CHAPTER V: Karma
Sannyasa Yoga
Unitive
Action and Renunciation (Renouncing the benefits of action through yoga)
There
is a great lesson to be learned by watching ocean waves interact with the
shore: unitive action is how Nature works. Without any thought, objects follow
the exact course that is the sum of all the forces acting on them, every
microsecond or even out of time, producing a smooth and harmonious flow.
The
ocean’s incoming and outflowing surges near a beach mingle and interpenetrate
each other in a dazzlingly complex dance, further shaped by the wind and rain,
the contours of the sand, and the detritus strewn about. The result is
effortless perfection at all times, which we can easily observe but not easily
model. To mathematically calculate how to represent all the interactions, even
in a miniscule area, is staggeringly complicated. Fortunately we don’t have to:
nature does it by itself, and all we have to do is look. Any interpretation we
impose inevitably interferes with the original flow, though we can console
ourselves that even our disruptions are also perfect in their own way.
What
we call instinct in animals is a kind of liquid flow that carries them through
a lifetime of complicated situations without conscious deliberation, as far as we
can tell. Humans also have valuable instincts, but they are routinely subsumed
in incomplete rationality and ignored. Unitive action coupled with the
renunciation of impediments is a way of opening back up to the instinctive side
of life while retaining conscious monitoring. It can be argued that the reason
we so often “miss the mark” is that we have suppressed our creative instincts
in favor of a deliberately conceived strategy of self-protection. While safety
provides a welcome sense of relief from the storms of life, the joy of
integrated creative action is of another magnitude entirely.
As
young children, we used to effortlessly “go with the flow,” meaning we allowed
nature to take its course without inhibiting or deflecting it. Over time most
of us have lost the knack, substituting a faint echo cobbled together out of
hope, habit and training. The Gita is attempting to have us regain a childlike
innocence, allowing us to imbibe the extra dimensions of our psyche that are
ordinarily forgotten or else disparaged.
Normal
human behavior is mediated by thought. Thought attempts to create a seamless
flow out of many separate and distinct points, and has a greater or lesser
degree of success. True joy only revives if we can relinquish control and cast
ourselves into the ecstasy of the moment.
Yogis
aim for such expertise in action, but there are two distinct types we need to
be clear about.
The
first level of expertise is to be able to visualize a goal and act to achieve
it. We have to learn how to marshal our abilities and focus them on tasks. This
is the level of ordinary skill development that achieves prowess in a chosen
field, like art, sports, business and science. Despite its importance to a
rewarding life, in the modern world with its innumerable “conveniences” many
people have lost the ability to carry out simple tasks effectively. It requires
a complex combination of positive motivation and negative avoidance of pitfalls
to work well.
The
second level of expertise is to achieve a neutral balance between the positive
and negative impulses, which brings the interference of the conscious mind to a
halt and allows the instinctual flow we attribute to the Absolute to carry us
forward. This is the spiritual level of action. Even in the vaunted Information
Age, few know this secret of yoga.
Both
types of expertise are valuable, but when the first kind is employed as a
substitute for the second, as it often is, the spiritual flow is misdirected
into dead ends and eddies in the current. The various isms the human race is so
prone to adopt mark the intrusion of the first, linear type of expertise into
the arena of the second, global or holistic type. In other words, the thought
we identify as spiritual is often mere conceptualization rather than
realization, or worshipping an idol in place of what it supposedly represents.
The Isa Upanishad describes it as a glorious golden image of the sun that hides
the real sun behind it.
Needless
to say, when Krishna speaks of excelling in action, he is referring to the
second type untainted by the first. Much of the work of a disciple is to
distinguish between the two and to maintain the proper orientation where the
spiritual flows into and enlivens the rational while not permitting the
rational to usurp and deaden the spiritual.
Because
of its prime importance, the Gita provides one more chapter to knit together
the strands of how to act wisely, before offering its take on meditation in the
following chapter.
1) Arjuna
said:
You
recommend the renunciation of action, Krishna, and again yoga also; tell me,
duly determined, which of these two is spiritually better.
Arjuna
is not yet clear about action, in the same way that most people are confused:
our true destiny must be intuited, yet we are presented with all sorts of
well-defined possibilities that will most likely lead to dead ends. The
well-known mid-life crisis marks the stage in life when a person realizes the
futility of dedicating their life to someone else’s dictates, and begins to
wonder how they can be more themselves. The modern world offers medications and
innumerable distractions to suppress the inner spiritual urge, but the Gita is
a resource for all who refuse to capitulate, those who, along with Rene Daumal,
“suffer from an incurable need to understand.”
Arjuna’s
question permits Krishna to further clarify the issue. Krishna has been
teaching a method to effectively break free from the bondage produced by
action, while remaining engaged in every activity called for by the
circumstances. This “elusively subtle” business will benefit from more
examination in this chapter.
Absolute
renunciation is impossible. No one can ever totally escape action; in fact,
thought itself is a kind of action. The universe is made out of action. There
is no truly static entity anywhere. And as our conscious existence is produced
by our thinking, we are at the very least witnesses to our own lives. To
dissociate from a necessary minimum involvement with action would be to
terminate our existence. Even the tendency toward dissociation is a fertile source
of depressive feelings, as the cosmic inner urges are unable to find an outlet
and surrender in despair.
Nataraja
Guru’s translation of sannyasa karmanam
is “effective transcending of action.” The literal meaning is simply
“renunciation of works or action.” Since Krishna has definitely not recommended
renunciation of action, Nataraja Guru correctly reveals the intent. The meaning
of this interchange between guru and disciple is lost if simply giving up
action is considered effective. Something else is afoot here. Not surprisingly
Arjuna is falling back on his old concepts, because he has not fully understood
the radical nature of true yoga. Right away Krishna will begin to expound
further on the subtleties of action and what exactly renunciation means, and he
will also chide his disciple for his inadequate grasp of what has already been
elucidated.
2) Krishna
said:
Both
renunciation and unitive action have emancipation as their common effect; of
the two, however, unitive action is superior to (mere) renunciation of action.
Krishna,
being a good guru, immediately gives an unequivocal answer to his disciple:
although all lifestyles have their justifications, acting skillfully is better
than sitting still. He has been definite about this in the past, so the Gita’s
decided opinion is being reprised here to make it patently clear. Recall verse
III, 4: “By refraining from initiating activities a person does not come to
have the attainment of transcending action, nor can one by renunciation alone
come to perfection.” In the present context, Krishna is being somewhat more
generous toward inaction than he was earlier, but we don’t have to pin him down
exactly, since mere renunciation is not the way we will be taking. At the time
the Gita was written, author Vyasa was battling conservatism and entrenched
orthodoxy, so he wanted to reemphasize the superiority of dialectically
balanced unitive action over the mere suppression of activity that is so
appealing to less critical minds.
Unitive
activity is not some exotic, remote behavior for the spiritually adept, it is
simply doing the things you do anyway, only with expertise and not clumsily.
Duality promotes doubt and ineptitude; unity is smooth and artistic. Baldly
stated, renunciation means striving to do little or nothing; unitive action
means doing everything very well. In spiritual life the idea of renunciation
often includes doing what you are told by an organization or your guru, as
opposed to using the wisdom you have gleaned to chart your own course. Ideally
this can provide excellent learning opportunities. Like children, spiritual
neophytes learn primarily by imitation, and only gradually develop
independence. We may well benefit from a training program for a short period,
but if the goal is to instill obedience rather than model emancipation it is
anything but spiritual.
Selfless
service is a highly touted version of the renunciation of action, where instead
of completely giving up action you just abandon basing it on your personal
needs and desires. You apprentice yourself to a path that is said to be good
for you. In a world where personal freedom is severely curtailed, this is a
reasonable option, a safe movement toward yoga. Krishna politely grants equal potential
to renunciation, but maintains
that following our own star is superior to dutifully following a preconceived
program, no matter how beneficial it is. Inner inspiration is the way the
Absolute infuses life with vitality.
The
broad dichotomy of Samkhya rationalism and Yoga from Chapter II is gradually
being effaced in an all-encompassing vision. This is the preliminary thrust of
the first third of the Gita. First we are to establish a unitive state of mind.
In the second third the Absolute is revealed, and in the last third the
revelation is incorporated into the life of the disciple in a way that consolidates
a permanent transformation.
3) That
man should be recognized as a perennial renouncer who neither hates nor
desires; free indeed from conflicting pairs (of interests) O Arjuna, he is
happily released from the bondage (of necessity).
The
simple instruction of the initial stage of discipleship, to give up
expectations, has now evolved into the full-fledged practice of yoga, where
pairs of opposites are counterpoised to neutralize their impact. Here the
renouncer and the yogi are brought together as embodying a single outlook. A
proper renouncer is a yogi.
We
so often identify with our desires and wonder why we would ever want to give
them up. Why do we desire things? Because we believe they will make us
satisfied and happy. But what if we were already satisfied and happy? What if
we resided in a place of complete satisfaction at all times? Then it would be
absurd for us to desire anything, nor would there be any need to push anything
away as a threat to our happiness. The aim of spirituality is to attain a
global state of satisfaction that engulfs and subsumes all the vagaries of
existence.
Once
again, you don’t achieve total happiness by mounting a pitched battle against
your desires. That’s actually a formula for unhappiness, of a bitter opposition
to all that’s wrong with the world and your place in it. When you settle into a
solidly grounded state of lasting happiness, distracting desires naturally lose
their appeal. Putting it another way, when we are satisfied we are not
dissatisfied. It’s hard to argue with that!
The
Gita gives us an uncomplicated definition to help us recognize a wise person:
if they avoid polarization in duality and remain steady in a neutral balance,
they have achieved yoga. Further, when they are able to stay neutral as between
attraction and repulsion, want and dislike, and all those matched pairs, they
are happily released from the
travails that invariably accompany polarization. This is by no means a state of
deadness, it is a state of supreme delight and involvement. If what you are
doing leads you to experience less, you’re missing the boat.
My
own guru, Nitya, was an enduring example of the steadiness of the perennial
renouncer. He never worried about where his next meal was coming from, or how
he could afford anything essential, and yet the means always came to him.
Moreover, personal attacks or praise had no effect on him. He always remained
grounded in a blissful state that was wholly independent of any outside
factors. When visitors arrived with their emotions churning, seeking succor or
blaming him for their problems, his immunity from being upset by them gave them
a solid pole to hold onto, by which they could pull themselves out of the mire.
You can read about how such a state is achieved and lived in Nitya’s
autobiography, Love and Blessings, with
an especially good example in the chapter titled “Delivered into the Arms of
Providence.”
4) That
rationalism and yogic self-discipline are distinct, only children say, not the
well-informed; one well-established in either one of them obtains the result of
both.
Krishna
continues the process of convergence. The more the differences in life are
investigated, the more closely they resemble each other. This is the role of
contemplation: to reduce or eliminate conflict by ameliorating the apparent
disparities.
Remember,
the primary polarity that must be addressed is between wisdom and action, or
more generally, metaphysics and physics, or ideas and objects. Nowadays we
might call it religion and science. To see them as unconnected is foolish, and
can be based only on a superficial examination such as children—the
philosophically immature—make without reflection. Krishna is chiding Arjuna,
and by extension all the pundits who insist on one or the other as exclusively
preferable. His intention is always to unite rather than divide.
It’s
not that we should become either a rigid scientist or an uncritical doer of
good deeds. Pure ideation without complementary activity lacks any impact,
while action without ideation is merely chaotic. Both action and thought must
occur together; they mutually reinforce and supplement one another. In fact,
they are not two. It is possible to think of them in isolation, but in practice
they are inseparable.
