(Spoken on March 3rd, 1974)
The ancient scriptures speak in a triple voice and, therefore, in the study of this great lore we have to employ the triple method of interpretation and evaluation. It is especially the case with such deep and comprehensive spiritual literature as the Vedas, the Upanishads and the Bhagavadgita, for instance. It is for a want of this comprehensive approach to the subject of these great reservoirs of knowledge that many exponents have emphasised one or the other aspect of the great teachings, and we see divergences among these interpretations of the scripture. This situation has arisen on account of the exponents not paying due attention to the multifaceted form of super-normal wisdom.
The wisdom of life, or the knowledge of the Spirit, as we are sometimes given to understand, is not ordinary scientific knowledge or an empirical understanding of the things of the world. There is a great difference between the normal human approach to things in matters of day-to-day life and the requisite approach in matters that are supernatural. There are things which man cannot understand with his intellect. Even logic, which is the best of human equipments, will not be of much help where superhuman truths are involved, because logic is a human instrument and superhuman realms cannot be approached merely through any endowment of the human understanding.
We have, therefore, to put on a newer attitude of greater humility in such matters that seem to be beyond the ken of our perception. All seekers of knowledge were humble aspirants who were always open to rectification and correction and teaching, who never assumed a preconceived notion of having mastered things already, because what we do not know is much vaster than what we already know. Therefore, we come to a point, in our later life especially, when we begin to realise, to our great discomfort and discomfiture, that the larger part of our life has been spent in the acquisition of a knowledge which does not seem to be of much help to us in times of difficulty. Then it is that we turn to Gurus and Masters and yogis and adepts, and we go to institutions, study the Gita and the Upanishads and the Vedas, and so on. But then our physical life in this world is naturally limited, and we go with a wry face of dissatisfaction of having learnt very little, perhaps almost nothing.
But it is not necessary that we all should go crying from this world, if only we are sure that we are blessed with this premonition of such a situation arising in everyone's life. Nature's laws exempt none, not even the best of men. Everyone has to tread the same route to perfection, and everyone has to confront the same problems and difficulties.
We have thus to proceed with great caution, and enter into a field of a newer type of study for the purpose of bringing about a thoroughgoing reorientation of our thought to bring about a rebirth, as it were, into the spirit of right understanding. We become like children when we truly aspire for knowledge proper, and then it is, perhaps, that Truth reveals itself before us.
As I mentioned, the Vedas and the Upanishads particularly are regarded, in this country especially, as specimens of the highest type of spiritual revelation. They are called Prabhu Samhita in ancient Sanskrit technical parlance, by which what is meant is the Vedas and the Upanishads go directly into the heart of Truth without mincing matters, without telling us stories, without giving us comparisons, analogies, anecdotes and diversions of any kind. They give us a command as to the nature of Truth, and this command aspect of their approach is what designates them as Prabhu Samhita. Prabhu is a lord, a master. He does not tell us stories. A master is very strict, and he immediately tells us what he requires of us. “Do this. Go here.” That is all. It is a direct instruction and a mandate upon us. The Vedas and the Upanishads give us a mandate, a command and an order, like a medical prescription which is direct and precise, scientific.
But we live in a world of varieties. We see many things which we do not understand, but which attract our attention and demand an explanation of us. We have to confront them. When we are ready to follow the mandate of the Vedas and the Upanishads, we are also faced with certain side issues which arise on account of certain peculiarities in our own individual nature. We have a psychological setup. We are psychological beings. Man is especially a unit of an immense psychological complex, and thus needs to be approached from the point of view of this complex of which he is made.
The Vedas and the Upanishads are great masters indeed, no doubt, but we seem to be in need of a person, a type of guidance which will not only instruct us, direct us or order us to do certain things, but also appreciate the position in which we are. There are difficulties which are purely personal, which each one knows for one's own self. A master has his own problems, and a servant has his own problems. Apart from the fact that we are a master or a servant, we are also human beings, individuals with a private life of our own. When we live a purely scientific life of precision, a life which is strictly in obedience to law, regulation and rule as the Vedas and the Upanishads would expect of us, we have, at the same time, very silent whisperings from within our own selves speaking in a tone that is mild and yet is incapable of being neglected. We have what is called an emotional aspect in our personality, apart from the purely psychological constitution which has created a setup of its own which goes by such names as society, the world of nature, family, personality, and the like.
