Asian Religions, page 15
Sūdra (laborers) – labor and service;
Vaiśya (merchants and capitalists) – production of goods;
Katriya (government officials, traditionally “warriors”) – protection of social order;
Brahmin (priests and religious teachers) – spiritual guidance.
The other determinant of social responsibility is my stage in life, that is, my age and the “rites of passage” that introduce each phase – such as rites of childhood, of marriage, and of retirement. Though most persons complete only the first three of the four āśramas, these are listed below, going from youth to old age:
the student phase: study and learning, including religious education;
the householder phase: creating a family, pursuing one's chosen vocation, serving one's community;
the retiree phase: retirement, study, and contemplation;
the Sannyasa phase: renunciation, “wandering,” spiritual self-cultivation.
Collectively, varna-āśrama-dharma are directly related to karma: if I perform my duties well, I produce positive karmic outcomes; if I fail to perform them, I produce negative karmic outcomes. Moreover, just as karma is the energy that fuels sasāra, dharma is the moral law that sustains the community and the social world.
As we noted in the discussion of the Confucian tradition, Hindu dharma assumes social hierarchy. In a system that makes morality situational rather than general or universal, I should be mindful of my role and status, as well as of the role and status of those whom I serve, or who serve me. Of course, this system is much more complex than we see here (the varnas are general designations for a significantly more layered social network, consisting of social groups called jātis – the word from which we derived the English word “caste”), and one's sense of social place is even more specifically defined.
Karma-marga
To perform one's own duty well, without concern for oneself, is the thrust of karma-yoga, the spiritual discipline of action. In short, this spiritual path is action without attachment, that is, action without concern for the fruits of action. To do what is right, to act selflessly – without regard for one's own ego – is the basic motivational principle behind varna-āśrama-dharma. In the short term, such action is socially beneficial: it serves the family and the community. In the long term it redoubles upon itself with the reward of a higher rebirth. And, in an ultimate sense, it promotes the greater spiritual goal of egolessness and the unity of the deeper self with “God” or the cosmos. We will explore this last point in Chapter 17.
Ultimately Arjuna goes into battle, to fulfill his social duty. So, too, should I embrace my dharma, first by understanding it – by knowing what is expected of me – then by fulfilling it – by carrying out my responsibilities with their intrinsic value foremost in my mind. In doing so, I am serving others and creating a better world; moreover, I am moving forward along a multi-lifetime path of spiritual development and self-realization.
Notes
1 Anguttara Nikaya, iii 415; from the Pali Buddhist canon.
2 The Associated Press, “U.S. Veterans Have Mixed Reactions about No Gun Ri.” Associated Press, October 1, 1999. At http://news.google.com/newspapers?nid=861&dat=19991001&id=1N9HAAAAIBAJ&sjid=JIAMAAAAIBAJ&pg=1541,6593683 (accessed March 11, 2013).
16
Jñāna-marga
One way of describing the Hindu tradition is in terms of three dimensions: moral, spiritual, and religious. Karma-marga addresses the moral dimension, jñāna-marga the spiritual, bhakti-marga the religious. Clearly these are artificial distinctions with vague boundaries, but it is meaningful to say that the realms of moral self-cultivation, spiritual self-understanding, and religious worship and devotion are not one and the same; and sometimes they can come into conflict. Yet all, from a Hindu point of view, lead to the ultimate transformation of the self and “liberation” from embodied existence.
Jñāna-marga is described as the path of knowledge; it is best suited for persons who are controlled by their minds, whose egos are caught up in intellectual solutions and the mastery of knowledge. Jñāna-marga challenges the mind-driven ego by presenting a radically new, in some ways “anti-intellectual” understanding of ultimate reality. It does so by saying that the world we know, “this” world of differentiated beings, of multiplicity, of perceptual experience – the world we see and touch and feel – is an illusory world. We think we “know” the truth, when in fact our understanding of reality is based on ignorance. How so?
The spiritual teachings of the Hindu tradition, as expressed in religious texts like the Upaniads, emphasize the oneness of self and spirit, of soul and Soul, and the unity of oneself with every other person, every other being in the universe. We do not ordinarily “see” this – in fact we live almost in abject denial of it, affirming instead the individual uniqueness of things, especially our own ego. We are so attached to this uniqueness that we even claim to “possess” it – this is “my” body, these are “my” thoughts and feelings, this is “my” life, “my” money and property, these are “my” rights and this is “my” happiness, even if it comes at the expense of others'. The ego, in other words, is highly individuated: it uniquely identifies “me” as the person I am, with my own, distinct “soul and substance” (the ahakāra, as ego is designated in Sanskrit). But, from a spiritual point of view, the yogic discipline of wisdom (jñāna-yoga) teaches that this passion for uniqueness blinds us to our true selves and to the true nature of the universe: we are ignorant, un-seeing (avidyā). If we awake to truth, if we achieve cosmic consciousness, then we see the unity of all things.
