Chapter seven from Karma Yoga
CHAPTER VII
FREEDOM
In addition to meaning work, we have stated that psychologically the word
Karma also implies causation. Any work, any action, any thought that produces
an effect is called a Karma. Thus the law of Karma means the law of causation,
of inevitable cause and sequence. Wheresoever there is a cause, there an effect
must be produced; this necessity cannot be resisted, and this law of Karma,
according to our philosophy, is true throughout the whole universe. Whatever
we see, or feel, or do, whatever action there is anywhere in the universe, while
being the effect of past work on the one hand, becomes, on the other, a cause in
its turn, and produces its own effect. It is necessary, together with this, to
consider what is meant by the word "law". By law is meant the tendency of a
series to repeat itself. When we see one event followed by another, or
sometimes happening simultaneously with another, we expect this sequence or
co-existence to recur. Our old logicians and philosophers of the Nyâyâ school
call this law by the name of Vyâpti. According to them, all our ideas of law are
due to association. A series of phenomena becomes associated with things in
our mind in a sort of invariable order, so that whatever we perceive at any time
is immediately referred to other facts in the mind. Any one idea or, according
to our psychology, any one wave that is produced in the mind-stuff, Chitta,
must always give rise to many similar waves. This is the psychological idea of
association, and causation is only an aspect of this grand pervasive principle of
association. This pervasiveness of association is what is, in Sanskrit, called
Vyâpti. In the external world the idea of law is the same as in the internal —
the expectation that a particular phenomenon will be followed by another, and
that the series will repeat itself. Really speaking, therefore, law does not exist
in nature. Practically it is an error to say that gravitation exists in the earth, or
that there is any law existing objectively anywhere in nature. Law is the
method, the manner in which our mind grasps a series of phenomena; it is all in
the mind. Certain phenomena, happening one after another or together, and
followed by the conviction of the regularity of their recurrence — thus enabling
our minds to grasp the method of the whole series — constitute what we call
law.
The next question for consideration is what we mean by law being universal.
Our universe is that portion of existence which is characterized by what the
Sanskrit psychologists call Desha-kâla-nimitta, or what is known to European
psychology as space, time, and causation. This universe is only a part of
infinite existence, thrown into a peculiar mould, composed of space, time, and
causation. It necessarily follows that law is possible only within this
conditioned universe; beyond it there cannot be any law. When we speak of the
universe, we only mean that portion of existence which is limited by our mind
— the universe of the senses, which we can see, feel, touch, hear, think of,
imagine. This alone is under law; but beyond it existence cannot be subject to
law, because causation does not extend beyond the world of our minds.
Anything beyond the range of our mind and our senses is not bound by the law
of causation, as there is no mental association of things in the region beyond
the senses, and no causation without association of ideas. It is only when
"being'' or existence gets moulded into name and form that it obeys the law of
causation, and is said to be under law; because all law has its essence in
causation. Therefore we see at once that there cannot be any such thing as free
will; the very words are a contradiction, because will is what we know, and
everything that we know is within our universe, and everything within our
universe is moulded by the conditions of space, time, and causation. Everything
that we know, or can possibly know, must be subject to causation, and that
which obeys the law of causation cannot be free. It is acted upon by other
agents, and becomes a cause in its turn. But that which has become converted
into the will, which was not the will before, but which, when it fell into this
mould of space, time, and causation, became converted into the human will, is
free; and when this will gets out of this mould of space, time, and causation, it
will be free again. From freedom it comes, and becomes moulded into this
bondage, and it gets out and goes back to freedom again.
The question has been raised as to from whom this universe comes, in whom it
rests, and to whom it goes; and the answer has been given that from freedom it
comes, in bondage it rests, and goes back into that freedom again. So, when we
speak of man as no other than that infinite being which is manifesting itself, we
mean that only one very small part thereof is man; this body and this mind
which we see are only one part of the whole, only one spot of the infinite being.
This whole universe is only one speck of the infinite being; and all our laws,
our bondages, our joys and our sorrows, our happinesses and our expectations,
are only within this small universe; all our progression and digression are
within its small compass. So you see how childish it is to expect a continuation
of this universe — the creation of our minds — and to expect to go to heaven,
which after all must mean only a repetition of this world that we know. You see
at once that it is an impossible and childish desire to make the whole of infinite
existence conform to the limited and conditioned existence which we know.
When a man says that he will have again and again this same thing which he is
hating now, or, as I sometimes put it, when he asks for a comfortable religion,
you may know that he has become so degenerate that he cannot think of
anything higher than what he is now; he is just his little present surroundings
and nothing more. He has forgotten his infinite nature, and his whole idea is
confined to these little joys, and sorrows, and heart-jealousies of the moment.
He thinks that this finite thing is the infinite; and not only so, he will not let this
foolishness go. He clings on desperately unto Trishnâ, and the thirst after life,
what the Buddhists call Tanhâ and Tissâ. There may be millions of kinds of
happiness, and beings, and laws, and progress, and causation, all acting outside
the little universe that we know; and, after all, the whole of this comprises but
one section of our infinite nature.
To acquire freedom we have to get beyond the limitations of this universe; it
cannot be found here. Perfect equilibrium, or what the Christians call the peace
that passeth all understanding, cannot be had in this universe, nor in heaven,
nor in any place where our mind and thoughts can go, where the senses can
feel, or which the imagination can conceive. No such place can give us that
freedom, because all such places would be within our universe, and it is limited
by space, time, and causation. There may be places that are more ethereal than
this earth of ours, where enjoyments may be keener, but even those places must
be in the universe and, therefore, in bondage to law; so we have to go beyond,
and real religion begins where this little universe ends. These little joys, and
sorrows, and knowledge of things end there, and the reality begins. Until we
give up the thirst after life, the strong attachment to this our transient
conditioned existence we have no hope of catching even a glimpse of that
infinite freedom beyond. It stands to reason then that there is only one way to
attain to that freedom which is the goal of all the noblest aspirations of
mankind, and that is by giving up this little life, giving up this little universe,
giving up this earth, giving up heaven, giving up the body, giving up the mind,
giving up everything that is limited and conditioned. If we give up our
attachment to this little universe of the senses or of the mind, we shall be free
immediately. The only way to come out of bondage is to go beyond the
limitations of law, to go beyond causation.
But it is a most difficult thing to give up the clinging to this universe; few ever
attain to that. There are two ways to do that mentioned in our books. One is
called the "Neti, Neti" (not this, not this), the other is called "Iti" (this); the
former is the negative, and the latter is the positive way. The negative way is
the most difficult. It is only possible to the men of the very highest, exceptional
minds and gigantic wills who simply stand up and say, "No, I will not have
this," and the mind and body obey their will, and they come out successful. But
such people are very rare. The vast majority of mankind choose the positive
way, the way through the world, making use of all the bondages themselves to
break those very bondages. This is also a kind of giving up; only it is done
slowly and gradually, by knowing things, enjoying things and thus obtaining
experience, and knowing the nature of things until the mind lets them all go at
last and becomes unattached. The former way of obtaining non-attachment is
by reasoning, and the latter way is through work and experience. The first is the
path of Jnâna-Yoga, and is characterized by the refusal to do any work; the
second is that of Karma-Yoga, in which there is no cessation from work. Every
one must work in the universe. Only those who are perfectly satisfied with the
Self, whose desires do not go beyond the Self, whose mind never strays out of
the Self, to whom the Self is all in all, only those do not work. The rest must
work. A current rushing down of its own nature falls into a hollow and makes a
whirlpool, and, after running a little in that whirlpool, it emerges again in the
form of the free current to go on unchecked Each human life is like that
current. It gets into the whirl, gets involved in this world of space, time, and
causation, whirls round a little, crying out, "my father, my brother, my name,
my fame", and so on, and at last emerges out of it and regains its original
freedom. The whole universe is doing that. Whether we know it or not, whether
we are conscious or unconscious of it, we are all working to get out of the
dream of the world. Man's experience in the world is to enable him to get out of
its whirlpool.
