The Relevance of the Bhagavadgita to Humanity

The First Six Chapters of the Bhagavadgita

by Swami Krishnananda

Chapter 21: The Two Ways of Yoga

The Fifth Chapter of the Bhagavadgita is a broad discussion of varied themes connecting the philosophical disquisitions of the Third Chapter with the profound concentration laid down and many other similar issues of the Fourth Chapter, and also relating this entire theme to the most practical issue that will be taken up in the Sixth Chapter.

Tadbuddhayas tadātmānas tanniṣṭhās tatparāyaṇāḥ, gacchanty apunarāvṛttiṁ jñānanirdhūtakalmaṣāḥ (BG 5.17). Introducing the subject of the Sixth Chapter, as it were, here is a pronouncement: Non-return to this mortal coil will be the blessing of those whose understanding is perpetually rooted in That, whose entire soul is fixed in That, who have That alone as their sole foundation in life and who have no other goal to aspire for except That. These persons, the blessed ones, the exalted ones, the purified souls who are burnt and burnished in the fire of knowledge with all dross removed from them, they attain to that condition of non-returning to the finitude of life, to mortal existence, to the sorrows to which man is held.

We can be rid of all sorrow; we can be free from every problem. What sorrow can be equal to that sorrow of being compelled to come and go frequently in this incessantly moving cycle of metempsychosis, the push of nature, the urge of evolution, the compulsion of abjectivity and the helpless state of affairs when we have to hang on other things for our existence? But this sorrow can be removed by gradual purification of ourselves, by basking in the sun of this Supernal Being. What that Being is, we have not been told yet. Very little reference is made here in the chapters that we have already traversed to this reference of tat, or That. Some indication is casually made here and there. “Fixed in That, one is free” or “Fix your mind in Me”. Such little suggestions are available, but we have not yet been told specifically as to what 'That' is, or what this 'Me' actually suggests. “Fix your mind in Me, root yourself in Me, and remember Me.” Who is this 'Me'? It is not yet explained.

Now the 'Me' has been replaced by the word 'That', tadbuddhaya: intellect entirely fixed in That. Our intellects are not fixed in any particular thing. Our present state of understanding is something like a judicial that sifts evidences that come from outer sense operations. A new qualitative knowledge cannot arise from such kind of judgment which is nothing but a synthesising agent, a coordinator of issues, a promulgator of ideas which are a logical outcome of material that is already available. New material the intellect of man cannot manufacture. Hence, though there is this internal independence which our understanding, or reason, exercises in being able to cast into a unity of purpose and synthesis the diverse evidences come through the variety of sense perceptions, in this sense we may say that the reason has an independence of its own, an independence which is revealed by its capacity to unify the diversity of sense perceptions which have practically no relation one to the other.

The intellect in man is a passport holder of two kingdoms, as it were, belonging to this world and also to another world which is ruled by a different law altogether. On the borderland of two kingdoms is this intellect located. We have a very crucial, intriguing faculty in us: the understanding, the buddhi, the deciding factor which decides issues. On the one hand, it does not appear to be anything more than a mediator of the actions of the senses. It is like an umpire in a game, yet it maintains its relationship to the parties upon which it is to hold an opinion. In quality, in its individual frame of makeup, it does not seem to be far different from that to which it is related. The intellect is directly connected with this world. It is with the help of our intellect, our understanding, that we are able to know what this world is about, what is to be done here and what is not to be done, and what meaning we are to make out from the knowledge communicated to us by our senses. This work the intellect does. But it does not seem to belong entirely to the sense world.

Philosophers find in this reason of man a transcendent element, apart from its empirical authority which it exercises over the sense operations. It is empirically related to the sense world but transcendentally placed on a high pedestal of an insight into a trans-empirical super-sensible experience, which is the philosopher's stock phrase: apperception rather than perception. The intellect apperceives, it does not simply perceive, so they call it transcendental apperception instead of empirical perception. The capacity to turn back upon oneself is the apperceptive faculty of consciousness. It can turn back upon itself and know itself, and not merely know what is outside it.

