Geeta Darshan #5

Now the sutra:
O mighty-armed, for the accomplishment of all actions, five causes are declared in the doctrine of Sankhya—hear them well from me.
In this matter, the base, the doer, the various instruments, the manifold different activities, and, as the fifth, the divine factor are said to be the causes.

Krishna says there are five causes—five bases—behind all events. Nothing happens without a base. There is:
- a base (adhisthana) for the event,
- a doer (karta),
- instruments (karanani),
- striving or effort (cheshta),
- and as the fifth, the divine factor—fate, the accumulated actions of many births (daiva).

These five are the bases of karma.

Whatever action a person performs by mind, speech, or body—whether in accord with scripture or against it—these five are its causes.

Yet, even so, the man who, because of impure understanding, sees the pure Self as the doer in that matter is dull-witted; he does not see the truth.

The causes are there—five—but you are outside them. If an event occurs, it cannot be without cause. If it occurs, there will be a doer; there will be effort; prior impressions will be standing behind. For any event these five supports are needed. And yet you are outside these five. You are the witness—the seer.

Hunger arises: the body provided the base. Hunger arises—and you take it as hunger because you have known hunger as hunger before. If it were to arise for the first time, you could not recognize it as hunger; you’d think there was a pain in the belly—anything—but not hunger. Even on the first day, the newborn—on the very first moment—when hunger arises, he experiences it and searches for the mother’s breast. This is news that the breast has been sought many times before; otherwise how would one search? Past impressions are needed.

How does the child know it is hunger? How recognize it as hunger? How know that the breast will fulfill it? Why does his hand move toward the breast? How does he drink milk—he has never drunk before? Hence, daiva: the past—the entire past—works from behind.

Hunger arises; the body gives the base; the samskara recognizes it; then you make effort. Because hunger has arisen, effort must be made. Whether you go to beg, to the shop, to steal—there will be effort; whether in accord with religion or against it—effort will be there.

When you make effort, there must be a doer. Without a doer, how would there be effort? The mind will do. The mind will think: What shall I do? How shall I get bread today—by stealing, by begging, by going as a guest, by earning? The mind becomes the doer. And whatever tools—whatever means—you gather bread with, those are the instruments.

These five; you are the sixth.

Krishna says: whoever takes himself to be drowned in these five is dull-witted. You are outside these five; you are the one who sees these five.

Hunger arises—it does not arise to you. You see it; you recognize that hunger has arisen. Hunger is outside you—away from you. It happens around you; it does not happen in you.

When hunger arises, the mind gets busy. The mind too is outside you. It is needed; without mind, hunger would remain and you would not even know it—what would you do—die? The mind searches for means; hands and feet move; instruments are gathered: “Bring flour, bring water, light the fire; arrange to cook.”

In all this happening, you remain outside. Your being is that of a witness. You are only the seer.

Thus, though there are these five causes, if, because of impure understanding, you take the pure Self to be the doer, you are dull—you do not see reality.

And, Arjuna, the one in whose inner being the feeling “I am the doer” is not, and whose intelligence is untainted—such a person, even slaying all these people, in truth neither kills nor is bound by sin.

Krishna says: if, outside these five, you recognize yourself—which is in fact your very being; it only needs recognition, awareness—if you take yourself, know yourself, recognize yourself as other than these five, then whatever you do, no bondage of sin accrues to you. Then while eating, you fast; while speaking, silence; while walking, unmoving; while doing, non-doer; in the world and yet outside it. Because the witness is always outside; he is not smeared.

What is the nature of the witness? He is unsmeared; he does not drown in anything. You cannot drown him. He always remains outside. He will run a shop in the market and not be drowned. He will be absorbed in action and yet within one element will remain unabsorbed. This art of remaining unsmeared—this is religion.

Therefore Krishna says, Arjuna: if such becomes your state—if you recognize that all karma belongs to these five and you are the non-doer—then even if all these people are slain by you, you are not bound by sin. For you have done nothing: it happened, it was not “done.” The event did occur; causes were there, instruments were there, bases were there; but you remained outside.

That person, even after killing all these people, in truth neither kills—
because when the very feeling of a killer is absent within, how can we say he truly kills? He only acts the part of killing—
nor is he bound by sin.