People
love to choose sides because it is our tribal inheritance, but it’s something
we need to grow out of, because it is tearing the world apart. The Gita is a
venerable instruction manual for knitting our divisions back together.
Paralleling
the schism between energy and matter, the modern thinker is likely to conceive
of a vast gulf between these outwardly opposed principles. The mathematician is
extolled for the abstraction of her thought, whereas the religious adept is
praised for concrete action that is wholly directed by “God.” There is much to
commend such extremism. Mental theorizations can be pushed to towering
remoteness, and impulsive acts seemingly in tune with the Tao or the invisible
inner landscape have their own mysterious attraction. But the Gita seeks always
to discern an all-inclusive middle way, and it will take its entire eighteen
chapters to make a proper case for unity that will satisfy a thoughtful seeker
of truth. There is no reason a scientist shouldn’t enjoy religious wonder and a
worshipper shouldn’t be permitted a functional intelligence.
The
romantic ideals of wisdom or action alone—-of the egghead scientist or the
tuned-in religious adept in flowing robes—may crash on the shoals of actual
life situations, such as those Arjuna is about to encounter on the battlefield.
The isolation of abstraction can be heartrending, as it removes a person from
contact with loved ones, not to mention the effects of their own actions. On
the other hand, unreflective actors are easy to manipulate by self-interested
others. The Buddhist principle of mindfulness touches on the Gita’s secret of
perfect integration of thought and action. When, due to the excitement
generated by expert involvement, the course of the mind becomes more than a
rote formula and leaps to life as a bliss-filled reality, it is what the Gita
calls intelligence in action. In II, 50, Krishna defined yoga as reason in
action. It is the state where jnana and karma are united.
Any
objections that come to mind at this point are not really childish, they can be
valuable markers for whether the teaching succeeds or not. Reasonable
objections will all be met and overcome as we proceed. Krishna’s exhortation is
made so the objections do not lead to rejection; they should energize a deeper
examination of the ideas involved. If they still fall short after a respectful
study, then we should throw them away. But these are first-rate, life-changing
insights of a phalanx of brilliant seers, deserving of our close attention. The
modern tendency to drop a subject at the least qualm may divert us from
unearthing treasures in the most promising territory.
5) That
status attained by rationalists is reached also by yogis; he who thus sees
rationality and yoga as one—he (alone) sees.
We
live in an exciting time when science and religion (alias physics and
metaphysics) are converging, after a long period of hostility where they
carried on as jilted lovers. I have incorporated some of the most exciting new
scientific discoveries in this commentary, and there will always be more to
come. Science is busily probing deep into the unseen and the speculative, from
the beginning of time and unbelievably distant galaxies down to nearby
nanoseconds and picoangstroms, armed with amazingly fine instruments and
complex mathematical calculations. There is a laser measuring device that can
detect the deformation of a concrete slab made by a dime, the smallest U.S.
coin (2.2 grams). There is even a camera now that can film light in slow
motion, each frame measuring a trillionth of a second (see http://www.ted.com/talks/ramesh_raskar_a_camera_that_takes_one_trillion_frames_per_second.html).
Unbelievable! Like science, religion also addresses the unseen world, and at
its best is not hidebound or reactionary but open to new and different
discoveries as unique expressions of divinity.
Nataraja
Guru made the observation that during medieval times, the Christian Inquisition
drove science into an oppositional stance from which it has yet to recover. And
it’s hard to blame anyone for being cautious and highly skeptical about those
who defend their outmoded beliefs and power positions to the point of
committing torture and murder. Such types are still thriving in our day, and
cannot be ignored. But real religion is something else entirely. Far from
closed and never dangerous, it beckons us to learn and grow with intense
enthusiasm.
Here’s
the gist of the problem that this verse takes on. It doesn’t matter whether you
claim, “There is only God,” or “There is only Nature,” both are only partially
true, in precisely the same degree. They are merely conceptual abstractions
about the underlying substance, whatever it may be, and if we hold to one
position or the other we will not be able to fully grasp the true nature of
what exists.
Truth
has to be One; there cannot be two contradictory truths. Religion and science
both seek truth. A little bit of it has been discovered, but by no means all.
It would be absurd to claim that all truth is already known. Fools proclaim an
exclusive patent on truth, but legitimate seekers admit that truth is
unlimited, open-ended, and waiting to be discovered. They are convinced that
the fact that they don’t know everything is a blessing and not a curse, a
matter of pride and not of shame. It is so much more fun to wonder about life
with an open heart and mind than to try to hold onto a static secondhand
vision. The aha! or eureka! phenomenon works with scientific puzzles as well as
metaphysical conundrums.
This
verse reminds us that the excellent attitude of tolerance and contemplative
absorption attainable by mystics and pragmatists alike, is in fact an attainment.
We have to work at it. Our
animal instincts might lead us to be jealous and intolerant of people we don’t
understand, but our best scriptures and textbooks, our gurus and professors,
teach us to overcome these limitations. Scriptures come right out and say it,
while the textbooks show us how one generation’s holy grail often winds up
being the next generation’s object of ridicule. Either way, humility is not so
hard to learn, unless your heart is hardened to it.
6) But
non-unitive renunciation is full of pain to achieve; one unitively harmonized,
of subdued ways, without any delay attains the Absolute.
Non-unitive
renunciation covers a wide range of spiritual practices, including all the ways
we try to achieve something by the incremental accumulation of merit. Ordinary
spirituality is based on dissatisfaction that impels movement toward imagined
states of future satisfaction, whereas unitive spirituality accepts all states
as perfect despite being temporary. It aims to appreciate the present to the
utmost rather than reject it.
Separation
from the bliss of the present causes pain, ranging from mild anxiety to soul
searing anguish. The most painful version of non-unitive renunciation is the
hair shirt stuff, ferocious attempts by desperate escape artists to dissociate
the mind from the body by self-inflicted injury. If dissatisfaction is the
motivator, then ratcheting up the pain should maximize the motivation, and the
more of it the better. When the Gita was written there were a lot of extremely
painful and negative disciplines widely practiced; a few persist even to the
present. It may be the impetus for them was self-hatred brought about by the
difficulties of life. As far as we know, there was nothing like the hatred of
the flesh made famous by the Semitic religions, it was more like demonstrating
the flesh’s irrelevance, or at least the will to transcend its flaws, but the
penance aspect was if anything even more extreme. In modern times, abnormal
psychology amply demonstrates that the desire to inflict masochistic harm on
the body has not disappeared. The non-unitive angle is that somehow the body or
the ego or even the whole person is believed to be something other than God,
and therefore second-rate or even evil. Since the senses are believed to block
the perception of God they must be banished so that God may stand revealed.
Self-humiliation
is actually a negative form of fixation on the ego. The body with its
concomitant suffering takes center stage, and smothering it becomes a perverse
and demonic preoccupation.
Contrast
this with a system that does not require any stress at all. The universe was
created for the pure joy of it, and the play of innocence is a delight in
itself. Balancing and harmonizing the body and mind is a thrilling adventure,
full of interest and absorption. It is inclusive rather than exclusive: it can
and should be shared with one’s fellow beings. It is a game of endless variety
and beauty, and playing it with abandon instantly reveals our connection with
the Absolute, since we too are That.
We
can attain the Absolute without any delay because it is our true nature. Once
you clear away the imaginary hurdles we have all been inculcated with, and stop
identifying with the small ‘s’ self they have produced, what remains is the
Real.
The
most important point is that self-realization is not an outcome of cumulative
action, it represents nothing more or less than the clear comprehension of
Truth. From birth we encounter programs that build on previously established
platforms, such as learning to read and write and do arithmetic, so much so
that it becomes a core assumption that that’s all there is to life. But it’s
not so hard to see that a wholesale mystery cannot be revealed in incremental
stages. Except for moments of breakthrough, all our searching takes place
within the known, no matter how passionately we wish it were otherwise. We can
easily build Babel towers to reach imaginary heavens, but if we do not know
where truth lies they are certain to be built in the wrong direction, and when
they crumble, the construction crew is scattered to the winds. What creative
discovery requires is an entirely different, non-cumulative methodology.
Realization
is a far cry from what we have come to expect in our world of stepwise effects.
You either get it or you don’t. You are either awake or you aren’t. Yet it
isn’t all or nothing: we always get only a part, but the part is terrific
enough. There is no first place prize to be won. The reward is all in the joy
of playing the game.
Additionally,
religions often imply that realization is about achieving some well-defined
fixed quantity, like holiness or heaven, rather than participating in the
unfolding of a mysterious process. As with the attainment of social normalcy,
it has to be accomplished by our personality being swept aside and replaced by
something more respectable. As a consequence, nearly everyone learns to be
dissatisfied with who they are. We are not okay, and are only tolerable if we
are moving toward a widely accepted version of what okay means. Basically, we
have learned to hate ourselves, and so a great many of our actions are intended
as compensation for our perceived inadequacies. Because we’re not okay, we
construct a persona that looks like it might appeal to the rest of us. And
since everyone is doing it, we have come to live in a vast constructed stage
set that squelches us rather than allows us the freedom to express ourselves.
We spend our energies vying for the most righteous image to substitute for the
reality of who we are, instead of trying to discover and value ourselves.
Because of this, even our best intentions are inauthentic.
When
we think of God as wholly other, we are bound to seem like born sinners who are
an embarrassment to Him. By contrast, the beauty of the Upanishadic vision is
that everyone is the Absolute’s unique attempt to express itself. Despite our
imperfections, which are legion, we are the way the Absolute brings itself into
existence. This is 180 degrees different from the lost sinners of the popular
imagination. We are the very expression of the Absolute, so it is our innate
calling to be as excellent as we can be. We are carrying the torch for an
Absolute that uses us for its implementation. Anyone who sincerely comes to
understand this has found the essence of their dharma. It’s such a tremendous
realization we could become ecstatic with joy at the mere blessing of being
alive.
We
all face the challenge of making abstract ideas real, of real-izing them.
Sometimes we succeed. In one sense we can’t lead up to this type of success,
and in another sense everything we do leads up to it. The one certainty is that
it remains independent of any simplistic formula.
We
have to press past our concepts and percepts to see the whole structure of our
being. Our true nature has become more than a point source in the Absolute, it
has developed into a skeletal system on which all our thinking is strung, like
its organs, muscles and various conduits. We are to become physicians to heal
ourselves, based on our actual psychic viscera rather than an imaginary
idealized model. When we do so, our mental health flourishes in concert with
our physical well-being, and vice versa.
The
blazing realization the rishis wrote into their Upanishads is that we are the
Absolute in our core. We are not some unwelcome scourge polluting the Garden of
Eden, but the very essence of paradise, the part that can see, and know, and
enjoy. Living in fear of the presiding deity has withered our hearts and
embittered our minds, but that is not the intent of Creation. If God is ashamed
of us, it is only because we have failed to thrive, failed to love, failed to
care, because that’s what we were put here to do. God is not ashamed because we
dare to be ourselves, but because we don’t.
The
best part of who we are is the Absolute itself. That’s the unconscious we are
striving to make conscious. We can muck around with the rest too, in order to
free ourselves from the evil Fate which is nothing more than the flailing of
our injured soul, but in our best moments we need to be reaching for that
auspicious Light, that true form, which we are the very expression of. When we
rediscover it, we know instinctively we are That.
7) One
affiliated to the unitive way of life, attained to lucidity of Self, of
Self-conquest, who has gained a victory over the senses, whose Self-existence
has become the same as the Self-existence of all, though active, is unaffected
(thereby).