The sense organs cannot know themselves. The eye cannot see itself, the ear cannot hear itself. The eye can see what is outside it. While the senses can know what is outside them, and the intellect also has this capacity to understand what is outside, it has also an additional prerogative of the ability to concentrate itself on itself. This feature it exercises by its great power of a new kind of judgment, which is the recognition of unity in things and not merely getting dispersed in the particulars of perceptions. If the intellect were just like the senses in its framework or makeup, it would not have been able to connect the various sense perceptions into a single 'I'. I see, I hear; I am that which sees and hears and tastes and smells and touches. This 'I' is to be identified with a transcendental element operating in the intellect, reflected through the intellect. In Indian philosophical parlance we call it chidabhasa, a reflection of the Atman, the Universal, reflected in this particular medium of the intellect, the reasoning capacity in man.

Now, in this Bhagavadgita verse the word tadbuddhaya, rootedness of the intellect in That, suggests that our faculty of judgment through understanding or reason, which has this dual capacity of objective judgment and subjective self-recognition, should be further enhanced in its capacity of insight. Here is the beginning of yoga practice, actually. While it is necessary to synthesise diverse sense perceptions into a single operation of recognition through understanding, and incipiently this unifying capacity seems to be inherent in the intellect, yet in spite of our synthesising the particulars of sense perceptions, we do not seem to be so much engaged in that which causes this insight in the understanding as in the objective particulars of the world.

Our understanding is outwardly turned, mostly. It is potentially inwardly turned, but practically outwardly turned. Latently we have a universal element operating in us, but patently it is not operating. The patent observation is of an external something, based, of course, theoretically and latently in something which is not of this world. Philosophically we may accept that there is a transcendent element in us, taking philosophy as a theoretical concept, not as a practical experience. But practically this theoretical concept has not become a guideline to us.

The Bhagavadgita wants us to raise this potential in us to a practical operation in our day-to-day existence. This is yoga. The potential has to become the practical. This unifying capacity of the buddhi which is borrowed by it from something which is lying at its background should not simply lie at the back of it as a propelling medium. It should also become its daily contemplated object. The universal element, which is the reason behind the intellect's capacity to synthesise sense perception, should also become its own object of perception, so that we should visualise the universal in our understanding as clearly, distinctly and concretely as we are visualising the so-called objects of the world. Such people are rooted in God. They are those whose intellect is rooted in That. The word 'That' implies the universal God-being in us. In That our whole soul has to be fixed. 'Whole soul' means everything from top to bottom, from head to foot. Whatever we are and whatever we have, all this has to be mustered in into a single focus of attention on this, which alone gives value to our life, and without which we would be shreds of little bits of matter and isolated particulars. There would be no unifying sense in us. I would not even know that I am if this unifying factor were not to operate.

Now, this unifying factor has to rise into conscious action. It should not be lying back in the unconscious level. The whole Atman, the whole Self, the whole being, the entire faculty – understanding, willing, feeling, volition – everything should come together into a single activity, not diversified action. This is to fix the understanding in That, the buddhi in That, the intellect in That, the reason in That, and the whole soul in That: tadātmāna.

Tanniṣṭhāḥ:We have taken a vow to observe this discipline of recognising That, bringing That into the conscious level of our daily life, and concerning ourselves only with That. This is niṣṭhāḥ. Niṣṭhāḥ is a kind of discipline, like the purascharana vrata of japa. Niṣṭhāḥ is a tapas. It is a dedication, a policy that we adopt in our life. It is a vow that we take; it is a holy sacrament. There is nothing for us to think except That, and we want nothing but That. That is tatparāyaṇāḥ. We will no more say, “I want this. I want that.” We shall find all that we want there. Inasmuch as all that we seek here will be found there, there is no point in saying, “I want this. I want that.” So that is our aim, that is our objective, and we are bent upon moving in that direction for that experience only. Such purified ones who are capable of living this kind of life of intense spiritual discipline shall not come back to mortal suffering. Gacchanty apunarāvṛttiṁ: They attain moksha, salvation in God.

