noble words, some of the most beautiful ever addressed to a nation, are a poem of sunlight, and plane above all human struggles. And the only criticism one can make of them is that they plane too high. Tagore is right, from the point of view of eternity. The bird-poet, the eagle-sized lark, as Heine called a master of our music, sits and sings on the ruins of time. He lives in eternity. But the demands of the present are imperious. The hour that passes demands immediate, if imperfect, relief; but clamors for it. And in this respect Gandhi, who lacks Tagore's poetic flight (or who, perhaps, as a Boddhisattva of pity has given it up in order to live among the disinherited) finds it child's play to reply.