The Relevance of the Bhagavadgita to Humanity

The First Six Chapters of the Bhagavadgita

by Swami Krishnananda

Chapter 8: The Realism and Idealism of the Bhagavadgita

In our understanding of the message of the Bhagavadgita, we may have to move stage by stage, keeping in view the development of thought in a systematic manner which characterises the different chapters of the text. We may say, using a modern philosophical expression, that the Bhagavadgita is both idealistic and realistic. It is uncompromisingly idealistic in the sense that it holds an ultimately valid transcendent principle to be the final deciding factor in all matters, in everything in this creation. There is a final valid deciding factor which is cosmically relevant and harmonious, appropriately juxtaposed with every event in the universe, and existing as the very root of any meaning that we can read in anything, anywhere. In this sense, it is supremely idealistic because it holds an ideal which transcends phenomena available to the senses, and even to the mind and the intellect. But it is very realistic also, as we shall see when we proceed along the different levels of its teaching. It ignores no aspect of the manifestation of reality.

Realism is that principle of acceptance of the validity of the presence of reality in anything, whatever be the measure of its expression in any given level. In everything there is a presence of something we call real. Everything is characterised by something which we call reality. Things are not unreal. We seem to feel that things are real, but they are real in some degree, in some measure, in some proportion, and in some condition. There seem to be degrees in the expression of the reality of things and events in the world. All things that we consider as real in any sense are to that extent real, no doubt, but they are not all equally real. There is a gradation of values dependent on the measure or the percentage of the expression of reality. Something is more real, something is less real, notwithstanding the fact that that even the less real is real. Merely because of the fact that the lesser reality is below the level of the higher reality, it does not follow that the lesser reality can brook any kind of non-recognition of its existence. It cannot be ignored in any way, because it is a reality. Though it is only a finger of reality, not the brain, not the heart, not the whole body, it is, nevertheless, a part of reality. It says, “I am also here.” To the extent it is there, it demands recognition.

This is the realism of the Bhagavadgita – intensely practical, very matter-of-fact, considering every issue from its own point of view. This is very important for us to remember: Every issue has to be understood from its point of view, not necessarily from my point of view or somebody else's point of view. The granting of a value to a thing from its point of view is the greatest generosity and cultured behaviour we can think of. I must respect you from your point of view, and not from my own idea about you. That would be an uncharitable attitude on my part. I must know what kind of person you are, at least from your own point of view, and I should be good enough, charitable enough, kind enough and sensitive enough to recognise the fact of your holding some opinion about yourself. This is wisdom which includes the idealism and the realism of the matter, and Bhagavan Sri Krishna, the spokesman of the Bhagavadgita, is a grand culmination of the blend of perfect realism and idealism. It is a wonder, really, to visualise that personality in which we have a synthesis of everything grand, perfect, majestic, beautiful, ideal, and yet very real to the core from the point of view of any level of the expression of reality at any given moment of time.

You will find, when you cast a glance over the verses of the Bhagavadgita, that it ranges from the most immediate of facts to the most ultimate of ideals. It does not begin with a lofty ideal; it follows a proper educational psychology, the method adopted by a good teacher in a school. The intelligible things are told first, and unintelligible things afterwards. Though the unintelligible things may be greater realities and of more consequence, they are not to be told when they are unintelligible. You should not speak about a step that is not visible to the eyes. We have to confine ourselves to the step that is before our eyes. When we are clear about the step that is before our eyes and place our foot on it, we will automatically see the step that is ahead, which was earlier not visible and unintelligible. So the unintelligible becomes intelligible when a logical method is adopted in the understanding of the values of life.

How does the Bhagavadgita begin? It begins with a most prosaic atmosphere of a political situation, which is the grossest involvement of the human being in public affairs. It is the least that one can do; some people say it is the worst that one can do, and yet it is a reality in its own way. A thing may be the worst, but does it exist? As long as it exists, it enjoys a degree of reality. The worst thing does not become unreal merely because it is worst from some point of view, yet it is the ground on which the edifice of the great gospel is built. The Mahabharata battle is the scene of the commencement of this gospel. We will see a little later why that gory occasion should have been found the most suitable atmosphere for giving this mighty gospel. We shall bestow a little thought on it after some time. Why could not Sri Krishna have called Arjuna by his side many days before, prior to the commencement of the war, and seated him in a holy temple, and given this message to him? Why should he wait for this terrible occasion? That is a question which requires some attention.