Hindu scriptures describe the self as multilayered. The ego is conditioned by laws of cause and effect, and it is material in form. This aspect of self is prakti, the physical aspect. It consists of the physical body, conscious thoughts, even unconscious motivations and desires – the aspects of myself that individuate me, make me different from others, identify me. We are materialistic in the sense that we grasp these aspects of the self as essential – we fear death, fear loss of property or of loved ones, fear for our reputations because our egos are so tied up in these distinguishing marks of identity.
The ego is subject to the karmic laws of cause and effect, as we have seen in Chapter 15. In fact the particular characteristics of our egos (physical appearance, conscious thinking, unconscious predilections) were self-caused, coming as a consequence of actions in the past, including actions in previous lives. But there is a deeper dimension of the self that is beyond individuation and is “pure spirit” (purua). This deeper self survives my death and takes on new forms (it is “reincarnated” – made physical again) as a consequence of karmic energy.
In its individuated hypostasis, the spiritual essence that underlies my ego is called jīva, “drop” or “spark.” “My” jīva has experienced countless rebirths and has learned from them, has undergone innumerable forms and capacities, and has gained in wisdom as a result. This wisdom may not be conscious (consciousness is an aspect of prakti) – it is not intellectual knowledge, like that possessed by the ego – but these lessons are like “marks of learning” (in Sanskrit, sanskaras) that the deeper “I” has absorbed. The progression of lifetimes, and the lessons that the soul learns in each, propels the self forward. These lessons incline me to seek rebirth in higher and higher forms. In this sense, rebirth at a higher level of existence from one life to the next does not reflect only moral reward (“good karma”), but also spiritual progress. In fact Hindus make no claim that an upper caste Hindu is a morally better person than a lower caste Hindu, but that person is spiritually more mature. Why?
The puruārthas
At the level of the unconscious, the level that is closest to the true self or to the soul, we are motivated by wants and desires that are only vaguely known. These inclinations are classified in Hindu scriptures as puruārthas: wants, desires, preoccupations.1 Three of the puruārthas are related to the individuated ego and to the productive phases of the student and householder āśramas. These three are the trivarga (“triple set”):
kāma – pleasure, especially pleasant physical sensations such as sexual sensations;
artha – acquisitiveness, the desire for material wealth;
dharma – service, moral responsibility, a desire to contribute to the creation of a better world.
As long as they are pursued morally (according to the dictates of dharma), the goals or “preoccupations” of sensual pleasure and accumulation of wealth are appropriate for the material, embodied self of everyday life. In Hinduism (as opposed to the ascetic strains of Christianity and Buddhism, for example), sexual desire is not, in itself, morally problematic. Certainly there are moral ways and immoral ways to satisfy sexual desires, and these actions have karmic consequences. Some forms of sexual expression, such as incest and adultery, are morally condemned. But sex itself is natural and appropriate for most persons. There is even a religious scripture dedicated to its proper satisfaction: the Kāma Sūtra (a sūtra is a religious text). In this sense sex is celebrated in Hinduism, both as a sustainer of life and as a means of spiritual development.
Though celebrating sexual desire as a creator and sustainer of material reality, the scriptural tradition regards kāma and its fixation on the body and its sensual satisfaction as spiritually inferior, spiritually childish. It has its own emotional rewards, at a higher level of consciousness, but sex itself is limited to the body and its sensations. Moreover, it is highly individualistic: even though I may be having sex with another person, my physical sensations are mine alone, and cannot be shared with or experienced by another. They are limited to my body, my self. Sex is ego-centered, and cannot be ultimately fulfilling. No wonder that most people eventually give it up, if not in old age, then at least in later lives dedicated to a celibate lifestyle. Over time the deeper self, the soul, grows tired of sex and sees its limitations. Sex can satisfy physical desires, but it cannot satisfy one's deeper wants and needs.
The second of the puruārthas is artha, the desire for material wealth. Artha resembles kāma in that both are highly materialistic and both should be governed by the third of the puruārthas, dharma. Yet wealth, too, is limited and ultimately unsatisfying. Unlike sex, it can be shared, but if shared too much, it dissipates; I can only share it to a certain point before it is no longer “wealth.” Moreover, though it is undeniable that wealth can buy a certain amount of comfort and security, even happiness, it cannot secure any of these things, and it can also cause misery and strife. The possessions that I enjoy because of wealth are themselves ultimately unsatisfying; they cannot meet the soul's drive for freedom and for something lasting and eternal.
The third puruārtha is dharma, here understood as social service or responsibility. Dharma governs both kama and artha but goes beyond them. Unlike sexual sensation and personal wealth, service can be shared with society as a whole, and dharma can be fulfilled in government, education, and charitable activities. As the third of the “triple set,” dharma represents the highest and most noble of personal aspirations.
The fourth puruārtha is moka: liberation, the impulse to overcome embodiment altogether.
Striving for satisfaction in a material sense, the soul comes to the ultimate realization that this world is one of unending and irredeemable imperfection – wherever there are people, there inevitably is suffering, conflict, disappointment, and loss. These pains are simply part of life and, as long as we are living as embodied beings, they are unavoidable. The mature soul recognizes that true perfection and spiritual contentment can come only when the self is no longer embodied. This is the fourth of the puruārthas, the desire for liberation from embodied existence, moka. Traditionally this motivation was associated with the later stages of life, the āśramas of retirement and renunciation, dedicated to spiritual self-cultivation, and it is regarded as the highest goal of human life (paramapuruārtha).
