Realisation of Beauty
Things in which we do not take joy are either a burden upon our minds to be got rid of at any cost; or they are useful, and therefore in temporary and partial relation to us, becoming burdensome when their utility is lost; or they are like wandering vagabonds, loitering for a moment on the outskirts of our recognition, and then passing on. A thing is only completely our own when it is a thing of joy to us.
The greater part of this world is to us as if it were nothing. But we cannot allow it to remain so, for thus it belittles our own self. The entire world is given to us, and all our powers have their final meaning in the faith that by their help we are to take possession of our patrimony.
But what is the function of our sense of beauty in this process of the extension of our consciousness? Is it there to separate truth into strong lights and shadows, and bring it before us in its uncompromising distinction of beauty and ugliness? If that were so, then we would have had to admit that this sense of beauty creates a dissension in our universe and sets up a wall of hindrance across the highway of communication that leads from everything to all things.
But that cannot be true. As long as our realisation is incomplete a division necessarily remains between things known and unknown, pleasant and unpleasant. But in spite of the dictum of some philosophers man does not accept any arbitrary and absolute limit to his knowable world. Every day his science is penetrating into the region formerly marked in his map as unexplored or inexplorable. Our sense of beauty is similarly engaged in ever pushing on its conquests. Truth is everywhere, therefore everything is the object of our knowledge. Beauty is omnipresent, therefore everything is capable of giving us joy.
In the early days of his history man took everything as a phenomenon of life. His science of life began by creating a sharp distinction between life and non-life. But as it is proceeding farther and farther the line of demarcation between the animate and inanimate is growing more and more dim. In the beginning of our apprehension these sharp lines of contrast are helpful to us, but as our comprehension becomes clearer they gradually fade away.
The Upanishads have said that all things are created and sustained by an infinite joy. To realise this principle of creation we have to start with a division--the division into the beautiful and the non-beautiful. Then the apprehension of beauty has to come to us with a vigorous blow to awaken our consciousness from its primitive lethargy, and it attains its object by the urgency of the contrast. Therefore our first acquaintance with beauty is in her dress of motley colours, that affects us with its stripes and feathers, nay, with its disfigurements. But as our acquaintance ripens, the apparent discords are resolved into modulations of rhythm. At first we detach beauty from its surroundings, we hold it apart from the rest, but at the end we realise its harmony with all. Then the music of beauty has no more need of exciting us with loud noise; it renounces violence, and appeals to our heart with the truth that it is meekness inherits the earth.
In some stage of our growth, in some period of our history, we try to set up a special cult of beauty, and pare it down to a narrow circuit, so as to make it a matter of pride for a chosen few. Then it breeds in its votaries affections and exaggerations, as it did with the Brahmins in the time of the decadence of Indian civilisation, when the perception of the higher truth fell away and superstitions grew up unchecked.
In the history of aesthetics there also comes an age of emancipation when the recognition of beauty in things great and small become easy, and when we see it more in the unassuming harmony of common objects than in things startling in their singularity. So much so, that we have to go through the stages of reaction when in the representation of beauty we try to avoid everything that is obviously pleasing and that has been crowned by the sanction of convention. We are then tempted in defiance to exaggerate the commonness of commonplace things, thereby making them aggressively uncommon. To restore harmony we create the discords which are a feature of all reactions. We already see in the present age the sign of this aesthetic reaction, which proves that man has at last come to know that it is only the narrowness of perception which sharply divides the field of his aesthetic consciousness into ugliness and beauty. When he has the power to see things detached from self-interest and from the insistent claims of the lust of the senses, then alone can he have the true vision of the beauty that is everywhere. Then only can he see that what is unpleasant to us is not necessarily unbeautiful, but has its beauty in truth.
When we say that beauty is everywhere we do not mean that the word ugliness should be abolished from our language, just as it would be absurd to say that there is no such thing as untruth. Untruth there certainly is, not in the system of the universe, but in our power of comprehension, as its negative element. In the same manner there is ugliness in the distorted expression of beauty in our life and in our art which comes from our imperfect realisation of Truth. To a certain extent we can set our life against the law of truth which is in us and which is in all, and likewise we can give rise to ugliness by going counter to the eternal law of harmony which is everywhere.