However, the point at present is that the Bhagavadgita has a logical approach to facts, which makes it idealistic and realistic. What is meant by idealism? It is the recognition of a higher value than the presently visible one. When we are holding on to an ideal which is yet ahead of us, we are said to be an idealist, but when we do not ignore the level which is just under our foot, we are going to take into consideration even that on which we are seated, we are a realist. So the Bhagavadgita considers very, very forcefully, of course, that there are things ahead of us. The world is not a complete picture of reality. It is one side of the picture of truth, which has many sides, many facets. Because there are realities ahead of us, and the evaluation of them, understanding of them and accepting them is necessary, all philosophy may be said to be idealistic, finally. But no philosophy can be only idealistic if it has to survive in this world, because it has to accept the reality of visible phenomena also. Why should we accept the reality of visible phenomena when we are going to transcend it one day? Why should I not only cling to the ideal which is ahead of me, which I consider as the final reality? This may be an over-enthusiastic, idealistic approach of immature minds. Because of the fact that there is a reality masquerading even through the lowest of values, it becomes important that it has also to be respected. To consider a phenomenon as existing is to consider it as real to that extent, and to say that we will not accord recognition to it would be to miss the point entirely.

Many a time it may appear to us that the Bhagavadgita takes into consideration the context of the political atmosphere of the Mahabharata war. It did not deny that context; it was considered as existing. And some of the replies of Sri Krishna to Arjuna had a political significance. When he refers to the qualities of a warrior, a soldier, and the duties of a person on the battlefield, he emphasises not merely the social aspect but even the politically valid administrative aspect which, from a cursory vision of things, may appear far removed from spirituality, religion, etc.

If there is any complete gospel of what we may call true religion, we have it here before us in the Bhagavadgita. Most religious forms prevalent in the world today are facing a difficulty of their own even in the matter of their survival, due to their ignorance of certain values which are realistically attached to the factors that condition even their existence. A religion cannot survive unless it is real. An unreal religion is unthinkable, and a religion which ignores certain aspects of reality also ignores certain conditions which are necessary for its own existence. It will defeat its own purpose.

Some of the extra-cosmic enthusiasms of religious phases today become a kind of anathema to realistically-minded, socially-minded, politically-minded outlooks in life, not because religion is bad, but a religion that is unrelated to facts of life loses its meaning. And if there is any outlook of the religious ideal which plants itself firmly on even the lowest values of reality, we have here in the Bhagavadgita a grand consummation of that integrated outlook. It is a friend of the poor, and it is also a friend of the Supreme Creator of the universe. From the uttermost poverty of human thought it rises to the pinnacle of divine perfection. Such is the gamut it covers from the lowest to the highest of levels.

So the position which Arjuna maintained, as described for us in the First Chapter, required a lengthy, systematic answer, like the simple mind of a child entering a school requires a gradational teaching from a competent schoolmaster. It is not thrown on the head of the child entirely in one day itself. The whole curriculum is not opened out. Even an entire page is not taught on a particular day. Little by little it is communicated to the receptive mind of the student, only as much as it can munch, chew and swallow and digest, not more. It must take its own time. Undigested food is not food. It is a useless stuff that you have unnecessarily thrown into your tummy. It has to be digested; otherwise, it is better not to take it. So any teaching, to be meaningful, should be also capable of reception, and it can be received only to the extent of the level which one maintains as a student. Everyone knew the level of Arjuna, for instance, the politically motivated soldier in the battlefield. He was not a priest in a temple. He was not a yogi meditating with crossed legs. Nothing of the kind was Arjuna. He was an utter realist of the military type, and what kind of teaching can be given to him? But the militariness of the soldier is one aspect of reality, and it is not the whole reality of him. No man is only a soldier; he is something else also, though we cannot say he is not that. So from the outermost coat of this soldier's uniform, the Gita's teaching goes deep into the very soul of that personality until it reaches its climax.