One
of the most mysterious aspects of realization is that one’s sense of
separateness disappears. It’s as though we can see we are a small cloud of
atomic particles within an immense cloud of atomic particles: there is
essentially no difference, no line of demarcation. We are simultaneously
separate and identical. While spirit as such is not particulate, this is an apt
analogy for it.
In
such a global state of awareness, actions do not color the psyche. In other
words, they don’t cause us to erect a personal barrier to keep us distinct from
the cloud we are an integral part of. In ordinary consciousness, if someone is
mean to us we nurse a grudge or flee the scene, or if we put a lot of energy
into a project we may grow attached to its completion and frustrated by
impediments. A realized person can simply let go and move on to the next
paradigm without clinging, because it’s just as wonderful as the last. There is
no yearning for a particular stimulus, mental or physical, because everything
is stimulating. Yearning or resenting just prevents us from being open to the
next enlightening situation. We do things, and we care about them, but we
aren’t devastated when things go haywire, because they are all subsumed in a
greater reality that is ever present.
It’s
worthwhile to take a close look at each of the ideas in this verse. Krishna is
reminding us that our state of mind has a direct impact on everything we do. If
we are in a state of cosmic awareness, we bring that to our life. If we are
embittered and confused, that will be our experience in our actions as well. We
have to hold hard to unity, because the events of the world have a powerful
tendency to reinforce the sense of separateness, and that can tear us apart.
A
yogi is first of all affiliated to the unitive way of life. That means in every
situation we must choose the option that unites rather than divides. When you
see someone of another race, creed, or religious or sexual affiliation, you
have a choice to think of yourself as separate—and superior, of course—or to
acknowledge your common humanity. If you choose the latter, you are unaffected
in the sense that your naturally loving state of mind is not disrupted. But if
you think, “What a horrible person!” you are brought low. You are the one
getting upset. Presumably, the other person is quite content to be who they
are, thank you very much. The next step toward perdition is to make them feel
sorry for being themselves, and many humans take perverse pleasure in doing
just that.
Searching
for unifying factors promotes clear thinking in addition to universal amity.
What Nataraja Guru calls the lucidity of Self is translated by everyone else as
purity. Purity permits lucidity, and it is based on compassionate acceptance.
Light passing through clear glass is minimally disturbed, and the more junk on
the glass the more the light is impeded or distorted. This is a familiar
metaphor for intelligent thinking, and much spiritual effort goes into cleaning
up our act, as the saying goes. Impure thinking brings us down, so it needs to
be rectified.
Self-conquest
and victory over the senses are closely related. Prejudices are almost always
misleading, and appearances are famously deceptive. A yogi must dig deep to a
level of clarity beyond both sources of confusion. For instance, when you meet
someone who belongs to a rival religion you have the option of throwing up a
barricade and hating them or you can take a deep breath and try to treat them
as a regular human being. The first tack creates conflict and the second is a
learning and growing opportunity. Guess which one is the better choice….
Likewise, if the new friend is shabbily dressed or hasn’t had a bath lately, we
can look for the soul beneath the rough exterior or we can pull back in
revulsion and keep our distance. Again, it is easy to guess which one Krishna
is promulgating. Spiritual stories abound of the weary and unappetizing
traveler on your doorstep who is actually the divine incarnate, and we turn
them away at our peril.
Victory
over the senses does not mean restraining our feelings, though it is often
taken that way. Similarly, conquering our self does not mean subjugating our
true nature, although that is a common interpretation. Yoga is all about
removing impediments to clarity and presence so that our true nature can shine
forth. It is promotion, which is the opposite of suppression.
Lastly,
and of overarching importance, a yogi is not different from the rest of
creation. We begin our spiritual path as a wholly distinct person walking in
darkness, and we move toward the light in which all beings are illuminated. As
long as we imagine ourselves to be separate, our actions will be tainted to the
exact degree of our ignorance. Only when the separation is ameliorated are we
able to act without stumbling over our mistaken beliefs.
Once
again the yogi is affirmed to be an active player in the game of life. The
Gita’s teaching is for us to learn how to live life to the fullest, and not how
to escape from a world so desperately in need of our wholehearted
participation.
8
& 9) “I do nothing at all”—saying thus, he of unitive
ways, who is a philosopher, should think, (while) seeing, hearing, touching,
smelling, eating, going, sleeping, breathing,
speaking, excreting, grasping,
opening and closing the
eyes—treating the senses as (merely) related to their (corresponding) sense
objects.
These
verses offer an eminently practical technique to retain detachment in the midst
of activity, one that works as an antidote to the way our minds become
conditioned. Normally when we go through our day we are busy providing a
running commentary: “I am eating,” “I am taking a walk,” “I am going to work,”
“Now I’m going to sleep,” and all the rest. The very thought that “I am doing
this” breeds an attachment to the action. To counteract this natural but
binding function of the mind, we are instructed to replace these thoughts when
they arise with “I am not doing anything.” The assertion, “I do nothing at
all,” is a template for this way of redirecting our attention to the general
context instead of focusing on a specific instance. The Absolute is the doer,
not we.
Normally
we identify with our personal perspective in any action, and react in resonance
with how things affect us. But if we remind ourself that our individuality is
an effect of eternal natural forces rather than a causative factor in itself,
we can easily relinquish any selfish attachments we still have. We will not
lose ourselves in the process; we gain both our true selves and the whole world
by surrendering our petty claims.
“I
do nothing at all,” is merely an example: we are not to get stuck on mindless
repetition of a phrase. We should be creative. “I am not this body,” “I am not
this train of thought,” “I’m not privy to the whole story,” and so on, are all
helpful reminders, particularly if we are habitually caught in defending our
persona, as most people are. Negatives tend to be more helpful to loosen
attachments, but positive mantras can also be brought to bear. “I am coequal to
the Whole,” and “All of us are aspects of the Absolute,” and “This person is
God,” come to mind. Scientists like to meditate on ideas like “This is how
Nature works, and I’m no exception.” These are all great for expanding
consciousness and preventing us from getting bogged down in an unspiritual,
polarized frame of mind.
Being
conditioned means that we are not perfectly free to respond to situations on
their own terms. Instead, we respond with prepared scripts based on our
memories of past successes and failures. Training ourselves to notice how our
perceptions of the world automatically call forth reciprocal responses allows
us to get some distance on such “knee-jerk” reactions. We want to be free to
ponder the proper course of action without prejudice. Yogis are not in favor of
prejudice, including especially their own. Acting out of prejudice is keenly
painful to a contemplative soul dedicated to kindness and fair play. So their
meditation is directed toward freedom from prejudice by not capitulating with
their habitual initial reactions. And Krishna puts it bluntly: this is what it
means to be a philosopher. It is a high achievement, with high requirements for
unitive treatment of all aspects of every situation.
Once
an enlightened attitude is in place there is not much need to retrain the
psyche like this. But in the meantime Krishna offers us an exceedingly simple
mantra to help us develop a wise outlook.
10) He
who acts, placing all actions in the Absolute, having given up attachment, is
not affected by sin, like a lotus leaf by water.
The
model of how to properly relate to society is given in the Upanishadic metaphor
of the lotus leaf, which sits on the muddy water of its pond but when pulled up
it is found to be completely dry. It is “in the world, but not of it,” as the
Sufis say. We are free to participate in social life around us to the extent we
deem necessary and sufficient, but we must not allow it to make our absolutist
vision soggy with lukewarm relativism. Remaining focused on the Absolute
automatically produces this ideal type of detachment.
An
additional consideration is that a lotus blossom is pretty enough on its own,
but when seen as the focal point of the total ensemble of a pond, it is
spectacular. The contrast and the context add greatly to the artistic effect.
The Gita’s goal is to be in full bloom right in the midst of worldly activity,
not to tear yourself away and sit as a museum piece in solemn isolation.
As
a side note, the “lotus effect” has recently been isolated by scientists and is
beginning to be applied to products to make them self-cleaning. The smooth,
waxy surface of the lotus is covered with microscopic bumps that allow air to
remain beneath the water droplets, and also any dirt. As the drops run off due
to gravity, they pick up the dirt as they go, because it’s almost unattached to
begin with. I guess all this shows is that the supposed miracles of nature are
explainable in scientific terms, if you understand how the laws operate.
Metaphorically it tells us that we don’t necessarily have to scrub ourselves
clean in a spiritual sense, that detachment is virtually effortless once we
align our psyches with the Absolute. Once again we are directed to unite with
the Absolute, and all else will follow. If we focus on sin or dirt, we keep
adding more even as we scrub some off, and the process never gets us very far.
11) By
the body, by the mind, by intelligence, and even by the senses alone, yogis
engage in action, abandoning attachment, for (purposes of) purity of Self.
To
be permitted to engage in action “even by the senses alone” so long as it
doesn’t involve attachment, is a startling aspect of the Gita’s teaching, and
one that is consistently underplayed in favor of the traditional conceptions of
joyless yoga disciplines based on sterile detachment. The Gita being a song, it
should not be too surprising that listening to music or visually contemplating
beauty, among other sensory experiences, would be appreciated as sublimely
purifying. Yogis will take all such events in stride, never being deluded that
the transformative power of the experience resides outside their self. Beauty
perceived evokes a reciprocal beauty latent within us that otherwise would
remain dormant. Nataraja Guru agrees:
Suppression of the senses is
spoken of as the first stage of spirituality in other disciplines, but a
certain freedom of the senses is permitted in the Gita, and a yogi is to that
extent different from a mere ascetic who is only negatively conditioned…. To
avoid the stagnation produced by willful inaction and its consequent morbid
psychic states, and to permit the free interplay of natural tendencies and
impulses, some sort of non-obstructive working out of tendencies is required.
Repressions benumb the spirit and cathartic easing is a remedy known to modern
psychology. (265)
The
other categories mentioned here are included in this generous and joyous view
of life. The pleasures of the body, like exercise, sports, sex, or simply being
aware of being alive, can produce euphoric states conducive to contemplation.
If they are treated as ends in themselves, producers of the euphoria, then
their spiritual value is bypassed, but when taken for what they are as aspects
of existence, they have substantial value. The same is true for mental pursuits
like learning, planning, examining and remembering, and also intellectual and
intuitive engagement with others, both human and nonhuman. In short, all action
can be liberating if treated correctly.
The
graded series of this verse is based on subtlety, the body being the most
gross; then mind, the manager of the body; the intellect, with its abstract
reasoning ability; and, curiously, the senses alone as the most subtle. Usually
we associate them with the body, but the reference here must be to the pure,
direct experience of beauty in its various guises, via the senses. In a way,
such a direct connection with the environment is highly spiritual. It is
primary, and only later becomes mediated by the selectivity of the intellect,
mind and body. So taste that delicious food, listen to those gorgeous sounds,
feel that smooth skin, smell that flower and watch that sunset. If you can do
it without interpretation, it is the essence of embodied spiritual life. Let
yourself go!
Speaking
of the intellect, both my guru and his guru and his guru were extremely intelligent fellows. When I began my
studies I was quite skeptical of the value of intellectual knowledge. Like many
others I assumed that intelligence was somehow foreign to spirituality, which
was too “pure” for conceptual thoughts. Nitya kept hitting the class I was in
with complex philosophy that literally went in my one ear and out the other,
even when I tried my hardest. After I asked to become his disciple, he made
sure to point out my limitations in public by asking me questions that placed
my ignorance on display for all to see. Once I asked him what the purpose of
philosophy was, how it related to spirituality. He just said, “That’s just how
some of us naturally are. We like it.” Another time he drily answered, “It’s so
I don’t get bored.” Some people are inclined by their dharma to wonder about
things, to dig beneath the surface, and others aren’t. Many years after those
humiliating times when I thought Bishop Berkeley was a pair of towns in
California, I began to vaguely realize Nitya had been trying to uncover my own
well-suppressed natural bent for problem solving, which certainly touches on
philosophy. His technique was shocking and painful to my ego, but where a
non-philosopher might be injured by being so publicly humiliated, someone like
me who was young and naively following faddish ideas could be coaxed out into
something meaningful and more in tune with my inherent abilities. At the time
it seemed unfair that I was singled out, but now I can see it was a blessing in
(heavy) disguise. Other people were treated differently, in keeping with their
natural talents. It takes a wise teacher to be able to see into people’s souls
when they themselves cannot, and implement a program of learning appropriate to
their psyches.