What is Karma-Yoga? The knowledge of the secret of work. We see that the
whole universe is working. For what? For salvation, for liberty; from the atom
to the highest being, working for the one end, liberty for the mind, for the body,
for the spirit. All things are always trying to get freedom, flying away from
bondage. The sun, the moon, the earth, the planets, all are trying to fly away
from bondage. The centrifugal and the centripetal forces of nature are indeed
typical of our universe. Instead of being knocked about in this universe, and
after long delay and thrashing, getting to know things as they are, we learn
from Karma-Yoga the secret of work, the method of work, the organising
power of work. A vast mass of energy may be spent in vain if we do not know
how to utilise it. Karma-Yoga makes a science of work; you learn by it how
best to utilise all the workings of this world. Work is inevitable, it must be so;
but we should work to the highest purpose. Karma-Yoga makes us admit that
this world is a world of five minutes, that it is a something we have to pass
through; and that freedom is not here, but is only to be found beyond. To find
the way out of the bondages of the world we have to go through it slowly and
surely. There may be those exceptional persons about whom I just spoke, those
who can stand aside and give up the world, as a snake casts off its skin and
stands aside and looks at it. There are no doubt these exceptional beings; but
the rest of mankind have to go slowly through the world of work. Karma-Yoga
shows the process, the secret, and the method of doing it to the best advantage.
What does it say? "Work incessantly, but give up all attachment to work." Do
not identify yourself with anything. Hold your mind free. All this that you see,
the pains and the miseries, are but the necessary conditions of this world;
poverty and wealth and happiness are but momentary; they do not belong to
our real nature at all. Our nature is far beyond misery and happiness, beyond
every object of the senses, beyond the imagination; and yet we must go on
working all the time. "Misery comes through attachment, not through work."
As soon as we identify ourselves with the work we do, we feel miserable; but if
we do not identify ourselves with it, we do not feel that misery. If a beautiful
picture belonging to another is burnt, a man does not generally become
miserable; but when his own picture is burnt, how miserable he feels! Why?
Both were beautiful pictures, perhaps copies of the same original; but in one
case very much more misery is felt than in the other. It is because in one case
he identifies himself with the picture, and not in the other. This "I and mine"
causes the whole misery. With the sense of possession comes selfishness, and
selfishness brings on misery. Every act of selfishness or thought of selfishness
makes us attached to something, and immediately we are made slaves. Each
wave in the Chitta that says "I and mine" immediately puts a chain round us
and makes us slaves; and the more we say "I and mine", the more slavery
grows, the more misery increases. Therefore Karma-Yoga tells us to enjoy the
beauty of all the pictures in the world, but not to identify ourselves with any of
them. Never say "mine". Whenever we say a thing is "mine", misery will
immediately come. Do not even say "my child" in your mind. Possess the child,
but do not say "mine". If you do, then will come the misery. Do not say “my
house," do not say "my body". The whole difficulty is there. The body is
neither yours, nor mine, nor anybody's. These bodies are coming and going by
the laws of nature, but we are free, standing as witness. This body is no more
free than a picture or a wall. Why should we be attached so much to a body? If
somebody paints a picture, he does it and passes on. Do not project that tentacle
of selfishness, "I must possess it". As soon as that is projected, misery will
begin.
So Karma-Yoga says, first destroy the tendency to project this tentacle of
selfishness, and when you have the power of checking it, hold it in and do not
allow the mind to get into the ways of selfishness. Then you may go out into
the world and work as much as you can. Mix everywhere, go where you please;
you will never be contaminated with evil. There is the lotus leaf in the water;
the water cannot touch and adhere to it; so will you be in the world. This is
called "Vairâgya", dispassion or non-attachment. I believe I have told you that
without non-attachment there cannot be any kind of Yoga. Non-attachment is
the basis of all the Yogas. The man who gives up living in houses, wearing fine
clothes, and eating good food, and goes into the desert, may be a most attached
person. His only possession, his own body, may become everything to him; and
as he lives he will be simply struggling for the sake of his body. Nonattachment
does not mean anything that we may do in relation to our external
body, it is all in the mind. The binding link of "I and mine" is in the mind. If we
have not this link with the body and with the things of the senses, we are nonattached,
wherever and whatever we may be. A man may be on a throne and
perfectly non-attached; another man may be in rags and still very much
attached. First, we have to attain this state of non-attachment and then to work
incessantly. Karma-Yoga gives us the method that will help us in giving up all
attachment, though it is indeed very hard.
Here are the two ways of giving up all attachment. The one is for those who do
not believe in God, or in any outside help. They are left to their own devices;
they have simply to work with their own will, with the powers of their mind
and discrimination, saying, "I must be non-attached". For those who believe in
God there is another way, which is much less difficult. They give up the fruits
of work unto the Lord; they work and are never attached to the results.
Whatever they see, feel, hear, or do, is for Him. For whatever good work we
may do, let us not claim any praise or benefit. It is the Lord’s; give up the fruits
unto Him. Let us stand aside and think that we are only servants obeying the
Lord, our Master, and that every impulse for action comes from Him every
moment. Whatever thou worshippest, whatever thou perceivest, whatever thou
doest, give up all unto Him and be at rest. Let us be at peace, perfect peace,
with ourselves, and give up our whole body and mind and everything as an
eternal sacrifice unto the Lord. Instead of the sacrifice of pouring oblations into
the fire, perform this one great sacrifice day and night — the sacrifice of your
little self. "In search of wealth in this world, Thou art the only wealth I have
found; I sacrifice myself unto Thee. In search of some one to be loved, Thou
art the only one beloved I have found; I sacrifice myself unto Thee." Let us
repeat this day and night, and say, "Nothing for me; no matter whether the
thing is good, bad, or indifferent; I do not care for it; I sacrifice all unto Thee."
Day and night let us renounce our seeming self until it becomes a habit with us
to do so, until it gets into the blood, the nerves, and the brain, and the whole
body is every moment obedient to this idea of self-renunciation. Go then into
the midst of the battlefield, with the roaring cannon and the din of war, and you
will find yourself to be free and at peace.
Karma-Yoga teaches us that the ordinary idea of duty is on the lower plane;
nevertheless, all of us have to do our duty. Yet we may see that this peculiar
sense of duty is very often a great cause of misery. Duty becomes a disease
with us; it drags us ever forward. It catches hold of us and makes our whole life
miserable. It is the bane of human life. This duty, this idea of duty is the
midday summer sun which scorches the innermost soul of mankind. Look at
those poor slaves to duty! Duty leaves them no time to say prayers, no time to
bathe. Duty is ever on them. They go out and work. Duty is on them! They
come home and think of the work for the next day. Duty is on them! It is living
a slave's life, at last dropping down in the street and dying in harness, like a
horse. This is duty as it is understood. The only true duty is to be unattached
and to work as free beings, to give up all work unto God. All our duties are His.
Blessed are we that we are ordered out here. We serve our time; whether we do
it ill or well, who knows? If we do it well, we do not get the fruits. If we do it
ill, neither do we get the care. Be at rest, be free, and work. This kind of
freedom is a very hard thing to attain. How easy it is to interpret slavery as duty
— the morbid attachment of flesh for flesh as duty! Men go out into the world
and struggle and fight for money or for any other thing to which they get
attached. Ask them why they do it. They say, "It is a duty”. It is the absurd
greed for gold and gain, and they try to cover it with a few flowers.
What is duty after all? It is really the impulsion of the flesh, of our attachment;
and when an attachment has become established, we call it duty. For instance,
in countries where there is no marriage, there is no duty between husband and
wife; when marriage comes, husband and wife live together on account of
attachment; and that kind of living together becomes settled after generations;
and when it becomes so settled, it becomes a duty. It is, so to say, a sort of
chronic disease. When it is acute, we call it disease; when it is chronic, we call
it nature. It is a disease. So when attachment becomes chronic, we baptise it
with the high sounding name of duty. We strew flowers upon it, trumpets
sound for it, sacred texts are said over it, and then the whole world fights, and
men earnestly rob each other for this duty's sake. Duty is good to the extent that
it checks brutality. To the lowest kinds of men, who cannot have any other
ideal, it is of some good; but those who want to be Karma-Yogis must throw
this idea of duty overboard. There is no duty for you and me. Whatever you
have to give to the world, do give by all means, but not as a duty. Do not take
any thought of that. Be not compelled. Why should you be compelled?
