The two streams of Indian civilisation

The two streams of our civilisation, that of the senses, and that of the mind, that of form, and that of thought, are like the Ganga and the Yamuna. Both are vital to us. Both water our lands. Both enrich our civilisation. Praise be to both, says M. S. N. Menon

TWO streams — one of the senses, the other of the mind; one of form, the other of thought. That was how the Indian civilisation grew from times long past. One was .... well, largely Dravidian; the other, Aryan.

The one of form reached its perfection in the dancing Shiva (Nataraja), the other of thought rose to the ultimate thought of Sankara’s Advaita.

One created music and dance, painting and sculpture, tastes and feelings; the other created the world of the intellect — our philosophies, religions and our world of thought.

Thus, India went about the development of the sensuous (there were 64 kalas based on the senses) and intellectual in complete abandon. Hence the unequalled richness and diversity of our civilisation. The Semitic religions denied themselves music and dance, painting and sculpture, arts and architecture. They put a curse on them. Hence the poverty of their civilisation.

"The metaphor of the cosmic dancer has found its profound and beautiful expression in Hinduism in the image of the dancing Shiva," says Fitsjoff Capra, a renowned scientist and savant. The dancing Shiva is the most sublime artistic attempt to capture the mystery of the dynamic universe in form. It is the only symbol of its kind in the world. And, who, but Sankara, could have followed the logic of monism to its inevitable conclusion — to a God without form or attributes — Nirakara, Nirguna? The rishis meditated on the formless; the common people revelled in forms. That is how it has always been in Hinduism. It is from these popular forms that Indian civilisation took its shape.

The Vedic Aryan had no temples or idols or images. Each patriarch lighted the sacrificial fire in his home (Light is associated with God) and invoked the bright gods for their blessings. But the invocation was rather in poor poetry. Great poetry, great music and great architecture had to wait for the inspiration of the Puranic Age and the advent of the more colourful anthropomorphic gods and goddesses.

It was anthropomorphism which determined to a large extent the texture of Indian civilisation. But anthropomorphism was not in favour with some of the religions. How is one to explain this?

It is said that God made man in His own image. I am not sure about it. But I am sure man could not have conceived God except in his own image, expert in the image of the noblest man. He wanted a God who could see, hear, speak and feel. Only such a God, he felt, would be within his reach; not a God who was blind, deaf, dumb and insensitive. For the masses, anthropormophism was inevitable. They needed a God who cared. And they were ready to adore him.

The rishis had a different quest. For them, it was enough if they knew the ultimate truth.

Einstein says of God: "My religion consists of a humble admiration of the illimitable superior spirit who reveals himself in the slight details we are able to perceive with our frail and feeble minds. That deeply emotional conviction of the presence of a superior reasoning power, which is revealed in the incomprehensible universe, forms my idea of God." I do not know whether there is a better explanation. I remain awe-struck by the power and mystery of this superior reasoning.

In Vedic rituals, the functions of the deity are elaborately described, but there is little mention of its physical appearance. But in Tantrism (supposed to be anterior to the Aryan advent) the description is concentrated on the physical beauty of the deity. In the Vedic ritual, the priests invite the gods (spirits) to enter into items used for worship (samagri). In about a thousand years, they would invite them to sit on a stool (peedha). Surely, were gods taking the shape of man? Idolatry was coming into vogue.

The Manusmriti talks of idol worship among the Dasyus (Dravidians). But the Aryans were also quietly taking to idol worship, which is why Manu, the law-giver, threatened them with ostracism. He says a Brahmin who attended idol worship should be shunned at shradhas (ancestor worship). No such prohibition seemed to have applied to other castes. Obviously, Manu was no crusader against idol worship. In fact, he advocated punishment to idol breakers. (A friendly gesture to the Dravidians Perhaps.)

Tantric literature admits that idol worship was designed for the lowest human personality type, for those who were incapable of comprehending the higher truth without concrete props. (Woodroffe).

Sankara took the same position. Although his monism admitted no personal God, he introduced the concept of a personal God (ishwara) for the sake of the lower orders of men. (A concession to Dravidian idol worship? )

The Buddha had little to say on God. So the first idol among the Buddhists was made in the image of the Buddha himself, not of God. It was made by a Greek artiste attached to the court of Emperor Kanishka (The Kushanas carried the image of Shiva on their coins.) Thus, Buddhism, perhap unwittingly, made a major contribution to India’s idolatry. The Buddhists installed thousands of Buddha idols in the viharas they built.

But the Aryan mind was bound to go from form a formlessness. Max Mueller, one of the greatest authorities on Vedic India, says that if he were to define in one word the distinguishing feature of Indian character, he would put it as "transcendence" — a tendency to transcend the limits of empirical knowledge. Most people are happy with empirical facts, but for all that there is a beyond. Max Mueller says: "The transcendent temperament acquired, no doubt, a more complete supremacy in the Indian character than anywhere else."

The quest of Aryan, therefore, went beyond name and form. God became a principle. The Indian image of the divine was not that of a ruler who directed the world from above, as is the case in Semitic religions, but of a principle that controlled everything from within. The discovery of the Atman was a milestone in the Aryan quest. And he identified it with Brahman. It became a central doctrine of the Upanishads.

Motion and change, according to Indian thought, are essential properties of things, but the forces causing the motion are not outside the objects, as in western thought, but are intrinsic to matter. With the first explosion of matter, in 1945, we discovered that matter contain light, heat, sound and motion — a confirmation of the Upanishads. It shook the very foundation of the western systems of thought — both secular and religious.