This very important aspect of human nature was taken notice of by our ancient masters, and they, to our great advantage, condescended to present this masterly wisdom of the Vedas and the Upanishads in a manner that is humanly appreciable and intelligible. We have three strata of knowledge, which we call the prasthana-traya. Traya means a triple or threefold text, and prasthana is a stage. We have a threefold stage of philosophical and spiritual learning. One aspect of this threefold approach to knowledge is constituted of the Vedas and the Upanishads. That is one of the stages, or the prasthanas—the rungs, we may call it—of this integral knowledge. Another rung—another aspect or facet of this knowledge, another approach to it—is constituted of what is traditionally known as the Vedanta Sutra or the Brahma Sutra, whose approach is rationalistic, intellectual, logical, polemic, argumentative, the purpose of which is to establish by polemical argumentative methods the intuitive declarations of Truth as recorded in the Vedas and the Upanishads. These are two aspects of this triple approach: the Vedas and the Upanishads on one side, and the polemical Vedantic literature represented by the Brahma Sutras on the other side.
But we have a third aspect, which is represented in the epics, especially the Mahabharata, whose quintessence is what is called the Bhagavadgita. As a matter of fact, the prasthan-traya is constituted of the Upanishads, the Brahma Sutras and the Bhagavadgita. These three sum up the entire spiritual wisdom of India. While the Upanishads and the Vedas, as I pointed out, are direct in their approach to the naked truth of things, and while the polemical literature of a logical type is rationalistic in its approach, the Bhagavadgita, which is a beautiful pendant in the garland of the Mahabharata, is of a different type altogether, about which I propose to speak to you for some time, inasmuch as the Bhagavadgita is not only a philosophical guide in our spiritual existence but also a practical handbook—a searchlight, as it were, flooded on the path which we have to tread in the practice of yoga.
The Bhagavadgita has been regarded as perhaps the most comprehensive of scriptures in yoga because it touches all aspects of human life in all its stages and levels. It is considered as a metaphysical text, a practical scripture of yoga, as well as a mystical compendium meant for leading an inner life of the Spirit. Therefore, it is almost everything for a sadhaka. There cannot be a better guide for us than the Bhagavadgita in our practical spiritual life and our life of yoga sadhana because, as a famous verse has it, the Bhagavadgita is not an independent approach in its own manner but is something like the milk of the Upanishads. It is said that if the Upanishads are cows, the Bhagavadgita is the milk of these cows, Bhagavan Sri Krishna is the milkman, and Arjuna is the calf. Such is the comparison made to evaluate the greatness and the importance of this great text called the Bhagavadgita.
This wonderful scriptural guide for us, the Bhagavadgita, occurs in the middle of a famous epic called the Mahabharata. It is unfortunate that students of Indian literature rarely study these textbooks because they have a wrong notion that Indian philosophy means the Upanishads, Acharya Sankara, Ramanuja, Madhva, etc. In the Mahabharata there is a very pertinent saying which makes out that the Vedas are afraid of people who have not studied expositions like the Mahabharata and the Bhagavadgita because it is these texts that tell us what the Vedas really mean. Bibhety alpaśrutād vedo mām ayaṃ pratariṣyati (M.B. 1.1.204). The Vedas say, it seems, “Oh this gentleman is coming to kill us because he cannot understand us.”
As the Vedas are revelations of eternal Truth they comprehend all aspects of life, and it is next to impossible for the human intellect to deeply gauge what is all-comprehensive. We never approach life in an all-comprehensive manner at any time. We have only certain routes struck for our practical purposes, and we completely ignore aspects which are not concerned with our pragmatic approach to things. But that is precisely the reason why we fail in our lives. We cannot have that sort of parochial approach to things where things are internally related to one another, a fact which will come to relief when we go deep into their structure.