Everything that you do under compulsion goes to build up attachment. Why
should you have any duty? Resign everything unto God. In this tremendous
fiery furnace where the fire of duty scorches everybody, drink this cup of
nectar and be happy. We are all simply working out His will, and have nothing
to do with rewards and punishments. If you want the reward, you must also
have the punishment; the only way to get out of the punishment is to give up
the reward. The only way of getting out of misery is by giving up the idea of
happiness, because these two are linked to each other. On one side there is
happiness, on the other there is misery. On one side there is life, on the other
there is death. The only way to get beyond death is to give up the love of life.
Life and death are the same thing, looked at from different points. So the idea
of happiness without misery, or of life without death, is very good for schoolboys
and children; but the thinker sees that it is all a contradiction in terms and
gives up both. Seek no praise, no reward, for anything you do. No sooner do
we perform a good action than we begin to desire credit for it. No sooner do we
give money to some charity than we want to see our names blazoned in the
papers. Misery must come as the result of such desires. The greatest men in the
world have passed away unknown. The Buddhas and the Christs that we know
are but second-rate heroes in comparison with the greatest men of whom the
world knows nothing. Hundreds of these unknown heroes have lived in every
country working silently. Silently they live and silently they pass away; and in
time their thoughts find expression in Buddhas or Christs, and it is these latter
that become known to us. The highest men do not seek to get any name or fame
from their knowledge. They leave their ideas to the world; they put forth no
claims for themselves and establish no schools or systems in their name. Their
whole nature shrinks from such a thing. They are the pure Sâttvikas, who can
never make any stir, but only melt down in love. I have seen one such Yogi
who lives in a cave in India. He is one of the most wonderful men I have ever
seen. He has so completely lost the sense of his own individuality that we may
say that the man in him is completely gone, leaving behind only the all
comprehending sense of the divine. If an animal bites one of his arms, he is
ready to give it his other arm also, and say that it is the Lord's will. Everything
that comes to him is from the Lord. He does not show himself to men, and yet
he is a magazine of love and of true and sweet ideas.
Next in order come the men with more Rajas, or activity, combative natures,
who take up the ideas of the perfect ones and preach them to the world. The
highest kind of men silently collect true and noble ideas, and others — the
Buddhas and Christs — go from place to place preaching them and working for
them. In the life of Gautama Buddha we notice him constantly saying that he is
the twenty-fifth Buddha. The twenty-four before him are unknown to history,
although the Buddha known to history must have built upon foundations laid
by them. The highest men are calm, silent, and unknown. They are the men
who really know the power of thought; they are sure that, even if they go into a
cave and close the door and simply think five true thoughts and then pass away,
these five thoughts of theirs will live through eternity. Indeed such thoughts
will penetrate through the mountains, cross the oceans, and travel through the
world. They will enter deep into human hearts and brains and raise up men and
women who will give them practical expression in the workings of human life.
These Sattvika men are too near the Lord to be active and to fight, to be
working, struggling, preaching and doing good, as they say, here on earth to
humanity. The active workers, however good, have still a little remnant of
ignorance left in them. When our nature has yet some impurities left in it, then
alone can we work. It is in the nature of work to be impelled ordinarily by
motive and by attachment. In the presence of an ever active Providence who
notes even the sparrow's fall, how can man attach any importance to his own
work? Will it not be a blasphemy to do so when we know that He is taking care
of the minutest things in the world? We have only to stand in awe and
reverence before Him saying, "Thy will be done". The highest men cannot
work, for in them there is no attachment. Those whose whole soul is gone into
the Self, those whose desires are confined in the Self, who have become ever
associated with the Self, for them there is no work. Such are indeed the highest
of mankind; but apart from them every one else has to work. In so working we
should never think that we can help on even the least thing in this universe. We
cannot. We only help ourselves in this gymnasium of the world. This is the
proper attitude of work. If we work in this way, if we always remember that
our present opportunity to work thus is a privilege which has been given to us,
we shall never be attached to anything. Millions like you and me think that we
are great people in the world; but we all die, and in five minutes the world
forgets us. But the life of God is infinite. "Who can live a moment, breathe a
moment, if this all-powerful One does not will it?" He is the ever active
Providence. All power is His and within His command. Through His command
the winds blow, the sun shines, the earth lives, and death stalks upon the earth.
He is the all in all; He is all and in all. We can only worship Him. Give up all
fruits of work; do good for its own sake; then alone will come perfect nonattachment.
The bonds of the heart will thus break, and we shall reap perfect
freedom. This freedom is indeed the goal of Karma-Yoga.
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chapter six from karma yoga
CHAPTER VI
NON-ATTACHMENT IS COMPLETE SELF-ABNEGATION
Just as every action that emanates from us comes back to us as reaction, even
so our actions may act on other people and theirs on us. Perhaps all of you have
observed it as a fact that when persons do evil actions, they become more and
more evil, and when they begin to do good, they become stronger and stronger
and learn to do good at all times. This intensification of the influence of action
cannot be explained on any other ground than that we can act and react upon
each other. To take an illustration from physical science, when I am doing a
certain action, my mind may be said to be in a certain state of vibration; all
minds which are in similar circumstances will have the tendency to be affected
by my mind. If there are different musical instruments tuned alike in one room,
all of you may have noticed that when one is struck, the others have the
tendency to vibrate so as to give the same note. So all minds that have the same
tension, so to say, will be equally affected by the same thought. Of course, this
influence of thought on mind will vary according to distance and other causes,
but the mind is always open to affection. Suppose I am doing an evil act, my
mind is in a certain state of vibration, and all minds in the universe, which are
in a similar state, have the possibility of being affected by the vibration of my
mind. So, when I am doing a good action, my mind is in another state of
vibration; and all minds similarly strung have the possibility of being affected
by my mind; and this power of mind upon mind is more or less according as
the force of the tension is greater or less.
Following this simile further, it is quite possible that, just as light waves may
travel for millions of years before they reach any object, so thought waves may
also travel hundreds of years before they meet an object with which they
vibrate in unison. It is quite possible, therefore, that this atmosphere of ours is
full of such thought pulsations, both good and evil. Every thought projected
from every brain goes on pulsating, as it were, until it meets a fit object that
will receive it. Any mind which is open to receive some of these impulses will
take them immediately. So, when a man is doing evil actions, he has brought
his mind to a certain state of tension and all the waves which correspond to that
state of tension, and which may be said to be already in the atmosphere, will
struggle to enter into his mind. That is why an evil-doer generally goes on
doing more and more evil. His actions become intensified. Such, also will be
the case with the doer of good; he will open himself to all the good waves that
are in the atmosphere, and his good actions also will become intensified. We
run, therefore, a twofold danger in doing evil: first, we open ourselves to all the
evil influences surrounding us; secondly, we create evil which affects others,
may be hundreds of years hence. In doing evil we injure ourselves and others
also. In doing good we do good to ourselves and to others as well; and, like all
other forces in man, these forces of good and evil also gather strength from
outside.
According to Karma-Yoga, the action one has done cannot be destroyed until it
has borne its fruit; no power in nature can stop it from yielding its results. If I
do an evil action, I must suffer for it; there is no power in this universe to stop
or stay it. Similarly, if I do a good action, there is no power in the universe
which can stop its bearing good results. The cause must have its effect; nothing
can prevent or restrain this. Now comes a very fine and serious question about
Karma-Yoga — namely, that these actions of ours, both good and evil, are
intimately connected with each other. We cannot put a line of demarcation and
say, this action is entirely good and this entirely evil. There is no action which
does not bear good and evil fruits at the same time. To take the nearest
example: I am talking to you, and some of you, perhaps, think I am doing good;
and at the same time I am, perhaps, killing thousands of microbes in the
atmosphere; I am thus doing evil to something else. When it is very near to us
and affects those we know, we say that it is very good action if it affects them
in a good manner. For instance, you may call my speaking to you very good,
but the microbes will not; the microbes you do not see, but yourselves you do
see. The way in which my talk affects you is obvious to you, but how it affects
the microbes is not so obvious. And so, if we analyse our evil actions also, we
may find that some good possibly results from them somewhere. He who in
good action sees that there is something evil in it, and in the midst of evil sees
that there is something good in it somewhere, has known the secret of work.
