Sri Aurobindo
Early Cultural Writings
(1890 — 1910)
Part Seven. Epistles / Letters From Abroad
Letters from Abroad [6.2]
You have not misapprehended my meaning, though you wonder at it.
These hollow wormeaten outsides of Hinduism crumbling so sluggishly, so fatally to some sudden and astonishing dissolution, do not frighten me.
Within them I find the soul of a 
civilisation alive, though sleeping.
I see upon it the consoling sentence of God, “Because thou hast believed in me, therefore thou shalt live and not perish.”
Also, I look through the garnished outsides, gaudy, not beautiful, pretentious, not great, boastful, not secure, of this vaunting, aggressive, dominant Europe and I have seen written on the heart of its civilisation a sentence of death and mounting already from the heart to the brain an image of annihilation.
O this Europe with its noise, its childish vanity, its barbarous material pomp and show, its puerile clashing of sabres and rattling of wheels, its foam and froth of a little knowledge, its mailed fist, its heart of lead, its tremulous, crying nerves, its sinews all unstrung with a luxury and debauch it is not great enough of soul to indulge itself in with the true ancient Titanism.
One notes too its fear of the darkness of death, its clinging to life, its morbid terror of pain, its braggart tongue and coward action, its insincerity, dishonesty, unfaith, its romantic altruistic dreams so soon ended and changing into a selfish and cynical proclamation of interest, power and pleasure, — one sees its increasing brain, its perishing will.
It is not in noble figures that she presents herself to my imagination, this sole enlightened continent, it is not fear or respect that they awaken in my mind, these civilised superior nations.
I see a little girl wearing a new frock and showing herself off to Mamma and all the world, unable to conceal her pride and delight in the thought that never was a frock so new and nice or a little girl so pretty, — never was and never will be!
I think of a very small boy to whom somebody has given a very big cane — one can see him brandishing it, executing now and then an exultant wardance, tormenting, tyrannising over and plundering of their little belongings all the smaller boys he can get within his cane’s reach, not displeased if they show a little fight so that he can exhibit his heroic strength of arm by punishing them.
And then he adorns himself with glittering Victoria crosses and calls on all his associates to admire his gallant and daredevil1 courage.
Sometimes [it reminds me] of an old man, a man very early old, still strong in his decrepitude, garrulous, well-informed, luxurious, arrogant, intelligent, still 
busy toddling actively from place to place, looking into this, meddling in that, laying down the law dogmatically on every point under the sun, and through it all the clutch already nearing the brain, the shaking of the palsy already foreshadowed in tremulous movement and uncertain nerve.
Very true, Europe, your frock is the cleanest and newest, for the present, your stick the biggest, your wardance a very frightening spectacle — frightening even to yourselves — with Krupp and Mauser and machine gun what else should it be, you are indeed for a while the robust, enlightened oldster you seem.
But afterwards?
Well, afterwards there will be a newer frock, a bigger stick, a wardance much more terrible and a real Titan grasping at the earth for his own instead of the sham.
Earlier edition of this work: Archives and Research: A biannual journal.- Volume 3, No2 (1979, December)
1 A&R 1979-02: and his daredevil