Through our sense of truth we realise law in creation, and through our sense of beauty we realise harmony in the universe. When we recognise the law in nature we extend our mastery over physical forces and become powerful; when we recognise the law in our moral nature we attain mastery over self and become free. In like manner the more we comprehend the harmony in the physical world the more our life shares the gladness of creation, and our expression of beauty in art becomes more truly catholic. As we become conscious of the harmony in our soul, our apprehension of the blissfulness of the spirit of the world becomes universal, and the expression of beauty in our life moves in goodness and love towards the infinite. This is the ultimate object of our existence, that we must ever know that "beauty is truth, truth beauty"; we must realise the whole world in love, for love gives it birth, sustains it, and takes it back to its bosom. We must have that perfect emancipation of heart which gives us the power to stand at the innermost centre of things and have the taste of that fullness of disinterested joy which belongs to Brahma.
Music is the purest form of art, and therefore the most direct expression of beauty, with a form and spirit which is one and simple, and least encumbered with anything extraneous. We seem to feel that the manifestation of the infinite in the finite forms of creation is music itself, silent and visible. The evening sky, tirelessly repeating the starry constellations, seems like a child struck with wonder at the mystery of its own first utterance, lisping the same word over and over again, and listening to it in unceasing joy. When in the rainy night of July the darkness is thick upon the meadows and the pattering rain draws veil upon veil over the stillness of the slumbering earth, this monotony of the rain patter seems to be the darkness of sound itself. The gloom of the dim and dense line of trees, the thorny bushes scattered in the bare heath like floating heads of swimmers with bedraggled hair, the smell of the damp grass and the wet earth, the spire of the temple rising above the undefined mass of blackness grouped around the village huts--everything seems like notes rising from the heart of the night, mingling and losing themselves in the one sound of ceaseless rain filling the sky.
Therefore the true poets, they who are seers, seek to express the universe in terms of music.
They rarely use symbols of painting to express the unfolding of forms, the mingling of endless lines and colours that goes on every moment on the canvas of the blue sky.
They have their reason. For the man who paints must have canvas, brush and colour-box. The first touch of his brush is very far from the complete idea. And then when the work is finished the artist is gone, the windowed picture stands alone, the incessant touches of love of the creative hand are withdrawn.
But the singer has everything within him. The notes come out from his very life. They are not materials gathered from outside. His idea and his expression are brother and sister; very often they are born as twins. In music the heart reveals itself immediately; it suffers not from any barrier of alien material.
Therefore though music has to wait for its completeness like any other art, yet at every step it gives out the beauty of the whole. As the material of expression even words are barriers, for their meaning has to be constructed by thought. But music never has to depend upon any obvious meaning; it expresses what no words can ever express.
What is more, music and the musician are inseparable. When the singer departs, his singing dies with him; it is in eternal union with the life and joy of the master.
This world-song is never for a moment separated from its singer. It is not fashioned from any outward material. It is his joy itself taking never-ending form. It is the great heart sending the tremor of its thrill over the sky.
There is a perfection in each individual strain of this music, which is the revelation of completion in the incomplete. No one of its notes is final, yet each reflects the infinite.
What does it matter if we fail to derive the exact meaning of this great harmony? Is it not like the hand meeting the string and drawing out at once all its tones at the touch? It is the language of beauty, the caress, that comes from the heart of the world straightway reaches our heart.
Last night, in the silence which pervaded the darkness, I stood alone and heard the voice of the singer of eternal melodies. When I went to sleep I closed my eyes with this last thought in my mind, that even when I remain unconscious in slumber the dance of life will still go on in the hushed arena of my sleeping body, keeping step with the stars. The heart will throb, the blood will leap in the veins, and the millions of living atoms of my body will vibrate in tune with the note of the harp-string that thrills at the touch of the master.
美的感悟
不能給我們帶來快樂的事物,要么是大腦中無論如何也揮之不去的某種負擔;要么是因為它短時間內是有用的,因而與我們有某種聯系,而一旦用處不再,就成了累贅;要么象云游四海的流浪漢,偶爾在我們的意識之外飄過之后就消失了.只有我們喜歡的東西我們才會完全擁有它.
在我們看來,世界上大部分事物似乎什么都不是.但是我們不能讓它這樣,因為這樣一來,我們自己擁有的東西就顯得貧乏和渺小了.假如讓我們擁有了整個世界,我們所有的力量就有了最終的意義,因為我們相信這些力量會幫助我們擁有祖先留下的遺產.