The life of the human being is a vast field of activity and confrontation of forces. Life is activity; it is nothing but that, and everyone knows what it means. This activity is impulsive, and sometimes it is compulsive. We are obliged to act in a particular manner. We can choose certain types of activity, but we have no choice whether to be active or not to be active. That we have to act and work and toil seems to be written on our foreheads, and no one can escape this predicament, but we have a freedom to choose what type of work is suitable to our temperament and to our practical needs of life. This is, no doubt, the actual position and situation, but we bungle in the choice of duty. While we are compelled to work from morning to evening right from our childhood, we are not sufficiently endowed with the understanding necessary for choosing what is actually good for us.
A distinction is made between what is good for us and what is pleasant for us. Most of us pursue what is pleasant for us, but we do not know what is good for us because what is called the pleasant, the preyas, as it is put, is immediately attractive to the senses and the sensations of our body. Completely enmeshed in bodily sensation and social relationships, we immediately jump into those circumstances which promise us social satisfaction and sensational pleasures. This is, again, unfortunate. Pitiable is the condition of that person who thinks that the pleasures that the ego can evoke through social relationships, and the pleasures that the senses can evoke through contact with objects, are the be-all and the end-all of life.
We have two great problems in life: the senses and the ego. These are our terrible masters, and we cannot satisfy them. They are devils indeed. However much we may feed them, their hunger seems to be insatiable. If we go on feeding the senses, they go on burning more and more, like a conflagration. The more we go on feeding our ego, the stouter and the fatter it becomes, and the more we try to pamper it. We have no other difficulty in life. These are our only difficulties: our senses and our egoism. But these are not what is good for us. The ego does not give us what is good nor promise what is good, and the senses of course are worse still.
The great masters whose revelations are recorded in the scriptures are intent upon the good of man, rather than merely pampering his temporal needs. They are the real mothers and fathers for us. While our physical parents have given birth to this visible body of ours and taken care of it for some time in their own manner, the great sages who take care of our inner life are our real parents, because our life is not exhausted merely by the physical body of social relations.
Our life continues beyond the grave. We live beyond death. We have a life transcending physical relationships and sensory contacts. If we depend on only those factors which give pleasure to the ego and the senses, and ignore those factors which are necessary for the sustenance of our inner life, what will happen to us when we quit this world? Who will take care of us? These sensations, these masters who have pampered the ego, are not going to help us anymore. Certain other things will come before us which will be absolute strangers, whom we have completely ignored in our present life, on whom we may have to depend entirely. After we leave this body, where will we go? Who will help us? Who will be our friends? We do not know. Is it fair on our part to completely neglect those essentials which are going to be our real sustenance in our future life, and hang on to only those temporary factors which are regarded as necessary for a physical existence in this short span of life? Is this knowledge, is this culture, is this wisdom?
The ancient masters have hammered into our minds in these scriptures that we should not run after mere pleasure of the ego and the senses, the preyas, but should be able to devote a little time for the shreyas, or the blessedness of what we really are essentially in our inner life. This was the mission of a great master called Krishna Dvaipayana Vyasa who wrote the Mahabharata, who recorded the Bhagavadgita for us, blessed be his name. His writings are so all-comprehensive that an old adage says Vyasochishtam jagat sarvam: Whatever is there in this world is nothing but that which is vomited by Vyasa. We cannot say anything which he has not said. There is nothing in the world of knowledge which Vyasa has not written, particularly in his masterpiece called the Mahabharata, which is the quintessence of the Vedas and the Upanishads in an expository and epic fashion. It is said of the Mahabharata and the philosophy of the Bhagavadgita that whatever is there is anywhere else, and whatever cannot be found there cannot be found anywhere. Such is the vastness, the depth and the comprehensiveness of this writing of Krishna Dvaipayana Vyasa, the author of the Mahabharata, the editor of the Vedas. He is called Veda Vyasa because he edited the Vedas. He did not merely write the Bhagavadgita, he was also the classifier of the Vedas in their present form, and so is called Veda Vyasa, an omniscient sage of incredible power of yogic knowledge. Such a master has given us this wonderful epic of spiritual life called the Mahabharata. It is not a story or an analogy or an anecdote, but a dramatic presentation of life in a picturesque form.