Some modern-day scholars and teachers associate the four puruārthas explicitly with the four varnas or the four āśramas, but a direct sequence is not found in the Dharmaśāstras (scriptural texts of moral instruction). Still, it is clear that the first three of the puruārthas are most appropriate in the productive stages of life and are ultimately supplanted and replaced by the desire for moka in the later stages. Some texts and schools also reserved the paramapuruārtha (highest goal) for the highest – Brahmin – caste, but most Hindus throughout history have seen moka as an appropriate goal for all, regardless of caste.2
Within Hinduism, the three goals of life associated with this-worldly existence, kāma, artha, and dharma – known collectively as the trivarga – are ultimately found to be unsatisfying. They are inevitably constrained by the sheer fact of human limitation. More often than not we are frustrated in the achievement of our desires, whether for sex, for money, or for a better world. Moreover, even when we achieve them, they are not ultimately fulfilling; they are not as great as we thought they would be. To illustrate this point to my students, I cite an interview by Terry Gross on Public Broadcasting's “Fresh Air” program with the Olympic gold medal winner Florence Griffith Joyner. “Flo-Jo” still holds the world records in the 100-meter and 200-meter dashes, set in the Olympic trials prior to the Seoul Olympics in 1988. Sporting neon-colored full-body track suits, gold shoes, six-inch fingernails, a full head of hair, and a model's good looks, she is arguably not only “the fastest woman who ever lived,” but also the most stunning. One week before the tenth anniversary of her three Olympic gold medals, she died, at the age of 38, of a grand mal seizure – an epileptic condition that she had suffered from since age 30. In her interview with Terry Gross, Joyner commented that the moment when she became most aware of the limitations of the human body and experienced the frustration of being embodied was not during her epileptic episodes – which must have been terrifying, painful, and humiliating – but rather at the peak of her training as an Olympic athlete. It was at that time, when she had pushed her body to its limits and had attained perhaps the most “perfect body” that any human has ever attained, that she wished she could be free of it, and that the greatest attainments of this life and this world could not meet her ultimate desire and ultimate goal: to be free of embodiment altogether.
Moksha as Unity with Brahman
In spite of its morally sophisticated system of karma and rebirth, of duties according to caste and stage of life – which would seem to divide and classify human beings – Hinduism affirms that all beings are on the same path and are ultimately destined for spiritual awakening in the form of liberation from embodied existence. Religiously speaking, then, we are all equal. In essence, the Brahmin is no different from the Sūdra – the laborer. The Brahmin was once a Sūdra; the Sūdra will some day be a Brahmin. Hence the religiously perceptive individual recognizes no real difference between them.
When I was a graduate student, my advisor, Dr. Ashok Aklujkar, a world-renowned professor of Sanskrit literature, expressed this sentiment in an extraordinarily humble way. When I commented that I felt I was far below him in scholarship and ability, he said: “Randall, I am no better than you are; I simply started earlier.” Now myself a teacher for some twenty years, I often think of these words: the teacher is simply one who has learned and passed on to others what he or she has gained; later on the student will do the same. My advisor was not making a religious claim, simply a point about the process of education and scholarly transmission – but Hinduism teaches this lesson in a spiritual sense: the Brahmin is no better than the Sūdra, simply further along on a common path.
What “happens” with moka? What is the experience of “disembodiment,” of pure spirit? Hindu scriptures describe moka as the realization of the unity of soul and God. It is explained philosophically with the help of two senses of “realization”:
1 First, “to realize” means to “make real,” to achieve an objective, as in “realizing a goal.” The scriptures describe the long course of the soul's individuated existence over innumerable lifetimes, as it finally ends when the goal of the soul's reabsorption in pure spirit, Brahman, is accomplished: this is a returning to God. As the individual soul, the jīva is likened to a drop of water or a spark of fire; moka represents the immersion of the drop into the “sea” of Brahman or the immersion of the spark in the “fire” of Brahman. The soul does not cease to exist, but it is liberated from its individuated form and absorbed into a greater reality.
2 Second, “to realize” means to “understand,” to have an awakening. A major theme of the Upaniads, the most “mystical” of the Hindu scriptures, is that the individual is “already” liberated and always has been, but has simply not yet become conscious of this truth. Living in ignorance and failing to see reality as it truly is, the self exists under the illusion of difference, multiplicity, and individuation. Moka is the realization that the true essence of the self is Ātman (the soul essence, shared with all living beings) and that Ātman is Brahman – that Soul is God. Why, then, does this world of everyday experience seem to exist? It is but the “play” (līlā) of Brahman, an illusion (māyā). One who penetrates this illusion attains wisdom, the realization of ultimate unity, expressed in Sanskrit as Advaita Vedānta, “the non-duality of Ātman and Brahman, self and God, highest teaching of the Vedas.” In Hindu mystical philosophy, what we see is not truly real; what is truly real is unseen.
