5/12/15
Mantra 1
That (eternal) syllable, AUM, is all this;
its further elaboration, past, present, and future,
all is this AUM indeed;
even what is beyond, transcending the three times,
that too is AUM.
In
keeping with the first mantra, Nitya affirms Aum as an existential reality, to
counterbalance the tendency of spiritually-minded people to slip into idealist
fantasies. Even though Aum is not visibly apparent anywhere in the terms we are
familiar with, we are not seeking a remote abstraction but the intrinsic
reality at the heart of everything. The “secret” of the Upanishad is that Truth
is right here, present with us. In a sense, it’s almost the exact opposite of a
secret, a reality so apparent we run a risk of overlooking it:
For a wise person, the world is
like an open book. Everything in this world speaks to them. A blade of grass, a
small worm, a bird in the bush or a floating cloud - anything can reveal to a
seeker the hidden meaning of this world.
To
further develop our ability to attune with the hidden meaning of the world,
Nitya invites us to contemplate the beauties of everything we perceive. The
word Aum begins with ‘A,’ the symbol of the world of concrete objects, and, as
Michael and Nancy pointed out, as we develop we progressively recede into
levels of abstraction, almost like a tadpole turning into a frog. A frog first
masters the pool that nurtures and sustains it, and only when it has developed
fully is it capable of jumping out of the pond onto solid ground. Like that, we
begin from the world we experience and draw insights from that, becoming ever
more generalized in our thinking, until at last we can make a quantum leap out
of the context that has made us into the shape we are. Such a leap into turiya,
the total context, the all, is symbolized by the silence that comprises the
fourth element of Aum.
We
are not meant to leave ourselves or our egos behind when we make the leap, as
so many practices insist. All of what we are is an integral part of the event,
the bearer of chit, if you will.
Nitya instructs us:
The contemplative who has taken
this mantra for reflection should first dive deep into the meaning of “all” (sarvam). There cannot be an
all without
including one’s self also in that all embracing awareness.
Nitya
describes a meditation on this perspective that is perfectly suited to the view
from our “classroom,” with its vast panorama:
The subtlety of the mantra makes
it a fit subject for reflection. To get into the spirit of it, one should sit
quietly, if you prefer, on a hilltop where you have a vast panorama to watch.
Then say to yourself: “this all.” When you say “this,” you will experience a
sudden convergence of awareness to the central focus of your attention, and
from there, instantaneously, the awareness expands in all directions and you
are compelled to believe that something is taking you even beyond the seeming
bounds of the horizon…. This expanding universe of awareness not only
transcends space, but it also transcends time.
Interestingly,
before class I was reading in Max Tegmark’s book Our Mathematical Universe, his theory that the universe is a
mathematical structure. The structure itself has no qualities; only the
relations between its parts generate describable factors. Descriptions are
“baggage”: appendages on the pure reality of the structure. There are highly
abstract descriptions like those in conventional math and logic, but the whole
range of baggage includes layer after layer of interpretations, all the way to
the external world we perceive and interact in. Tegmark’s ideas bear a close
kinship with the rishis’ concept of Aum—a baggage-free monad on which
everything is appended. The difference, if any, is that Tegmark is working
primarily in one direction, back into the formless, since at least for a
scientist this is where the unknown territory lies. By contrast, the Upanishad
invites us to make a two-way probe from multiplicity to unity, and from unity
back to multiplicity. Each aspect informs and augments the other, and without
both together we probably don’t have a universe at all.
Since
Tegmark is exploring new terrain, at least as far as physicists go, he is still
visualizing a plethora of structures rather than a single, unitary source. It
will be interesting to see if he gets to a structural essence or not, maybe
even later in the book. In the meantime, this excerpt should show the parallels
with our spiritual version of the exploration. After giving an example of an
everyday situation that he describes mathematically, Tegmark concludes:
There are clearly many more
equivalent ways of describing this mathematical structure, but there’s only one
unique mathematical structure that’s described by all these equivalent
descriptions. In summary, any particular description of a mathematical
structure contains baggage, but the structure itself doesn’t. It is important
not to confuse the description with that which is described: even the most
abstract-looking description of a mathematical structure is still not the
structure itself. Rather, the structure corresponds to the class of all
equivalent descriptions of it. (264-5)
See how closely this resembles Nitya’s invocation of sat:
[Our] attention is called to
appreciate the existentiality of things and the philosophical validity of
reducing everything to the persistent verity of erasable existence. This is
certainly not the approach of an idealist. Even highly respected Indian pundits
like Dr. Radhakrishnan could not see the methodological correctness of the
Indian rishi who gave primacy to sat,
existence. “Existence precedes essence,” was not any new invention of Jean-Paul
Sartre. As Dr. Radhakrishnan did not see this point, he depicted Vedanta as an
idealist view of life. It is the existence that is then interpreted, described
and restructured to suit the conceptual clarity of the perceiver.
Of course, the supposition that reality exists does not by
itself validate our interpretation of it; as Tegmark realizes, every
description or portrayal is a secondary phenomenon with a greater or lesser
schism between it and the essence it attempts to reveal. We work to close the
gap to true up our relation to the outside world even as we prepare to leap
from that very pond when the right combination of circumstances arises.
