The Katha Upanishad

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Chapter 7 from The Upanishads for Awakening

The Katha Upanishad opens with the account of a very stingy man, Vajashravasa, who hoping for heavenly reward performed a sacrifice in which he gave away all his property. But what he gave was useless and worn-out cattle, some hardly able to eat or drink. Since this was a mockery and not a virtuous act, his son, Nachiketas, who was still a boy, was concerned over his father’s evident attempt to hoodwink the gods (and God) with such a farce. He asked Vajashravasa, “Father! To whom will you give me?” Annoyed, his father replied: “I give you to Death!”–that is, to Yama the god of death.

Nachiketas then spoke to his father in an attempt to awaken in him the awareness of the folly he was committing in the light of rebirth and karma.

Here is the way the Upanishad tells it:

Desirous [of the fruit of the Visvajit sacrifice] Vajashravasa, they say, gave away all that he possessed. He had a son by name Nachiketas.
As the gifts were being taken to the priests, faith entered him. Although but a [mere] boy, he thought: Their water drunk, their grass eaten, their milk milked, their strength spent, joyless, verily, are those worlds, to which he, who presents such [cows] goes.
He said to his father, O Sire, to whom will you give me? For a second and a third time [he repeated] [when the father] said to him, Unto Death shall I give you.
Nachiketas [thought], Of many [sons or disciples] I go as the first, of many, I go as the middling. What duty towards Yama that [my father has to accomplish] today, does he accomplish through me?
[He said to his father:] Consider how it was with the forefathers, behold how it is with the later [men], a mortal ripens like grain, and like grain is born again. (1.1.1-6)

There is no use denying it: we all follow in the path of Vajashravasa on occasion, though some do it more exuberantly and overtly. This is especially deadly in the realm of spiritual life.

One day two friends from South India who were living in America asked me wonderingly: “What is an ‘Indian giver’?” When I said it meant someone who promised but did not deliver, or who gave and then took back, they were really bewildered. But when I explained that it was not the Indians who were the “givers” but the deceitful white men, they understood, and to my confusion thought it was very funny. When I told them about “Honest Injun?” and “The only good Indian is a dead Indian,” they laughed till they cried, and thereafter frequently asked: “Honest Injun?” when I told them something. But it is not funny when we are Indian givers in spiritual life, just as double-tongued and devious with God and our own spirit as the American politicians were with the Native Americans.

One of the funniest and most typical examples of this is found in the comic motion picture, The End. In one scene Burt Reynolds is swimming in the ocean about to drown. He starts shouting out to God how much of his income he vows to give if he survives. The percentage goes up and up to the total amount. But then he sees that there is a chance he may make it back to shore. So the percentage starts dropping in proportion to how near he gets to the land! Finally he is telling God that he will be giving nothing, and if God does not like it, that is just too bad. We are very much (often exactly) like that ourselves. When we think we are not going to have something, or will have no use for it, we generously offer it to God or renounce it. But the moment we see a need or a use for it, then we announce to ourselves that God would not expect us to hand it over or renounce it.

Many people start out spiritual life with great enthusiasm, ready to dedicate and sacrifice in order to attain liberation. But as time goes by, the sands in the hourglass of will and interest grow less and less, shifting back to the bottom level of ego and the material life until what remains is so feeble and negligible it really is nothing.

The principle that we reap only and exactly what we sow is an absolute in spiritual life. Here are Saint Paul’s words on the subject: “Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. For he that soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting. And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not” (Galatians 6:7-9). Fainting in the sense of losing heart is a very real possibility for all of us, and that is why these words of Nachiketas were written in the Upanishad: “Look back and see how it was with those who came before us and observe how it is with those who are now with us. A mortal ripens like corn [grain] and like corn [grain] he springs up again.”

The law of reaping what has been sown, and conversely not reaping what has not been sown, is to be taken most seriously in all aspects of life, but especially in spiritual matters. Solomon cautions us: “When thou vowest a vow unto God, defer not to pay it; for he hath no pleasure in fools: pay that which thou hast vowed. Better is it that thou shouldest not vow, than that thou shouldest vow and not pay” (Ecclesiastes 5:4-5). The question here is not that of God being angry or sad at our non-payment, but the negative effect our own perfidy will have on us directly. It is not God that rewards and punishes, but our own Self, and its justice is inexorable. So asking God to release us or forgive us means positively nothing: it is our own Self we are dealing with and it cannot be gotten around in any degree whatsoever.