But what follows from it? That, howsoever we may try, there cannot be any
action which is perfectly pure, or any which is perfectly impure, taking purity
and impurity in the sense of injury and non-injury. We cannot breathe or live
without injuring others, and every bit of the food we eat is taken away from
another’s mouth. Our very lives are crowding out other lives. It may be men, or
animals, or small microbes, but some one or other of these we have to crowd
out. That being the case, it naturally follows that perfection can never be
attained by work. We may work through all eternity, but there will be no way
out of this intricate maze. You may work on, and on, and on; there will be no
end to this inevitable association of good and evil in the results of work.
The second point to consider is, what is the end of work? We find the vast
majority of people in every country believing that there will be a time when
this world will become perfect, when there will be no disease, nor death, nor
unhappiness, nor wickedness. That is a very good idea, a very good motive
power to inspire and uplift the ignorant; but if we think for a moment, we shall
find on the very face of it that it cannot be so. How can it be, seeing that good
and evil are the obverse and reverse of the same coin? How can you have good
without evil at the same time? What is meant by perfection? A perfect life is a
contradiction in terms. Life itself is a state of continuous struggle between
ourselves and everything outside. Every moment we are fighting actually with
external nature, and if we are defeated, our life has to go. It is, for instance, a
continuous struggle for food and air. If food or air fails, we die. Life is not a
simple and smoothly flowing thing, but it is a compound effect. This complex
struggle between something inside and the external world is what we call life.
So it is clear that when this struggle ceases, there will be an end of life.
What is meant by ideal happiness is the cessation of this struggle. But then life
will cease, for the struggle can only cease when life itself has ceased. We have
seen already that in helping the world we help ourselves. The main effect of
work done for others is to purify ourselves. By means of the constant effort to
do good to others we are trying to forget ourselves; this forgetfulness of self is
the one great lesson we have to learn in life. Man thinks foolishly that he can
make himself happy, and after years of struggle finds out at last that true
happiness consists in killing selfishness and that no one can make him happy
except himself. Every act of charity, every thought of sympathy, every action
of help, every good deed, is taking so much of self-importance away from our
little selves and making us think of ourselves as the lowest and the least, and,
therefore, it is all good. Here we find that Jnâna, Bhakti, and Karma — all
come to one point. The highest ideal is eternal and entire self-abnegation,
where there is no "I," but all is "Thou"; and whether he is conscious or
unconscious of it, Karma-Yoga leads man to that end. A religious preacher may
become horrified at the idea of an Impersonal God; he may insist on a Personal
God and wish to keep up his own identity and individuality, whatever he may
mean by that. But his ideas of ethics, if they are really good, cannot but be
based on the highest self-abnegation. It is the basis of all morality; you may
extend it to men, or animals, or angels, it is the one basic idea, the one
fundamental principle running through all ethical systems.
You will find various classes of men in this world. First, there are the Godmen,
whose self-abnegation is complete, and who do only good to others even
at the sacrifice of their own lives. These are the highest of men. If there are a
hundred of such in any country, that country need never despair. But they are
unfortunately too few. Then there are the good men who do good to others so
long as it does not injure themselves. And there is a third class who, to do good
to themselves, injure others. It is said by a Sanskrit poet that there is a fourth
unnamable class of people who injure others merely for injury's sake. Just as
there are at one pole of existence the highest good men, who do good for the
sake of doing good, so, at the other pole, there are others who injure others just
for the sake of the injury. They do not gain anything thereby, but it is their
nature to do evil.
Here are two Sanskrit words. The one is Pravritti, which means revolving
towards, and the other is Nivritti, which means revolving away. The "revolving
towards" is what we call the world, the "I and mine”; it includes all those things
which are always enriching that "me" by wealth and money and power, and
name and fame, and which are of a grasping nature, always tending to
accumulate everything in one centre, that centre being "myself". That is the
Pravritti, the natural tendency of every human being; taking everything from
everywhere and heaping it around one centre, that centre being man's own
sweet self. When this tendency begins to break, when it is Nivritti or "going
away from," then begin morality and religion. Both Pravritti and Nivritti are of
the nature of work: the former is evil work, and the latter is good work. This
Nivritti is the fundamental basis of all morality and all religion, and the very
perfection of it is entire self-abnegation, readiness to sacrifice mind and body
and everything for another being. When a man has reached that state, he has
attained to the perfection of Karma-Yoga. This is the highest result of good
works. Although a man has not studied a single system of philosophy, although
he does not believe in any God, and never has believed, although he has not
prayed even once in his whole life, if the simple power of good actions has
brought him to that state where he is ready to give up his life and all else for
others, he has arrived at the same point to which the religious man will come
through his prayers and the philosopher through his knowledge; and so you
may find that the philosopher, the worker, and the devotee, all meet at one
point, that one point being self-abnegation. However much their systems of
philosophy and religion may differ, all mankind stand in reverence and awe
before the man who is ready to sacrifice himself for others. Here, it is not at all
any question of creed, or doctrine — even men who are very much opposed to
all religious ideas, when they see one of these acts of complete self-sacrifice,
feel that they must revere it. Have you not seen even a most bigoted Christian,
when he reads Edwin Arnold's Light of Asia, stand in reverence of Buddha,
who Preached no God, preached nothing but self-sacrifice? The only thing is
that the bigot does not know that his own end and aim in life is exactly the
same as that of those from whom he differs. The worshipper, by keeping
constantly before him the idea of God and a surrounding of good, comes to the
same point at last and says, "Thy will be done," and keeps nothing to himself.
That is self-abnegation. The philosopher, with his knowledge, sees that the
seeming self is a delusion and easily gives it up. It is self-abnegation. So
Karma, Bhakti, and Jnana all meet here; and this is what was meant by all the
great preachers of ancient times, when they taught that God is not the world.
There is one thing which is the world and another which is God; and this
distinction is very true. What they mean by world is selfishness. Unselfishness
is God. One may live on a throne, in a golden palace, and be perfectly
unselfish; and then he is in God. Another may live in a hut and wear rags, and
have nothing in the world; yet, if he is selfish, he is intensely merged in the
world.
To come back to one of our main points, we say that we cannot do good
without at the same time doing some evil, or do evil without doing some good.
Knowing this, how can we work? There have, therefore, been sects in this
world who have in an astoundingly preposterous way preached slow suicide as
the only means to get out of the world, because if a man lives, he has to kill
poor little animals and plants or do injury to something or some one. So
according to them the only way out of the world is to die. The Jains have
preached this doctrine as their highest ideal. This teaching seems to be very
logical. But the true solution is found in the Gita. It is the theory of nonattachment,
to be attached to nothing while doing our work of life. Know that
you are separated entirely from the world, though you are in the world, and that
whatever you may be doing in it, you are not doing that for your own sake. Any
action that you do for yourself will bring its effect to bear upon you. If it is a
good action, you will have to take the good effect, and if bad, you will have to
take the bad effect; but any action that is not done for your own sake, whatever
it be, will have no effect on you. There is to be found a very expressive
sentence in our scriptures embodying this idea: "Even if he kill the whole
universe (or be himself killed), he is neither the killer nor the killed, when he
knows that he is not acting for himself at all." Therefore Karma-Yoga teaches,
"Do not give up the world; live in the world, imbibe its influences as much as
you can; but if it be for your own enjoyment's sake, work not at all."
Enjoyment should not be the goal. First kill your self and then take the whole
world as yourself; as the old Christians used to say, "The old man must die."
This old man is the selfish idea that the whole world is made for our
enjoyment. Foolish parents teach their children to pray, "O Lord, Thou hast
created this sun for me and this moon for me," as if the Lord has had nothing
else to do than to create everything for these babies. Do not teach your children
such nonsense. Then again, there are people who are foolish in another way:
they teach us that all these animals were created for us to kill and eat, and that
this universe is for the enjoyment of men. That is all foolishness. A tiger may
say, "Man was created for me" and pray, "O Lord, how wicked are these men
who do not come and place themselves before me to be eaten; they are
breaking Your law." If the world is created for us, we are also created for the
world. That this world is created for our enjoyment is the most wicked idea that
holds us down. This world is not for our sake. Millions pass out of it every
year; the world does not feel it; millions of others are supplied in their place.
