Nationalism gathers three lectures Tagore delivered abroad during the First World War, on nationalism in the West, in Japan, and in India, followed by a short poem, The Sunset of the Century. Across all four he draws one distinction and returns to it again and again: society is the natural, living cooperation of human beings, while the Nation is what a population becomes when it organizes itself for a mechanical purpose of power and profit.
In the first lecture he describes how, in the West, this organizing power outgrew its old narrow place and became the ruling force of life. Driven by science, greed, and mutual fear, it goads neighbours into competition, breeds endless economic and political war, and turns human beings into neatly packed, labelled units. When this organization, whose other name is the Nation, becomes all-powerful, the moral person is eliminated to a phantom, and government becomes an abstract force that can inflict wholesale suffering without feeling it.
The second lecture honours Japan for waking Asia from its torpor and proving that the East still holds living strength. But Tagore turns it into a warning. The peril is not borrowing Western science or methods, which can be transplanted, but adopting the motive force of Western nationalism. To teach a whole people contempt, vanity, and the cult of survival of the fittest is to swallow an elixir of moral death, and to fit oneself to a covering of steel is a slow suicide by shrinkage of the soul.
The third lecture brings the argument home to India. India's real problem, Tagore insists, is social rather than political: the patient task of making one human life out of many races, a problem the whole world now shares. He calls nationalism a great menace at the root of India's troubles, criticizes both the begging politics of the early Congress and the imitative Western ideals of the Extremists, and argues that India's strength must come from constructive moral work and the courage to suffer for truth, not from copying the machinery of the powerful.
Tagore is not anti-Western and not a simple traditionalist. He praises the British as human beings, treats East and West as complementary, and admits India's grave errors with caste and rigid division. His target is the impersonal idol of organized self-interest wherever it rules. The closing poem watches the century set in blood-red clouds as the self-love of Nations feeds on the world until it bursts, and it calls India to wait for a quieter dawn, to stand in a white robe of simpleness and know that what is huge is not great.