If the Indian mind went beyond form to the formless, it also revelled in a riotous feast of forms — in a world of imagination. Sir William Jones writes of the Hindus that they are "a people with a fertile and inventive genius". It flourished in exuberance. Anthropomorphism came naturally to the poets. More so to the ordinary people. They sought to please their deity, to worship it, to adore it, to surrender to it. A synthesis of the Aryan and non-Aryan cults became inevitable. The result was the vast system of idolatry (in its broad meaning) found in the Puranas (mythologies) and for this reason it may be called Puranic Hinduism, to which the majority of Hindus belong. (Apart from Arya Samajists, there are many people in India today who refuse to become part of this popular Hinduism. It has shocked almost all foreigners — Muslims and Christians alike — by its abandon.)

The cardinal principle of this type of popular religion is bhakti, a surrender to the deity, a principle that is alien to the Hindu characteristic of ceaseless quest. Vaishnavism is its most developed form. And one of its doctorines is of avatars (incarnations of the deity), which became the richest field for the imagination of the artist and poet.

There was only one way to please the deity conceived in human form with eyes, ears, nose, mouth and feelings; and that was to create the most beautiful things for him to see (paintings and sculptures), poetry and music for his ears, fragrance and flowers for sweet smell, finest savouries for his palate and dance and drama for his feelings. And how else can you express your awe for his majesty except by housing him in the most magnificent temples? These also constitute the major elements of our civilisation. And it was the intense desire to please a very human god which led men to seek perfection in all that they did. Thus, the entire civilisation of India is a feast of sounds, colours and sights, of tastes and smells, of beautiful temples and sensuous pleasures, of even beautiful idols.

Has this God no eyes to see, why should the painter paint? Had this God no ears to hear,why should the poet sing? Had this God no feelings, why should one dance? The issue is not whether God had eyes and ears. What mattered was, people believed so.

There can be no art without idolatry, says Ananda Coomaraswamy, an authority on Indian civilisation. I would say no civilisation is possible without idolatry — idolatry in its broadest meaning. It is a form of adoration of God, a form of praise. It began with the caveman. When he drew animals, birds and trees in his cave, he was expressing his admiration for the work of nature, for the work of God.

To please the gods was the principal purpose of the Vedic chants. And to what extent did they go in this task? There were keen chanting contests between the tribes of Vasishta and Viswamitra to win the esteem of the Aryan tribes. This also explains why a whole Veda (Sama) came to be devoted to poetry and music, and why Panini, the greatest linguist and grammarian, emerged as a central figure in the evolution of Sanskrit. All these explain how Sanskrit became a perfect language, the language of the gods, as they say.

Drama was conceived as a great spectacle of music and dance and acting. Bharata tells us that the first dramas was presented to the gods and the gods him in turn theatre props.

Imitation played a major role in the development of civilisation — first of all of nature. Man imitated the warble of the birds, the prancing of the deer and the dancing of the peacock. Imitation was a tribute to the creator.

Chinese art was an imitation of nature. It grew out of their desire to be in harmony with nature. This they realised in their landscape painting, which was their supreme achievement. They paid little attention to God. But it was at a price, for Chinese art and literature never reached the creative heights of Greece and India.

The Indian artist never "copied" nature. All that he wanted was to suggest the idea behind sensuous appearance, not to give the details of seeming reality that was in truth, he said, illusion (maya). The purpose of his art was sacremental. It was an accessory to worship.

The art of fresco painting at Ajanta and Ellora reached perfection, unsurpassed anywhere else. Here, religious piety fused with architecture, sculpture and painting into a happy harmony.

It is by its art and literature that a society is judged by history. In his "Lectures on the Philosophy of History," Hegel says: "India is the land of dream." India had always dreamt — more of the Bliss that is man’s final goal. And this had helped India to be more creative in its history than any other nation. Hence the efflorescence of myths and legends, religions and philosophies, music and dances and the profusion of architectural styles.

But man must go beyond the gratification of the senses. He must progress in thought. This cannot come, says Aurobindo, "if we chain the spirit to some fixed mental idea or system of religious Cult, intellectual truth, aesthetic norm, ethical value, practical action.... and declare all departure from that a peril and a disturbance..." Alas, much of the world is in chains? They take departures as a"peril."

Making of idols is still a major preoccupation of the Hindus. On Bankim Chandra’s "Vandemataram", Aurobindo had said that India could not be reborn "until the motherland reveals herself to the eye of the mind as something more than a stretch of earth ... not till she takes shape as a great divine and maternal power." Vivekananda worshipped the motherland as divine. Did they need such prop to stir up their love for their country?

They did not. But there was no other way to inspire the masses. The king of Jordan, the father of the present one, a Muslim, on his return from a long stay abroad in the USA, fell on the ground and kissed his mother earth.

We are like pilgrims on a long march. Some are in the lead. They have lighted torches with them. They are nearer to Bliss. Some are in the rear. They are somewhat in the dark. They are still in the thrall of the senses. And this is how it is going to be for long ages. Before us is a great goal — the progressive divination of man. Those who are at the rear will seek to gratify their senses and those who are in the lead will raise their consciousness. In the process, both will enrich their age and civilisation.

The two streams of our civilisation, that of the senses, and that of the mind, that of form, and that of thought, are like the Ganga and the Yamuna. Both are vital to us. Both water our lands. Both enrich our civilisation. Praise be to both! Praise be to both!