Geeta Darshan #7

Now, let us take the sutra.
Those arrogant men who consider only themselves to be supreme, filled with the intoxication of wealth and honor, devoid of the discipline of the scriptures, perform merely nominal sacrifices—worship steeped in hypocrisy.
And devoted to ego, power, pride, desire, and anger, slandering others, they hate me—the indwelling One—who abides in their own body and in the bodies of others.
Such hateful, sinful, cruel, lowest of men I cast, again and again, into demoniac wombs in this world. Therefore, Arjuna, those deluded men, birth after birth attaining demoniac wombs, failing to attain me, go to even lower destinies.
Those of demonic wealth (asuri sampada) consider only themselves superior. For them superiority has but one meaning: whatever I am—that is superiority. They see no difference between superiority and ego.
Napoleon Bonaparte said… He made certain laws, then changed them, then changed them again. His ministers protested: “What are you doing? Laws should be stable. This way there will be anarchy.” Napoleon said, “I am the law—there is no other law; I am the law. Whatever issues from me, that is the law. No law stands above me; I alone am the law.”
This is the primary mark of the demonic temperament: “I am superior.”
And filled with the intoxication of wealth and honor…
Even if such people perform religion, their religion is nothing but the display of wealth and pride. They can erect a great temple that touches the sky; they can perform sacrifices and spend millions. But this too is only the journey of their ego. The meaning of their temple is: none can build a bigger one than mine. The meaning of their sacrifice is: such a sacrifice has never occurred on earth. Their religion has but one purpose—to prove their superiority.
Devoid of the scriptural way, they perform only name-sake sacrifices, worship steeped in hypocrisy…
If they do anything auspicious, it will be only so that they may be worshipped. If they do some charity, it will be only so that they may be known. The target of their every act is themselves.
And devoted to ego, power, pride, desire, anger, and slander of others, they hate me, the indweller abiding in their and others’ bodies.
Wherever God is, they will feel aversion. Why? Because the acceptance of God is the refutation of their ego.
Nietzsche wrote in one of his sayings—when he had gone mad, he wrote it in his diary—“I cannot accept God, because if God is, then I am number two. Therefore I cannot accept God. I can be number one, or there can be no number one at all. But if God is anywhere, then I fall behind; my position becomes low.”
Hence for one of demonic disposition it is extremely difficult to accept God. Not because he knows God is not; not even because arguments prove God is not. He will also argue, he will also “prove.” But neither do arguments prove that God is, nor that God is not. Understand this a little.
Human intellect can decide neither for nor against. For millennia countless arguments have been offered; as many for as against—an equal balance. No theist can persuade an atheist that God is; no atheist can persuade a theist that God is not. Both sets of arguments are equally matched. Nothing is decided by logic.
And yet some people believe God is; some believe he is not. On what basis—since logic proves nothing? Then the basis must be other: the basis is asuri sampada and daivi sampada—the demonic and the divine dispositions.
Those who think “I alone am superior; none stands above me” cannot accept God. Then they find arguments. But those arguments come afterward—they are rationalizations, devices to justify what one has already decided.
And there are others who know, “How could I be the center? I am only a wave.” They accept God. Their acceptance too does not come from logic; it comes from their divine disposition.
Between these two are most people—those who have decided nothing. Those whom we commonly call “believers” are these middle people; they are not believers. They have never attended to whether God is or is not. Most of you belong to that third group.
If you say, “He must be,” that does not mean you believe God is. You believe he is not even worth thinking about. People say, “He must be—and what’s the harm? If he is, so be it. And if once or twice a year we drop by the temple, what is gained or lost? And a clever man keeps a foot in both boats. If there is God, there will be no hassle after death. If there isn’t, we have lost nothing. We enjoyed the world—and kept believing that God is. We are riding both boats.”
Very few are those who truly hold that God is: they are the ones who break their ego, drop pride, let conceit fall. Many are those who hold that God is not: their only reason is that they have taken themselves to be the end; therefore accepting the Supreme above themselves is not easy. And more still are those who have no concern, no purpose, who are filled with indifference.
Where are you among these? And wherever you are, the amusing thing is: you will find arguments to fit it.
Freud made a great discovery in this century: people decide first; then they search for arguments. You fall in love with a woman. Someone asks you, “Why are you in love?” You say, “She is so beautiful.”
But Freud says the matter is exactly the reverse. That woman does not appear beautiful to others. You say, “Because she is beautiful, I fell in love.” Freud says, “Because you fell in love, she appears beautiful.”
This seems more correct, because no one else finds her beautiful. Perhaps others even find her ugly. Perhaps others are astonished that you have lost your wits and fallen for this woman. And you think, “What a foolish world; ignorant people! They cannot see her true form.”
In love we fall first; the reasons we collect later.