All
that aside, the point here is that the Gita teaches us to experience the
Absolute in whatever we do and wherever we are, not dividing up the world into
imaginary spiritual and non-spiritual parts. A sports enthusiast can access the
Absolute best in bodily activities, while an intellectual would be miserable in
those same activities, and vice versa. Discover what is right for you and go
there, assured that what you find spiritually elevating is embraced by the
openness of the Gita regarding the Absolute.
12) The
one of unitive discipline, discarding benefit-motive, attains to ultimate
peace; the one of non-unitive discipline, being desire-motivated, attached to
results, is bound.
Once
again Krishna attempts to teach us the subtleties of detachment. Sometimes a
negative example serves better than a positive one. Here’s what detachment is
often thought to mean: The universe sprang into being (present cycle) 13
billion years ago. It spent 8 billion years laying the groundwork for our own
solar system, followed by five billion years of painstaking evolution under our
sun, during which time life arose and slowly developed into more and more
complex forms. None of them were particularly conscious, but step by step
various organs came into play, including brains. These ran on something called
instinct until an unspeakably vast level of complexity was achieved, with more
potential synaptic connections than there are particles in the known universe
by some estimates. A critical mass of interactions set off a kind of chain
reaction, and sentience was born. As waves of electrical impulses danced and
interacted on this amazing product of “blind” evolution, beings for the first
time became capable of pondering their place in creation. But they were
dull-witted still. It took several hundred thousand to several million more
years to achieve writing and advanced language skills. And music and poetry,
certainly the highest expressions of evolution to date. True self-awareness
with manifold capabilities for expression was finally achieved only quite
recently. And what does this highly advanced being think? What is the most
profound idea it can come up with? That it should stop interacting with its
environment and shut down all mental processes. Rather than maintaining full
participation in this wondrous continuum of evolutionary development, it should
become “detached” and quit the game. Stop everything, in the name of The Lord.
Sounds more like the evolution of depression to me. As Douglas Adams
facetiously put it on page one of The
Restaurant at the End of the Universe, “In the beginning the Universe was
created. This has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a
bad move.”
It’s
important to realize that the Gita is recommending withdrawal from certain
attachments to help us reacquaint ourselves with the vertical essence of life,
but is not by any means ruling out all horizontal activities, only the ones
that likely would cause us grief. An exact “right” attitude can’t be pinned
down, but there is nothing wrong with having fun, even sensory fun, as noted in
the previous verse. Many seers are acutely alive to the world around them,
while others are withdrawn and introverted. This is merely a personal
predilection; with nothing right or wrong about either choice. When in doubt,
please err on the side of enjoying yourself, as long as it does little or no
harm to others. Pondering the actual meaning of ideas like these is the very
wisdom sacrifice recommended by the Gita as the highest form of activity.
The
difference in the attitudes highlighted in this verse is between an
instantaneous union with the Absolute as opposed to one imagined to be the
product of a long drawn out procedure. Popular systems tout things like one
million pranayamas (regulated breaths) or ten thousand pranams (postures) to
attain a desired state of enlightenment. Leaving aside whether such programs
work at all or what they might accomplish beyond what is desired, what happens
if you lose count and only do 9999? Does the divine wait breathlessly for you
to do that last one, so it can bridge the gap for you? Or does the benefit
gradually ebb like a leaky tire, back to 6000, then 2000, then zero? It is possible
that some wiseacre guru once got rid of an irritating disciple by ordering up
the lengthy procedure, and then onlookers thought, “Wow, the Guru told that guy
to do such and such a million times. It must be a secret technique. Let’s do it
too.” That’s how religions are born.
Human
beings love to prove their worthiness by meeting challenges, and they love to
count, because it measures progress in accomplishing the task. Wily gurus can
keep acolytes at bay for long periods using tasks that require a combination of
hard work and counting. It reminds me of my aunt, who when she wanted some time
to herself, would give her babies a piece of sticky tape. The babies would
spend hours pulling the tape off one finger, only to have it stuck on a finger
of the other hand, and then back to the first, and so on all afternoon. The
game was so fascinating that the babies never became frustrated before they
fell asleep in exhaustion.
The
Gita advocates wisdom to establish rapport with the Absolute. Unlike knowledge,
which is incrementally developed in a piecemeal fashion, wisdom is
instantaneous and wholesale. While it indubitably can grow and change, there is
no time when it is not valid. It doesn’t have to reach critical mass to
suddenly come on line, and it doesn’t fade out as long as the wise one stays
healthy. It isn’t measured in units of any kind, and it should never be thought
of as an object of awareness of the wise one. Rather, it is the awareness
itself.
13) Relinquishing
by means of the mind all activities, the embodied One sits happily, a victor,
in the nine-gated city, neither acting nor causing to act.
By
‘activities’ here, the Gita means actions generated by the ego or the self. The
mantra “I do nothing at all” has just been introduced in verse 8 as a means to
relinquish the illusion of agency in favor of the all-knowing power of the
Absolute. Believing oneself to be the cause has an inhibiting effect on
whatever is already transpiring.
Now
we are given another simple technique, more of an extension of the earlier
mantra, where activities are counterbalanced with an intelligent release of the
sense of agency. We are to meet every situation with its opposite, if not
immediately, at least before the partial notion gets stuck in our mind. If
someone calls you a fool, think of how you are wise, and if someone calls you
smart, think of how ignorant you really are. If you are called beautiful, think
of how fleeting physical beauty is, or how under the skin you are a mass of
blood and raw tissue. If people think of you as a nonconformist, ponder how
much you resemble everyone else, and vice versa. This is possibly the most
central of all yoga techniques, and it brings the practitioner to a happy,
victorious state of equipoise within the “nine-gated city” of the body. The
nine gates refer either to the nine physical openings (eyes, ears, nostrils,
mouth, urethra and anus) or the nine chakras, more subtle openings connecting
the individual with the whole.
There
is no question of renouncing action, of giving it up completely. Relinquishing
is a code word for not having expectations about outcomes, and so not
manipulating the process, while continuing to participate to the fullest
measure in what comes along.
At
the Gita’s climax, Chapter XI presents an event identical with a psychedelic
experience, and insists on proper preparation to optimize it. While all of
Krishna’s teachings are germane, the advice here is an essential part of
preparing to get the most out of a trip. For the most part, people either take
psychedelics for fun or to have a religious experience, in other words, either
to generate unusual sensory adventures or ignite insights. Psychedelics
stimulate both, and they are not mutually exclusive, but in the aftermath of a
trip, a thrill seeker will ignore the insights and dwell on the good feelings,
while the seeker of truth will downplay the thrills and cherish the wisdom
gained. Needless to say, the Gita’s interest is in the wise use of drugs to
further the spiritual quest, rather than as a new form of amusement. To
accomplish this, we must relinquish our attachments to trivialities as much as
possible and remain in a balanced state, “neither acting nor causing to act.”
Krishna
is hereby summing up the teaching of unitive activity, preparatory to introducing
unitive contemplation or meditation in the next chapter. In case there’s some
residual doubt about this, take the example of a fetus. All the development
happens automatically. The mother may imagine she is causing the child, but she
is merely providing the healthiest possible environment for its natural
unfoldment to occur. If it was really up to any person to make a child, the
result would be more like a sketch or a cartoon than a living being. Our
knowledge of the process is and will always remain limited; we must allow that
something far beyond our control is engineering the miracle.
Another
example is a farmer, who must intelligently provide water and nutrients to the
crops, and yet the plants grow according to their dharma. The most attentive farmer
cannot coax a seed to germinate and rise up out of the ground. So we all do
what we can, but we inwardly incline before the wonders of That which makes it
all possible.
14) The
Supreme does not generate either the idea of agency or activity in regard to
the world, nor the union of action and benefit; the innate urge in beings,
however, exerts itself.
The
first part means that the idea that we are the doer, that we are the cause of
things happening, and even the very idea that things happen, are strictly human
concepts. They do not exist in the primeval state of the universe. Nor is there
any guarantee that certain actions will produce certain results. Many people
get outraged when bad things happen to good people, or the other way around,
imagining that this casts doubt on the existence of God. All it casts doubt on
is their immature conceptions about how the universe works. Meditating on this
verse will help break the fixation on managing life simplistically that we so
often bring to our spiritual search.
Despite
a transcendental neutrality on the part of the Absolute, the innate urge in
beings asserts itself. What exactly does this mean?
Variously
described as the will to live, the élan vital, life force, and so on, there is
a mysterious but palpable forward motion in all living beings. As it takes
shape in human life, at least, it creates the idea of agency, the sense of “I
am doing this now.” Historically it has generally boiled down to “I am looking
for something to eat, or someone to reproduce with.” Additionally the vital
urge conceptualizes its environment in terms of cause and effect, which is
expressed as the union of action and benefit in the verse. We do something so
we will get an expected result. At a higher level of consciousness we think,
“Here is what I have to do in order to find food or get laid.” Of course, in
modern society this has become highly abstracted, with plenty of additional
needs and wants overlaid on the basic survival and reproductive requirements of
life.
The
implication here is that the Absolute is veiled in a sense by these cortical
processes, which also generate the sense of ego or self. In meditation we can
temporarily turn off this complex of innate urges and be much more closely in
tune with the Absolute, here referred to as the Supreme because of the mild
duality inherent in this idea. The effect of many spiritual practices,
including psychedelic experience, is to quiet the cortex to allow awareness to
shift to deeper levels of the psyche.
The
Indian view is that the innate urges arise in the depths of our being far
beyond conscious awareness, in what are called vasanas and samskaras. Vasanas
are like our genetic potentials, and samskaras are the processed memories we
use to interpret our world. These arrange our life and shape our awareness,
sprouting deep in the unconscious and later on passing before the witnessing
eye of consciousness on the way to actualization. For us to take credit for
them in our late stage of awareness, we must be ignorant of their source, and
we are. It seems to us that we invented them from scratch, but in fact they are
almost completely developed by the time we become consciously aware of them. We
wrestle with them to force them into line with social strictures and our
preferred personal narrative, altering and often damaging them in the process.
Their innate perfection is compromised by our ham-handed management. Krishna is
asking us to leave the best of them alone, and sit quiet. We have to sublimate
the bad ones at some point, but the good ones are already sublime. For now we
are learning to participate, not direct. In meditation we should just sit and
watch as the innate urges bubble up through our awareness. Later, when we get
up to act, we can promote the beneficial ones and withhold reinforcement of the
unhelpful ones.
In
a healthy mind our experiences are recorded as memories, and they begin to form
definite patterns that shape how we relate to the world around us. One typical
example is that if we live in a hostile environment, we become more suspicious
than if we are surrounded with love and protection. Samskara is the term for
how memories condition our outlook. While often treated as a negative influence
because they condition us to habitual trains of thought, samskaras also have a
decidedly positive aspect in that they free us from having to reassess every
item of experience as if it was completely unprecedented. The positive side of
our memories we generally call knowledge, and the negative aspect is named
prejudice or ignorance. Samskaras include all of what we have learned, both
true and false understanding of useful and harmful information.