Yoga is the way to this experience. This will be explained in the Sixth Chapter, but an introductory remark is made at the end of the Fifth Chapter itself which clinches the issue of this whole concentration which is yoga. Sparśān kṛtvā bahir bāhyāṁś cakṣuś caivāntare bhruvoḥ, prāṇāpānau samau kṛtvā nāsābhyantaracāriṇau (BG 5.27); yatendriyamanobuddhirmunir mokṣaparāyaṇaḥ, vigatecchābhayakrodho yaḥ sadā mukta eva saḥ (BG 5.28): Liberated indeed is that individual even while living in this world who can undergo this discipline that is now going to be described in these two verses. Shutting out all externality from perception is the first requisite. Sparśān kṛtvā bahi: Let the externality in perception be shut out from connection with consciousness.

Our perception of an object involves a dual operation. This is described in detail in Vedanta texts such as the Panchadasi, and in many other scriptures in philosophy. When we perceive an object, the mind is said to be cast in the mould of the shape of that object. But the mind is insentient, basically. It requires to be illuminated by a light from inside. The form of the object into which the mind is cast in the perception of an object is to become self-conscious action. It is not merely the fact of cognising the form of the object, but also converting that cognition into an experience in the form of 'I know this object'. This is a retrospective action of consciousness which attends upon the movement of the mind in respect of the object outside. Unless consciousness charges the mental activity in terms of an object outside, there would not be perception of an object. Just as a copper wire can be electrified by a generator, without which charge it is like any other wire on which one can hang cloth, the mind is dead matter practically, it is one of the evolutes of prakriti. As we have noted earlier, it is also of the gunas: sattva, rajas, tamas. It has no consciousness of its own. It is something like a mirror, which has no light of its own but can reflect light if it is cast on it.

Consciousness is independent of externality. Bahi means 'outward'. The mind is nothing but outwardness of consciousness. We cannot know the actual connection of the mind with the Atman. The Yoga Vasishtha goes into details of this issue of the structure of the mind in its relation to consciousness which is all pervading, sometimes making out that the mind is nothing but restricted consciousness, restricted in the sense of pointedness in a particular spot in space and time. It gets converted, reflected, distorted, becomes topsy-turvy in its operation when it is pulled out of itself. In a way, we may say, to be more specific, the mind is not something independently working outside consciousness. It cannot be outside. It is an unintelligible operation in consciousness itself. This is beyond human comprehension, practically. It is an impulse of what we can call externality, forcing consciousness to be out of itself for the time being. 'Self becoming not-self' is sense perception. Self becoming not-self, the I becoming not-I, the subject for the time being temporarily getting transferred into the form of the object, and tying itself to that object. This is bondage, this is samsara, this is world-experience.

But in yoga practice, careful attention is bestowed on this perceptive operation of consciousness. A very subtle operation is this. Generally, we get muddled up in our perceptions. When we look at a thing, we do not know who actually is looking at the thing. “I look at it.” We make a glib statement, but it is not so simple a matter as that. When we say 'I look', who is looking, and what is it that is looked at? We will find there is an interfusion of various layers of confusion in every act of perception of an object.

The perceiving consciousness can never be other than what it is. This means to say, it cannot move out of itself, which again means to say that it can never become an object; it cannot be pulled in the direction of something outside. Such a kind of thing it cannot subject itself to, yet it seems to be doing something like that, which is unthinkable, as we have it in dream, for instance – the self becoming the not-self, a phantasmagoria presented in an externalised picture of a largely projected universe of dream, which is not possible on the very face of it, and yet it has become possible. We see it as a concrete reality.

The world is a dream. It is an illusion. We are sometimes told that it does not exist at all. If the world is nothing but the outcome of the externalised operation of consciousness, the world should be an illusion indeed because externalisation of consciousness is not possible. It cannot be externalised. That would be to make the Self other than what it is. So if we want the world to be understood in the sense of a topsy-turvy operation of the Self, that is not possible. If that is the case, the world cannot exist. Perhaps it does not really exist. Yet, it is made to appear as if it exists because of the compulsion of consciousness to believe that this topsy-turvy position is the real position. It is standing on its head. The top has become the bottom; the bottom has become the top. The inward has become the outward, and the outward has become the inward, like our face being reflected in a mirror. We see it as if it is outside though it is inside, and it is also distorted. The right is looking left; the left is looking right. This is the world.

