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

不能给我们带来快乐的事物,要么是大脑中无论如何也挥之不去的某种负担;要么是因为它短时间内是有用的,因而与我们有某种联系,而一旦用处不再,就成了累赘;要么象云游四海的流浪汉,偶尔在我们的意识之外飘过之后就消失了.只有我们喜欢的东西我们才会完全拥有它.

在我们看来,世界上大部分事物似乎什么都不是.但是我们不能让它这样,因为这样一来,我们自己拥有的东西就显得贫乏和渺小了.假如让我们拥有了整个世界,我们所有的力量就有了最终的意义,因为我们相信这些力量会帮助我们拥有祖先留下的遗产.

但是当我们对外界的认识越来越多的时候,我们感受到的美的作用是怎样的呢?它是用来区分现实中的光明和黑暗,把美和丑的鲜明对比带到我们的面前吗?如果那样,我们就不得不承认对美的这种感知导致了世界的不和谐,就无形中树起了一堵墙,阻碍了世间万物不可间断的交流.

但是事实并非如此,只要我们对世界的认识不完整,已知的和未知的,令人愉快的和令人不快的之间的分歧就依然存在.但是尽管有哲学名言,人类仍然不承认个人对世界认知的武断性和绝对性.人类对世界的认识总是局限于个人的未经探索研究或者没有能力去探索研究的经验上.我们只是简单地不由自主地被美征服,从而感知它的存在.真理存在于每一种事物中,因此每一样事物我们都客观面对.美是无处不在的,因此每一种事物都有能力带给我们快乐.

早期的人类把一切的事物都用生命现象来解释.生命科学最初是以有无生命力的明显差别开始的.但是随着人类社会不断进步,有无生命力的界限越来越模糊.早期我们认为事物是有明显差别的,这种理解是有益的,但是随着我们对世界的认识越来越明确,这些差别就渐渐消失了.

奥义书上说所有的事物都由快乐创造并且支撑.为了明确这种创造的基本要义,我们需要进行区分__区分美的和不美的东西.然后我们对美的理解才茅塞顿开,从原始的混沌中被唤醒,迫切地想推翻过去从而达到现在的认识.因此我们最初见到的美,穿着五颜六色的羽衣,格子条子纵横交错,外表看上去七零八落.但是当我们对它的认识臻于成熟的时候,那些看起来不和谐的表面开始消融,节奏变的统一了.最初我们是把美与周围环境中剥离出来,使其有别于周围,但是最终我们意识到了万物的和谐.然后,美变成了音乐,没有了聒躁的声音来烦扰我们;它摒弃暴力,呼吁我们的心向上向善.

在我们成长的某个阶段,在我们历史的某个时期,我们企图建立一套对美的崇拜模式,让它陷入一种狭隘的怪圈,成为少部分人用以炫耀的资本.正如印度文明衰落时期的婆罗门教,它被无限夸大,成了反人类情感的温床,那个时期的人们渐渐丧失了对真理的追求,封建迷信乘虚而入.

美学历史也迎来了开明的时期,人们心悦诚服地承认了,事物无论伟大或者渺小都存在着美.过去被我们惊为异类的事物,今天在它们身上我们看到了平常而朴实的和谐.凡此种种,我们因此必须要经历各种转变的时期,在这些时期里对于美的判断,我们既要避免对某一种事物明显的偏好,也要避免死抱着旧有的观念不放.然后我们要抵斥夸大平常事物,避免让它们恣意扭曲.为了重建和谐,我们创造了不和谐,这是各种思潮争论的特点.在当今时代,我们已经看到了美学思潮的迹象, 它证明了在美学领域把美和丑对立起来是一种狭隘的观念.当一个人具备了不再用狭隘自私的观念和不再固执地遵从自我感觉来看待事物的能力,他自身对周围事物就有了真正的理解.他自己就能看到,在我们看来令人不愉快的事物未必就不美好,而具备着它真实的美.

正如说"世上没有谎言"是荒唐的一样,当我们说美无处不在时,并不是指就不应该再提丑陋了.丑陋当然是存在的,但是并不是在现实世界里,而是作为消极因子存在于我们自己的理解能力范围中.生活中对美的曲解是一种丑陋,同样地,艺术中对真理的不完美的认识也是一种丑陋.在某种程度上,我们能够将我们的生活与真理法则进行对比,这个法则存在于我们自己心中,存在于一切事物中;同样地,我们能够将丑陋与永久的和谐法则进行比较,这个法则也是无处不在的.