You see someone and at once begin to hate; then you search for reasons, for causes. Because without reasons we feel awkward. If someone asks, “Why do you hate?” and we say, “For no reason,” we will appear foolish. So we search: “This man is a Muslim; Muslims are bad.” “This man is a Hindu; Hindus are not good.” “This man eats meat.” “This man’s character is bad.” You find a thousand reasons. You searched for those reasons afterward. The feeling was formed first. Feeling is unconscious; reasons are conscious.
Freud’s discovery is precious: everyone lives like a blind man and, to prove “I am not blind,” he contrives reasons. He called them rationalizations. Then he labels them “rational.”
The same happens with God, with the guru.
I have heard: two youths went to a Sufi fakir. They were eager to practice and to seek truth. The fakir said, “Truth and practice a little later; first I need something else from you. The ashram has run out of firewood, so you two go to the forest and gather wood. And make separate piles, because your piles will not be only piles of wood; I also have another test to make with them.”
The two youths went and made two piles. After seven days the master came. He tried to set fire to the first youth’s pile. He struggled till evening. Tears came to his eyes. There was nothing but smoke; no fire. All the wood was wet. What did the disciple say to the master? “I’m leaving. If you don’t know how to light a fire, what will you change in me!”
Then the master lit the second youth’s pile; the wood flared up. It was dry. The second youth had been watching the first incident too.
The first youth had left and had already begun spreading the word in the village: “That man is utterly useless. First he wasted our seven days, making us collect wood. We had gone to seek truth! No sense, no connection. Then we collected wood with sweat and toil—and he doesn’t even know how to light a fire. He spoiled the wood, created smoke, hurt our eyes. He is good for nothing. No one should ever go to him again.”
The second youth also saw that the first had gone. When his own wood flared up, he said, “Enough—stop. Don’t assume you are very clever. The wood was dry—that’s why it burns; there’s no special skill of yours in this. And I am leaving. If you take this to be your knowledge—that you have done some great thing by lighting dry wood—what is there for me to learn from you!”
Both youths left. The master returned to the ashram, smiling. People asked him, “What happened?” He said, “Exactly the opposite of what should have happened. If the first youth had said, ‘The wood is wet; I am wet—that’s why you are having such difficulty lighting it,’ his path would have opened. If the second youth had said, ‘It is your grace that my wood has caught fire,’ his path would have opened. But both closed their own paths. And now both are out preaching; both have formed their conclusions, and both are gathering arguments to support them. They did not ask me; they did not look toward me. What was I doing? What was my purpose? They made no inquiry. They have gone off, taking a few surface impressions.”
You too—wherever you have to regard another as superior—face great difficulty. To consider another lower than oneself is altogether easy. We are always ready for that. We have already assumed the other is inferior. Only an opportunity is needed—and it will be “proved.”
And if ever someone does get ahead of us, we “know”: there must be trickery, mischief, fraud, nepotism—something or other—only then could he get ahead; otherwise how could anyone possibly go ahead of me! If someone falls behind us, we think, “He will remain behind, because one needs some qualification to get ahead of me.”
Whatever we are, wherever we stand, we find arguments to fit.
Whether God is or is not is not the big question. The person who can accept that God is has bent himself—this is the big thing. Even if God were not, for one who accepts and bows, he will come to be. And the one who says “God is not”—even if God is—has stiffened himself. Even if there is God, for him he will not be—because his doors are shut.
That one of demonic wealth, devoted to ego, power, pride, desire, and anger, slandering others, hating me, the indweller in others’ bodies—such hateful, sinful, cruel, lowest of men I cast, again and again, into demoniac wombs.
This statement will cause some difficulty, because it seems, “Why would God cast them down?” It should be that if someone is falling into demonic tendencies, God would stop him, save him, have compassion—because we constantly pray, “O purifier of the fallen! O ocean of compassion! Have mercy, save me, I am a sinner.” And here Krishna says: “Such hateful, sinful, cruel, lowest of men I cast, again and again, into demoniac wombs!”
When Christians or Muslims read such a statement, they feel great difficulty—because in Islam all the names of God—Rahim, Rahman, Karim—are names of compassion: he is merciful. What kind of mercy is this? And Jesus said: pray, and all kinds of forgiveness are possible; call out, and you will be forgiven.
But Krishna’s statement? Its meaning is—and this is the Indian discovery—that God is not a person whom you can call and he will forgive. God is not a person whom you can cajole or placate—by praise, flattery, hymns—and he will change things. God is a law, not a person. Understand this a little.
God is an order, not a person. If a man puts his hand in fire, the fire burns. Fire is not eager to burn; it does not run after the man to burn him. But if the man puts his hand into the fire, it burns—because burning is its nature; that is its law. If we asked the fire, it would say, “Whoever puts his hand in me, I will burn.” Fire does not speak, so we don’t think this way.