Just as much as the world is for us, so we also are for the world.
To work properly, therefore, you have first to give up the idea of attachment.
Secondly, do not mix in the fray, hold yourself as a witness and go on working.
My master used to say, "Look upon your children as a nurse does." The nurse
will take your baby and fondle it and play with it and behave towards it as
gently as if it were her own child; but as soon as you give her notice to quit, she
is ready to start off bag and baggage from the house. Everything in the shape of
attachment is forgotten; it will not give the ordinary nurse the least pang to
leave your children and take up other children. Even so are you to be with all
that you consider your own. You are the nurse, and if you believe in God,
believe that all these things which you consider yours are really His. The
greatest weakness often insinuates itself as the greatest good and strength. It is
a weakness to think that any one is dependent on me, and that I can do good to
another. This belief is the mother of all our attachment, and through this
attachment comes all our pain. We must inform our minds that no one in this
universe depends upon us; not one beggar depends on our charity; not one soul
on our kindness; not one living thing on our help. All are helped on by nature,
and will be so helped even though millions of us were not here. The course of
nature will not stop for such as you and me; it is, as already pointed out, only a
blessed privilege to you and to me that we are allowed, in the way of helping
others, to educate ourselves. This is a great lesson to learn in life, and when we
have learned it fully, we shall never be unhappy; we can go and mix without
harm in society anywhere and everywhere. You may have wives and husbands,
and regiments of servants, and kingdoms to govern; if only you act on the
principle that the world is not for you and does not inevitably need you, they
can do you no harm. This very year some of your friends may have died. Is the
world waiting without going on, for them to come again? Is its current stopped?
No, it goes on. So drive out of your mind the idea that you have to do
something for the world; the world does not require any help from you. It is
sheer nonsense on the part of any man to think that he is born to help the world;
it is simply pride, it is selfishness insinuating itself in the form of virtue. When
you have trained your mind and your nerves to realise this idea of the world's
non-dependence on you or on anybody, there will then be no reaction in the
form of pain resulting from work. When you give something to a man and
expect nothing — do not even expect the man to be grateful — his ingratitude
will not tell upon you, because you never expected anything, never thought you
had any right to anything in the way of a return. You gave him what he
deserved; his own Karma got it for him; your Karma made you the carrier
thereof. Why should you be proud of having given away something? You are
the porter that carried the money or other kind of gift, and the world deserved it
by its own Karma. Where is then the reason for pride in you? There is nothing
very great in what you give to the world. When you have acquired the feeling
of non-attachment, there will then be neither good nor evil for you. It is only
selfishness that causes the difference between good and evil. It is a very hard
thing to understand, but you will come to learn in time that nothing in the
universe has power over you until you allow it to exercise such a power.
Nothing has power over the Self of man, until the Self becomes a fool and loses
independence. So, by non-attachment, you overcome and deny the power of
anything to act upon you. It is very easy to say that nothing has the right to act
upon you until you allow it to do so; but what is the true sign of the man who
really does not allow anything to work upon him, who is neither happy nor
unhappy when acted upon by the external world? The sign is that good or ill
fortune causes no change in his mind: in all conditions he continues to remain
the same.
There was a great sage in India called Vyâsa. This Vyâsa is known as the
author of the Vedanta aphorisms, and was a holy man. His father had tried to
become a very perfect man and had failed. His grandfather had also tried and
failed. His great-grandfather had similarly tried and failed. He himself did not
succeed perfectly, but his son, Shuka, was born perfect. Vyasa taught his son
wisdom; and after teaching him the knowledge of truth himself, he sent him to
the court of King Janaka. He was a great king and was called Janaka Videha.
Videha means "without a body". Although a king, he had entirely forgotten that
he was a body; he felt that he was a spirit all the time. This boy Shuka was sent
to be taught by him. The king knew that Vyasa's son was coming to him to
learn wisdom: so he made certain arrangements beforehand. And when the boy
presented himself at the gates of the palace, the guards took no notice of him
whatsoever. They only gave him a seat, and he sat there for three days and
nights, nobody speaking to him, nobody asking him who he was or whence he
was. He was the son of a very great sage, his father was honoured by the whole
country, and he himself was a most respectable person; yet the low, vulgar
guards of the palace would take no notice of him. After that, suddenly, the
ministers of the king and all the big officials came there and received him with
the greatest honours. They conducted him in and showed him into splendid
rooms, gave him the most fragrant baths and wonderful dresses, and for eight
days they kept him there in all kinds of luxury. That solemnly serene face of
Shuka did not change even to the smallest extent by the change in the treatment
accorded to him; he was the same in the midst of this luxury as when waiting at
the door. Then he was brought before the king. The king was on his throne,
music was playing, and dancing and other amusements were going on. The
king then gave him a cup of milk, full to the brim, and asked him to go seven
times round the hall without spilling even a drop. The boy took the cup and
proceeded in the midst of the music and the attraction of the beautiful faces. As
desired by the king, seven times did he go round, and not a drop of the milk
was spilt. The boy's mind could not be attracted by anything in the world,
unless he allowed it to affect him. And when he brought the cup to the king, the
king said to him, "What your father has taught you, and what you have learned
yourself, I can only repeat. You have known the Truth; go home."
Thus the man that has practiced control over himself cannot be acted upon by
anything outside; there is no more slavery for him. His mind has become free.
Such a man alone is fit to live well in the world. We generally find men
holding two opinions regarding the world. Some are pessimists and say, “How
horrible this world is, how wicked!" Some others are optimists and say, "How
beautiful this world is, how wonderful!" To those who have not controlled their
own minds, the world is either full of evil or at best a mixture of good and evil.
This very world will become to us an optimistic world when we become
masters of our own minds. Nothing will then work upon us as good or evil; we
shall find everything to be in its proper place, to be harmonious. Some men,
who begin by saying that the world is a hell, often end by saying that it is a
heaven when they succeed in the practice of self-control. If we are genuine
Karma-Yogis and wish to train ourselves to that attainment of this state,
wherever we may begin we are sure to end in perfect self-abnegation; and as
soon as this seeming self has gone, the whole world, which at first appears to
us to be filled with evil, will appear to be heaven itself and full of blessedness.
Its very atmosphere will be blessed; every human face there will be god. Such
is the end and aim of Karma-Yoga, and such is its perfection in practical life.
Our various Yogas do not conflict with each other; each of them leads us to the
same goal and makes us perfect. Only each has to be strenuously practiced. The
whole secret is in practicing. First you have to hear, then think, and then
practice. This is true of every Yoga. You have first to hear about it and
understand what it is; and many things which you do not understand will be
made clear to you by constant hearing and thinking. It is hard to understand
everything at once. The explanation of everything is after all in yourself. No
one was ever really taught by another; each of us has to teach himself. The
external teacher offers only the suggestion which rouses the internal teacher to
work to understand things. Then things will be made clearer to us by our own
power of perception and thought, and we shall realise them in our own souls;
and that realisation will grow into the intense power of will. First it is feeling,
then it becomes willing, and out of that willing comes the tremendous force for
work that will go through every vein and nerve and muscle, until the whole
mass of your body is changed into an instrument of the unselfish Yoga of work,
and the desired result of perfect self-abnegation and utter unselfishness is duly
attained. This attainment does not depend on any dogma, or doctrine, or belief.