Whatever Shakespeare has written is of a similar nature. They are not telling us stories; they present human nature in its true colour and true form. And in a more splendid fashion has Vyasa done this work in the Mahabharata, in the Bhagavadgita. The different facets of human life, with their passions and prejudices, with their longings and aspirations, with their problems and difficulties, together with their solutions, are all presented to us in this masterly work of Vyasa. The Bhagavadgita may be regarded as the focussed point of the Mahabharata. The focusing point of the entire teaching of this epic is the Bhagavadgita, from where we have approach or access into the various palatial edifices he has built for us in the form of the personalities of the epic—the great masters Bhishma and Drona, Bhima and Arjuna, Yudhisthira, and above all, the great personality of Krishna, which runs like a silken thread through the entire garland of the Mahabharata. All these are to stir our inner spirit to action in practical life and to enable us to see reality in the visible things of the world, to awaken us into facts from the slumber of our ignorance and to din into our ears the great message that the visible is not the whole of reality. The larger part of reality is invisible to our eyes.
To approach truth, to have a vision of reality, to know the true nature of our own selves, we have to adopt this philosophical foundation, this psychological approach and this practical technique which is embodied in the Bhagavadgita. As I mentioned, because it is a metaphysical text, it is a practical exposition of yoga in its many-sidedness, and it is also a record of mystical experiences of the highest reaches of the human soul. For a student of yoga, a student of culture, a student of philosophy and an aspirant after God-realisation, nothing could be better than to endeavour to understand what this message of the Bhagavadgita is.
The outward setting of the Bhagavadgita is the historical stage of the Mahabharata. I mentioned in the very beginning that these great masters adopted a triple approach: the outward, the inward, and the universal. Therefore, when we study the Vedas or the Upanishads or yogic texts or the Mahabharata or the Bhagavadgita, we have to adopt this triple method of interpretation: the outward setting of the whole drama, and the inner facts of this enactment, and finally the outcome of it, namely, the fruit of Universal realisation.
The Bhagavadgita takes us along this route of a triple understanding of Nature, God and man, together in their blending and integrality. The outer setting is the historical scene wherein we are told two forces were arrayed for a battle that was to take place. Everywhere you will find two forces, whether it is outwardly in the world or inwardly in your own self. Even in your own family, a small unit of a few members, you will find two forces working. Even in your own heart and your own mind, you will find these two forces working, sometimes one voice speaking, another time another voice speaking. You yourself will have a double message from your own self inwardly. So these two forces are arrayed, and in the epic language these forces are called the Pandava forces and the Kaurava forces. The positives and the negatives confront each other to fight a battle for a different purpose altogether, and these forces are represented by certain commanding powers, whose orders were to be obeyed by all the subordinates.
Now, in the very beginning of the epic, before the commencement of the scene of the war, we are told that the leaders of the two forces collected immense strength, army and support from various corners of the country. One of the towering personalities of those times, towering both in knowledge and in power, was Sri Krishna, and the leaders of the two parties are said to have approached him for help. This introduction is provided to us in the Mahabharata before the commencement of the war, and in the exposition of the Bhagavadgita. Krishna was an impartial person, not belonging to any side. His palace, or fortress, was in Dvarka, and history tells us that the leader of the Pandavas, Arjuna, and the leader of the other party, the Kauravas, Duryodhana, both approached this mighty Krishna for help in the ensuing war.
Very beautifully the story is told to us, with a tremendous spiritual message behind it. It is said that Sri Krishna was reclining, perhaps having a nap, on a couch in his palace in Dvarka, when these two gentlemen approached. Out of the two, Arjuna was a humble, child-like person, simple in his nature. Duryodhana was a proud man, very self-confident and arrogant in his approach. He always regarded himself as a ruler. He was the king of the country and, befitting the status of a king, he occupied a chair near the head of Krishna and sat there while Krishna was relaxing and dozing. Arjuna, as a simple man, humble, stood at the feet of Krishna. He did not even sit. He stood there. It is said that after a few minutes Krishna woke up and opened his eyes, and naturally saw the person who was standing at his feet. He opened his eyes and suddenly saw Arjuna.
“My dear friend, what makes you come at this hour? What do you want from me? How is it that you have taken so much pain to come from a long distance? From Indraprastha you have come to Dvarka.”
Then immediately the gentleman from behind said, “Sir, I have come first.”
Krishna turned around. “Oh, Duryodhana, you have also come. What is the matter?”