In
the next excerpt Nitya expertly weaves saccidananda into his elucidation of
Aum, first highlighting sat and chit. Note the upending of our
expectations in the sentence, “Everything of the past is still held close to
the present by converting the existentiality of the past into an ever-present memory.”
We tend to think of the present as ineluctably real and the past as a fictional
representation held in the present, which is true enough, but Nitya also
accords those memories a grounding in existentiality. In other words, they were
once as true as our present is to us now. We could honor them, at the same time
as we recognize their fictionalization in the present through our unavoidable
interpretive process. In fact, to the extent we are captivated by our memories
in the present, we are living in a personally constructed image in place of
reality. Nitya packs a vast amount into this paragraph:
Only by experiencing a thing do
we become impressed by the truth of its existence. As we move in time our
appreciations of existence are piled one over the other and everything of the
past is still held close to the present by converting the existentiality of the
past into an ever-present memory. It is by the relevancy of that memory that we
give our present its vast magnitude both in time and space. There is no past
sitting anywhere other than in the immediate awareness of the present.
Similarly there is no future except in the anticipation of an individuated
mind. Existence cannot support itself, at least for the recognition and
appreciation of it by the human mind, unless every form of existence is
substantiated by a comprehending consciousness. This shows the methodological
excellence of the Indian rishi who placed chit,
consciousness, immediately after sat,
existence. These two aspects of Truth are inseparable. That is why Nataraja
Guru defined science as a discipline which transforms visibles into
calculables.
This reminded Prabu of Bergson’s duration, the pure essence
of time in which past, present and future are called up sequentially.
Nataraja
Guru’s definition fits Tegmark’s hypothesizing to a T. Calculables can be
thought of as increasingly refined attempts to remove baggage from scientific
descriptions. From a mathematician’s or a rishi’s point of view, the
limitations of science are its continuing reliance on descriptive baggage. The
joy of meditation is to a significant degree to be found in the relinquishment
of descriptive baggage, of “taking a break” from the brains’ obsession with
matching favorite descriptions to its surroundings. Unlike scientists held to
rigid standards of justifying their stances, we can regularly dip into periods
of baggage-free beingness. Nitya invites us to do that in this series of guided
meditations, as he rounds off saccidananda by bringing in its third term:
It is not necessary to get into
all the jargon of philosophy to appreciate the perennial persistence of
fundamental values. That is why even a sentimental poet can readily see the
truth of a perennial joy dwelling in the heart of beauty. Here we see the
relevancy of ananda coming as the
culminating mark of our search.
Science
deliberately leaves ananda—meaning—out of its calculations, and that is
appropriate, though very dangerous. Meaning is the domain of philosophy and its
evolutes, religion and spirituality. Because of this self-imposed limitation,
science has unleashed many destructive forces, side by side with its beneficial
ones.
Fortunately,
we are not constrained to omit meaning and value from our musings. Only the
first quarter of the scheme of consciousness, the ‘A’ realm as we’ll be calling
it, is better left untainted by interpretations. But understanding meaning is
what converts us from sadness to joy, from despair to optimism. As Bill put it,
how we predicate the mysterious “this” can be joyful if we so choose. As
always, Nitya waxes eloquent on this matter, and I’ll defer to him. This is
where the sentimental poet mentioned above came into the talk:
Instead of saying “all this,” if
you were to say “this dewdrop,” “this flower,” “this rainbow,” you could also
think of the dewdrop disappearing in evaporation, the flower drooping and
falling off, and the rainbow vanishing. In all these specific objects of
experience one can see the stamp of phenomenality. Like an Omar Khayyam you can
sigh in frustration: “this will pass away.” In the present mantra you are in
the company of a joyous teacher and not a weeping philosopher. When Keats said:
“a thing of beauty is a joy forever,” he was seeing eternity in the beauty of
the otherwise transient world of phenomenality. It does not trouble the poet or
the artist how short-lived are the dewdrops, the butterflies, the sunrise, the
rainbow, and the smile of recognition. From the very dawn of the human
appreciation of beauty, poets were singing the glory of all these enchanting
visitations of the divine. Thus a philosophically trained eye can see the
imperishable dwelling in the very heart of the perishable. So it is not a
poetic exaggeration to say “all this is AUM the imperishable.”
We
closed with a meditation on Aum, in the way Nitya often led us to do, where we
start loud and taper down into silence with each iteration, and each time you
start a little less loudly. Finally, the whole chant is done in silence. It
provides a wonderful convergence of all aspects of the psyche. We plan to close
each class of the Mandukya with this harmonizing activity. Aum.
Part II
Nitya
was very fond of a baffling quote from the philosopher F.H. Bradley, which led
him to an important insight. Here’s the how it appears in the present text:
Suppose the general knowledge
comes as “this.” It is immediately followed by the question “what is this?”