But in yoga practice, this force which compels consciousness to move out of itself in an external fashion should be shut out. This is, incidentally, equivalent to shutting out kama krodha, desire and greed. Kāmakrodhaviyuktānāṁ yatīnāṁ yatacetasām, abhito brahmanirvāṇaṁ vartate viditātmanām (BG 5.26) was said earlier in this chapter. Śaknotīhaiva yaḥ soḍhuṁ prāk śarīravimokṣaṇāt, kāmakrodhodbhavaṁ vegaṁ sa yuktaḥ sa sukhī naraḥ (BG 5.23). These are all practically the same things being said: The impulsion of consciousness to move out of itself in the form of the so-called object outside is to be attributed to what we otherwise call kama krodha: desire and greed and anger, propulsion, which is most unjustifiable finally. So shutting out all these impulses, be cautious in this process of pratyahara, abstraction of consciousness. Bāhyāṁ: Let the outward be outward only. How can the universal become outward? That is called creation. If the universal can become an external, creation is possible. Inasmuch as such a thing is not possible, perhaps creation has not taken place.

Well, yoga is conscious of this predicament. Sparśān kṛtvā bahir bāhyāṁś cakṣuś caivāntare bhruvoḥ. Here is a very technical point mentioned. It is to say, literally translated, concentrating one's attention in the middle of the eyebrows. Many people physically look up and gaze at the point midway between the two eyebrows – the ajna chakra, as it is sometimes called – which is said to be the seat of the mind in the waking state. It has a literal significance and also a mystical suggestiveness. Literally, it is good to concentrate the mind on the point midway between the two eyebrows. This is because the mind is said to be located in the brain. Sometimes it is said to be actively operating in the eyes, more properly in the ajna chakra, the point between the two eyebrows. That is the seat of the mind. To concentrate the mind on its own seat would be to bring the mind back to itself. The mind is in the throat in dream and in the heart in deep sleep. Now we are in the waking condition, and therefore it has to be brought back from its external impulses, which may be the reason why here the instruction is given that attention has to be bestowed on the point between the two eyebrows.

Also, it may mean that consciousness has to be brought back to its source. Many a time a suggestion is made to meditate upon the heart. In deep sleep, in samadhi, supreme communion, the mind is said to be lodged in the heart. The heart is the root of the mind. When the mind is in the heart, we go to sleep or we are in an intensely meditative mood. But if it is not in the heart, it is a little above, then we dream. But if it is in the head, we wake up and we are conscious in this world of outward perceptions.

The consciousness has to be brought back to itself. This is the whole business of yoga. It is moving outward, going anywhere, meandering in all the things of sense. It has to be brought back. One of the methods of bringing it back to its own source is to bring it to this particular person which is the subject of perception. My consciousness is in me. I always feel that my intelligence, my reason, my consciousness is emanating from me; and when I look at a thing, it has gone out of me and it is somewhere else. Now, when I do not think of anything outside me, it is in me; I am thinking of myself. This is one peculiar kind of meditation.

This has many expressions in actual practice. One of the methods people adopt is concentrating on oneself. Though this self is not a physical body – it is well known that when we speak of 'oneself' the reference is not to the physical person – yet, the physical person is very important. This body is a very delightful possession of every person. One loves one's own self, no doubt, in a very important sense spiritually; but physically also, one loves one's own self. This cannot be ruled out entirely. “I am the most beautiful person. Others are not so beautiful as I am.” Each one thinks like that, and each one has to see one's face in the mirror.

Now, this seeing oneself in the mirror also is one kind of meditation called darpana yoga. Go on looking at your reflection in the mirror, and do not look at anything else. See yourself. Go on looking at your face in the mirror. You will be very happy because you are seeing yourself. Nobody is more attractive than yourself. Nobody is more beautiful than you, or more interesting, more valuable. “The greatest treasure I am,” each one thinks. The idea is not to concentrate on the body. The suggestion mentioned in this verse is to bring the consciousness from outside objects into oneself through the aperture of this body, and then take it further inward, from the outward perception of totally alienated objects in space to the internal object which is this body, and then bring it further inside into the real me, which is not necessarily this body. The meaning that there is in my face or in my body is imparted to it by something else inside it, which is the real me. My mind is beautiful, not the face which is physical, and I am seeing my mind rather than my body.