Krishna is speaking on behalf of God—on behalf of that universal law, that foundation of life. He says: “He who acts in such a way, who holds such a vision and attitude, who sinks into sin—I bring him down.” The sole meaning of “I bring him down” is: by acting thus he falls by himself; no God is pushing him. There is no need to push. He falls because he acts so.
Therefore India’s deepest discovery is the principle of karma. So deep that Jains and Buddhists dismissed God altogether; they said: this principle is enough. There is no need to bring in God. They denied God—there is no need for him in the middle. Karma makes the matter clear—and it truly does.
But there is no need to deny God either, because “God” means that great law which runs life. Whether we call it the law of karma or call it God, it is the same.
What falls by your own hand, the law causes to fall. You walk on the ground carefully, and it is fine. Walk carelessly, upside-down, and you fall; your limbs break. No ground throws you. But the one who goes contrary to the law breaks his limbs. The ground does not, by will or desire, break you. But the ground has a law: whoever goes against it is broken; whoever goes with it reaches his destination with ease.
To understand the law of the world and to move in accord with it is called dharma.
Buddha defined dharma as “the law.” When Buddha says, “Dhammam saranam gacchami”—I go for refuge to dharma—his meaning is: go for refuge to the law. Move in accord with the law and you will be liberated. Move contrary to it and you will bind yourself by your own hand. Go against the law and you will suffer. Go with it and you will attain bliss.
Therefore, Arjuna, those foolish men, birth after birth attaining demoniac wombs, failing to attain me, go to even lower destinies.
Once a person begins to fall, he gathers momentum. Falling too gains speed. If you speak one lie, then a second, a third, a fourth—and each bigger than the previous to cover the earlier lies. Then a momentum sets in—and it has no end.
Commit one sin, then another, then a third—bigger and bigger—and you fall by your own hand. And if you want to fall, the law cooperates. If you want to rise, the law becomes a ladder. In deep understanding, by what you do your direction is formed.
You rise in the morning and become angry—you have chosen the day. The second anger will be easier than the first; the third easier than the second. By evening you will have been angry many times and think, “Who knows whose wretched face I saw!” In the mirror you must have seen your own. Someone else’s face has no connection with the movement of your life; it is connected only with you.
Therefore all the religions have cared that, on rising in the morning, the first act be prayer to God. That will change the momentum; it will change the current. After prayer, to flare up in anger at once becomes difficult. And after prayer, being prayerful becomes easier.
What is true regarding the wrong is equally true regarding the right. What you do brings more movement in that same direction. The way you walk, in that way you begin to run. Choosing direction is crucial. If, upon waking, love and prayer and compassion fill the heart, your day’s journey will be altogether different. But if you miss the morning, it becomes very difficult.
The same applies to the whole of life. If in childhood the direction becomes one of prayer and God, the journey of life becomes easy. Therefore, in this land in earlier times, we would send our children first to the gurukul—so that up to twenty-five they would live a prayerful life. That builds the current; a path for the journey is formed. Then everything proceeds very easily.
Once childhood is lost, the current is disturbed, the feet become unsteady, the opposite direction is grasped; then you begin to run in that very direction. Youth is the name of running. The direction you grasped in childhood—youth runs in that direction. Old age is a slope. In the direction you ran in youth, in that direction you will slope in old age, because strength then diminishes.
Even psychologists now accept that the direction we give a child by age seven, in ninety-nine out of a hundred cases he will travel in for life. Later it takes great strength to change direction. In the beginning, changing direction is easy. The plant is tender; it bends. Once the path is taken, breaking that bend is very difficult.
There is no way now to return to childhood. But every morning you recover a little of childhood. At least give the day a direction. Days keep joining; many days joined together become a life. Restrain yourself from taking a wrong step. If it is taken, turn back midway. Put all your strength into taking the right step; even if you can go halfway, it is better than not going. In a few days your life-energy will change direction.
The demonic direction—in which we are engaged—anger, prestige, ego—keeps pushing us forward in it. If you do not stop, do not change, do not withdraw your hand, do not drop anything wrong, if your hands are not emptied—it is very difficult to move toward the divine wealth. And the direction in which you go…
Krishna says: “I cast them into even lower wombs.”
He does not “cast.” There is no one to cast, no one to lift. You fall by yourself. The law neither favors nor chooses; the law is impartial. Therefore whatever you are is the sum of three: your energy, the law, and your choice.
The law is eternal; your energy is eternal—these two are parallel. Between them is one more element: your choice—whether to flow your energy in accord with the law or against it.
The river is flowing; the boat is with you—that is your life; the river is the law. Now, will you let the boat flow with the river, or will you set the boat to fight the river?
The one who flows against the river attains the demonic state of mind. The one who flows with the river—flowing-with is what we call surrender—attains divinity.
That is all for today.