This is suggestive of the two main components of one’s apprehension: they are
the “this” and the “what.” If the mind readily comes out with an answer: “this
is a pot,” “this” is qualified with the characteristics of a pot. “This”
remains, and the “what” is substituted with the idea of a pot. In a number of
such predications you can see that the general idea “this” remains unchanged
and the interrogation “what” is substituted with object identities such as
“this is a pen,” “this is a watch,” “this is a stone,” etc. When F.H. Bradley
says: “this ‘this’ is different from this ‘this’ because of the difference
between the ‘what’ of this ‘this’ and the ‘what’ of this ‘this,’” he
is not
playing with words but putting his finger on the primeval incidence of
specifying awareness entering the uncharted field of consciousness.
I
read out the excerpt from Love and
Blessings pertaining to Bradley’s quote, which helps us to understand what
he was getting at. It also points to That Alone verses 41 and 42, where Nitya
really throws light on this idea. At the time of this writing he was teaching
at Vivekananda College in Madras. In the Magazine, apostrophes were added to
Bradley’s quote for clarity, but I now prefer the more baffling version without
them:
A
very beautiful thing happened while I was teaching F.H. Bradley’s Appearance and Reality to the students
of the senior M.A. class. In it Bradley presents his idea of “this” and “what”.
His whole contention can be summarized as follows: “This this is different from
this this because of the what of this this and the what of this this.”
On
first reading we get only a jargon of words. When taken individually, in every
item of cognition a certain “this” is presented, and we are curious to know
what “this” is. “This,” as such, is an undeciphered presentation of an
unqualified presence. The cognitive function has to examine the features of
what is presented to see how it can be distinguished from whatever was
presented previously and whatever is to be presented afterwards.
Bradley’s
statement did not yield any immediate envisioning of the problem it presented.
So I allowed the students to disperse, and they all went to the canteen for
coffee. I returned to my residence and had a cup of hot coffee. After taking a
few sips, I opened a book that was lying on a table. It was Narayana Guru’s Atmopadesa Satakam. I opened it at
random and read, “In ‘This is a pot’ the first impression, ‘this’, is the
difficult to discern; ‘pot’ is its qualifying predicate.” The gist of what
Bradley was trying to say in an elaborate essay running to many pages was given
by Narayana Guru in just two short lines. I was thrilled by how he explicated
this philosophical problem without going into the jargon of logic. I could
hardly wait for the next class to share my new insight and joy with my
students. Then I thought there should be more opportunities for me to teach
Narayana Guru’s vision rather than beating about the bush with Bradley’s
philosophical paradoxes. (161-2)
Nitya
eventually found that gesturing in two places to visually distinguish this this
from another this helped make the point much clearer to his students.
I
also read out the next part of the chapter, not related but still wonderful:
By
the beginning of 1954 the atmosphere at the college had become rather
suffocating. Although nobody directly asked me to resign, there were several
pinpricks. I thought I would wait for Nataraja Guru’s counsel before taking an
initiative. And although I thoroughly enjoyed my sessions with the students, I
felt an urge to walk away from institutions and find the freedom to go into
whatever pleased my inner self. The call to go into an elaborate comparative
study of Narayana Guru with all the major philosophers of the world was
becoming irresistible. Moreover, my stance for equality was getting me into hot
water with the administration.
A
few days later Nataraja Guru came to see me again. When I told him how
smothering the college atmosphere was and how I felt like revolting against it,
Guru said, “An educational institution is a sacred place. When you were in need
of it, the Vivekananda College opened its doors and welcomed you. When you
leave it, you should go out with dignity, without regret and without malice to
anyone. Give your blessings to the students and say goodbye in good taste to
your colleagues.” He added that leaving a position should always be considered
a promotion, like leaving a short ladder to get onto a taller one. So I
tendered my resignation with good grace.
Though as usual Nataraja Guru had
said exactly the opposite of what I’d expected, it was sound advice. If he
hadn’t cleared my mind I’d have felt very angry and frustrated. Afterwards I
learned firsthand of the Benevolent Grace that guided me to leave my academic
career behind when I revisited Vivekananda College twenty years later. I went
to the philosophy department and saw all my old friends sitting on dirty chairs
in musty rooms and looking no brighter than the fossils displayed in the
biology lab. (162-3)
* *
*
Excerpts
from Love and Devotion (1979, by
Nitya Chaitanya Yati) related to the first mantra:
This
story is given to explain not only the historical background of Krishna but
also to explain how he became instrumental in unifying the conflicting strata
of India’s civilization and also the role he played in evolving an integrated
philosophy presented in the Bhagavad Gita. Krishna took the best from the
pre-Aryan contemplative India, and also he welcomed the joyous and positive
attitude of the Aryans. In both his life and philosophy we can see this
beautiful blend of the contemplative detachment of a seer and the positive
acceptance of the transactional world in all its variegated richness. (20)
Bliss is at its summit when all traces of duality are
effaced from consciousness. Experiencing nondual joy is not the rare privilege
of the seers alone. God is kind and compassionate to give every sentient being
a taste of nondual joy, at least for a moment when they are in the exaltation
of love. (21) [The book has exultation, possibly an error – ed.]