When
what we have mentally assimilated is consolidated to an unconscious essence, it
becomes a vasana. Depending on your belief system, vasanas are either the seeds
of karma you carry between lives, or they are the information encoded in the
genes you inherit and pass on to your progeny. No matter what you believe, no
one imagines your superficial memories, like how to get to the store, are
passed along to the next life, but only a highly refined essence or a useful
genetic configuration. Scientists are coming to realize that learning is
occasionally genetically encoded and thus also passed on, but we don’t have to
determine the exact truth here. The impact is undeniable: a major factor in
life is what is glibly called instinct, the pressure of deep-seated urges to
shape the lives of all creatures great and small. Instincts are the same as
vasanas, emerging from the genetic inheritance or memory bank of life or
whatever you want to call it.
Instinct
is a classic example of how by naming something—often derisively—people think
they have explained it. Yet nothing could be more mysterious than instinct. No
matter how you describe it, it's still a wonder. It appears only those
creatures who've schismed into duality (i.e. humans) have lost the knack of
living harmoniously and expertly in tune with their instinctive urges.
Civilized beings still have instincts, but we are expert at suppressing them.
Some would call that progress; others consider it a tragedy.
Intuition
isn’t far removed from instinctive understanding. It comes from listening to
our subsurface urges and learning to cope with them. An immense part of our
spiritual program is to try to regain that instinctive, intuitive part of our
psyche, while retaining whatever is valid in our reflective thought patterns as
well. Tricky. And exciting.
The
emergence of vasanas and samskaras is similar to the idea of unconscious
material rising to the surface in Western psychology, in that if they are
suppressed they cause emotional pain and mental aberrations. Their expression
is the very purpose of life, after all. Society, however, prefers that they be
stifled in the interests of “keeping the peace” or “maintaining law and order.”
Rigid adherents of this attitude can successfully prevent the emergence of
their vasanas and samskaras. The end result is a life lived in vain; no
spiritual or even psychological progress can take place under these circumstances.
Many psychological quirks and bodily diseases have their root in the
suppression of natural urges. The throttling of legitimate inner expressions is
the ultimate waste of existence, and the ultimate triumph of socialization over
individual integrity.
On
the other hand, uncritical identification with our inner urges will certainly
lead to problems. We have negative proclivities along with positive ones. We
must learn to not be caught by them, otherwise they will continue to be
expressed over and over and build up a lot of momentum that interferes with our
freedom of choice in activities. Going with the flow is not a completely
mindless process, but the mind must be restrained to make room for the flow to
be apprehended.
15) The
all-pervading One takes cognizance neither of the sinful nor the meritorious
actions of anyone; wisdom is veiled by unwisdom; beings are deluded thereby.
Krishna
now assures his disciple that although his urges may be harshly judged and persecuted
by society, the Absolute does not use the same measuring rod, or, for that
matter, any measuring rod at all. Everyone has good and bad aspects, and it is
largely a matter of luck which side stands out to our peers. What really
matters is our relation with the inner truth of existence, which is the core of
wisdom. The peeling away of ignorance to attain—or regain—our native wisdom is
the defining theme of human spirituality.
In
the case of a global awareness, such as the one described here, there is no
room for judgmentalism. There can only be compassion for those who have been
trained to favor the veil over the radiant inner source. Focusing on sin is
often confused with spirituality, but it is in fact a primary distraction from
it.
Our
nature is like the sun in naturally giving off light, but over the course of
our development it first gets obscured by dust and dirt, and eventually whole
blankets of ignorance accumulate over it to keep it under wraps. Its light,
should it shine through the miasma, threatens to reveal the falsehood
permeating so-called normal attitudes, so it must be suppressed at all costs in
the interest of society. Truth is unafraid to stand naked, but falsehood needs
to be artfully dressed up in order to pass muster.
Good
and bad actions comprise the warp and weft of the veiling blanket. Focusing on
them means putting our attention on the veil, and favoring one aspect over the
other just makes the blanket stronger and more rigid. The Gita’s solution is to
stop being mesmerized by the veil and instead attend to the Absolute reality behind
it. By strengthening our connection with the light our bonds will be evanesced
from the inside out.
Nataraja
Guru reminds us that the classical God of myth is obviated by this fearless
attitude:
The theistic context to which sinful
or meritorious actions belong is more finally abolished in the first lines
here. The pardoning and punishing God of theology… is revalued in the second
line in keeping with the idea of pure wisdom in the most general terms. Beings
are deluded and thus imagine theological gods who punish and reward, and also
imagine that the innermost being is affected one way or another by necessary
activity. All such notions are mere suppositions due to the veiling effect of ajnana
(ignorance or unknowing). (268)
Giordano Bruno, the sixteenth century European philosopher
who was burnt at the stake for heresy, put the same idea very simply: God
“makes his sun rise over good and bad.” He himself discovered the downside of
this truth at the hands of his Inquisitors, but even a transcendent God finds
it impossible to produce a coin with only an up side.
16) To
those, however, in whom that unwisdom in the Self has been destroyed, wisdom
shines sunlike as the Ultimate.
Only
if there is a wholesale breakthrough, tearing away the veil, can our inner
light again shine forth in all its glory. Partial or murky light means the veil
is still in place, only a little bit thinner. The Ultimate is really, really
bright.
The
ancients often compared the Absolute to the sun, and the Gita contains a number
of solar similes. Near the highest point on the Gita’s arch, XI, 12, narrator
Sanjaya gushes, “If the splendor of a thousand suns were to rise together in
the sky, that might resemble the splendor of that great Soul.” Narayana Guru’s
35th verse of Atmopadesa Satakam, the One Hundred Verses on
Self-Instruction, reads:
Like ten thousand suns coming all
at once,
the modulation of discrimination
arises;
the veil of transience covering
knowledge is maya;
tearing this away, the primal sun
alone shines.
Just
as the sun’s energy equally illuminates good and evil and all shades of their
overlap, the wisdom of an enlightened being can warm the hearts of everyone who
comes in contact with them. Our veiled light seeks irresistibly to bask in revealed
light from any known source, in hopes that it will impel our own breakthrough,
releasing us from the stygian darkness of our ignorance.
17) Thus
having That for reasoning, That for the Self, That for finalized discipline,
That for supreme goal, they go to a state of final non-return, all their
(relativistic) dross being canceled out by wisdom.
The
inner light, the sunlike Ultimate, is often simply called That. The
relativistic dross is the veiling blanket of ignorance, which is to be
evaporated by wisdom. Once our inner light is set free, why on earth would
anyone want to put the veil back on? The state of final non-return means we
remain affiliated with the Absolute and do not return to our accustomed state
of cluelessness. While the claim is often made that “final non-return” means
there is no longer any reincarnation for a realized person, the Gita generally
avoids such metaphysical speculation. Being reborn as an enlightened being to
aid lost souls is extolled in both Hinduism and Buddhism. Therefore, non-return
does not mean the end of manifested existence. It just means that wisdom, once
gained, cannot be lost again.
“Having
That for reasoning” and all the rest refers to an actual changeover in the
mentality of the truth seeker. In early stages they adopt inspiring ideas from
their teachers and classes, and ideally these lead them to discover the reality
of That within themselves. Once they do, that light becomes the basis of their
newly discovered spiritual outlook, not the book learning. They are no longer
parroting the words of others, they have become original thinkers in their own
right. This is certainly one of the most significant mileposts on the journey,
marking the transition from what may be called spiritual childhood to
adulthood. The seer no longer needs to look for justification in the collected
words of wisdom of humanity, they can see clearly enough to speak from their
own unfettered perspective.
From
there it rapidly becomes apparent that they are actually the Absolute. The
ancients taught the mantra tat tvam asi,
meaning That thou art. Another mantra reminds us that even our I-sense is the
Absolute, aham brahma asmi. That the
Absolute is the discipline as well as the goal, means that whatever we do is a
form of the Absolute trying to come to grips with its own mysterious nature.
There is no distant godhead to be reached. It is all right here, now, as much
as it ever was there and then.
Very
quickly thereafter all aspects of life and the universe it contains are seen to
be the Absolute in fancy clothing, so to speak. It is dressed to the nines in
the finery of the world. All actions, which naturally involve disciplines and
goals, are seen to be aspects of That alone. In fact, everything is That.
Realization means seeing the Absolute everywhere you look, including knowing it
is you, or you are it. You realize, along with Sufi Inayat Khan, that
“Everything, whatever you see, is nothing else but The Presence of God!” The
first and most important corollary of this boundless wisdom is given in the
famous verse that follows.
18) In
regard to a Brahmin endowed with learning or humility, a cow, an elephant, and
even a dog, as also one who cooks the dog (for food), the well-informed ones
see the same (differenceless reality).
The
Brahmin is the highest caste, and the dog eater the lowest, the outcast caste.
In the Gita’s time, dogs were considered the vilest of vermin, being scavengers
and carriers of disease, and they were even proscribed by the Vedas. To be
forced to eat those disgusting, non-vegetarian creatures would be truly an act
of desperation. The cow has always stood for simple-mindedness or stupidity,
contrasting both with the learned Brahmin and the dignified and elegant
elephant. Verse 18 presents a widely divergent panoply of types within the
mammal class, that cannot possibly be connected in any way other than via the
universal ground of the Absolute.
When
we look at things we usually see their differences, but if we are alive to the
Absolute pulsing within everything equally, those differences lose their
significance. All become merely different mathematical permutations of a single
all-pervasive occasion.
It
goes without saying—or should—that such insight conveys a profound
understanding of human nature and a concomitant love and compassion for
everyone without exception. There are no evil people to take the blame for our own
failings: we are all responsible for dancing the dance we dance.
The
well-informed ones are pundits, and the present definition distinguishes those
who really are wise from the modern version, usually pronounced with a sneer,
who wrangle endlessly over minute differences of opinion, blowing up subtle
distinctions into vast enmities, and never seeing the forest for the trees. One
who is alive to sama, sameness or unity, automatically becomes tolerant and
compassionate and all the rest of the virtues mentioned throughout the Gita,
thus being worthy of the epithet ‘pundit’. Without that awareness, the ordinary
inclination of the mind to highlight every perceivable difference in the
interest of self-defense becomes all-engrossing. Such people are welcome to
their manias, as long as they keep them in bounds, but there is no wisdom
involved. Even when taken to an extreme in justifying harsh measures towards ordinary
people, such attitudes can never qualify for pundit status.
19) Even
here creative urges are conquered by those whose minds are balanced in
sameness; free from blemish and unitively balanced is indeed the Absolute;
therefore such persons become grounded in the Absolute.
We
usually think of creativity as a positive feature of life and seek to foster
it, but the sense meant here is more negative. The creative urges under
consideration are akin to the encumbering desires discussed earlier. We have
urges to satisfy our wants. Indulging them puts us on an endless path of
wandering in the desert of material values, while curbing them brings us into
resonance with the Absolute, which is dynamic and infinitely potent. It also
allows us to see the unity equally underlying what we want and what we don’t
want, which is the basis of wisdom. The Gita’s outlook is that as long as we
see differences, we will have urges to act to adjust those differences, but
when we see the common basis we can relax and enjoy life as it is. In this
state of general satisfaction we are actually much more effective at having a
positive influence on circumstances in which we find ourselves.
The
words “even here” remind us that this verse follows the line of reasoning of
the previous one. There the wise were only informed of the differenceless
reality, whereas here they move into a living realization described as being
“grounded in the Absolute.”
The
word translated as “creative urges” is sargah.