Sad to say, there are many examples of “those who came before” who foolishly reneged on their own selves and suffered the consequences, from simple unhappiness to abject and long-lasting misery and even death. This latter is no exaggeration. I know of many examples myself, but would rather not cite any, for it is simply too bleak. Just do not be one yourself. But I will tell you the principle I have seen demonstrated over and over again: Whatever a person abandons his spiritual life to keep or to gain will be taken away from him–usually abruptly or even violently–and he will never regain or restart his spiritual life in this incarnation. I have never seen an exception. Never. I am, however, not speaking of merely risking or retarding the personal spiritual life–we all do that just from making mistakes or from silly foibles–but of the actual giving up and turning from and even rejecting one’s spiritual life and obligations. This is fatal.

At every step of our spiritual life we must keep in mind the law of cause and effect and “see how it was with those who came before us and observe how it is with those who are now with us.” And lest we think that if we escape the karmic reaction in this life we are home free, Nachiketas added: “A mortal ripens like corn and like corn he springs up again.” So there are future lives in which our neglect can come to fruition in many forms, all of them inimical to our further progress.

Of course, the words of Nachiketas only have meaning to the wise. As Krishna told Arjuna: “One acts according to one’s own prakriti–even the wise man does so. Beings follow their own prakriti; what will restraint accomplish? Those who constantly follow this teaching of mine, full of faith, not opposing it, they are released from the bondage of their actions. But those opposing and not practicing my teaching, confusing all knowledge, know them to be lost and mindless” (Bhagavad Gita 3:33, 31-32).

For some reason there are narrative passages at this point in the text which were lost or never written. When Vajashravasa heard the reproof of his virtuous son, Nachiketas, he uttered the curse: “Unto death shall I give you!” Nachiketas was no ordinary son. He was an accomplished yogi, one who could penetrate into the unseen worlds, and in keeping with his unjust father’s unjust words he went to the realm presided over by Yamaraja, the King of Death. Yama was not there, so Nachiketas remained waiting for him, not eating or drinking anything. (The realms where one goes after earthly death are very like the earth itself. The inhabitants eat and drink, and there is also night and day.) When Yama returned, his servants told him about his guest. Therefore Yama approached Nachiketas and said: “Since you, a venerable guest, have stayed in my house without food for three nights, I salute you. Therefore, in return, choose three gifts.”

Nachiketas asked two questions regarding ritual observance, which Yama answered readily. But then Nachiketas said:

There is this doubt in regard to a man who has departed [is dead], some [holding] that he is and some that he is not. I would be instructed by you in this knowledge. Of the boons, this is the third boon.
[Yama said] Even the gods of old had doubt on this point. It is not, indeed, easy to understand; (so) subtle is this truth. Choose another boon, O Nachiketas. Do not press me. Release me from this.
[Nachiketas said] Even the gods had doubt, indeed, as to this, and you, O Death, say that it is not easy to understand. [Instruct me,] for another teacher of it, like you, is not to be got. No other boon is comparable to this at all.
[Yama said] Choose sons and grandsons that shall live a hundred years, cattle in plenty, elephants, gold and horses. Choose vast expanses of land and life for yourself as many years as you will.
If you deem [any] boon like unto this, choose [that] as also wealth and long life. O Nachiketas, prosper then on this vast earth. I will make you the enjoyer of your desires.
Whatever desires are hard to attain in this world of mortals, ask for all those desires at your will. Here are noble maidens with chariots and musical instruments the like of them cannot be won by men. Be served by these whom I give to you. O Nachiketas, (pray) ask not about death.
[Nachiketas said] Transient (are these) and they wear out, O Yama, the vigor of all the senses of men. All life (a full life), moreover, is brief. Yours be the chariots, yours be the dance and song.
Man is not to be contented with wealth. Shall we enjoy wealth when we have seen you? Shall we live as long as you are in power? That alone is [still] the boon chosen by me.
Having approached the undecaying immortality, what decaying mortal on this earth below who [now] knows [and meditates on] the pleasures of beauty and love, will delight in an over-long life?
Tell us that about which they doubt, O Death, what there is in the great passing-on. This boon which penetrates the mystery, no other than that does Nachiketas choose. (1.1.20-29)

As Yama told Nachiketas, even those powerful beings that control the forces of the cosmos have been puzzled by the mystery of whether those who have gone beyond death can be said to exist or not to exist. Reflective human beings have agonized over the same problem. When inquirers came to Buddha with the question he refused to give any answer, saying that whatever he told them they would misunderstand and distort his words. So he said nothing. Consequently, to say that Buddha taught the non-existence of an immortal Self and individual immortality is perhaps an even worse distortion than that which he sought to avoid through silence.