Whether one is Christian, or Jew, or Gentile, it does not matter. Are you
unselfish? That is the question. If you are, you will be perfect without reading a
single religious book, without going into a single church or temple. Each one of
our Yogas is fitted to make man perfect even without the help of the others,
because they have all the same goal in view. The Yogas of work, of wisdom,
and of devotion are all capable of serving as direct and independent means for
the attainment of Moksha. "Fools alone say that work and philosophy are
different, not the learned.” The learned know that, though apparently different
from each other, they at last lead to the same goal of human perfection.
chapter five from karma yoga
CHAPTER V
WE HELP OURSELVES, NOT THE WORLD
Before considering further how devotion to duty helps us in our spiritual
progress, let me place before you in a brief compass another aspect of what we
in India mean by Karma. In every religion there are three parts: philosophy,
mythology, and ritual. Philosophy of course is the essence of every religion;
mythology explains and illustrates it by means of the more or less legendary
lives of great men, stories and fables of wonderful things, and so on; ritual
gives to that philosophy a still more concrete form, so that every one may grasp
it — ritual is in fact concretised philosophy. This ritual is Karma; it is
necessary in every religion, because most of us cannot understand abstract
spiritual things until we grow much spiritually. It is easy for men to think that
they can understand anything; but when it comes to practical experience, they
find that abstract ideas are often very hard to comprehend. Therefore symbols
are of great help, and we cannot dispense with the symbolical method of
putting things before us. From time immemorial symbols have been used by all
kinds of religions. In one sense we cannot think but in symbols; words
themselves are symbols of thought. In another sense everything in the universe
may be looked upon as a symbol. The whole universe is a symbol, and God is
the essence behind. This kind of symbology is not simply the creation of man;
it is not that certain people belonging to a religion sit down together and think
out certain symbols, and bring them into existence out of their own minds. The
symbols of religion have a natural growth. Otherwise, why is it that certain
symbols are associated with certain ideas in the mind of almost every one?
Certain symbols are universally prevalent. Many of you may think that the
cross first came into existence as a symbol in connection with the Christian
religion, but as a matter of fact it existed before Christianity was, before Moses
was born, before the Vedas were given out, before there was any human record
of human things. The cross may be found to have been in existence among the
Aztecs and the Phoenicians; every race seems to have had the cross. Again, the
symbol of the crucified Saviour, of a man crucified upon a cross, appears to
have been known to almost every nation. The circle has been a great symbol
sometimes, and we are led to inquire into and wonder at some of these common
occurrences; wondering thus is the first step in the acquisition of light. Apart
from the higher philosophic and religious value of the Word, we may see that
sound symbols play a prominent part in the drama of human life. I am talking
to you. I am not touching you; the pulsations of the air caused by my speaking
go into your ear, they touch your nerves and produce effects in your minds.
You cannot resist this. What can be more wonderful than this? One man calls
another a fool, and at this the other stands up and clenches his fist and lands a
blow on his nose. Look at the power of the word! There is a woman weeping
and miserable; another woman comes along and speaks to her a few gentle
words, the doubled up frame of the weeping woman becomes straightened at
once, her sorrow is gone and she already begins to smile. Think of the power of
words! They are a great force in higher philosophy as well as in common life.
Day and night we manipulate this force without thought and without inquiry.
To know the nature of this force and to use it well is also a part of Karma-
Yoga.
Our duty to others means helping others; doing good to the world. Why should
we do good to the world? Apparently to help the world, but really to help
ourselves. We should always try to help the world, that should be the highest
motive in us; but if we consider well, we find that the world does not require
our help at all. This world was not made that you or I should come and help it. I
once read a sermon in which it was said, "All this beautiful world is very good,
because it gives us time and opportunity to help others." Apparently, this is a
very beautiful sentiment, but is it not a blasphemy to say that the world needs
our help? We cannot deny that there is much misery in it; to go out and help
others is, therefore, the best thing we can do, although in the long run, we shall
find that helping others is only helping ourselves. As a boy I had some white
mice. They were kept in a little box in which there were little wheels, and when
the mice tried to cross the wheels, the wheels turned and turned, and the mice
never got anywhere. So it is with the world and our helping it. The only help is
that we get moral exercise. This world is neither good nor evil; each man
manufactures a world for himself. If a blind man begins to think of the world, it
is either as soft or hard, or as cold or hot. We are a mass of happiness or
misery; we have seen that hundreds of times in our lives. As a rule, the young
are optimistic and the old pessimistic. The young have life before them; the old
complain their day is gone; hundreds of desires, which they cannot fulfil
struggle in their hearts. Both are foolish nevertheless. Life is good or evil
according to the state of mind in which we look at it, it is neither by itself. Fire,
by itself, is neither good nor evil. When it keeps us warm we say, "How
beautiful is fire!" When it burns our fingers, we blame it. Still, in itself it is
neither good nor bad. According as we use it, it produces in us the feeling of
good or bad; so also is this world. It is perfect. By perfection is meant that it is
perfectly fitted to meet its ends. We may all be perfectly sure that it will go on
beautifully well without us, and we need not bother our heads wishing to help
it.
Yet we must do good; the desire to do good is the highest motive power we
have, if we know all the time that it is a privilege to help others. Do not stand
on a high pedestal and take five cents in your hand and say, "Here, my poor
man," but be grateful that the poor man is there, so that by making a gift to him
you are able to help yourself. It is not the receiver that is blessed, but it is the
giver. Be thankful that you are allowed to exercise your power of benevolence
and mercy in the world, and thus become pure and perfect. All good acts tend
to make us pure and perfect. What can we do at best? Build a hospital, make
roads, or erect charity asylums. We may organise a charity and collect two or
three millions of dollars, build a hospital with one million, with the second give
balls and drink champagne, and of the third let the officers steal half, and leave
the rest finally to reach the poor; but what are all these? One mighty wind in
five minutes can break all your buildings up. What shall we do then? One
volcanic eruption may sweep away all our roads and hospitals and cities and
buildings. Let us give up all this foolish talk of doing good to the world. It is
not waiting for your or my help; yet we must work and constantly do good,
because it is a blessing to ourselves. That is the only way we can become
perfect. No beggar whom we have helped has ever owed a single cent to us; we
owe everything to him, because he has allowed us to exercise our charity on
him. It is entirely wrong to think that we have done, or can do, good to the
world, or to think that we have helped such and such people. It is a foolish
thought, and all foolish thoughts bring misery. We think that we have helped
some man and expect him to thank us, and because he does not, unhappiness
comes to us. Why should we expect anything in return for what we do? Be
grateful to the man you help, think of him as God. Is it not a great privilege to
be allowed to worship God by helping our fellow men? If we were really
unattached, we should escape all this pain of vain expectation, and could
cheerfully do good work in the world. Never will unhappiness or misery come
through work done without attachment. The world will go on with its happiness
and misery through eternity.
There was a poor man who wanted some money; and somehow he had heard
that if he could get hold of a ghost, he might command him to bring money or
anything else he liked; so he was very anxious to get hold of a ghost. He went
about searching for a man who would give him a ghost, and at last he found a
sage with great powers, and besought his help. The sage asked him what he
would do with a ghost. I want a ghost to work for me; teach me how to get hold
of one, sir; I desire it very much," replied the man. But the sage said, "Don't
disturb yourself, go home." The next day the man went again to the sage and
began to weep and pray, "Give me a ghost; I must have a ghost, sir, to help
me." At last the sage was disgusted, and said, "Take this charm, repeat this
magic word, and a ghost will come, and whatever you say to him he will do.
But beware; they are terrible beings, and must be kept continually busy. If you
fail to give him work, he will take your life." The man replied, "That is easy; I
can give him work for all his life." Then he went to a forest, and after long
repetition of the magic word, a huge ghost appeared before him, and said, "I am
a ghost. I have been conquered by your magic; but you must keep me
constantly employed. The moment you fail to give me work I will kill you."
The man said, "Build me a palace," and the ghost said, "It is done; the palace is
built." "Bring me money," said the man. "Here is your money," said the ghost.
"Cut this forest down, and build a city in its place." "That is done," said the
ghost, "anything more?" Now the man began to be frightened and thought he
could give him nothing more to do; he did everything in a trice. The ghost said,
"Give me something to do or I will eat you up." The poor man could find no
further occupation for him, and was frightened. So he ran and ran and at last
reached the sage, and said, "Oh, sir, protect my life!" The sage asked him what
the matter was, and the man replied, "I have nothing to give the ghost to do.