Arjuna said nothing. Duryodhana said, “Sir, perhaps you are already aware that an unfortunate situation has arisen. There is the likelihood of a war between us. It cannot be avoided, for obvious reasons. I have come for help. You are an impartial man. You have no friends and enemies. I want your help.”
“I see,” said Krishna. “You have come for that purpose. Arjuna, what is your errand?”
“Master, I have come for the same purpose. I want your blessing. I want your help in whatever way possible.”
“Well,” Krishna said, “what can I tell you? Both of you have come for the same purpose. I have nothing with me except an army. Of course, it is very large army, a very powerful army, an almost invincible army, I should say. It is called the Narayani Sena. I can lend this army to either one of you. And the other thing is myself. There is nothing else—the whole army, and myself. The army will fight till death, and I can offer myself to you, but I will not fight. I will come to you as a guest, eat your meals, and sit quiet. I will give you any kind of moral support, but physically I will not take up weapons, I will not take an active part in the war, and I shall be a single man. There will be nobody else with me. You can choose me, single, doing nothing, not taking any active part, or you can choose that large army which is very fierce in its attack.”
Duryodhana said, “The choice must be left to me first, sir, because I have come first.”
Krishna said, “Friend, perhaps you have come first, but I saw Arjuna first. So I offer the choice first to Arjuna, and you choose afterwards.”
This was not pleasing to Duryodhana, who thought, “Not good. I am a king, and this is how I am treated? All right.” He did not say anything because he could not say anything.
“Arjuna, what do you choose now between these two things: a single person like me doing nothing, taking no active part, or the fierce army of mine, Narayani Sena? Which do you want?”
Arjuna said, “Master, I want you only.”
Duryodhana thought, “Oh, I have won the game! This fool has chosen the wrong thing. I carry the butter and the ghee, and he carries the buttermilk.” Duryodhana was afraid that perhaps Arjuna may say he wants the army; then the whole thing would be finished and the very purpose of coming would be spoiled. But he thought, “Stupid as Arjuna is, he chose this inactive man who will do nothing, who will only be a liability in his house.” Duryodhana said, “Sir, I want the army.”
“All right, so it is now clear,” Krishna replied.
Duryodhana went in great confidence, thinking that he had already won victory in the war. “The victory is already mine; it is decided. There is no need of saying anything about it, because such an army is mine. Foolish Pandavas, stupid Arjuna!” he said to himself, and went back and told his kinsman in Hastinapura, “Don't bother. Victory is ours. This is what has happened.” Oh, all were happy. They made a bhandara. “We are going to win the war. These Pandavas are going to be defeated. They have no help.”
After Duryodhana left, Krishna asked Arjuna, “How foolish you are, my friend. Why have you chosen me instead of asking for the army? What do you get from me? Are you not unwise? Have you not made a mistake?”
Arjuna said, “Lord, I want only your blessings, and your very presence is sufficient for me. I have not come here to trouble you or take anything from you. I have come only for your benign grace and blessings. If you merely utter a word 'Victory be yours', that shall be sufficient for me. Why should I want an army? You please be with me as my moral support, spiritual guide, friend and philosopher. I need nothing else from you.”
“I see. This is your intention. All right, so be it,” said Krishna, and bade farewell to Arjuna.
Arjuna went back and told Yudhisthira, his elder brother, what happened. They were very happy that the Lord is coming; whether he may actively take part in the war or not was a different matter.
But, why did Arjuna choose Krishna, a single man, an inactive person, rather than the active warriors known as the Narayani Sena? Here we have the secret of success in life, and here also is the clue to our failures. Why do we fail in life, and why do some people succeed? Well, the answer is here in this beautiful story. Why did Duryodhana choose the army? Why did Arjuna choose Krishna?
Many of us are Duryodhanas, choosing the army, because we do not want that inactive something, which is one. We want many. We always ask for many things, and not one thing. This is the way in which we think always. You accost any person, “How many things do you want?” He will say, “Many things.” Nobody will be satisfied with one thing. We make the mistake of thinking that one is less than the many because, according to arithmetic, many ones are larger in quantity than a single one. That is our mathematics, and it is very clear. One hundred dollars are larger than one dollar. Is it not clear? So naturally, many things will be more useful than one thing. This is what Duryodhana thought, it is what every one of us also thinks, and this is why we are in this unfortunate, helpless, weakened position we call mortal existence, mortal life.