In the beginning the answers are simple, like a friend speaking to a friend. “No, this is not the way you should speak. This is not proper. You have not understood the situation properly. You are confused in your mind. What you have told me just now is not at all correct.” This is a good friend speaking to a beloved friend. It is a simple, friendly, sympathetic and loving suggestion from a well-meaning comrade to another comrade. “I understand what you say, but this is not a correct point of view. You have been carried away by certain feelings which are not capable of reconciliation with the facts of the situation now. Therefore, please give up this downhearted, dispirited mood. Rise up to the occasion; do your duty, the thing for which you have come here. Get up! Be bold!” This is the whole of the Gita. If you would be ready to accept this much, there is no need to say anything further. Why should you be told anything more than that? When I say this is not okay, you must do that for which you have come here. Why should I tell you anything further than that? That is sufficient. In a way, it looked that the teaching was over.

But the problem was deep-rooted, like a chronic illness. It was not just a surface illness. There was a peculiar kind of inability on the part of the student, Arjuna, in wholly accepting this little friendly suggestion and swallowing it entirely, but he was good enough to accept that he was confused in his mind. In the beginning, there was a pithy suggestion: “Get up and be bold and do what is proper for the occasion.” Arjuna gave a reply: “How would you expect me to do that? You say to get up and be bold, but how is it possible? Do you not appreciate some difficulty here?” And he repeated almost what he said earlier, more concisely. However, he added something more. “I accept that I am not able to understand what is proper. I am confused. What is right and what is wrong is not clear to me. I am dharmasaṁmūḍhacetāḥ (BG 2.7). My mind is completely bereft of the sense of what is proper. Therefore, I approach you, Great One, as a humble disciple. Śiṣyaste 'haṁ: Consider me as your student. Śādhi māṁ: Instruct me. Prapana: I have almost surrendered myself to you. I am at your feet.”

The student has to approach the teacher in this manner. This student should not think he already knows something which the teacher also knows. If that is the case, to that extent he will not be submissive, and he will not be receptive. A deconditioning of the mind is necessary before we try to learn anything. We should not have preconceived notions in our heads and go with some kind of boasted knowledge while we are students. “Empty thyself and I shall fill thee.” But if you have already come filled, what can I give you? One of the conditions of a good student, a studentship or a discipleship, is a total deconditioning of oneself. All preconceived notions should go. It is a clean slate, an empty vessel, a pure mind, a receptive heart, and a submissive attitude.

Now, when the windows are open, rays of light beam forth through every slit of this opening. The doors and windows have to be kept open if the sun is to enter this room. If you have closed every avenue, it will be pitch dark. When the student is open completely from every pore of his personality, the administration of the proper medicine commences in a medical fashion, gradually, slowly: today this, tomorrow that, and so on, taking its own time, not in a hurry. It was done in the context of a perfect master speaking to a perfect student, and giving a message which comprehended all the aspects of the issue, or the problem on hand.

How do you tackle a problem? This may be an administrative aspect of life. Tackling a problem is an administrative issue, but it is also an educational system. Even administration is a process of education. You have to move like a good psychologist, as a good doctor administering treatment to a patient. It is a question of understanding things and approaching a thing only to that extent as would be necessary under a given condition, and not more. You should not point out everything at the same moment. So the immediately visible vesture of your personality is to be taken into consideration.

We have vestures of personality. By vesture, I do not necessarily mean the physical body and the vital sheath, and so on, which philosophers speak of. It is a vesture of your personality, your makeup, your outlook, your attitude, your behaviour, your conduct, your viewpoint, your opinion, your philosophy. All these have certain vestures. They are graded stage by stage.

Our personality is made up of certain levels. The personality of ours looks like an abstract thing. It is not necessarily the physical body. It is abstract in the sense that a human being is also some abstract principle, finally. We cannot say that we are a body, though it looks like we are that only. All the values that we admire in life are not necessarily material and physical, because we have seen that a materially well-placed and physically well-built personality is not necessarily a complete personality, not a satisfied personality. Our involvements are the levels of our personality. Each one has to understand for oneself what are the involvements of oneself. There are immediate involvements, and other subtle ones which come as layers inside, which can be considered a little later. But immediate problems are immediate involvements. A pressing situation which has to be attended to just now is the most immediate involvement of a person, though there are other involvements which are also important enough, and it takes a little time for us to go deep into this issue of what our involvements are. We have to take time to understand that. Sometimes it may look that we are involved in nothing. Some people feel, “What involvement have I got? I am a free man.” It is not so simple as that. Involvement means the recognition of anything outside you as real to the extent it affects your existence. Is there anything real outside you, or is there nothing real outside you? No sensible person will say there is nothing outside them. We feel that there are certain things outside us, and they are real to us, and to the extent that we accord reality to that which is outside us, to that extent we are involved in it. The concession of reality that we have granted to something outside us is also the extent to which we are involved in it, and no one can say that it is not involvement.

