Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Karma Yoga

(I came across this essay I had written many years ago, when I was first getting to grips with the concepts of karma yoga. It summarises my understanding of the gist of the opening chapters of the Bhagavad Gita. I felt I should preserve it here. It has only been lightly edited from its original form, so please excuse any childish writing)


Karma yoga is the process of yoking oneself to God while continuing to perform actions. Really, karmayoga is at the core of any spiritual process, but on its own is incomplete and meaningless. Karmayoga is a perfection of other yogas such as jnanayoga (yoga of knowledge) and bhaktiyoga (yoga of devotion). An understanding of karmayoga can be made only with knowledge of the laws of karma. Some jnanayoga is thus required for an understanding of karmayoga.

Karma is nature’s simplest law, understood by spiritual amateurs and even atheists. All actions produce reactions. What goes around comes around. Good actions produce good results and vice versa. One reaps the fruit of the seeds he sows. Just as man is bound to gravity, he is bound to enjoy or suffer the fruits of his actions. Even his apparent inaction is an action which will bear results.

One is thus bound to this chain of karma, acting and facing the reactions. At the end of his life, he takes rebirth according to his karma (deeds). One is thus bound to the cycle of birth and death, as well as that of action and reaction. To achieve release, or liberation from this material bondage, and attain spiritual realisation, one must break free of the cycle of karma. Doing so requires a deep understanding of one’s actual existence as a spiritual entity separate from the body.

One needs to understand, or rather, realise, that he is beyond the conception of the body and its associated limited, material personality. He is an eternal being, independent of the body, and he does not belong to this material world. With the proper understanding of this fact (which is a truth so profound and deep that actually realising it is called self-realisation), one finds himself trapped in material surroundings, and does not identify with his body. He knows that this ‘person’, say, Mr A.K. Chawla, BA Pass, is just another material living entity in the macrocosm of the universe, possessing a peculiar mix of the three modes of material natures (gunas) which give him particular tendencies to act in certain ways. Knowing that his actual self is transcendental to the three modes of material nature, and that there is nothing in this fleeting material world that he wants, the sage loses interest in the fruitive activities he was previously engaged in. Attaining spiritual realisation and seeing his true nature of infinitude, he sees the relative futility of work, which is transient. He realises that he is unborn, immortal, and has no mother, father, family etc.

He then understands that all that he did was in fact done through the modes of material nature. He was all this while a puppet in a play, but a puppet with a free will. He was an actor who had choices and could desire. Nonetheless, the decision-making and even the desires were somewhat dictated by the modes of material nature. Thus, although technically all these action of the person were carried out by the modes of nature, the soul thinks himself the doer, by associating with the material personality.

Upon self-realisation, one becomes transcendental to the modes of material nature, i.e. nistraigunya. He is therefore now in an awkward position, knowing his eternal situation, yet continuing his existence in the transient material world. In deference to the material creation, and also to lead people on the right path, he continues to work, although there is no need for him to engage in material duty. Nonetheless, he carries out his duties to perfection, fulfilling the role of his character he has to play in the material world.

The most important difference is the mode of consciousness in which he is now working. He is doing whatever he is doing as a mere duty with no desire as he has already transcended the material plane and finds nothing desirable there (naavaptavyam). Thus he has no selfish interest, and no attachment to the fruits of his actions, which don’t affect him in the least. Success and failure, joy and grief, pleasure and pain, life and death, are all the same to him who has become non-dual, or nirdvandva. He knows that the dualities concern only his material personality and the results of his actions are inconsequential to his actual being.

Therefore, although he is engaged in actions, the fruits of his actions don’t affect him when he acts this way, and he as good as does not act at all. The person now realises that he is an actor in a play, and does not get attached or involved to his character’s deeds. This never-ending play, or movie, is creation. Its producer is God or one of His potencies, the scriptwriter is dharma. However, the actors do not always act according to the script, but are instead directed by the modes of nature. An actor who knows he is an actor is a better actor than one who thinks he is Hamlet or MacBeth, and gets involved without knowing the script too well, or even the fact that there is a script. An actor who associates with his character and body, believing he is the character and not an actor, will act (pun unintended) with the selfish interest of his character.


In this highly complicated way, the multitudes live out their existence in this endless, fascinating, complex and dynamic play, never realising that the are merely actors in a play, with a separate off-stage existence from their characters.

Friday, March 21, 2014

In Defence of the Caste System

I believe in meritocracy. A person’s actions should be a bigger determinant of his success in life than his birth. I believe social mobility is a sign of a just and developed society.