Yama, however, was not talking to a word-juggling philosopher, but to an eminently qualified inquirer. Yet, testing the strength of Nachiketas’s interest in such a profound matter, he attempted to dissuade him from pressing the question. When that failed, he resorted to that which has effectively deflected seekers throughout the history of humanity. He offered him long-lived and prosperous progeny, vast material wealth and possessions, unlimited pleasure and unlimited power and finally dominion over even the subtle worlds and all that is therein. Throughout countless ages the mere promise or prospect of such acquisitions have turned awakening consciousnesses from the path of immortality and led them further into the morass of mortal life. But Nachiketas could not be moved from his original resolve to learn the truth regarding immortality.

The Katha Upanishad would surely have been known to Jesus when he lived and studied in India, and it can be speculated that it was in the context of the teachings of this Upanishad that he asked his disciples: “For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?” (Matthew 16:26).

When as a primary grade-schooler I first heard this verse read out in church, I immediately thought: “No. The real question is: What will a man take in exchange for his soul?” Through the years I kept questioning as to whether things were a blessing for life or a bribe to embrace inner death. This, too, we see so often. From those early years and even till now I have seen so many bribes offered and taken, all of them cheap and paltry compared to what the seekers would have gained if they had turned away from the offers. And as I earlier pointed out, in every instance the promise was withdrawn unfulfilled or the supposed gain was ruthlessly wrested from their grasp and they were left broken and empty.

People do not need to die to become lost souls. The suffering may not be eternal, but it is no less terrible for that. I can truthfully say that throughout my life the most desolate souls I have met were those that said to me with sad nostalgia: “I used to be…,” and then mentioned some abandoned spiritual calling or involvement. The wheels of life were grinding them down and tormenting them with the bitter memory of that which they had so carelessly and foolishly tossed aside long ago for supposed “life.”

In Eastern Christian worship the exclamation “Let us attend!” is usually uttered before some special reading or prayer is about to be intoned. We should indeed attend to the words of Nachiketas when he replied to Yama’s offer: “Transient [are these] and they wear out, O Yama, the vigor of all the senses of men. All life [a full life], moreover, is brief. Yours be the chariots, yours the dance and song. Man is not to be contented with wealth. Shall we enjoy wealth when we have seen you? Shall we live as long as you are in power? That alone is [still] the boon chosen by me. Having approached the undecaying immortality, what decaying mortal on this earth below who [now] knows [and meditates on] the pleasures of beauty and love will delight in an over-long life? Tell us that about which they doubt, O Death, what there is in the great passing-on.”

In Christianity and Buddhism a great deal of emphasis is placed on the memory of death as a universal principle and the particular mortality of each one of us. In the modern West this is superficially shrugged off as unhealthy morbidity, but it can be salutary indeed.

It was only sensible that Nachiketas, having come face-to-face with Death, should disregard all that which the human race has been madly seeking throughout its existence. For in the East (including Eastern Christianity) only that which lasts forever without any change is considered real. Everything else is unreal, illusory. Therefore that which can change and pass away is even now essentially nothing. Who, then, would value any such? There is no need for a lengthy philosophical analysis of psychic niceties or suchlike. The fact of their evanescent nature turns all desired objects to mere fantasies in the consciousness of the wise.

In sum: Renunciation is the key to the secret of immortality.

Yama said: Different is the good, and different, indeed, is the pleasant. These two, with different purposes, bind a man. Of these two, it is well for him who takes hold of the good; but he who chooses the pleasant, fails of his aim. (1.2.1)

How simple and direct these words are! When, after years of being soaked (and sometimes drowned) in mere religion I found real dharma, one of the most beautiful and wonderful things about it was its incredible simplicity. The religion I had had before was simplistic, even childishly so, but at the same time it was complex, convoluted and tangled, because that was the state of mind which had produced it and which it produced in those unfortunate enough to accept and follow it. (Many avoided the problem by professing the religion but not really following it.) In contrast, the profound dharma I had discovered was also as simple as the great ocean, gathering all into unity. I had tried reading Western philosophers and theologians and found them impossible to understand–mostly because they were not really saying anything.

The first time I opened a book by Shankara, the greatest philosopher India has ever produced, it was with real anxiety. He was supremely brilliant and profound, I knew. Would I break apart on the rock of his verbiage? Not at all. Every sentence was so exquisitely clear, every concept so unbelievably simple and equally vast and deep. I understood why: Shankara knew by his acquisition of divine consciousness what he was talking about. When Shankara talked to me God was speaking. And God knows how to communicate.

“Different is the good, and different, indeed, is the pleasant.” This does not have to be the situation: the problem is in us. Since the good dissolves the ego and frees us from its seemingly eternal domination and bondage, it is only natural that those who are inured, even addicted, to the ego’s rule will find the good bitter in the extreme. In the closing chapter of the Bhagavad Gita Krishna speaks of: “That happiness which is like poison at first, but like amrita in the end, born of the light of one’s own Self” (Bhagavad Gita 18:37). Who would not choose this? Just about everybody. Why? Because it requires strict self-schooling.