通过对真理的感知,我们意识了到天地万物的法则,通过对美的感知我们意识到了宇宙的和谐.当我们认识到自然的法则我们就进一步掌握了自然界的力量,变得强大起来;当我们认识到道德的法则我们就能把握自己,变得自由起来.同样地,我们越多地理解自然界的和谐,就越多的感受到自然万物带给我们的快乐,我们在艺术中对美的表达就越接近普遍的真理.当我们的心灵达到和谐,我们就会全面理解精神世界的幸福感,我们在生活中就会朝善的方向表达美,就会无尽地表达我们的爱.这是我们生存的终极目标,我们必须要知道"美就是真,真就是美",我们必须意识到整个世界是充满爱的,因为是爱诞生了世界,支撑着世界,把整个世界拥抱在怀.我们必须完美地敞开我们的内心,这会给予我们力量站在万物的中心,达到梵天的境界,充分体验那种高尚无私的快乐.

音乐是最纯粹的艺术形式,因此它以一种纯粹的不受外部阻碍的方式和精神最直接地表达美.我们似乎感觉到世间万物就象音乐本身一样以无限来表现有限,沉寂却让人能够感觉到有声.夜空不知疲倦地闪烁着群星,就象一个咿呀学语的婴儿,惊叹于自己发出的第一个声音,口齿不清地不断重复这一个单词,并带着无尽的快乐倾听着.当七月的夜雨来临,草地上的黑暗浓重起来,雨声滴嗒,一圈一圈惊扰了沉睡的泥土的寂静,连单调的雨声也似乎变得漆黑了.一行行茂密的树朦朦胧胧, 满是荆棘的灌木丛散落在光秃秃的长满小石头的荒地上,象一个个头发零乱的泳者漂浮在水面上的头部,潮湿的野草和湿漉漉的地面传递着气息,寺庙的耸立着的尖顶,俯瞰着下面一大片一大片的暗影,暗影结成队,把村庄的小屋包围了___一切都似乎是从夜晚的心脏发出的音符,交融着消失在天空无尽的雨声中.

因此真正的诗人们.他们是幻想家,用音乐的语言来阐释宇宙.

每一次作画,他们都很少用象征的手法在画板上展示对天空的形状,交错的线条和色彩的描绘.

他们这样做是有理由的.对于作画时必须要有画板,刷子和颜料盒的人来说,他一接触到刷子心里的想法就没有了.作完画后艺术家也消失了,只剩带有窗户的画孤零零地挂在哪儿.那只不断传递爱的创造之手也被收回了.

但是音乐家的一切都深藏在内心.音符正是来自于他的生命活力,而不是来自于外部聚集的材料.他的想法和表达是就象兄妹似的;通常是孪生的.在音乐中心灵可以即时将自己表达出来;它不会受任何陌生的物质上的阻碍.

因此虽然音乐也象其它艺术一样一步步走向圆满,但是它的每一步呈现的都是整体的美.作为实物的表达,甚至连语言都是一种障碍,因为它们的意义是由思维构成的.但是音乐从来没有必要依赖于明显的意思;它所表达的东西不是语言能够表达的.

而且,音乐和音乐家是分不开的.当音乐家去世的时候,他的音乐也随着他一起消亡了;音乐终生伴随着它的主人的命运与欢乐.

这首<世界歌>一刻也没有与它的歌唱者分离过.它并不是因为外部物质而变得时尚.它是他的快乐,永不停歇.是伟大的心灵通过天空传递着的快乐的颤栗.

每一种音乐都是完美的,在不圆满中表现圆满.没有一种音符是有结局的,然而每一种音符的意境却都是无限的.

即便这种巨大的和谐没有确切的意义可表达,又有什么关系呢?难道这不象是手碰到和弦而立即画出的音符?这是关于美的语言,是这个世界顷刻间对我们心灵的爱抚.

昨夜,黑暗中弥漫着寂静,我一个人站在那里,倾听着歌者永不停歇的歌喉.入睡的时候脑海中还着萦绕着之前的瞑想,甚至在我昏昏欲睡时的潜意识中,生命的舞蹈,和着窗外满天的繁星,还在我入眠的身体上继续.只要竖琴的主人一拨动琴弦,我的心就随着震颤的旋律跳动起来,血液在血管内澎湃,身体里数百万个活跃的原子伴随着琴弦的节奏舞动起来.

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