Geeta Darshan #8

Krishna is telling Arjuna that one who, having embraced what I have said with a reverent heart, lives it and acts from it becomes free of all actions—free of every bondage of action.

If we understand the word shraddha a little, the heart-door of this sutra will open. Around the word shraddha there are great confusions. The greatest confusion is that people take shraddha to mean belief; or some take it to mean faith—blind faith. Both meanings are wrong. Why? Whoever believes always carries disbelief within.

In truth, none but the disbeliever believes. This will sound upside down. But one needs belief only because there is disbelief inside. As the sick need medicine, so the mind of the disbeliever needs belief. There is doubt within, there is disbelief within; to suppress it we clutch at belief.

Shraddha is not belief. If disbelief remains inside and you seize upon something to press it down, that is belief. And when inner disbelief no longer remains—when it becomes empty—what remains is shraddha. If disbelief is present within—someone has no trust that God is, and yet he believes, as most people have done; there is no real belief, but they have made-believe; there is no belief, and they do not even have the courage to disbelieve—deep within lies disbelief, and on top they wear the garments of belief. Such belief is skin-deep; scratch a little hard and the inner disbelief reveals itself.

This is not the meaning of shraddha. Shraddha is a very precious word. Shraddha means the point from which disbelief has been destroyed—not that belief has arrived. Shraddha means where disbelief is no more. When there is no disbelief within, then shraddha blossoms. Say it this way: shraddha is the absence of disbelief—not the presence of belief. Therefore, however much a person believes, he never attains to shraddha. Disbelief continues to stand within and pricks like a thorn.

Now someone keeps saying, “Atman is immortal,” and yet he continues to fear death. On the one hand he says, “Atman is immortal,” and on the other hand he is terrified of dying. What kind of belief is this? Behind it is disbelief. He says “Atman is immortal,” and he fears death. If Atman is immortal, then what fear of death? The fear of death is meaningless. How astonishing!

But if you look well, it will not seem astonishing. In ninety-nine out of a hundred cases the reason is that, since there is fear of death within, one keeps on believing “Atman is immortal.” There is fear inside that one might die, so one recites daily the lesson “Atman is immortal,” repeats it again and again, explains to oneself “Atman is immortal.” And that which you are trying to suppress by saying “Atman is immortal” does not vanish. That fear simply slips deeper within. All our beliefs are like this.

Krishna could have said as well, “He who believes my word becomes free of karma.” He did not say that—although commentators on the Gita go on giving precisely that meaning. They keep telling people, “Believe.” Krishna is saying shraddha, not belief. Belief is a two-penny thing. The worth of shraddha is beyond reckoning. Let me illustrate.

Vivekananda was searching whether God is or is not. Word came—Rabindranath’s grandfather, the Maharshi, had arrived in a village—he practiced on a barge upon the river. At midnight, a friend said, “Come at twelve.” If it had been you, you would have said, “We will rise in the morning and go; we will meet him then.” But Vivekananda crossed the Ganga at midnight and climbed onto the barge. He knocked; the door opened. The Maharshi was meditating. His meditation was disturbed. Vivekananda seized his coat collar and said, “Is there God?”

Such questions are not asked! These are not polite ways. But one who is mad for God does not stop for etiquette. No madman ever does. The Maharshi said, “Sit down as well—is this any way?” A dark night, a youth dripping from the river, comes and grabs one’s neck and asks, “Is there God?” The Maharshi said, “Sit down.” But Vivekananda said, “No, I have my answer. Your hesitation has said you do not know. Otherwise, I ask, ‘Is there God?’ and you see my clothes soaked with water; I ask, ‘Is there God?’ and you see it is midnight. I have not yet seen—I am still seeking. Then one who has seen—what would he care that it is midnight!” He leapt back into the river. The Maharshi called much, “Young man, wait! Take the answer and go.” Vivekananda said to the water, “I have my answer. Your hesitation has told all: you still know nothing.”

Months later, this same Vivekananda went to Ramakrishna. Devotees were gathered; pushing through, he stood before Ramakrishna and said, “Is there God?”—just as that night he had grabbed the Maharshi and asked, “Is there God?” Ramakrishna did not say “There is” or “There isn’t.” He replied with a reply, “Do you want to know?” Vivekananda has written: those eyes, and that “Do you want to know?” of Ramakrishna—“Drop this worry about whether there is or not. Tell me, do you want to know? Then I am ready.” Vivekananda wrote, “I had put the Maharshi in difficulty; Ramakrishna put me in difficulty. I had never thought anyone would catch me so strongly and say, ‘Are you prepared—do you want to see and to know? Do not ask; I am ready to show.’”