This is India’s deepest discovery. No religion of the world has reached the witness in this manner. Great religions have arisen, but they stop at the doer: “Do good, don’t do evil.” The Ten Commandments of the Jews or the Christians are all based on doing: don’t steal, don’t be violent; be compassionate, be merciful. Mahavira’s words too are bound to doing: don’t be violent, don’t possess. All good, but one step lower—standing on doing; the doer is not dissolved.

Krishna speaks the ultimate. Beyond this there is nowhere to go; beyond this, existence itself is transcended. This is the last step. Beyond the witness you cannot go. Witness means: you have reached the ultimate summit. You cannot be the witness of the witness. You can see all things in the world; you cannot see yourself. The self is the seer—always the seer; you can never turn it into the seen. The seer cannot be made an object.

Krishna is saying: even if these people are killed through you, they are not truly killed—because one who has known the witness has also known that the inner element is immortal. Even while cutting down these people, he will know: I am cutting only the body—I am not killing them. No one truly dies.

According to Krishna, violence is impossible. Death does not happen; then how can violence be? Violence does not happen because you killed someone; it happens only because you think you killed. Does anyone die because you kill? It is like snatching someone’s clothes—does he die? He will buy new clothes. You killed someone: you snatched a body; that life will find another body. A new body will be found; perhaps the old body had become worn out—you did him a favor. As one changes houses, so bodies are changed.

No one dies by your killing; therefore, in truth, violence does not happen—cannot happen. And while killing, you are not the doer. The act is happening; the causes are present; you stand outside. That is why I say: Krishna’s sutra turns life into acting.

You are an actor, not a doer. Life is a great stage; on it you perform many roles. What has been given to you—what you have found to be given—you complete, without becoming smeared.

Think on this a little, practice it a little—and the fragrance of sannyas will begin to descend into your life.

Therefore I do not tell you to leave house, household, children, family. Leaving them has no meaning. If the “leaver” has not been dropped, then nothing has been dropped.

Remain where you are—every place is the same. Remain where you are; change the way of living. And you will be amazed: it’s only a small shift in manner. And this inner shift need not be visible outside. No one will know; not a whisper. Yet your life will be transformed from the roots.

You are a husband—take it as a role. There is no need to run away from your wife. Just take it as acting. Do the husband’s work as skillfully as you can. You are a wife—do the wife’s work skillfully. It is acting—do it skillfully. Do not be smeared.

There is no need to tell anyone; no need for anyone to know. Slide within. Let all work go on as it does: hands will move, the broom will sweep; the husband will come—his feet will be washed; the husband will come—flowers will be brought from the market. Everything will go on just the same; not a hair’s difference is needed. Within, something will shift; someone will step back; the inner house will become empty. The doer will be gone.

And when the doer is not within, such a silence descends into life that nothing can break it. Such deep peace comes that the whole world may be in uproar—no difference is made. In the midst of storm and whirlwind, within you all remains quiet. Success or failure; happiness or sorrow; loss or gain; life or death—no difference is made. By mastering just this: you learned to step back—then nothing makes a difference.

Try it a little in life. It is a very unique experiment, very full of flavor. And from it a spring of bliss begins to gush that you cannot keep accounts of; you yourself will smile: “What is happening? It was so simple!”

You come home and pat your son’s back—don’t pat it as a father; pat it as the actor-father in a play. And the delight is: the pat will be better; the son will be more pleased. Nowhere will any snag arise; nowhere will any obstacle arise because of you—and the essence of your life will begin to be fulfilled.

If you come onto and pass off this stage as an actor comes and goes, then at the time of death your death will be as the curtain falling. There will be no pain. There will be the feeling of having completed an act well; a sense of moving toward rest: the work is done, God’s call has come—let us return. The curtain has fallen.

Goethe, a great German dramatist and poet, lived all his life in the experience of drama; and slowly, from that very experience, he came upon the depth we call witness-attitude. Play upon play—slowly the whole of life began to appear to him like a play. When Goethe died, these were his last words: he opened his eyes and said, “Look—now the curtain falls!” It was the language of a playwright, and there was great joy on his face, a sense of blessedness: a work completed skillfully—the curtain falls. Then death is the curtain falling, and life is play—lila.