Everything I tell him to do he does in a moment, and he threatens to eat me up
if I do not give him work." Just then the ghost arrived, saying, "I'll eat you up,"
and he would have swallowed the man. The man began to shake, and begged
the sage to save his life. The sage said, "I will find you a way out. Look at that
dog with a curly tail. Draw your sword quickly and cut the tail off and give it to
the ghost to straighten out." The man cut off the dog's tail and gave it to the
ghost, saying, "Straighten that out for me." The ghost took it and slowly and
carefully straightened it out, but as soon as he let it go, it instantly curled up
again. Once more he laboriously straightened it out, only to find it again curled
up as soon as he attempted to let go of it. Again he patiently straightened it out,
but as soon as he let it go, it curled up again. So he went on for days and days,
until he was exhausted and said, "I was never in such trouble before in my life.
I am an old veteran ghost, but never before was I in such trouble." "I will make
a compromise with you ;" he said to the man, "you let me off and I will let you
keep all I have given you and will promise not to harm you." The man was
much pleased, and accepted the offer gladly.
This world is like a dog's curly tail, and people have been striving to straighten
it out for hundreds of years; but when they let it go, it has curled up again. How
could it be otherwise? One must first know how to work without attachment,
then one will not be a fanatic. When we know that this world is like a dog's
curly tail and will never get straightened, we shall not become fanatics. If there
were no fanaticism in the world, it would make much more progress than it
does now. It is a mistake to think that fanaticism can make for the progress of
mankind. On the contrary, it is a retarding element creating hatred and anger,
and causing people to fight each other, and making them unsympathetic. We
think that whatever we do or possess is the best in the world, and what we do
not do or possess is of no value. So, always remember the instance of the curly
tail of the dog whenever you have a tendency to become a fanatic. You need
not worry or make yourself sleepless about the world; it will go on without
you. When you have avoided fanaticism, then alone will you work well. It is
the level-headed man, the calm man, of good judgment and cool nerves, of
great sympathy and love, who does good work and so does good to himself.
The fanatic is foolish and has no sympathy; he can never straighten the world,
nor himself become pure and perfect.
To recapitulate the chief points in today's lecture: First, we have to bear in
mind that we are all debtors to the world and the world does not owe us
anything. It is a great privilege for all of us to be allowed to do anything for the
world. In helping the world we really help ourselves. The second point is that
there is a God in this universe. It is not true that this universe is drifting and
stands in need of help from you and me. God is ever present therein, He is
undying and eternally active and infinitely watchful. When the whole universe
sleeps, He sleeps not; He is working incessantly; all the changes and
manifestations of the world are His. Thirdly, we ought not to hate anyone. This
world will always continue to be a mixture of good and evil. Our duty is to
sympathise with the weak and to love even the wrongdoer. The world is a
grand moral gymnasium wherein we have all to take exercise so as to become
stronger and stronger spiritually. Fourthly, we ought not to be fanatics of any
kind, because fanaticism is opposed to love. You hear fanatics glibly saying, "I
do not hate the sinner. I hate the sin," but I am prepared to go any distance to
see the face of that man who can really make a distinction between the sin and
the sinner. It is easy to say so. If we can distinguish well between quality and
substance, we may become perfect men. It is not easy to do this. And further,
the calmer we are and the less disturbed our nerves, the more shall we love and
the better will our work be.
chapter four from karma yoga
CHAPTER IV
WHAT IS DUTY?
It is necessary in the study of Karma-Yoga to know what duty is. If I have to do
something I must first know that it is my duty, and then I can do it. The idea of
duty again is different in different nations. The Mohammedan says what is
written in his book, the Koran, is his duty; the Hindu says what is in the Vedas
is his duty; and the Christian says what is in the Bible is his duty. We find that
there are varied ideas of duty, differing according to different states in life,
different historical periods and different nations. The term "duty", like every
other universal abstract term, is impossible clearly to define; we can only get an
idea of it by knowing its practical operations and results. When certain things
occur before us, we have all a natural or trained impulse to act in a certain
manner towards them; when this impulse comes, the mind begins to think
about the situation. Sometimes it thinks that it is good to act in a particular
manner under the given conditions; at other times it thinks that it is wrong to
act in the same manner even in the very same circumstances. The ordinary idea
of duty everywhere is that every good man follows the dictates of his
conscience. But what is it that makes an act a duty? If a Christian finds a piece
of beef before him and does not eat it to save his own life, or will not give it to
save the life of another man, he is sure to feel that he has not done his duty. But
if a Hindu dares to eat that piece of beef or to give it to another Hindu, he is
equally sure to feel that he too has not done his duty; the Hindu's training and
education make him feel that way. In the last century there were notorious
bands of robbers in India called thugs; they thought it their duty to kill any man
they could and take away his money; the larger the number of men they killed,
the better they thought they were. Ordinarily if a man goes out into the street
and shoots down another man, he is apt to feel sorry for it, thinking that he has
done wrong. But if the very same man, as a soldier in his regiment, kills not
one but twenty, he is certain to feel glad and think that he has done his duty
remarkably well. Therefore we see that it is not the thing done that defines a
duty. To give an objective definition of duty is thus entirely impossible. Yet
there is duty from the subjective side. Any action that makes us go Godward is
a good action, and is our duty; any action that makes us go downward is evil,
and is not our duty. From the subjective standpoint we may see that certain acts
have a tendency to exalt and ennoble us, while certain other acts have a
tendency to degrade and to brutalise us. But it is not possible to make out with
certainty which acts have which kind of tendency in relation to all persons, of
all sorts and conditions. There is, however, only one idea of duty which has
been universally accepted by all mankind, of all ages and sects and countries,
and that has been summed up in a Sanskrit aphorism thus: “Do not injure any
being; not injuring any being is virtue, injuring any being is sin.”
The Bhagavad-Gita frequently alludes to duties dependent upon birth and
position in life. Birth and position in life and in society largely determine the
mental and moral attitude of individuals towards the various activities of life. It
is therefore our duty to do that work which will exalt and ennoble us in
accordance with the ideals and activities of the society in which we are born.
But it must be particularly remembered that the same ideals and activities do
not prevail in all societies and countries; our ignorance of this is the main cause
of much of the hatred of one nation towards another. An American thinks that
whatever an American does in accordance with the custom of his country is the
best thing to do, and that whoever does not follow his custom must be a very
wicked man. A Hindu thinks that his customs are the only right ones and are
the best in the world, and that whosoever does not obey them must be the most
wicked man living. This is quite a natural mistake which all of us are apt to
make. But it is very harmful; it is the cause of half the uncharitableness found
in the world. When I came to this country and was going through the Chicago
Fair, a man from behind pulled at my turban. I looked back and saw that he was
a very gentlemanly-looking man, neatly dressed. I spoke to him; and when he
found that I knew English, he became very much abashed. On another occasion
in the same Fair another man gave me a push. When I asked him the reason, he
also was ashamed and stammered out an apology saying, "Why do you dress
that way?" The sympathies of these men were limited within the range of their
own language and their own fashion of dress. Much of the oppression of
powerful nations on weaker ones is caused by this prejudice. It dries up their
fellow feeling for fellow men. That very man who asked me why I did not
dress as he did and wanted to ill-treat me because of my dress may have been a
very good man, a good father, and a good citizen; but the kindliness of his
nature died out as soon as he saw a man in a different dress. Strangers are
exploited in all countries, because they do not know how to defend themselves;
thus they carry home false impressions of the peoples they have seen. Sailors,
soldiers, and traders behave in foreign lands in very queer ways, although they
would not dream of doing so in their own country; perhaps this is why the
Chinese call Europeans and Americans "foreign devils". They could not have
done this if they had met the good, the kindly sides of Western life.
Therefore the one point we ought to remember is that we should always try to
see the duty of others through their own eyes, and never judge the customs of
other peoples by our own standard. I am not the standard of the universe. I have
to accommodate myself to the world, and not the world to me. So we see that
environments change the nature of our duties, and doing the duty which is ours
at any particular time is the best thing we can do in this world. Let us do that
duty which is ours by birth; and when we have done that, let us do the duty
which is ours by our position in life and in society. There is, however, one great
danger in human nature, viz that man never examines himself. He thinks he is
quite as fit to be on the throne as the king. Even if he is, he must first show that
he has done the duty of his own position; and then higher duties will come to
him. When we begin to work earnestly in the world, nature gives us blows right
and left and soon enables us to find out our position. No man can long occupy
satisfactorily a position for which he is not fit. There is no use in grumbling
against nature's adjustment. He who does the lower work is not therefore a
lower man. No man is to be judged by the mere nature of his duties, but all
should be judged by the manner and the spirit in which they perform them.
