Conversation with Krishna
I finished reading the Bhagavad Gita, translated by Eknath Easwaran. Diana Morrison comments on each chapter.
As with the two other translations in the series (The Upanishads and the Dhammapada), these commentaries were highly illuminating and captured, I believe, the nature of the text very well.
The Bhagavad Gita (literally “Song of the Blessed One”) was likely composed between the 2nd century BCE and the 2nd century CE. By then, Buddhism and Jainism were already flourishing in India, overshadowing Hinduism. The Gita (pronounced “geeta”) appears as a response, reaffirming the value of the world and of action (as opposed to the Buddhist withdrawal into asceticism).
The Bhagavad Gita was inserted into the great epic Mahabharata, one of the most vast epics ever written (around 18 books, 200,000 verses, of which the Gita accounts for 700).
Two immense armies face each other: the Pandavas, legitimate heirs to the throne, and their cousins, the Kauravas, usurpers.
On the battlefield, Arjuna, the Pandava hero, sees before him his kin, his teachers, his friends. Arjuna’s doubt is existential. How should one act in such a cruel world? Can evil be fought with evil? How can he kill those he loves? What value is a kingdom won in blood?
Thus begins a dialogue with Krishna, who reveals both his divine nature and speaks to Arjuna of the duty of cherishing his presence. Krishna also teaches that one cannot escape destiny. Every action has merit if it is performed selflessly and for the good of all.
Three levels of action lead to union with Krishna:
Action without selfishness, without attachment to the fruits it bears;
Action through knowledge, that is, intellectually understanding the Divine;
Action through devotion, submission and surrender to Krishna.
Since meditation is a complex, difficult, even heroic practice, Krishna explains to Arjuna that selfless action, though gradual and long (requiring several lifetimes to master), is more accessible to ordinary mortals. Because we are alive, we must act in this existence, fulfill our needs, but do so with simplicity, love, and detachment.
Arjuna should not fear death, Krishna continues. It is only an appearance, an illusion. The body is merely the field of the soul’s evolution. What matters is the spirit in which one acts. Action becomes liberation, not bondage. Deliverance does not mean fleeing the world, but acting within it without clinging to it.
In one chapter, Krishna unveils his true nature to Arjuna. The light that radiates from him is so intense that Arjuna eventually begs him to return to his familiar human form. This passage reminded me of the Transfiguration of Christ in the New Testament.
Jesus takes Peter, James, and John up a mountain. His face shines like the sun; his garments become dazzling. Moses and Elijah appear, and a voice proclaims: “This is my beloved Son, listen to him.” As with Arjuna, the disciples are given a vision of the master’s true divine nature, beyond his human appearance.
One cannot draw such parallels in Buddhism (as far as I know). There is no God concerning the Buddha. He is an individual who attained nirvana, an ultimate non-Reality, eternal.
Conclusion
I appreciated the knowledge conveyed in this trilogy translated by Eknath Easwaran. Although these three primary texts—the Upanishads, the Dhammapada, and the Bhagavad Gita—are considered the essence of the traditions they represent, they do not cover the full scope of Asian mystical or religious thought.
The origin of consciousness or the intuition of the divine is lost in the mists of time, and I have not addressed Jainism, Sikhism, or Shintoism, among others.
At the risk of oversimplifying, it always comes back to the same thing, regardless of time, place, or culture. Reality is incomprehensible, and each person’s existence is an apparent tragedy, woven of necessities, joys, and suffering. There seems to be some form of “beyond,” with more or less layers. The means of reaching that summit differ.
Some choose to endure it, to resign themselves, remaining prisoners of their bodies and senses, endlessly seeking to quench an unshakable thirst. Such people are denied a paradise or celestial garden, or must climb back up the slope of destiny. Existentialists belong here, perhaps?
Others turn toward solitary meditation, striving to master the tumultuous winds of the mind. They sometimes reach a serenity as delicate as it is fleeting. The intransigence of their effort is matched only by the insurmountable difficulty of the task. At times, they succeed, vanishing into their luminous silence, save for a few exceptions; at other times, a few great fires—Buddha, Jesus, or Muhammad—leave behind nourishing ashes.
Finally, some surrender mindlessly, lovingly, to what they cannot grasp. It is always a matter of balance. Sometimes love becomes eroticism, flagellation, or obscuration; sometimes this path is taken by pilgrims of peace and justice.
As for me, I let myself be carried by these readings. This is not new. I may understand these ideas, but I do not know if I embody or feel them. I want to stop doubting, but my fear and anxiety seem too great.
It is said that one needs only travel on foot to know the world. My hours are small steps along a foggy path. I wander on, hoping to see, from time to time, a beautiful landscape.
I like to believe there exists an Order, a Measure, a Direction. Suppose the human mind has invented so many kaleidoscopic and kindred theophanies and philosophies. Is it not proof that it sinks its roots into the fertile, measured Ground of ineffable Reality?
Reference: Easwaran's Classics of Indian Spirituality (3-book series) by Eknath Easwaran, Nilgiri Press, 2019.