Various types of involvements will be unravelled gradually as we move through the chapters of the Bhagavadgita. The lowest involvement, at least as we have it described in the Mahabharata and the Bhagavadgita, is the politically motivated involvement. Every person as a citizen of a nation or a country, every person who is internationally conditioned in some way or the other, is a political unit. And it is difficult for anyone to say that such a condition is absent entirely. Clarified, dispassionate thinking is necessary to accept the extent of this involvement. The security that we require politically and the obligations that we owe politically in any manner determine the extent of our involvement politically. Political involvement does not necessarily mean being an officer in the government or a soldier on the battlefield. Our very existence as a human being, conditioned by an atmosphere of outward administration, is a political involvement. A reply from that point of view also has to be given. It is our obligation to pay a tax. Now, we may think this is not a spiritual instruction. What connection do spirituality and religion have to paying a tax to the government?

We have to understand religion properly, as I mentioned a little before. Religion is not avoiding duty. In fact, the whole of the Bhagavadgita is a gospel of duty. If to be religious is a duty, then religion as a duty, perhaps as a comprehensive duty, will also have the sense to accept various other aspects of duty which have to be included within this comprehensiveness of duty, which is religion. Religion is sometimes said to be the final duty of man, the only duty of man, and so on. But, as I mentioned at the very outset, that would be to take an idealistic view of things, holding on to an ideal which is ahead, and forgetting the fact that which is ahead, in the future, is not unconnected with the present. Realism is the characteristic of the present. Idealism is the characteristic of the future. Now, how can you have only a future without the present?

So the initial answer of Sri Krishna was on the basis of a duty that Arjuna owed from the level of his being a soldier. It was told that Arjuna was a Kshatriya. This raises several questions. Why was he called a Kshatriya? How do we find out who is a Kshatriya? And what is his duty? If we have some way of deciding what are the characteristics of a person, in the light of which we call a person a Kshatriya, and so on, and in that light we are able to decide the duty of a person, we have also to answer another question: Why should that particular person do only that duty, and not some other duty? Why should not a soldier be a priest in a temple? What is the harm? Because it is believed that to be a worshiper in a temple is perhaps a holier occupation than that of a soldier in the battlefield, why should I not be a holy man? Why should I do unholy things as a soldier in the battlefield? These questions may arise in a religious mind: It is better to be a holy man than to be a fighter in the battlefield. Arjuna mentions this. “I shall be a beggar. I shall go to the forest and live the life of a mendicant. Śreyo bhoktuṁ bhaikṣyam apī 'ha loke (BG 2.5): “Is it not good to live on alms and not do this, which you call a duty now?” This will raise some interesting questions which people take notice of and, in answering which, a muddle is made by most people. What is the duty of a person, and how do we find out which person has to perform what duty? Briefly the Bhagavadgita refers to this. It does not give a long commentary, but this brief statement is enough suggestion for a commentary on it.

Many questions arise in this context. Who is to do what duty, and why should anyone do any duty at all? And finally, how will you reconcile yourself to a conflict that is likely to arise in your mind between a future ideal, which you consider as superior, and the present pressing problem, which you consider as inferior? We always have an eye on the superior, better values of life than the inferior ones. If we can get the higher one, why go to the lower? But a reconciliation has to be struck between these two, because the lower one is not an unreal value. We have already considered this issue, that lower realities are not unreal. As long as they are real, they are very, very important and significant. We put our foot into the future only by lifting it from the present. It implies that we are already in the present, and therefore it is a reality. We are not in a vacuum just now. It is not some vacuum reality through which we move. We will move from a lesser reality to a higher reality. These issues are clenched in a few verses in the Second Chapter of the Bhagavadgita, at the very commencement, which you will find very interesting.