但是當我們對外界的認識越來越多的時候,我們感受到的美的作用是怎樣的呢?它是用來區分現實中的光明和黑暗,把美和丑的鮮明對比帶到我們的面前嗎?如果那樣,我們就不得不承認對美的這種感知導致了世界的不和諧,就無形中樹起了一堵墻,阻礙了世間萬物不可間斷的交流.
但是事實并非如此,只要我們對世界的認識不完整,已知的和未知的,令人愉快的和令人不快的之間的分歧就依然存在.但是盡管有哲學名言,人類仍然不承認個人對世界認知的武斷性和絕對性.人類對世界的認識總是局限于個人的未經探索研究或者沒有能力去探索研究的經驗上.我們只是簡單地不由自主地被美征服,從而感知它的存在.真理存在于每一種事物中,因此每一樣事物我們都客觀面對.美是無處不在的,因此每一種事物都有能力帶給我們快樂.
早期的人類把一切的事物都用生命現象來解釋.生命科學最初是以有無生命力的明顯差別開始的.但是隨著人類社會不斷進步,有無生命力的界限越來越模糊.早期我們認為事物是有明顯差別的,這種理解是有益的,但是隨著我們對世界的認識越來越明確,這些差別就漸漸消失了.
奧義書上說所有的事物都由快樂創造并且支撐.為了明確這種創造的基本要義,我們需要進行區分__區分美的和不美的東西.然后我們對美的理解才茅塞頓開,從原始的混沌中被喚醒,迫切地想推翻過去從而達到現在的認識.因此我們最初見到的美,穿著五顏六色的羽衣,格子條子縱橫交錯,外表看上去七零八落.但是當我們對它的認識臻于成熟的時候,那些看起來不和諧的表面開始消融,節奏變的統一了.最初我們是把美與周圍環境中剝離出來,使其有別于周圍,但是最終我們意識到了萬物的和諧.然后,美變成了音樂,沒有了聒躁的聲音來煩擾我們;它摒棄暴力,呼吁我們的心向上向善.
在我們成長的某個階段,在我們歷史的某個時期,我們企圖建立一套對美的崇拜模式,讓它陷入一種狹隘的怪圈,成為少部分人用以炫耀的資本.正如印度文明衰落時期的婆羅門教,它被無限夸大,成了反人類情感的溫床,那個時期的人們漸漸喪失了對真理的追求,封建迷信乘虛而入.
美學歷史也迎來了開明的時期,人們心悅誠服地承認了,事物無論偉大或者渺小都存在著美.過去被我們驚為異類的事物,今天在它們身上我們看到了平常而樸實的和諧.凡此種種,我們因此必須要經歷各種轉變的時期,在這些時期里對于美的判斷,我們既要避免對某一種事物明顯的偏好,也要避免死抱著舊有的觀念不放.然后我們要抵斥夸大平常事物,避免讓它們恣意扭曲.為了重建和諧,我們創造了不和諧,這是各種思潮爭論的特點.在當今時代,我們已經看到了美學思潮的跡象, 它證明了在美學領域把美和丑對立起來是一種狹隘的觀念.當一個人具備了不再用狹隘自私的觀念和不再固執地遵從自我感覺來看待事物的能力,他自身對周圍事物就有了真正的理解.他自己就能看到,在我們看來令人不愉快的事物未必就不美好,而具備著它真實的美.
正如說"世上沒有謊言"是荒唐的一樣,當我們說美無處不在時,并不是指就不應該再提丑陋了.丑陋當然是存在的,但是并不是在現實世界里,而是作為消極因子存在于我們自己的理解能力范圍中.生活中對美的曲解是一種丑陋,同樣地,藝術中對真理的不完美的認識也是一種丑陋.在某種程度上,我們能夠將我們的生活與真理法則進行對比,這個法則存在于我們自己心中,存在于一切事物中;同樣地,我們能夠將丑陋與永久的和諧法則進行比較,這個法則也是無處不在的.