Krishna says to Arjuna: just understand this much. There is no need to run from this great war. And there is nowhere to run—wherever you go there is war. Life is a vast struggle. There the small fish is eaten by the big. There is no way around it.

Perhaps this is God’s appointed play—that in this war you awaken; that you go beyond this war. Remain merely the instrument; let Him do what He wills. Let His winds blow—just let them pass through. Do not obstruct; do not come in between—and all is accomplished. Without going anywhere, all is attained. Without taking a single step, the destination comes home.

Witness-consciousness is the key. Begin to practice it a little. This is the supreme meditation. You will forget—and forget again—then remember again. While eating, do it as though in a play. The play is big, granted; long—seventy, eighty years—but still a play.

And it does occur to you often enough: “What a play is going on!” But again and again you forget. You cannot hold the remembrance; awareness slips from your hands. Let it not slip. If you can master just this one small thing—this small word, “witness”—all the scriptures are contained in it. This vast life spread out—wherever you go, stand and look as though watching a play.

Mulla Nasruddin went to see a play. An actor was acting very skillfully. Many times in the play he embraces his wife and kisses her. Mulla’s wife, sitting beside him, took his hand and said, “Mulla, you never love me like that.” Mulla said, “That is acting, lady; don’t pay it too much attention.” The wife said, “It isn’t just acting; in real life too they are husband and wife, acting the roles of husband and wife.” Mulla said, “Then this actor is astonishing—that he kisses his own wife with such enchantment!”

To kiss your own wife with enchantment becomes very difficult; for that, great acting skill is needed. And everything turns to your benefit.

In the East, we made things stable. We did not give life too much freedom—because freedom wastes time, and valuable experience does not come close. If you change wives every few months, this game—this acting—will never happen; you will always be excited. But one wife for forty, fifty years—everything becomes steady; the excitability is lost. In that unexcited state, things begin to appear like acting; you can see through them more skillfully.

We made things stable for this very reason: so the eye could see through clearly. If scenes keep changing day and night, you cannot descend deeply into any one scene. The East created a very steady life-structure in which little changed.

Consider: if the Ram Lila changed its story every year, it wouldn’t feel like the Ram Lila. Each time you would rush there excited.

Consider: you have to watch the same film twenty-five times. You see it today, tomorrow, the day after. Today there is excitement; tomorrow it is gone—you already know what will happen. The day after, it is utterly flat; you begin to doze. By the fourth day, you sleep comfortably: “What is there to know? I know it all.” If you must watch the same film for twenty-five days, you become free of the film—completely free. But if it is a new film each day, excitement remains; the mind lusts for the new.

The West has built a changing society that changes daily; hence in the West, restlessness remains till the last breath. Even at the point of death, people behave as if still young—it amazes us.

I asked a sannyasin once—he said his father was ill and very worried; could I help? I asked: what is his worry? He has plenty of money; he is eighty-five. The worry is: he has a wife—and a girlfriend. At eighty-five—a girlfriend! There is quarrel and fuss; the girlfriend won’t tolerate the wife. He is eighty-five, the girlfriend twenty-five.

This eighty-five-year-old has never become eighty-five. At twenty-five one can understand; at eighty-five—no. But in the West it is understandable; nothing stands in the way. Life quivers; nothing is still. When a river is ruffled, even a shallow river’s bed is hard to see; when it is still, without ripples, the bottom of even a deep river can be seen.

We created a still life. There was a secret behind it. We were intent on making every person a witness. Our effort was that, by watching life, you come to understand it is only a play; that you begin to see through it: behind every scene, the seer; behind every body, the soul; behind every event, the hand of God.

Hence we made everything steady, so that the trembling of waves does not obstruct vision; so everything becomes clear.

Witness is the key—the great key. Drop the Vedas, drop the Upanishads, forget the Gita—if this little two-syllabled word, sakshi, “witness,” remains, you can give birth to all the scriptures within. For the sole teaching of all the scriptures is just this much: do not remain the doer—be the seer.

Begin it a little. From my explanations you will not grasp it. This is not a matter for explaining and understanding; it is not of writing and reading—it is of seeing.

Enough for today.