But there is a peculiar 'one thing' which cannot be arithmetically or mathematically computed. Our arithmetic will not work there. There is a super-mathematical world of realities transcending the calculative mind of the human individual. Our calculations will not work there, where many things are not larger than one thing, and many 'one things' do not make several things. How is it possible?
There is something which is not measurable through the yardstick of space and time, which is within us and also outside in the world, and the quantitative approach to things, called arithmetic or mathematics, is inapplicable in that purely qualitative realm of Truth. Truth is not merely a quality. We cannot use terms of this kind in respect of it. It is neither a quantity nor a quality. It is something transcending both. It is not an aggregate of particulars. It is not an army of soldiers. It is not a group of forces. It is not a totality of individuals. It is, in short, not a measurable something. Therefore, the whole army of Duryodhana can do nothing with it. It is useless to measure its strength by comparing it with the powers of the world.
That one thing is a non-mathematical unit, and that was represented by this one man called Krishna. He was not a single individual; he was not one man sitting in Dvarka, which was the wrong opinion of Duryodhana and others. He was a non-mathematical unit which is beyond the understanding of the human mind because we cannot think except in terms of arithmetic. In all our transactions of give and take, everything is calculated on this basis: The more you take away, the less the source is. That is why we do not want to give anything. We are greedy, very miserly, and charity is very painful to us. What is charity? Giving away what we have. And what happens to us? We lose what we already have; and losing is not a good thing. We, through our business arithmetic, conclude that the more we take away from ourselves, the less do we become in our status and quality. But this is far from the truth. The more we take away from ourselves, the larger do we become. How is it possible? This is contrary to all known arithmetic. But the nature of Truth, unfortunately for us, is contrary to everything that we know, appreciate and regard as useful. It is because of this enigmatic and supernormal character of Truth that we do not want Truth. We always bid goodbye to it and want to relegate it to the limbo, and try to think of it only in our leisure hours. Truth is very unattractive. It is not pleasing. When it comes, it comes like a pain or a sorrow to us, like an unwanted guest. We like only the world of quantities, of particulars, of magnitude, of wealth, of preyas, of pleasure.
Now, the realm of the Spirit, the path of yoga, the way spiritual is quite different from this quantitative interpretation of things. We have to completely shed this prejudice of thinking in terms of business and transaction. All our thinking is transaction and business, give and take. It is purely a measurement through quantity, and Truth is not a quantity measurable in terms of the things of the world or any value of the world. It is this difficulty that prevents most people from approaching life spiritual. It is shocking. The very thought of God shocks us because of the feeling that perhaps we are going to lose all the pleasure centres of our life.
But blessed souls like Arjuna knew that this non-quantitative reality, represented in the historical scene of the Mahabharata as Krishna and the universal setup of things as the Supreme Being, the Absolute, should be the measuring rod for us in the evaluation of anything in this world. For the Pandavas, for Arjuna, for Yudhisthira, Krishna was everything. Whenever there was any difficulty, they turned to him for advice, and whatever he said was final. Why should they regard the opinion of one man as final, as if he was the only man in the whole world? But he was not a man in the quantitative, social, unitary sense. He was not an individual. It was a super-individual power that was embodied in an individual form. And if we also consult with this super-individual value in this life, we will certainly succeed in life. But we consult these particulars which tempt us with their promises of sensory gratification, and so we fail. All masters of quantity fail in this world. All the dictators, all the tyrants that history has seen, were worshipers of quantity, and doom came upon them. They were wiped off the Earth in spite of being masters of the largest quantity thinkable. They were owners of immense wealth and rulers of vast kingdoms, but they were pounded to dust by the relentless hands of time because Truth is quite different from what man contemplates as true or real.
Thus, the spiritual evaluation of things is the subject of the Bhagavadgita, which is different from our normal childish way of thinking in terms of give and take, quantity, money, social status, and pleasures of sense and ego. We are entering a new realm altogether, a new world of a different type, of light and resplendence. It is awakening from sleep, as it were, into the world of bright sunlight. We will be taken into a wonderland by the Bhagavadgita, with its masterly message of the Spirit.