通過對真理的感知,我們意識了到天地萬物的法則,通過對美的感知我們意識到了宇宙的和諧.當我們認識到自然的法則我們就進一步掌握了自然界的力量,變得強大起來;當我們認識到道德的法則我們就能把握自己,變得自由起來.同樣地,我們越多地理解自然界的和諧,就越多的感受到自然萬物帶給我們的快樂,我們在藝術中對美的表達就越接近普遍的真理.當我們的心靈達到和諧,我們就會全面理解精神世界的幸福感,我們在生活中就會朝善的方向表達美,就會無盡地表達我們的愛.這是我們生存的終極目標,我們必須要知道"美就是真,真就是美",我們必須意識到整個世界是充滿愛的,因為是愛誕生了世界,支撐著世界,把整個世界擁抱在懷.我們必須完美地敞開我們的內心,這會給予我們力量站在萬物的中心,達到梵天的境界,充分體驗那種高尚無私的快樂.
音樂是最純粹的藝術形式,因此它以一種純粹的不受外部阻礙的方式和精神最直接地表達美.我們似乎感覺到世間萬物就象音樂本身一樣以無限來表現有限,沉寂卻讓人能夠感覺到有聲.夜空不知疲倦地閃爍著群星,就象一個咿呀學語的嬰兒,驚嘆于自己發出的第一個聲音,口齒不清地不斷重復這一個單詞,并帶著無盡的快樂傾聽著.當七月的夜雨來臨,草地上的黑暗濃重起來,雨聲滴嗒,一圈一圈驚擾了沉睡的泥土的寂靜,連單調的雨聲也似乎變得漆黑了.一行行茂密的樹朦朦朧朧, 滿是荊棘的灌木叢散落在光禿禿的長滿小石頭的荒地上,象一個個頭發零亂的泳者漂浮在水面上的頭部,潮濕的野草和濕漉漉的地面傳遞著氣息,寺廟的聳立著的尖頂,俯瞰著下面一大片一大片的暗影,暗影結成隊,把村莊的小屋包圍了___一切都似乎是從夜晚的心臟發出的音符,交融著消失在天空無盡的雨聲中.
因此真正的詩人們.他們是幻想家,用音樂的語言來闡釋宇宙.
每一次作畫,他們都很少用象征的手法在畫板上展示對天空的形狀,交錯的線條和色彩的描繪.
他們這樣做是有理由的.對于作畫時必須要有畫板,刷子和顏料盒的人來說,他一接觸到刷子心里的想法就沒有了.作完畫后藝術家也消失了,只剩帶有窗戶的畫孤零零地掛在哪兒.那只不斷傳遞愛的創造之手也被收回了.
但是音樂家的一切都深藏在內心.音符正是來自于他的生命活力,而不是來自于外部聚集的材料.他的想法和表達是就象兄妹似的;通常是孿生的.在音樂中心靈可以即時將自己表達出來;它不會受任何陌生的物質上的阻礙.
因此雖然音樂也象其它藝術一樣一步步走向圓滿,但是它的每一步呈現的都是整體的美.作為實物的表達,甚至連語言都是一種障礙,因為它們的意義是由思維構成的.但是音樂從來沒有必要依賴于明顯的意思;它所表達的東西不是語言能夠表達的.
而且,音樂和音樂家是分不開的.當音樂家去世的時候,他的音樂也隨著他一起消亡了;音樂終生伴隨著它的主人的命運與歡樂.
這首<世界歌>一刻也沒有與它的歌唱者分離過.它并不是因為外部物質而變得時尚.它是他的快樂,永不停歇.是偉大的心靈通過天空傳遞著的快樂的顫栗.
每一種音樂都是完美的,在不圓滿中表現圓滿.沒有一種音符是有結局的,然而每一種音符的意境卻都是無限的.
即便這種巨大的和諧沒有確切的意義可表達,又有什么關系呢?難道這不象是手碰到和弦而立即畫出的音符?這是關于美的語言,是這個世界頃刻間對我們心靈的愛撫.
昨夜,黑暗中彌漫著寂靜,我一個人站在那里,傾聽著歌者永不停歇的歌喉.入睡的時候腦海中還著縈繞著之前的瞑想,甚至在我昏昏欲睡時的潛意識中,生命的舞蹈,和著窗外滿天的繁星,還在我入眠的身體上繼續.只要豎琴的主人一撥動琴弦,我的心就隨著震顫的旋律跳動起來,血液在血管內澎湃,身體里數百萬個活躍的原子伴隨著琴弦的節奏舞動起來.
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