Ramakrishna spoke out of shraddha—from where all disbeliefs have fallen. Had Maharshi Devendranath spoken, he would have spoken out of belief—from where disbeliefs still wait in some corner within. Shraddha means a heart in which no contrary voice remains; where what is, is wholly—total; where nothing opposed exists, where the other has no being. What is, is; entire, total. Shraddha means the totality of the heart.

Krishna is saying: with shraddha, with the totality of the heart, in whom there is no opposite note at all, in whom not even a line of disbelief remains—only such a person, walking this path, wears out karma and becomes free.

So first understand the difference between belief and shraddha well. And whatever you have, look at it closely. Is it belief or shraddha? And remember: the disbeliever can someday arrive at shraddha; the believer never arrives. There are reasons. The one who has nothing in his hands—not even pebbles—can search for diamonds. But the one who has taken colored bits of stone as diamonds and clutches them tight will never set out in search of real jewels.

A disbeliever can some day find shraddha. There are reasons. Because living in disbelief is impossible. Disbelief is fire: it burns, pains, pricks—there are embers in it. No one can stand in disbelief for long. Today or tomorrow he must enter either shraddha or belief.

Remember: shraddha’s opposition is not to disbelief; shraddha’s opposition is to belief. Those who make beliefs never attain to shraddha. This will seem very upside-down, for we think we will first believe, then slowly shraddha will come. It never happens. Whoever has believed falls into false shraddha. And counterfeit coins become obstacles on the way to the real. Examine well what you have: is it belief or shraddha?

And remember: belief is always received from others; shraddha always arises from oneself. A man is a Hindu—that is belief, not shraddha; for had he been raised in a Muslim household he would have been a Muslim. A man is a Muslim—that is belief, not shraddha; for had he been raised in a Christian home he would have been a Christian. And a man is a theist—that is belief, not shraddha; had he been born in Russia he would have become an atheist. What comes to us from outside is belief. What is born from within is shraddha.

A third point therefore: belief is always dead. Shraddha is always living. And the dead can drown you, they cannot ferry you across. Dead beliefs only drown; they do not carry across. Dead beliefs can become chains; they cannot become liberation. Dead beliefs can bind; they cannot unlock. Therefore, when Krishna says “with shraddha,” cut off belief altogether; Krishna has nothing to do with belief. Those who lack shraddha deceive themselves with belief—as with imitation pearls when real pearls are not at hand. No one is deceived—the pearl is not deceived; it knows. Nor are you deceived—you too know; and those you deceive gain nothing from it. Belief is superimposed; shraddha is born. That is the difference.

Second point: if shraddha is to be born, how will it come? Belief can be borrowed—everyone borrows it. One borrows from father, one from a guru, one from here, one from there—collects beliefs. Living without beliefs is difficult—for the very reason that living in disbelief is difficult.

And so a strange phenomenon happens: we call the atheist a disbeliever. We should not. The atheist is a confirmed believer in the non-existence of God. He too does not live in disbelief; he lives in a negative belief. He too has a solid belief, and he too is ready to fight and to kill. If you say “God is,” and a blow falls upon his belief that God is not, he too is ready to fight.

The atheist has his beliefs. They are opposite to the theist’s, that’s another matter; but he has his own beliefs. Without beliefs, he too does not live. The communist too does not live without beliefs—his beliefs are of another kind, that is all; it makes no difference. Living without beliefs is difficult. Disbelief causes such pain that you must undertake the journey to shraddha—but you choose belief…

We must look at this from a few dimensions. For a religious mind, understanding this is foundational.

Belief and disbelief both live on argument; their food is logic. The atheist argues that God is not. The theist argues that God is. You have heard the proofs of St. Anselm for God; the theists of the world have given proofs that God is. The atheists have refuted the proofs, saying that God is not. Belief and disbelief both move by logic. And shraddha—shraddha is the name of the realization that logic is not enough. Shraddha begins with the recognition that reason is insufficient. The person who looks deeply into life sees that reason has a limit and that life extends beyond that limit. He sees that reason goes a little way and then stops. He experiences that there is much in life that falls outside reason—that life itself is outside reason. Life itself is illogical. Had you not been, you could not ask anyone why you are not; and when you are, you cannot ask anyone why you are.