Then why the distasteful title? No, it’s not a typo. I didn’t intend to write ‘In defiance of the Hindu Caste System’ or something of the sort.

The caste system as it has become today is abhorrent. It has become a blight on the Hindu religion and sets an unparalleled example of institutionalised discrimination.

The caste system is the easy target with which atheists and missionaries attack the Hindu religion. It is the cancer of Hindu society that has driven millions of its followers into the arms of Islam, Buddhism and Christianity. These religions only had to offer prospective converts the dignity of being treated as human beings to entice them to leave the faith of their ancestors.

Despite this deserved opprobrium, there is a positive philosophical side to the caste system that deserves a hearing. Before it was corrupted into an elaborate protection racket for the socially privileged, the caste system embodied a sophisticated system of relative morality.

I avoid using the term moral relativism, which has earned a bad reputation from being used to justify unjustifiable cultural practices and imply that all cultures are equally moral. I focus instead on whether morals for individuals are absolute or relative.

A little thought on the subject will show that morality cannot be absolute, and is highly dependent on context and circumstance. Most of us will agree that a rich man stealing from a shop is far more immoral than a poor hungry man doing the same, even though both of them have committed exactly the same act. Modern courts consider motive and circumstances in sentencing.

Prescriptive rules of absolute morality such as the Ten Commandments would thus seem to be a poor moral guide for the complexities of the real world. They are useful to teach children about basic morality (e.g. thou shalt not kill, thou shalt honour thy mother and father), but fail in the most basic complications. Should a soldier in war not kill? Should the child of a serial murderer honour her father?

The morality espoused by Jesus transcends the more primitive absolute morality of the Old Testament. For example, the golden rule of “do unto others as you would have them do unto you” perfectly encapsulates the subtlety of morality, and implies that it is relative. What I may have others do unto me is different to what you would have them do unto you.

Jesus could hardly endorse relative morality more explicitly than in Luke 12:48 where he says:

“But he who did not know, yet committed things deserving of stripes, shall be beaten with few. For everyone to whom much is given, from him much will be required; and to whom much has been committed, of him they will ask the more.”

The caste system divides human beings into having four types of dispositions, and prescribes societal roles, moral rules and different levels of accountability based on those dispositions. In theory, this is an enlightened concept that recognises that all men cannot be judged by the same scales given their vastly different abilities and intelligences.

A good parable that illustrates this is an episode from the Indian epic, The Mahabharata. When the righteous emperor Yudhishthira was in contention for becoming crown prince in competition with his immoral cousin Duryodhana, the minister at the time tested the two in a criminal proceeding. Four men had been found guilty of conspiring to commit a murder, and the two princes were asked to give their sentences to the criminals. Duryodhana went first. His judgement was that the established penalty for murder was capital punishment, and all four murderers thus deserved to be hung.

Yudhisthira’s response was more nuanced. To the surprise of the court, he asked for the castes of the four murderers. Conveniently for an epic tale, they were each from one of the four castes: a Brahmin (priest), a Kshatriya (warrior), a Vaishya (trader), and a Shudra (labourer). 

He considered that the Shudra, while guilty, was illiterate and hence not as guilty as the educated Vaishya, who was better educated in moral matters. He therefore sentenced the Vaishya to a jail term four times longer than that of the shudra’s. For the Kshatriya, whose very moral duty it was to protect citizens, his crime of murder was particularly heinous, and deserved a punishment quadruple that of the Vaishya. As for the Brahmin, whose moral duty was to spread morality and peace itself, his crime was so vile, that he referred him to his own guru to judge his punishment.

It can be said that Yudhishthira’s caste-based judgement applied Jesus’ principle of “to whom much is given, from him much is required” some 5 millennia before Christ.

This subtlety of relative morality in the caste system was again illustrated during the great war of the Mahabharata. In the course of the war, a Kshatriya king, Virata, lost his son in battle. Breaking the news to his wife with tears in his eyes, he told her that as a Kshatriya woman, she should be proud that her son gave his life in war fighting for righteousness. The next morning, he returned to the battlefield and continued to fight, as was his duty as a Kshatriya.

Some days later, the Brahmin chief general Drona was informed his son had died in battle. His reaction was extraordinary. In his anguish, he ceased fighting, dropped his arms, descended his chariot, and starting meditating. His sudden abdication of responsibility while being chief general was a dereliction of his duty.