Prāṇāpānau samau kṛtvā is also mentioned. In this act of bringing consciousness back, we have also to take into consideration the role that is played by our pranas. The prana is the battery. It is the electrical cell which generates force. It is the powerhouse, the dynamo that pumps energy outward continuously and never allows the mind or consciousness to rest in itself. The prana is outwardly motivated always; therefore, in our attempt at bringing the mind back to the Self, the subdual of the impulse of the prana also is necessary.

It is a controversy in yoga practice whether the prana is to be controlled first or the mind is to be controlled first. Hatha yogins especially feel that the prana should be restrained, and then the mind automatically gets restrained. But raja yogins and more philosophically minded people think that if the mind is controlled, the prana also gets subdued.

The prana is vehemently moving due to the desires and the distractions of the mind. The mind is agitated, and therefore it imparts this agitation to the prana, the vital force. So it heaves up and down. The equidistribution of the prana, which is otherwise necessary for the health of the body, is prevented by distractions of mind. A person with externally motivated passions and desires cannot maintain even good physical health, because physical health has something to do with the equidistribution of vital force, the energy of the prana throughout. A child is very healthy, and looks beautiful because it has no desires. It is all beauty. Every child is beautiful. Whether it is a beggar's child or a king's child, it makes no difference. All are beautiful. Very, very attractive are children, small babies, but they become different when they grow older due to the particular centralisation of psychic and vital energy in objects of sense, in objects of greed and passion, hatred and liking and other things, and particular sense organs. And when a particular sense organ becomes very strong, the prana is actively operating there. It will be very sensitive. A very sensitive sense organ which is craving for a particular object of its satisfaction will draw all the energy to itself, and other parts of the body will be deprived of that force. This is sickness. So a person filled with unholy desires, passions which are concentrated in located finite objects, will be physically sick. And in yoga, of course, we need not mention that the tendency of the mind to cast the prana in the mould of objects outside should be prevented.

The Yoga Vasishtha mentions that both practices are permissible. “O Rama,” says Vasishtha, “there are two ways of yoga. One is control of the prana; another is control of the mind. For the destruction of this propelling, externalising activity of the chitta, two ways can be adopted. Yoga and jnana are the two ways.” By yoga here Vasishtha means yogaś-citta-vṛtti-nirodhaḥ: the subdual of the vrittis of the mind together with the uneven activity of the pranas – prana, apana, samana, udana, vyana. That is yoga. According to this verse, yoga means the restraining of the vrittis. Vritti means the activity of the mind in terms of some external object. Thinking some object is called vritti, and this has to be withdrawn. That is yoga. This is also the yoga of Patanjali. But jnana is equally perceiving the same thing everywhere. You do not see many things; you are seeing the same thing. Wherever you cast your eyes, one thing only is seen. That is jnana.

Now, we can control these impulses either by pranayama or by mental concentration. It is sometimes compared to the action of stopping the movement of a clock. If I want to stop the movement of a clock, I will go and hold that pointer. The needle must be held, and then it will not move. Then inside, the mechanism also stops. That ticking will stop immediately when we go and touch the hand of the clock and do not allow it to move. That is one way of stopping the mechanism from inside. Otherwise, we will catch hold of the cog inside, the central wheel, and not allow it to move. Then the outer pointer also will not move. So we can stop the inner working of the vrittis of the mind either by catching hold of the external activity of the prana, which is something like catching the pointer here outside, or by stopping the cog inside, the central wheel which is the mind itself. Either way it is permissible. The best way, according to Swami Sivanandaji Maharaj and such uniformly altitudinous yogis is that we must have a proportionate distribution of attitude to both. Both are necessary. Take advantage of both the values: a little bit of exercise of the prana by normal breathing, and also at the same time, a simultaneous wish to withdraw one's desires.

So prāṇāpānau samau kṛtvā nāsābhyantaracāriṇau. This is a technical subject here again. The breath flows through the right nostril and through the left nostril, sometimes through the right and sometimes through the left. I do not want to go into the details of all this. The intention is to harmonise them in such a way that the breath does not flow through any particular nostril, either the right or the left, but gets distributed evenly in such a way that it looks as if it has stopped. That is called kumbhaka. With this I close today. This subject will continue tomorrow.