Life is utterly illogical. Life has no argument. If it is, it is; if it is not, it is not. Love is illogical; prayer is illogical. Whatever in life is deep and significant is not understood by reason, not grasped by it—reason runs out, and life remains beyond. From such an experience the first steps toward shraddha are taken. How does one come to know that life is mystery? How does one discover that the intellect tires and life does not end? A man thinks and thinks, and reaches nowhere. He gets theories in hand—mere ash—but no experience. All mathematics is defeated; something unknown always remains behind. What we know is very small; what encircles this small known—the unknown—is vast.

The scientist of the eighteenth century thought that within a hundred years the event would occur that nothing would remain to be known. He had firm belief in science. A hundred years ago the scientist had firm belief in science: we will know all; whatever is unknown will be known. Today the scientist says: what we have known is nothing—but as much as we have tried to know, a thousand times that much unknown has appeared. We know an inch; a thousand inches open that are unknown. One question is solved; a thousand questions arise. And now the scientist cannot gather the courage to say we will ever know all. He can only say this: whatever we know will be nothing compared to what remains unknown. Science lost in a hundred years. Philosophers tried for thousands of years and lost, saying, “There is something that remains outside thought.” The recognition that something remains outside thought is the first sprout of shraddha.

Do you feel life as a mystery? Then shraddha can be born in your life. And remember: the believer does not find life a mystery. For him everything is an open-and-shut case. All the mathematics is clear. He says: here is heaven, here is hell; here is moksha, here sits God. Here this is happening, there that is happening. The whole map is clear. The believer has a complete mathematics, a complete map, complete doctrines—everything is clear. The believer is never in mystery. One who is in mystery can move into shraddha. Mystery is the door to shraddha. Logic, mathematics, proof—these are the doors to beliefs. Do you feel life to be mysterious? Do you feel we know nothing? Then shraddha can arise in your life.

Krishna is telling Arjuna: one who, with shraddha—that is, who embraces life as mystery…

And one who embraces the mystery of life has no means left for doubt. Understand this too. Doubts arise in you only so long as you cling to beliefs, for all doubts arise against beliefs. One whose mind carries no belief produces no doubts within. Doubts arise against belief.

You believed that God created the world—then the question arises, Why did he create it? One belief, and the question arises: Why did he create it? Then another: Why did he create such a world in which there is so much suffering? A third: If he is the maker, why does he not remove all this suffering? The questions go on arising. You decide that God did not create the world. Then the question arises: How then did it arise? The scientist then searches—nebulae, atoms, and from them the world forms. But from where do atoms come? And then the journey of questions begins again. Every belief takes you onto a journey of questions. But the sense of mystery drops the questions and drowns you in mystery. And when someone is immersed in mystery, shraddha sprouts.

If you place a seed upon a stone, it will never sprout. Jesus used to say: I scatter a handful of seed in the dark—some fall upon stones, some upon the path, some on the field’s border, some fall within the very soil of the field. Those that fall upon stones will just lie there; they will never sprout. Those that fall upon the path will wish to sprout, and the path will even aid them; but before they sprout, someone’s feet will destroy their possibilities. Those that fall upon the field’s border will sprout, but people will pass along the border someday—they will not be spared. Those that fall in the heart of the field will sprout, grow, and come to flower.

The seed of shraddha sprouts only when it falls into the soil of mystery. In the soil of mystery, shraddha sprouts. And only the shraddhavan—and remember, by shraddhavan I never mean the one who believes—shraddhavan means one who experiences life as mystery. Such a person, Krishna says, if he comes onto my path… And such a person always comes wholly, for mystery does not make fragments; reason makes fragments.

Bear this in mind as well: reason is analytic; it breaks. Reason cannot proceed without breaking. Reason is like a prism. Let the sun’s ray pass through a glass prism—it breaks into seven colors. In the same way, whatever passes through the prism of logic is fragmented. Reason breaks; it is analytic. Shraddha unites; it is synthetic. Everything joins, becomes one—like rays returning from the prism and becoming a single ray again.

Mystery is total. Belief is always partial. You can never believe wholly. But you can never be in an incomplete mystery either. Have you noticed—you cannot say, “I am experiencing a little mystery!” Whenever mystery is experienced, it is experienced whole. Mystery is never experienced bit by bit; it is experienced entire. Either it is, or it is not. But whenever it is, it is entire.

Belief is always bit by bit, hence a portion of the mind remains cut off. The experience of mystery gathers the mind together. Therefore, the simpler a person’s consciousness, the more he can experience mystery. That is why in children—in their eyes, their movements, their play—the glimpse of the divine can sometimes be seen. For all of life is mystery. Butterflies fly—and for them, jewels are flying. Stones slide—and for them, a taste of heaven descends. The river flows—and for them, the gates of Kubera’s treasure open. All is mystery.