Its root meaning is to excrete. Later on it humorously took the sense of a
stampede of animals bursting from a pen. Later still, and probably as an even
more humorous analogy, it came to mean creation, or creative urges. This
implies that what we are to curb and conquer are the excretions that burst from
us, the blabbering and basically stupid reactions we have to encroachment on
our territory. In modern terms the Gita might be saying “stop hurling crap
around.”
This
verse is often taken to mean we should suppress our vasanas, which would curtail
the healthy expression of our dharma. It should be quite clear by now that this
is not the Gita’s intention. Here we see only that a calm inner life undermines
the tendency to blurt out ugly proclamations.
Humans
are filled with literally zillions of vasanas, the seeds of former experiences
that are aching to sprout and express themselves. It may be that we have spent
many lifetimes developing our artistic ability, or our talent for loving
relationships, our acumen as a therapist, whatever. If you don’t like the idea
of reincarnation, you can call it genetic propensity inherited from your
forebears. Either way, we enter the world to express and even further develop
those traits. We go through the long process of being born and growing up, and
just when we’re ripe to begin expressing those talents once again, the weight
of our learned misunderstandings forces us to hide out, withdraw, pull back.
Even the Gita may be cited as a suppressive authority, by those of unripe
understanding. From our social training we become experts at squelching
ourselves, but inside those seeds are churning, now hopping mad, like Mexican
jumping beans in a hot skillet. “Get on with it! We’ve been sitting here too
long already!” they shout. The clash between our urges and our inhibitions
makes us feel impotent. Frustrated. After awhile the shouts die down, or else
we close our ears to them. We have become “mature.” Social maturity means
taking over the business of suppressing ourselves from outside agencies. If we
become mature enough, we can be truly miserable. This state is often called
depression.
Imagine
how vasanas must feel when they eagerly await expression over the long course
of a person’s life, only to realize that the one they inhabit isn’t going to
give them a chance. They’ll go to any lengths to pressure their caretaker to
bring them to life. Bound up and hopeless, it is no wonder they produce
depression and psychosis, fury, rage, the whole range of tactics to instill
motivation.
If
we are lucky to get proper instruction or some other kick in the pants, or
maybe through some miracle we suddenly begin to heed those inner cries for
expression, we may begin to “become ourselves” once again. Meaning we begin to
nurture those healthy, positive vasanas, letting them sprout and begin to grow.
They grow fast, because they are the seeds of great things, complex things.
They already have eons of development crammed into their compact forms. We are
all geniuses at heart. And as we find outlets to express these latent talents,
our enjoyment of life naturally increases. This is the true meaning of living
our dharma while being grounded in the Absolute.
20) He
should not rejoice on good befalling him nor be disturbed by a mishap;
stabilized in reason, delusion-free, as knower of the Absolute, firmly
established is he in the Absolute.
This
is easy to say and hard to do. When we are rocked by the impact of events,
either positive or negative, we cannot help but react to them. In the midst of
the turmoil, we have to call on our reason to bring stability. It helps a lot
if we have practiced this in advance: holding on to reason within a confused
state of mind is notoriously difficult. And we’re talking about enlightened
reason that links the thinker with the Absolute, which is a far cry from the
cold, dry reasoning of a mediocre mentality.
Delusion
is mentioned because when we are upset we release pent-up energy by projecting
all sorts of imaginary intentions on whatever caused our discomfort. We are
likely to blame whoever comes in handy. While we may never know the actual
cause of our anguish, we are perfectly content to attribute it to the hostility
of some inimical group or person, real or imaginary. Barring a convenient
scapegoat, our mind hops from one fantasy to the next, hoping to hit on a
narrative that satisfies it. Of course, bigotry and evasion are never
satisfactory to a yogi. Only when the mind becomes calm by regaining a global
or unitive perspective do the delusions subside.
The
ancient poets spoke of that state wherein we regain our stability as knowing
the Absolute or becoming firmly established in it. In fact, we are the Absolute
to begin with. It isn’t anything bizarre and extraordinary, just our normal
condition, so if we understand correctly we are already established in it. The
restoration of this balance is what Nataraja Guru means by renormalization. We
start out normal, develop abnormalities, and then relinquish them through an
effort of renormalization. If we were wise enough we might have avoided the
abnormalities to begin with, but usually we aren’t. Mostly we don’t even notice
them until they have become a cherished part of us. We most certainly should
not cling onto our abnormalities once we do become aware of them, but often—like
the proverbial drowning man grasping at straws—we do. We take our quirks as
defining us and identify with them, instead of recognizing the vast restorative
potential they rest upon.
A
yogi sees how their superficial identity continually meets with good and bad
encounters, but remains grounded in an unshakable state beyond their reach.
This is commonly called detachment, and is not achieved by tuning out events,
but by subsuming them in a continuous, absorbing relationship with the
Absolute. Detachment at its best is simultaneously involved and unaffected.
More on detachment can be found at III, 19 and XIII, 8, as well as throughout
this chapter.
We
readily understand how we can be disturbed by mishaps, but it is harder to see
how the things we welcome can throw us off too. Three examples leap to mind.
They are somewhat simplistic, but may be used as an entrée to pondering more realistic
situations.
People
who are physically beautiful are admired by everyone and complimented and
deferred to, yet they very often are treated more as objects than as living
human beings. They grow up getting a lot of attention, but for how they look
instead of who they are inside. It’s hard for them not to buy into all the
praise and identify with their appearance. They can easily come to believe they
are special and better than others, and so live in a fantasy world that only
falls apart when age tarnishes their good looks or they realize that many of
their friends are phonies. This pattern also holds true for anyone who has a
notable talent early in life. It’s very hard to distinguish true admirers from
ingratiating exploiters, and consequently we play to the crowd instead of
seeking out and finding ourselves. The longer this goes on the harder the
withdrawal symptoms are when the accolades diminish.
Secondly,
America now has a gambling-based economy, with lotteries everywhere. There are plenty
of dark tales of those who instantly won vast amounts of money and then met
with disaster because of it. Even if they didn’t lose control of themselves in
spending sprees, greedy people hounded them mercilessly, driving them to
unhappiness. No one wants to be loved for their bank account, so they became
suspicious of even their genuine friends. The instant fortune that seemed so
much like salvation often turned out to be a curse instead.
The
same boom or bust economy is also geared to making vast sums off music and
sports stars, who often experience sudden fame and fortune if they are lucky
enough to “make the team” or “top the charts.” Just what every young person
thinks they want, and strives mightily for. But once they hit the big time, the
disconnect between who they are and who they’re imagined to be by their
admirers is a serious shock. If they are unsure of who they are, many of them
burn out after a short while, get into addictive drugs or become mentally
unbalanced. The popular media then loves to ridicule them, adding insult to
injury and furthering their misery. Seeing the mighty brought low is a favorite
pastime of those who already feel low themselves.
In
all these examples, if the people who experienced the good fortune had been
able to stay calm and centered, and realized that they should remain steady in
their core rather than gloat over their good luck, they could have avoided the
crash that followed. Gloating is what is popularly called egotism. It’s the
identification with the outside factors per se that brings the turbulence. What
goes up must come down, at least where gravity is in operation. Dynamic
steadiness through yoga is the real triumph.
21) That
(same) joy which is felt by one in his own Self when he is unattached to outer
contacts (such as touch), he whose Self has established unity with the Absolute
experiences never-decreasingly.
This
and the following verse form a matched pair, viewed from opposite perspectives.
They comprise an elaboration, now including the joy aspect, of II, 59:
“Objective interests revert without the relish for them on starving the
embodied of them. Even the residual relish reverts on the One Beyond being
sighted.” Some seekers spend a lot of effort to subtract all sensory
involvement with the world they live in. The Gita realizes that this is an
endless struggle, like washing the lather out of soap in Narayana Guru’s
expression. But as the Absolute becomes a living reality, its joyful attraction
easily draws the attention inward. Seekers must seek this living truth, rather
than spending inordinate amounts of time denying themselves their pleasures.
It’s
a fact of the mind that what we dwell on is what we become. If we fixate on
repelling the devil in the form of sense contacts (or any other form), we wind
up spending all our time with the devil. Moreover, our chagrin at being more
involved with what we are trying to transcend than transcendence itself can
cause us to come apart at the seams. Our psyche splits along angel/devil lines,
and we find ourself at war with ourself. We desperately want to be identified
with the “good” side, and so hide our “bad” side from the light of day. What’s
worse, we live in a world of fellow beings mounting the same charade. No wonder
there is massive confusion on this battlefield of Dharmakshetra!
For
some, the denial itself may become the goal, rather than the attainment of Self
Realization. They wind up bitter and negative, and some even vehemently
punitive, while imagining they are being pure as the driven snow. All sorts of
mental aberrations spring from the rejection of sensory stimuli. Chapter III
made it abundantly clear that forcible suppression of action, which includes
engagement with the senses, is doomed to failure. We are instead directed to
discover the core of absolute harmony within every occasion. It isn’t the
pleasure per se that is the goal, it is the profound satisfaction that can be
drawn from simply being present.
This
verse reminds us that our natural state is blissful, and the bliss comes from
alignment with the Absolute. The supremely satisfying bliss is the spark of the
Absolute within us. This is extremely exciting news. The words sound a bit dry
and detached, but the meaning is that our human potential is to be drenched in
bliss all the time. We lose touch with our native joy when we become attracted
to the flickering of sensory attractions and treat them as more important than
our core, but all that is needed to regain it is to put sensory input in its
proper place. It is an important source of information, but it is decidedly
peripheral to our state of being. We have become deluded that the quality of
the sensory input causes our state of mind, and because of our delusion, it
often does. If we ever want to free ourselves from the chaos imbued by the
world around us, all we have to do is turn back to our essence and tremendous
joy is there waiting for us.
This
is one of those verses that if read right, should make our hearts leap with
joy. Sure, we must keep our cool, but we will no longer feel the craving to
find substitute pleasures for the rock solid basis of our being. It’s not only
good enough, it’s fantastic!
22) Those
contact-born pleasures indeed are the sources of pain, having a beginning and
an end, Arjuna; the wise man does not take pleasure in them.
Of
course, a primary reason to not hitch our hopes to temporary pleasures is that
they don’t last. Whatever joy we obtain from the presence of something is
automatically compensated for in exactly equal measure when it is absent. Most
of us learn to swallow our disappointment, but that only makes it go into our
innards, where it causes all sorts of indigestion. However, if we can find joy
in life as a whole, then presence and absence are only a kind of vibratory
background to something that never goes away.
The
last phrase of the verse presents a subtle paradox. When we eat a delicious
meal or pause with our friends to watch a beautiful sunset, our spirits are
uplifted. We go to a music concert to get “charged up.” Sensory input
stimulates our inner neural evolution and we experience it as happiness.
Voluntarily restraining ourselves from sensory enjoyment, without some
compensatory interest, deadens our awareness and produces vacuity. The intent
here is only that we don’t become dependent on certain stimuli for our sense of
well-being, not that we cut off all experience, as is sometimes supposed.
In
Vedanta, pleasure and happiness are to be clearly differentiated. As we have
said before, the Gita should not be read as advising us to not enjoy what we
do. That would be absurd. Of course, it’s a commonly held absurd belief. The
key is to realize that the outer manifestation is not the source of happiness.
Our true nature is happiness. Bliss. Ananda. Enjoyable activities reflect this
bliss, actualizing our potential, but are not its cause. Once we know that the
Absolute within is the source of our experience, everything becomes enjoyable.
Either a situation is enjoyable in itself, or it presents an enjoyable problem
to be resolved. We don’t have to seek specific events in order to be happy, we
are happy and we encounter specific events. But without these events, without
some sort of interaction with the world, it is much harder to see that we are
blissful. Our happiness remains dormant, invisible. If we wonder about it, as
we must, society gently suggests that we are in fact depressed and sad and in
need of an expensive cure, and we might go along with its directive if we
didn’t know better. This issue will be addressed in detail in Chapter XII.
