(A LETTER FROM NEW YORK TO THE AUTHOR’S OWN COUNTRYMEN)

When freedom is not an inner idea which imparts strength to our activities and breadth to our creations, when it is merely a thing of external circumstance, it is like an open space to one who is blindfolded.

In my recent travels in the West I have felt that out there freedom as an idea has become feeble and ineffectual.  Consequently a spirit of repression and coercion is fast spreading in the politics and social relationships of the people.

In the age of monarchy the king lived surrounded by a miasma of intrigue.  At court there was an endless whispering of lies and calumny, and much plotting and planning among the conspiring courtiers to manipulate the king as the instrument of their own purposes.

In the present age intrigue plays a wider part, and affects the whole country.  The people are drugged with the hashish of false hopes and urged to deeds of frightfulness by the goadings of manufactured panics; their higher feelings are exploited by devious channels of unctuous hypocrisy, their pockets picked under anaesthetics of flattery, their very psychology affected by a conspiracy of money and unscrupulous diplomacy.

In the old order the king was given to understand that he was the freest individual in the world.  A greater semblance of external freedom, no doubt, he had than other individuals.  But they built for him a gorgeous prison of unreality.

The same thing is happening now with the people of the West.  They are flattered into believing that they are free, and they have the sovereign power in their hands.  But this power is robbed by hosts of self-seekers, and the horse is captured and stabled because of his gift of freedom over space.  The mob-mind is allowed the enjoyment of an apparent liberty, while its true freedom is curtailed on every side.  Its thoughts are fashioned according to the plans of organised interest; in its choosing of ideas and forming of opinions it is hindered either by some punitive force or by the constant insinuation of untruths; it is made to dwell in an artificial world of hypnotic phrases.  In fact, the people have become the storehouse of a power that attracts round it a swarm of adventurers who are secretly investing its walls to exploit it for their own devices.

Thus it has become more and more evident to me that the ideal of freedom has grown tenuous in the atmosphere of the West.  The mentality is that of a slave-owning community, with a mutilated multitude of men tied to its commercial and political treadmill.  It is the mentality of mutual distrust and fear.  The appalling scenes of inhumanity and injustice, which are growing familiar to us, are the outcome of a psychology that deals with terror.  No cruelty can be uglier in its ferocity than the cruelty of the coward.  The people who have sacrificed their souls to the passion of profit-making and the drunkenness of power are constantly pursued by phantoms of panic and suspicion, and therefore they are ruthless even where they are least afraid of mischances.  They become morally incapable of allowing freedom to others, and in their eagerness to curry favour with the powerful they not only connive at the injustice done by their own partners in political gambling, but participate in it.  A perpetual anxiety for the protection of their gains at any cost strikes at the love of freedom and justice, until at length they are ready to forgo liberty for themselves and for others.

My experience in the West, where I have realised the immense power of money and of organised propaganda, ­working everywhere behind screens of camouflage, creating an atmosphere of distrust, timidity, and antipathy, ­has impressed me deeply with the truth that real freedom is of the mind and spirit; it can never come to us from outside.  He only has freedom who ideally loves freedom himself and is glad to extend it to others.  He who cares to have slaves must chain himself to them; he who builds walls to create exclusion for others builds walls across his own freedom; he who distrusts freedom in others loses his moral right to it.  Sooner or later he is lured into the meshes of physical and moral servility.

Therefore I would urge my own countrymen to ask themselves if the freedom to which they aspire is one of external conditions.  Is it merely a transferable commodity?  Have they acquired a true love of freedom?  Have they faith in it?  Are they ready to make space in their society for the minds of their children to grow up in the ideal of human dignity, unhindered by restrictions that are unjust and irrational?

Have we not made elaborately permanent the walls of our social compartments?  We are tenaciously proud of their exclusiveness.  We boast that, in this world, no other society but our own has come to finality in the classifying of its living members.  Yet in our political agitations we conveniently forget that any unnaturalness in the relationship of governors and governed which humiliates us, becomes an outrage when it is artificially fixed under the threat of military persecution.

When India gave voice to immortal thoughts, in the time of fullest vigour of vitality, her children had the fearless spirit of the seekers of truth.  The great epic of the soul of our people ­the Mahabharata ­gives us a wonderful vision of an overflowing life, full of the freedom of inquiry and experiment.  When the age of the Buddha came, humanity was stirred in our country to its uttermost depth.  The freedom of mind which it produced expressed itself in a wealth of creation, spreading everywhere in its richness over the continent of Asia.  But with the ebb of life in India the spirit of creation died away.  It hardened into an age of inert construction.  The organic unity of a varied and elastic society gave way to a conventional order which proved its artificial character by its inexorable law of exclusion.

Life has its inequalities, I admit, but they are natural and are in harmony with our vital functions.  The head keeps its place apart from the feet, not through some external arrangement or any conspiracy of coercion.  If the body is compelled to turn somersaults for an indefinite period, the head never exchanges its relative function for that of the feet.  But have our social divisions the same inevitableness of organic law?  If we have the hardihood to say “yes” to that question, then how can we blame an alien people for subjecting us to a political order which they are tempted to believe eternal?

By squeezing human beings in the grip of an inelastic system and forcibly holding them fixed, we have ignored the laws of life and growth.  We have forced living souls into a permanent passivity, making them incapable of moulding circumstance to their own intrinsic design, and of mastering their own destiny.  Borrowing our ideal of life from a dark period of our degeneracy, we have covered up our sensitiveness of soul under the immovable weight of a remote past.  We have set up an elaborate ceremonial of cage-worship, and plucked all the feathers from the wings of the living spirit of our people.  And for us, ­with our centuries of degradation and insult, with the amorphousness of our national unity, with our helplessness before the attack of disasters from without and our unreasoning self-obstructions from within, ­the punishment has been terrible.  Our stupefaction has become so absolute that we do not even realise that this persistent misfortune, dogging our steps for ages, cannot be a mere accident of history, removable only by another accident from outside.

Unless we have true faith in freedom, knowing it to be creative, manfully taking all its risks, not only do we lose the right to claim freedom in politics, but we also lack the power to maintain it with all our strength.  For that would be like assigning the service of God to a confirmed atheist.  And men, who contemptuously treat their own brothers and sisters as eternal babies, never to be trusted in the most trivial details of their personal life, ­coercing them at every step by the cruel threat of persecution into following a blind lane leading to nowhere, driving a number of them into hypocrisy and into moral inertia, ­will fail over and over again to rise to the height of their true and severe responsibility.  They will be incapable of holding a just freedom in politics, and of fighting in freedom’s cause.

The civilisation of the West has in it the spirit of the machine which must move; and to that blind movement human lives are offered as fuel, keeping up the steam-power.  It represents the active aspect of inertia which has the appearance of freedom, but not its truth, and therefore gives rise to slavery both within its boundaries and outside.  The present civilisation of India has the constraining power of the mould.  It squeezes living man in the grip of rigid regulations, and its repression of individual freedom makes it only too easy for men to be forced into submission of all kinds and degrees.  In both of these traditions life is offered up to something which is not life; it is a sacrifice, which has no God for its worship, and is therefore utterly in vain.  The West is continually producing mechanical power in excess of its spiritual control, and India has produced a system of mechanical control in excess of its vitality.