Jakob Boehme has said: when for the first time I came to the experience of mystery, I said, “How mad I was! This is simply to regain childhood. I have become a child again.”

Someone asked Jesus, “Who will be worthy to enter your kingdom of heaven?” He said, “Those who become again like children.”

So children are endowed with shraddha. The old, at most, can be believers; children are shraddhavan.

Have you ever seen a child holding his father’s hand? With the father’s hand in his hand—have you seen! What trust! The father himself does not have so much trust—that he will manage the hand, that he knows the way. He himself does not know anything. But the son holds his hand with such trust. If there is an exact word in English for shraddha, it is trust—not belief, not faith—trust. The son holds his hand as if the father were God, as if he knew all.

A son comes and sleeps with his head in his mother’s lap—trust! As though the mother’s lap were outside all sorrow, beyond all worries. The mother is not beyond worry; the mother is not outside sorrow; the mother may be troubled. But the little boy, tired from playing all day, returns and places his head in the mother’s lap and sleeps carefree—he has found God’s lap—trust. The mother does not have it; the son has it. Therefore, the mother’s lap can become for the son the place of God. The mother herself does not have that experience. But that trust has filled the lap with such quiet and such joy.

Krishna says: one with such shraddha—as a small boy holds his father’s hand, or places his head in the mother’s lap and sleeps, certain that now there is no danger in the world, no insecurity; nothing can harm me; the matter is finished—he sleeps carefree, with no worry—who, in this way, lives by my word, becomes free of all actions.

“But lives by my word.” Does Krishna mean that one who lives by someone else’s word will not be free? Such a meaning is indeed imposed—followers will impose it. They will say, “See, Krishna has said: he who lives by my word, with shraddha, becomes free of the net of karma. So do not follow the Bible—you will go astray; do not follow the Quran—you will go astray. Krishna has clearly said that he who lives by my word, with shraddha, becomes free of karma.” What could be clearer! “Do not accept anyone else—do not accept Mahavira, do not accept Buddha.”

But this is entirely the wrong meaning. The very one who, from within Krishna, says, “He who lives by my word arrives,” is the same who, from within Buddha, says, “He who lives by my word arrives.” The same who, from within Christ, says, “He who lives by my word arrives.” The same who, from within Mohammed, says, “He who lives by my word arrives.” The “I” in question is one. The doors are many; the voice is one. Do not fall into the delusion that only one who follows the Gita arrives. If one follows the Quran, he arrives; if one follows the Bible, he arrives.

The real question is not the Quran or the Bible; the real question is the reverent heart. I want to shift the emphasis. The real question is the reverent heart. If with just such a reverent heart someone takes Jesus’ hand, he arrives from there too. If someone takes Mohammed’s hand, he arrives from there too. The real point is this: with a reverent heart, acting without attachment, one goes beyond action. And “my word” is not Krishna’s word; “my word” is the word of Paramatma.

Krishna is only a window through which Paramatma peeped before Arjuna. Sometimes he peeps through Mohammed, sometimes through Moses. Through a thousand windows he peeps. And whenever he peeps, his voice is equally authentic: “If you heed my word, you will arrive.” And from this the greatest controversy arises in the world—for some say Mohammed said it; some say Krishna said it; some say Christ said it; then the quarrel begins—whom shall we obey? They say, “Our master said, ‘I am the way. I am the door. Whoever walks by me will arrive. I am the way. I am the truth. I am the door. Come—if you walk by me you will arrive.’” The Christian, of course, will say, “It is so clear—why do you wander? If you follow Ram, Krishna, Buddha—you will be lost, you will fall into hell.”

But a great mistake has been made—by all humanity. The one within who says “I am the way” is the same who, through Krishna, says, “Arjuna, heed my word and you will be free of karma.” It is the one stream of life peering through many windows.

Understand it like this: you go to the Ganga, and the Ganga says, “If you drink my water, you will be free of thirst.” Then you go to the Volga, and the Volga says, “If you drink my water, you will be free of thirst.” You say, “This is highly contradictory. The Ganga says the same, the Volga says the same—whom shall we obey? We are followers of the Ganga—we will not drink the Volga’s water. We will drink only Ganga’s water.” Then you are mad. The very water that said through the Ganga, “If you drink me, you will be free of thirst,” says through the Volga, “If you drink me, you will be free of thirst.” The difference between the Ganga and the Volga is not a difference of water; it is only a difference of banks, not of water.

Krishna’s banks are different; Buddha’s banks are different. But the current that flows is the one current of Paramatma. Remember this, and the point will be rightly understood.