Instructed
by teachings with a similar face value to this one, millions of seekers have
struggled to keep from enjoying the world they live in. What a tragic loss,
both for them and for their friends and families! Instead, they should be
struggling to release their inner bliss, to flood their world with happiness.
This doesn’t require any magic show or great performance, only their awakened
presence, their loving contact with those around them. As Paramahansa Yogananda
put it, “A saint who is sad is a sad saint.” We must remember that the Gita’s
spirit advises us to not take displeasure
in our contacts any more than we should take pleasure in them. Pleasure and
displeasure are a polar pair to be resolved by a yogic attitude of
transcendental synthesis.
If
we are engaged in a learning process throughout our life, then realization is a
more or less natural outgrowth of it. Early in life we are thrilled by sensory
stimuli and exploration. As we age, intellectual matters become increasingly
absorbing and delightful. The more we move toward engagement in abstract
thought, the more our concern with sensory stimuli fades into the background.
Most of us don’t abandon our youthful exuberance completely, but its relative
importance diminishes. It’s too bad that our overarching modern paradigm
doesn’t particularly honor wisdom, emphasizing instead the wealth-producing
value of outward activity related to the senses. When you can no longer be
shaken down for a buck, you are consigned to the ash heap. Yet that is the
stage of life when deep contemplation and attunement with the Absolute comes
most easily.
23) He
who is able to experience undisturbed here itself before liberation from the body,
that impulse arising out of desire and hatred—he is the unified and happy man.
We
don’t have to die to become stabilized in wisdom—we are instructed to attain to
the heights here and now. Simple enough. But experiencing the impulse arising
out of desire and anger or hatred without getting upset is a much taller order.
The word translated as “experience undisturbed,” sodham, means to endure, bear, tolerate or suffer something. The
idea is that whether we are wise or foolish, we continue to experience visceral
reactions to the things that happen to us. The body is made to do this: that’s
how it works, so there is nothing wrong with it. However, the uninstructed person
is likely to be carried along by their reactions and pursue a course of
reactionary action, while the “unified and happy one” bears it with equanimity,
not reacting unless it is the wise course. Putting Krishna’s suggestion into
practice is a major feature of a spiritual—or simply a decent—life. Our gut
reactions are not necessarily grounded in wisdom, they may well be grounded in
the ego, and only seem imperative. We
have to examine our impulses from a more profound perspective in order to distinguish
between wisdom and folly.
This
runs contrary to some spiritual notions, those that urge us act on impulse or
blurt out the first thing that pops into our head. If we are overly inhibited
this can be a corrective technique, and in many cases relaxing our inhibitions
does promote expression of valuable insights. The point here, though, is that some
inner urges are selfish and detrimental, and knowing the difference between
them and genuine inspiration is a key factor in acting with expertise. We want
to de-energize the bad impulses, arising from desire and hatred, while
promoting the altruistic and creative ones. Faced with such a subtle and
difficult task, especially during childhood, the default setting humans tend to
adopt is to shut off all the impulses, just to be sure nothing inappropriate
comes through. Most of us are also taught that impulsive behavior is a no-no.
This is really tragic, killing the spirit, as it were. We should be trained to
distinguish between our noble and ignoble impulses, and treat them differently,
instead of lumping all personal feelings into the unacceptable category.
Desire
can be thought of as being inwardly directed, aimed at our own feelings, while
hatred is generally directed outward. When the outgoing and ingoing tendencies
of the psyche are brought to neutrality, one experiences the total context all
at once. It is like the ocean. Water evaporates out and rain falls back in, but
the ocean remains constant throughout. We are learning to increasingly identify
with the oceanic aspect of life, and let the drops fall where they may….
The
wording of the last phrase of the verse is quite casual, more like “unified and
happy fellow.” Krishna is making a very informal statement, indicating that
holiness or any other type of specialness is not required. Everybody can and
should follow this advice all the time, since it’s so essential and helpful.
24)
He
of inward happiness, whose inner life is free and easy, and likewise of inward
brilliance—he of unitive understanding, having become the Absolute, enters the
self-effacement of the Absolute.
The
next three verses mention brahma nirvana,
self-effacement of or in the Absolute. Nirvana, the well-known goal of Buddhism
and Jainism, has many shades of meaning. The idea here is most like the
metaphor of a drop of water falling into the ocean: it doesn’t exactly
disappear, but it expands to the point that it is not recognizable as a
distinct entity any more. Before and after, the ocean and the drop are both
forms of water, which symbolizes the Absolute. The transformation is simply the
appearance of different forms of a universal substance.
The
verses leading up to this section add profundity to the perhaps overly
simplified image of raindrop and ocean. Achieving the poised state of a wise
contemplative who distinguishes between valuable and detrimental impulses, we
then are easily absorbed into the state of being in the Absolute. Some of us
can simply let go and dissolve; most of us have to work at it intelligently,
because we harbor many blockages to emancipation in our wiring. The latter
choice is by far the safer route for the majority, as the abundance of lost
souls wandering in a daze along the highways so eloquently attests. Before and
after our periods of absorption we should retain consideration of our practical
needs so that they will provide a healthy platform for self-effacement.
If
we use psychedelics to do the heavy lifting for us and give us a free and easy
glimpse of the unconditioned—or less conditioned—state, we might think we can
just let go and all our needs will be taken care of by some mysterious entity.
This is an unwarranted assumption. The Gita teaches that the awareness gained
from such experiences, helping to make us brilliant and happy, is to be brought
to bear by us on the way we live. A well-harmonized life is to be shared with
everyone and supported by our active contribution to the general well-being.
Psychedelic experience only feels
like heaven; it nonetheless always takes place on solid earth.
Verses
like this are benchmarks for us to measure our understanding. If we imagine
that we are being taught to disappear, go away, be somewhere else, or that we
are supposed to bottle up our very nature, we are missing the point. We must
realize that if we become bitter, vengeful, repressed and so on, we aren’t
following the Gita’s advice correctly. There are plenty of grim and tragic
events already, so we don’t need to add to the pile. Understand the teaching
properly, we will most assuredly feel ecstatically happy and filled with light,
and our inner life will be free and easy. Never hard and driven. No anxiety or
scheming. Free and easy. What a beautiful state of mind to aspire to!
Here
and there the Gita may sometimes sound exclusive and judgmental, due to
translation problems and the changing meanings of words over time, not to
mention the misconceptions we bring to the study. If it strikes us that way, we
should remind ourselves that its aim is to teach freedom, and reexamine our
interpretation from that angle. First and foremost, the Gita is a textbook on
freedom.
25) Seers,
their evils weakened, cutting themselves away from conflicting pairs of
interests, who are self-controlled, who are ever kindly disposed to all beings,
attain to self-effacement in the Absolute.
The
effort involved in detaching ourselves from “conflicting pairs of opposites” is
addressed throughout the Gita, being the key element that distinguishes yoga
from pure nondualism, but the mention of kindness is new. Nataraja Guru found
it puzzling, since he thought of it more as a secondary, almost religious
value. The dictionary defines the word used for kindness, ratah, in part as “pleased, amused, gratified, delighting in,
enamored of, devoted to.” It goes as far as using the rare word love, and even
reveals a sexual overtone in more modern usage. So we get the sense here that
enlightened seers experience great enjoyment in relation to the beings they
encounter, and may participate in actions leading to increased happiness all
around. Being alive, fully alive, is fun.
The same phrase occurs again in XII, 4, where Nataraja Guru renders it
“interested in the well-being of all creatures.” We should always keep in mind
it is a kindly interest.
The
confusion is dispelled if we realize that kindness is not a required state of
mind to be cultivated, it is a natural outgrowth of merging into the Absolute.
When you know for certain that all beings share the same essence as you, they
are as close to you as your parents and your children. The experience of
commonality can be called love, among other things. In a state of love, acting
with kindness becomes the natural background at all times and in all
circumstances.
Sometimes
being kind requires us to be tough. When our fellow beings are screwing up,
which is common enough, we sometimes have to resist them to prevent further
harm to them and others. Arjuna will have to go as far as to fight a war,
because the situation demands it for the restoration of fairness and balance.
We may be called upon to stand up to a bully or cage a mad dog. But the core
motivation at all times must be loving kindness.
We
might have to be tough with ourself as well, if we are going astray, though we
must be kindly and patient about it. Self-hatred is never helpful! But self-control
is mentioned frequently in the Gita. Yoga differs from Advaita, nondualism, in
that it admits to a provisional duality in an essentially nondual universe. We
think and perceive in terms of duality. Therefore there is much to be done to
train the mind to rediscover its innate unity. Yoga requires effort, but it is
to be intelligently directed and open to the inner pulse of the Absolute.
Effort based on scheming for selfish ends is another matter altogether, and
utterly foreign to the spirit of the work. Nor does the Gita share the slipshod
view of spirituality as a kind of lazy, carefree, eternal vacation. We are to
be engaged and alert, and in so doing we make life interesting and delightful.
An
excellent model for the Gita’s type of intelligent self-control is sailing a
sailboat. Cruising in one, you cannot force matters; sailboats are entirely
subject to available winds. Yet if you allow your craft to drift aimlessly, you
get nowhere. The boat must be kept in order: sails trimmed correctly, hand on
the rudder, keen eye out for obstacles, everything shipshape. But it is the
wind that propels the boat. You cannot push it, but you can guide it in concert
with the breezes, making constant adjustments as the winds change. Plus, there
are trade winds that blow most of the time as well as dead zones with nary a
puff. You should aim your boat to take advantage of the steady blasts and avoid
the doldrums. Self-control is thus not a repressive but an expressive activity.
Like
a sailboat steering clear of storms and reefs to find a safe passage, when we
“cut away” from conflict, we allow ourselves to enter in to the self-effacement
of the Absolute. A wise yogi should not forget that self-expression divorced
from connection with the absolute Ground does not satisfy, and is not much
different than the failure to express anything. Raw talent alone is insufficient.
Talent combined with humble connectivity will carry us safely to our home port.
The mystical connection with the Absolute makes all paths bright, while the
same ways remain dark without it. As Nataraja Guru put it so beautifully, “The
breeze of a fresh life enlivens the ways of a yogi.”
26) To
those disjoined from desire and anger, those self-controlled ones whose vital
consciousness is subdued, (who are also) knowers of the Self, self-effacement
in the Absolute lies near at hand.
The
phrase “near at hand,” echoes the assurance of verse 6 that one unitively
harmonized attains the Absolute without delay. In this middle stage of
spiritual development, there is a lot of effort and subtle discrimination to be
exercised on a consistent basis, not only in meditation but out and about in
daily activity. A seeker might lose heart if nothing seems to change despite
all the hard work. So the guru may give a modest amount of encouragement,
assuring the disciple that the Absolute is nearer than the nearest, even though
it may seem hopelessly remote at times.
The
Upanishads are firm that That is closer than the closest, but they also
acknowledge that it is farther than the farthest. It is exceedingly far because
however it might be described or conceived, it is always beyond any possible
definition. Moreover, it is not accessible via a series of cumulative steps, so
it will appear to infinitely recede if it is sought in that way. Still, viewing
the Absolute as impossibly far off helps counteract the spiritual ego, just as
knowing it is close by buoys up a flagging spirit, and both have their place.