Later on we shall find that even this idea of duty undergoes change, and that
the greatest work is done only when there is no selfish motive to prompt it. Yet
it is work through the sense of duty that leads us to work without any idea of
duty; when work will become worship — nay, something higher — then will
work be done for its own sake. We shall find that the philosophy of duty,
whether it be in the form of ethics or of love, is the same as in every other
Yoga — the object being the attenuating of the lower self, so that the real
higher Self may shine forth — the lessening of the frittering away of energies
on the lower plane of existence, so that the soul may manifest itself on the
higher ones. This is accomplished by the continuous denial of low desires,
which duty rigorously requires. The whole organisation of society has thus
been developed, consciously or unconsciously, in the realms of action and
experience, where, by limiting selfishness, we open the way to an unlimited
expansion of the real nature of man.
Duty is seldom sweet. It is only when love greases its wheels that it runs
smoothly; it is a continuous friction otherwise. How else could parents do their
duties to their children, husbands to their wives, and vice versa? Do we not
meet with cases of friction every day in our lives? Duty is sweet only through
love, and love shines in freedom alone. Yet is it freedom to be a slave to the
senses, to anger, to jealousies and a hundred other petty things that must occur
every day in human life? In all these little roughnesses that we meet with in
life, the highest expression of freedom is to forbear. Women, slaves to their
own irritable, jealous tempers, are apt to blame their husbands, and assert their
own "freedom", as they think, not knowing that thereby they only prove that
they are slaves. So it is with husbands who eternally find fault with their wives.
Chastity is the first virtue in man or woman, and the man who, however he may
have strayed away, cannot be brought to the right path by a gentle and loving
and chaste wife is indeed very rare. The world is not yet as bad as that. We hear
much about brutal husbands all over the world and about the impurity of men,
but is it not true that there are quite as many brutal and impure women as men?
If all women were as good and pure as their own constant assertions would lead
one to believe, I am perfectly satisfied that there would not be one impure man
in the world. What brutality is there which purity and chastity cannot conquer?
A good, chaste wife, who thinks of every other man except her own husband as
her child and has the attitude of a mother towards all men, will grow so great in
the power of her purity that there cannot be a single man, however brutal, who
will not breathe an atmosphere of holiness in her presence. Similarly, every
husband must look upon all women, except his own wife, in the light of his
own mother or daughter or sister. That man, again, who wants to be a teacher
of religion must look upon every woman as his mother, and always behave
towards her as such.
The position of the mother is the highest in the world, as it is the one place in
which to learn and exercise the greatest unselfishness. The love of God is the
only love that is higher than a mother's love; all others are lower. It is the duty
of the mother to think of her children first and then of herself. But, instead of
that, if the parents are always thinking of themselves first, the result is that the
relation between parents and children becomes the same as that between birds
and their offspring which, as soon as they are fledged, do not recognise any
parents. Blessed, indeed, is the man who is able to look upon woman as the
representative of the motherhood of God. Blessed, indeed, is the woman to
whom man represents the fatherhood of God. Blessed are the children who
look upon their parents as Divinity manifested on earth.
The only way to rise is by doing the duty next to us, and thus gathering strength
go on until we reach the highest state. A young Sannyâsin went to a forest;
there he meditated, worshipped, and practiced Yoga for a long time. After
years of hard work and practice, he was one day sitting under a tree, when
some dry leaves fell upon his head. He looked up and saw a crow and a crane
fighting on the top of the tree, which made him very angry. He said, "What!
Dare you throw these dry leaves upon my head!" As with these words he
angrily glanced at them, a flash of fire went out of his head — such was the
Yogi's power — and burnt the birds to ashes. He was very glad, almost
overjoyed at this development of power — he could burn the crow and the
crane by a look. After a time he had to go to the town to beg his bread. He
went, stood at a door, and said, "Mother, give me food." A voice came from
inside the house, "Wait a little, my son." The young man thought, "You
wretched woman, how dare you make me wait! You do not know my power
yet." While he was thinking thus the voice came again: "Boy, don't be thinking
too much of yourself. Here is neither crow nor crane." He was astonished; still
he had to wait. At last the woman came, and he fell at her feet and said,
"Mother, how did you know that?" She said, "My boy, I do not know your
Yoga or your practices. I am a common everyday woman. I made you wait
because my husband is ill, and I was nursing him. All my life I have struggled
to do my duty. When I was unmarried, I did my duty to my parents; now that I
am married, I do my duty to my husband; that is all the Yoga I practice. But by
doing my duty I have become illumined; thus I could read your thoughts and
know what you had done in the forest. If you want to know something higher
than this, go to the market of such and such a town where you will find a
Vyâdha (The lowest class of people in India who used to live as hunters and butchers.) who
will tell you something that you will be very glad to learn." The Sannyasin
thought, "Why should I go to that town and to a Vyadha?" But after what he
had seen, his mind opened a little, so he went. When he came near the town, he
found the market and there saw, at a distance, a big fat Vyadha cutting meat
with big knives, talking and bargaining with different people. The young man
said, "Lord help me! Is this the man from whom I am going to learn? He is the
incarnation of a demon, if he is anything." In the meantime this man looked up
and said, "O Swami, did that lady send you here? Take a seat until I have done
my business." The Sannyasin thought, "What comes to me here?" He took his
seat; the man went on with his work, and after he had finished he took his
money and said to the Sannyasin, "Come sir, come to my home." On reaching
home the Vyadha gave him a seat, saying, "Wait here," and went into the
house. He then washed his old father and mother, fed them, and did all he could
to please them, after which he came to the Sannyasin and said, "Now, sir, you
have come here to see me; what can I do for you?" The Sannyasin asked him a
few questions about soul and about God, and the Vyadha gave him a lecture
which forms a part of the Mahâbhârata, called the Vyâdha-Gitâ. It contains one
of the highest flights of the Vedanta. When the Vyadha finished his teaching,
the Sannyasin felt astonished. He said, "Why are you in that body? With such
knowledge as yours why are you in a Vyadha's body, and doing such filthy,
ugly work?" "My son," replied the Vyadha, "no duty is ugly, no duty is impure.
My birth placed me in these circumstances and environments. In my boyhood I
learnt the trade; I am unattached, and I try to do my duty well. I try to do my
duty as a householder, and I try to do all I can to make my father and mother
happy. I neither know your Yoga, nor have I become a Sannyasin, nor did I go
out of the world into a forest; nevertheless, all that you have heard and seen has
come to me through the unattached doing of the duty which belongs to my
position."
There is a sage in India, a great Yogi, one of the most wonderful men I have
ever seen in my life. He is a peculiar man, he will not teach any one; if you ask
him a question he will not answer. It is too much for him to take up the position
of a teacher, he will not do it. If you ask a question, and wait for some days, in
the course of conversation he will bring up the subject, and wonderful light will
he throw on it. He told me once the secret of work, "Let the end and the means
be joined into one." When you are doing any work, do not think of anything
beyond. Do it as worship, as the highest worship, and devote your whole life to
it for the time being. Thus, in the story, the Vyadha and the woman did their
duty with cheerfulness and whole-heartedness; and the result was that they
became illuminated, clearly showing that the right performance of the duties of
any station in life, without attachment to results, leads us to the highest
realisation of the perfection of the soul.
It is the worker who is attached to results that grumbles about the nature of the
duty which has fallen to his lot; to the unattached worker all duties are equally
good, and form efficient instruments with which selfishness and sensuality may
be killed, and the freedom of the soul secured. We are all apt to think too
highly of ourselves. Our duties are determined by our deserts to a much larger
extent than we are willing to grant. Competition rouses envy, and it kills the
kindliness of the heart. To the grumbler all duties are distasteful; nothing will
ever satisfy him, and his whole life is doomed to prove a failure. Let us work
on, doing as we go whatever happens to be our duty, and being ever ready to
put our shoulders to the wheel. Then surely shall we see the Light!
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