His actions reveal that in choosing to take up arms and fight on the battlefield, Drona was not doing unto others as he would have them do unto him. Virata killed others’ sons, accepting that he and his sons were fair game to be similarly killed. While aggrieved, he continued to perform his duty when he lost his son. In contrast, Drona, who was a Brahmin at heart, responded to the killing of his own son in a way he would not have expected from the many fathers he commandeered. It was hence immoral of him to kill others’ sons in war if he was unable to accept his own son being killed without becoming completely emotionally incapacitated. Or as Jesus put it, “For with what judgment you judge, you will be judged”. Drona was judged by that judgement, and was found wanting.

In ancient India the caste system was central to this relative morality. Different castes had different moral guidelines in consideration of their duties. For example, hunting and eating meat were considered acceptable for Kshatriyas as they need to be skilled in violence to employ it in the defence of righteousness. As individuals who would risk their lives to defend their communities, Kshatriyas were allowed a more risk-taking nature and to indulge in activities such as high-stakes gambling. Such behaviour was strongly discouraged or forbidden for the other castes, particularly for Brahmins, who were expected to shoulder society's burden of preserving, developing, and distributing society’s intellectual and spiritual capital. Seen as less intelligent and engaged in menial tasks, Shudras had fewer rights but also fewer responsibilities.

The caste system only really became the problem it is today, when individuals were forced to belong to a caste based on their birth, and were stuck to it for life. The fundamental problem with the caste system is its heredity and rigidity.

Throughout its history, India has risen and fallen with these moral principles. Every time society judged an individual's deeds (karma) to be above his birth (janma), India has thrived, and it has decayed every time the reverse was true.

India was first united as one country by Emperor Bharata, who gave India its native name of Bhaarata.[1]  A key story of Bharata’s reign was that he so elevated action over birth, that he overlooked all of his sons and anointed someone else as his crown prince. This is especially extraordinary given it occurred many millennia BC, when states and kingdoms around the world were seen as mere possessions of kings, not commonwealths of the people.

The roots of the downfall of Indian civilisation can be traced to when Bharata’s descendant Shantanu and his son Bhishma guaranteed the throne to a person who was as yet unborn, purely on the basis of his birth. Down the line, Dhritrashtra then conspired to give the throne to his son ahead of his more competent nephew. Ultimately, this led to the epic war of righteousness that was the Mahabharata, which ended with Kshatriya society largely wiped out.  

In the era leading up to the Mahabharata war, the ills of the caste system had begun to set in. India had become a society where the thumbs of aspirational lower-caste citizens were cut off to preserve privilege for the upper classes.[2] It was a classist society that refused to accord the low-caste born son Karna the respect he deserved as a Kshatriya, despite being one of the greatest warriors of his time.

It is interesting to note that India’s classical golden era was under the Gupta king Chandragupta Maurya, who was also not born into royalty.

Interestingly, this conflict of action and birth, karma and janma, will manifest itself again in the upcoming 2014 Indian general election. The contrast in its expected Prime Ministerial candidates could scarcely be more poetic. One the one hand, Rahul Gandhi is expected to try and join his father, grandmother, and great-grandfather to become the fourth Prime Minister of India from the Brahmin Nehru-Gandhi dynasty. His mother is the leader of the ruling Congress Party, and his only political achievement to date is his surname. In his ten years as an MP, he has given very few speeches and only recently gave his first detailed interview. He and the Congress Party represent the power of janma, with its inherited wealth and status. Representing karma in this election is the Prime Ministerial candidate of the Bhartiya Janata Party, the Chief Minister of Gujarat, Narendra Modi. Born into a low-caste family, Modi sold tea to make a living in his youth and rose from obscurity to become India’s most recognised and respected chief minister. Since 2001, he has presided over a period of unprecedented economic prosperity in his state by delivering reform and competent governance.

There could not be a starker choice in this election between janma and karma.

It is not difficult to see that until Indian society once again elevates karma above janma, it will remain mired in the material and spiritual poverty in which it currently dwells.




[1] According to traditional Indian history, it was not the British who first united the Indian subcontinent. The word for India in native Indian tongues is Bhaarata, a patronymic of Bharata.

[2] For non-Indian readers, this is a reference to the story of Eklavya, a brilliant lower-caste archer. He was an ardent admirer of the guru Drona, and had taught himself archery by mentally accepting Drona as his guru. When they chanced upon a meeting, Eklavya asked Drona what he would demand as part of his traditional dues as a guru. To everyone’s shock, Drona demanded his right thumb, thus crippling his ability to shoot. It is said he did this to prevent Eklavya from outshining his favourite pupil. 
There is a good blog post with good illustrations of the character here: http://rainbowstampclub.blogspot.com.au/2013/12/new-stamp-from-india_28.html