Breaking
the hold of desire and anger on us is of course a main theme of spiritual
life—or simple maturity for that matter. Practically speaking, it is helpful to
realize that anger is largely a chemical reaction to stress or attack. The
minute we react to an assault, our system is flooded with toxic chemicals that
make us miserable and can even shorten our life. They definitely reduce our
enjoyment of living. Therefore we should do our best to throttle the impulse to
become enraged by other people’s faults and provocations. Once we let go of the
way of thinking that maintains the anger, the chemicals are fairly quickly
metabolized and we again become calm. We can still maintain our guard if it is
needed, but we will not be carried away by harmful emotions.
A
major triumph for hate-mongers is that they have poisoned you, often without
even knowing you or being anywhere near you. Don't let them have their smug
satisfaction! Sure, we could list ten thousand reasons they deserve to be tied
to a stake and eaten by ants, etc. but thoughts like that only amplify the
poisons in our system. The best response—and it's not easy—is to step back
enough so that you don't squirt the juice out of your adrenal glands in the
first place. There have always been vicious, vile, barbaric humans around, and
there likely always will. They have always caused great harm to others. It's
part of the scenery here on Earth. But you are really charged with curing
yourself first. At least that might actually succeed some day. Saturating
yourself in calmness and deep understanding provides a significant buffer
against self-generated hormonal toxins.
Our
best defense against anger is to evolve and help others to evolve so that we no
longer need to cause harm, outwardly or inwardly. This is a lifelong endeavor,
essential and engrossing. At most it will have a modest impact on our
surroundings, but beneath the radar the cumulative impact can be tremendous. And
we are by no means alone in this effort! There are many fine souls engaged in
similar evolutionary programs.
The
second level of self-defense is to forgive even the most execrable and
obnoxious folks, by trying to imagine what would drive them to be so filled
with venom. Verse 36 in the last chapter assured us that everyone has an
unlimited potential that can be unleashed by wisdom. We all fall short of our
potential, often dramatically, and we can either be helpers or hinderers for
our fellows as well as for ourselves.
A
compassionate person recognizes the harsh obstacles that have damaged the
spirits of nearly everyone around them. Leaving aside the manifold insults of
adulthood, there are many kinds of abuse and neglect that kids routinely
suffer. For instance, some popular religions actually encourage child beating
for their “moral instruction,” which is guaranteed to produce timorous souls
whose only motivation in life is to avoid the next blow. In the wrong
personality, compensation for this oppression will frequently be highly
distressing and occasionally take explosively lethal form.
Poverty
is tough enough on children, but even among the privileged elite, parents are
often alcoholic, dad is away at work, mom is AWOL somewhere else, and a bright
little girl or boy is cared for not at all. Their thwarted egos escalate
tactics to draw attention to themselves, naturally enough, eventually even to
the point of suicide or homicide in some cases. At least shouting insults at
good-hearted people is less devastating than that, so we should be grateful if
being chronically ignored only causes incivility.
There
are plenty of other scenarios that make kids grow up stressed out and poorly
equipped for adulthood. Not surprisingly, then, the world is brimming with
deranged humans. I just wonder why so many people are enchanted by mentally
unstable people like that—seems like the crazier you are, the more enthusiastic
your following, particularly in the political and entertainment fields. These
too are cries for recognition and respect, but we should be very careful to
give our attention only in ways that will have a positive effect. Cheering on
screwballs just encourages them to become even screwier.
When
the Gita advises dissociating from the context of suffering, it includes not
allowing yourself to be drawn into reacting to toxic situations and the
venomous humanoids who perpetrate them. And if you really want to cure
yourself, you need to also look into why you get so upset at times. There is a
personal element in your own upbringing that needs to be brought into conscious
awareness. Left unexamined, it will generate plenty of chaos for you.
At
any point, a serious investment of love and attention has a high likelihood of
turning the tables back to sanity. Love is what we crave, and what we so keenly
miss when it is absent in our world. True love is the one desire we should
ardently cultivate, and which is overgrown by all the petty desires we call
upon in its absence.
27 & 28) Having peripherally discarded outward factors
(such as touch), and also with eyes fixed between the eyebrows, equalizing the
positive and negative vital tendencies moving within the nasal orifice,
with
the senses, mind and reason controlled, the silent
recluse, wholly intent on liberation, with desire, fear and anger gone, is ever
himself, the liberated one.
It
looks like Vyasa might have won an ancient contest to see who could epitomize
meditation in the fewest possible words. This brief yet cogent summary will be
expanded on in the next chapter, but it will be valuable to examine it carefully
right now.
The
outward factors to be “peripherally discarded,” not only include the senses, as
mentioned in verses 21 and 22, but also transactional mental factors such as
plans, programs, appointments, wishes, regrets, and so on. One should set all
such considerations aside and attend as completely as possible to the
meditation. Merely following a set of steps while thinking of other matters is
futile, and for this reason an open, non-programmed approach to meditation is
favored here. Prescribed paths may be attractive for awhile, but they quickly
become routine and the transformative energy ebbs out of them. The inner
motivation for them is converted by the mind into a static outward factor, like
a rule. Being here now, in its fullest sense, is all that’s required.
As
a corollary, keep a sharp lookout for what brings you out of your seat at the
end of your meditation. Any “outward factor” that seems more important than
sitting peacefully may have an undue hold on you, and needs to be addressed.
You are looking not for the ostensible motivation, but for the inner urge that
masquerades as a superficial motive.
Fixing
the inner gaze at a point near the base of the nose, between the eyebrows,
concentrates and focuses one’s mental energy. This is the ajna or sixth chakra,
associated with consciousness and wisdom. Whatever your beliefs about chakras
or synergic centers, collecting the mind and directing it away from the endless
kaleidoscope of sensory inputs charges one’s intellectual batteries.
The
positive and negative vital tendencies are the pranas, associated with breath,
and sometimes curbed or harmonized by arcane practices known as pranayama.
Pranayama unleashes a lot of power, and normally needs to be guided by a
trained seer or guru. But the Gita presents us with a safe yogic alternative.
If we simply equalize and regularize the breath, we can achieve the proper
state of calmness for intense meditation. A calm mind makes for regular
breathing, and curiously the reverse is true: regular breathing calms the mind.
Watching the breath is therefore an excellent way to begin one’s meditation.
As
a firefighter I responded to hundreds of car wrecks, from minor to extremely
serious. Those who were ambulatory or had minor injuries were almost always
gasping for air and breathing shallowly and irregularly. I suggested to many of
them to breathe deeply and evenly, and if they were able to do it you could
actually see them rapidly calm down. Those who were too upset couldn’t keep
their breath in mind for two seconds, but those with better self-control
improved their state of mind dramatically. I suppose that from the perspective
of the meditative state, our transactional life is like an ongoing low-grade car
wreck.
The
senses, mind and reason are mentioned together in III, 40-43, and examined in
detail there. As far as meditation goes, they are the three main aspects of the
individual subject to awareness and control. They dominate consciousness in
ordinary life, and need to be set aside in order to explore the deeper regions
of the psyche.
Desire,
fear and anger made their earlier appearances in II, 56 and IV, 10. They are
the primary emotional categories, and as such are a subset of mind. It is an
excellent meditation to sort out the essence of one’s emotions into their
primal states, bringing them out of hiding and into the open so to speak. Like
the vast panoply of hues that consist of different percentages of the three
primary colors, many emotions can be discerned as varying admixtures of the
three primary emotions. For instance jealousy can be understood as a
combination of envy (a type of desire) impelled by anger. Sadness and
depression are grades of thwarted desire enhanced by fear. The teaching here helps
us to look beneath the surface of our feelings to their underlying motivations.
As already noted, fear and anger represent ingoing and outgoing surges of
psychic projection respectively, and desire is the upwelling from the depths of
genetically or historically conditioned impulses. All these have to be put to
rest to achieve the stillness conducive to a penetrating meditation.
Krishna
describes the sincere seeker as a silent recluse, a muni. What is the point of silence to a spiritual aspirant? It’s
lauded in many traditions, but why? Does it serve any purpose?
Very
often our speech becomes a habitual form of maintaining superficiality. In the
way that many modern people like to leave the TV or radio droning in the
background as a kind of defense against their fears of emptiness, others talk
constantly in order to fend off the unnerving subversion of quiet. They fear
they don’t exist except as their outward appearance, and so have to
continuously construct an image for all the world to admire.
From
silence arises the hum of the universe, the anti-sound of Aum. It threatens to
dissolve the ego’s identity in the oceanic state. In response, the ego keeps
talking to ratify the fiction of its false (in the sense of temporary) sense of
separateness. It’s as if we can prop up the ghost of who we imagine we are by
asserting it over and over in words. And that is exactly why seekers of truth
remain silent much of the time. One of the very first disciplines is to stop
reinforcing what is false and listen for what is true. Since the Absolute
cannot be described in words, perhaps it should be sought for in silence.
It’s
a very common experience on silent retreats that initially there is a big
effort to stop the habit of talking, but after awhile it becomes such a relief
you wonder why you never took a vacation from it before. The mind gathers power
as it centers itself and isn’t pulled in multitudinous directions by chatter.
The more you reflect, the less you feel the urge to offer an opinion on
everything, and the more cogent what you have to say will be. Often the retreat
will effect a permanent change in how you relate to the world. And since the
world is reciprocal, as what you say becomes more meaningful, superficial
people will tend to avoid you and you will be drawn more and more into the
company of others who have become free of the compulsion to fill the void with
their prating.
Seekers
sometimes begin their quest imagining all sorts of amazing powers and abilities
that they will attain later on. And religions often capitalize on their naïveté
by promising the same, either here or hereafter. In this chapter the Gita makes
it plain that realization is a very simple thing. When you gather yourself
together and achieve dynamic mental balance, intensely focused on liberation,
you are already there. Imaginary future states are not part of the deal.
29) Having
known Me as the Enjoyer of ritual sacrifices, the Acceptor of austerities, the
great Lord of all worlds, and the Friend of all beings, one reaches peace.
In
the midst of all this advice and instruction on how to meditate, Krishna
reminds Arjuna that the Absolute is the hub around which all spiritual actions
turn. We must avoid the deadly spiritual ego at all cost. Always referring
one’s actions to a universal context steers one clear of an inflated sense of
self-importance.
Why
do we perform sacrifices? Not to advance our own program, but to extend the
delight inherent in all creation. Remember, sacrifice means to make sacred, to
realize a connection with the cosmic energy underlying all things. Why do we
discipline ourselves? Not to shape us into more holy creatures, but to
actualize underutilized potentials of the “holiness” or vast talent latent
within us. We undergo discipline to wean ourselves away from necessity and
toward freedom. Sacrifice and austerity—unitive knowledge and action—along with
opening ourselves to full participation, are the key aspects of a spiritual
path. When we stop imagining ourselves as lone pilgrims struggling against
overwhelming odds, and instead see our whole milieu as an expression of the
wonder of life, it brings a lightness to our steps and a radiance to our
hearts.
The
Lord of all worlds stands for the transcendental aspect of truth, and the
Friend of all beings is by contrast its immanent aspect. Dialectically
combining the immanent and the transcendent results in the synthesis of
all-pervading peace.
This
verse, often read as trivial or theistic, is a crucial realization at this
middle stage of spiritual development. It is easy to imagine that the psychic
abilities and enhanced awareness and understanding that come to us are products
of our own efforts. After all, that is the ordinary view of how the world
works, and the provisional paradigm under which we most likely have been
laboring. But what we are in fact realizing in our meditations and
contemplations is the divinely cosmic nature of the whole game as it really is.
It is very humbling to see that everything we learn is an already existing
truth, and not just a personal triumph. Like the discovery of electricity, it
is by no means our own invention, though it enables our own inventiveness and
creativity to flower. The Absolute is always waiting for us to know it better
and bring its light into our surroundings.