Bhagavad-Gita
Commentary
Most of us have heard the story of the centipede who, when asked how he
managed to walk with so many legs, could no longer do so, but tangled
his legs hopelessly in the attempt to intellectually figure it out and
ended up on his back, helpless.
This is not unlike the person who attempts to plumb the depths of
oriental scriptures. Right away it becomes evident that they consist of
incalculable layers, nearly all symbolic in nature. Furthermore, the
meanings of the symbols are not consistent, changing according to the
levels on which they occur. For example, on one level water symbolizes
the mind, on another level the constant flux of samsara,
and on another the subtle
life-currents known as prana. This being the case,
our Western linear mode of thought becomes as entangled and disabled as
the fabled centipede. Knowing this to be so, I have decided to avoid
the Lorelei of subtle symbolism and concentrate instead on the
obviously practical side of Krishna teachings in the Bhagavad Gita
Having stated
this, in complete
consistency with oriental thought, I shall contradict myself and
consider the symbolism encountered in the first chapter of the Gita.
We find ourselves on Kurukshetra, a field of impending battle.
It is not as vast as our Hollywood-epic-shaped minds might imagine, as
can be seen for oneself by a visit to Kurukshetra, now also a sizeable
modern city in Northern India, not very far from Delhi. At one end is a
hillock topped with a great tree under which the visitor finds a
life-sized reproduction in marble of the type of chariot used in the
battle. This is the vantage point from which Arjuna, the great warrior,
and Sri Krishna looked out over the field. Today its tranquility is
charming, despite the strong feeling in the air that something
tremendously momentous occurred there in the distant past. It is both
awesome and soothing.
For background information regarding how the battleground came to be
thronged with soldiers, chariots, elephants and the other paraphernalia
of a deadly war, see the introductory essay, "Gita and Mahabharata" in
Swami Prabhavananda's unparalleled translation The Song of God. This is
the translation I will be using in these essays on the Gita. Suffice it
to say that the two opposing armies are very easy to morally identify.
The Kauravas,led by the murderous Prince Duryodhana, are fundamentally
evil, although many honorable men have, through various complicated
alliances and obligations, found themselves among their ranks. The
Pandavas, headed by the virtuous and noble Yudhisthira, the eldest
brother of Arjuna, are embodiments of all that is good, among them
being the divine Sri Krishna himself who chose to be the charioteer of
Arjuna.
The symbolism is not very hard to figure out (leaving aside the complex
matter of assigning a symbolic meaning to every person named in the
battle narrative). Kurukshetra is the personality? particularly the
mind (intellect)? of the individual, awakened seeker for higher
consciousness. Such a seeker, determined to end the whirling cycle of
birth and death, finds that his aspiration itself has inspired
opposition from within his own mind and heart, where good and evil,
truth and falsehood, ignorance and wisdom, like the Kauravas and
Pandavas, have drawn themselves up in readiness for a conflict that
must end in the annihilation of one side or the other. Even more
daunting is the fact that much considered "good" is found lining up in
support of negativity, and most of the "Pandava" side will also be
blotted out in the eventual transmutation of the individual into a
higher state of being itself, much as the endearing ways of infancy and
childhood must be eradicated at the advent of adulthood and replaced
with completely different virtues.
In the chariot set betwixt the two armies we find Arjuna and Krishna.
Many interpretations of these two pivotal figures are possible, nearly
all of them correct, but the words of the Mundaka Upanishad, written
long before the Gita, are certainly worthy of our attention.
"Like two birds of golden plumage, inseparable companions, the
individual self and the immortal Self are perched on the branches of
the selfsame tree. The former tastes of the sweet and bitter fruits of
the tree; the latter, tasting of neither, calmly observes.
"The individual self, deluded by forgetfulness of his identity with the
divine Self, bewildered by his ego, grieves and is sad. But when he
recognizes the worshipful Lord as his own true Self, and beholds his
glory, he grieves no more."
These two paragraphs are a perfect summary of the entire Gita. Arjuna
is the bewildered and sorrowing atman, the
individual self, and
Krishna is the divine Paramatma, the Supreme Self
from which the atman derives its very being and existence. Forgetful of
its true nature as part of the Infinite Spirit, the finite spirit
passes through countless experiences that confuse and pain it,
producing utterly false conclusions that compound and perpetuate the
confusion and pain. Only when the perspective of the Divine Self is
entered into, can its troubles cease. We can also think of Arjuna as
our lower mortal self, and Krishna as our higher immortal self. Krishna
and Arjuna thus represent both God and Man and our own (presently) dual
nature as mortal and immortal. Keeping this perspective before us, the
ensuing dialogue which forms the Gita is to be seen both as God's
communication to human beings and the communication of our own divine
self with our human self-liberation of the spirit (moksha) being their
sole intention.
In the opening verse of the Gita, King Dhritarashtra, father of Prince
Duryodhana, asks his minister and charioteer, Sanjaya:
"Tell me, Sanjaya, what my sons and the sons of Pandu did, when they
gathered on the sacred field of Kurukshetra, eager for battle?
The word Swami Prabhavananda renders "sacred field" is dharmakshetra?
the field of dharma. Dharma usually means the
right way of
thought and action, but it can also mean the accurate expression of
one's own dominant character, for dharma also means "quality." This
entire world is a dharmakshetra, a field upon which we act out the
character of our inner makeup i.e., the quality of our emotions, mind,
intellect, and will (not our ultimate being as spirit). We as
individuals are each a dharmic field, expressing the actuality of our
present level of evolution.
As already said, when we take stock of the inner conflict, we identify
with both sides. Thinking that if they are dissolved or destroyed "we"
will cease to exist, we are appalled and feel that our very existence
is threatened. Then, like all human beings who do not like the truth
when they see or hear it, we become "confused" and try to avoid the
unpleasant prospect. Bitter as death seems the inner battle, so we
shrink from it and desperately try to find a way out.
So does Arjuna. In a lengthy and impassioned monologue he presents to
Krishna his "confusion," which is really a plea to inaction, to
avoidance of conflict, thinking that such a negative condition is
peace, whereas peace is a positive state, not the mere absence of
unrest and conflict. It is also reached only through unrest and
conflict, however little we like the fact.
Running away from spiritual obligation and therefore spiritual life
itself is a common activity of the awakening soul, which brings all its
ingenuity to bear on justification of such avoidance. Arjuna veils his
aversion with words of compassion for others, when in actuality he is
the sole object of his "compassion." He simply does not wish to see
others suffer because that will make him suffer and feel guilty for
their suffering. Krishna makes this clear to him. The Stoic, Epictetus,
was once visited by a man who told him that he loved his daughter so
much he had run from the house rather than see her suffering from
illness. Carefully, gently yet firmly, Epictetus led him to understand
that it was his self-love that motivated him, not love for his child.
It is the same with us; ego-involvement addiction, actually grips us,
and we are the only ones who can free ourselves from it. And battle is
the only means.
Swami Nirmalananda Giri is the
abbot of Atma Jyoti
Ashram, a traditional Hindu monastery in the small desert town of
Borrego Springs in southern California. He has written extensively on
spiritual subjects, especially about meditation and about the inner,
practical side of the world's religions. More of his writings may be
found at the Ashram's website, http://www.atmajyoti.org.
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Bhagavad
Gita
The Bhagavad-Gita is the main source-book on yoga and a concise summary
of India's Vedic wisdom. Yet remarkably, the setting for this
best-known classic of spiritual literature is an ancient Indian
battlefield.