We have to educate and deliver ourselves. Neither God nor any holy being can do it for us. Therefore those who cling to their ego-addiction avidly “take refuge” in and “surrender” to and “place all trust” in God, gods, gurus, saints, teachers, a religion, a scripture and whatever, knowing at least subconsciously that it will not work, for they themselves alone can do the needful. The holy ones have already done all they could do for them. They have given the message and pointed out the way. Now it is their turn to get to work. Otherwise nothing will happen. And in their perversity this satisfies them completely, though they may cover it up with religiosity and “devotion.”

Those who do wish to achieve the good must shake off their self-hypnosis and begin the labor. They will be surprised at how pleasant it really is, and in time will come to realize that they were enjoying pain and avoiding the real happiness and fulfilment that is found only in spiritual life.

Krishna describes “that happiness arising from the contact of the senses with their objects, which in the beginning is like amrita but changes into that which is like poison” (Bhagavad Gita 18:38). It is not just harmful, it is deadly. Saint Ignatius of Antioch, a disciple of Saint John the Evangelist, wrote of those who, drinking a sweet drink that contains poison, “sweetly drink in their death” (Epistle to the Trallians). “Aren’t we having fun?” “Come on: live!” “What are you afraid of?” “Why don’t you find out what it is all about?” “What do you know about life?” These are the desperate appeals of those whose consciousness is awakened enough for them to be tormented by the example of those who have more fully awakened and who “touch not the cup: it is death to the soul.”

The wise know that the good and the pleasant utterly differ in their ends. The pleasant leads to ever more addiction, a craving for ever-increasing intoxication, and finally complete collapse and destruction.

“Truly, pleasures born of contact with the senses are wombs of pain, since they have a beginning and an end. The wise man is not satisfied with them” (Bhagavad Gita 5:22). On the other hand: “Released from desire and anger, with thoughts controlled, those ascetics who know the Self find very near to them the bliss of Brahmanirvana” (Bhagavad Gita 5:26). “The yogi who is satisfied with knowledge and discrimination, unchanging, with senses conquered, to whom a lump of clay, a stone and gold are the same, steadfast–is said to be in union (yukta).… He knows that endless joy which is apprehended by the buddhi beyond the senses; and established in that he does not deviate from the truth (tattwatah: thatness)” (Bhagavad Gita 6:8, 21).

The good also leads to complete collapse and destruction: the collapse and disintegration of the ego and its attendants, ignorance and desire. Then: “When he leaves behind all the desires of the mind, contented in the Self by the Self, then he is said to be steady in wisdom” (Bhagavad Gita 2:55). “He who possesses faith attains knowledge. Devoted to that pursuit, restraining the senses, having attained knowledge he quickly attains supreme peace” (Bhagavad Gita 4:39). “He whose Self is unattached to external contacts, who finds happiness in the Self, whose Self is united to Brahman by yoga, reaches imperishable happiness” (Bhagavad Gita 5:21). “He who is able to endure here on earth, before liberation from the body, the agitation that arises from desire and anger is steadfast, a happy man” (Bhagavad Gita 5:23).

“Both of these, serving different needs,” impel us to actions, but they do so in completely different ways.

The good points us to the way of benefit in a completely intelligent and non-emotional way. For example, the good never motivates us by selfish means such as promising reward or threatening punishment–this is the way of evil, including much of religion. The good motivates us toward itself simply by revealing its inherent value.

The pleasant is altogether different. It only shows us its external appearance. It does not reason with us, but entices or even compels us to seize it. The pleasant only shows us its immediate or short-term effect, but completely hides from us its long-term effects and blinds us to its inherent defects. The archetypal example of this is found in the Bible. There we are told that “when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat” (Genesis 3:6). Here we see all the problems with the pleasant: only the external is considered, emotion and instinct come to dominate and eclipse reason, and the ultimate effect is completely unapparent until it is too late. In sum, the good reveals but the pleasant conceals. It is necessary that we see the good as truly good and the pleasant as harmful and even potentially evil. This is not easy.

One of the problems with prevailing religion of all kinds is its incredible small-sightedness. Like the pleasant-oriented and pleasant-obsessed ego which it supports and feeds, it is concerned with only the moment at hand or with goals that are utterly irrelevant to the real nature of the human being. When we understand who/what we really are, then alone can we comprehend what is the sole purpose of our existence: conscious union with the Absolute. In light of this the Upanishad concludes: “Of these two, it is well for him who takes hold of the good; but he who chooses the pleasant, fails of his aim.” So the discrimination between the good and the pleasant is no light matter.

In the Gospel of Matthew (25:1-13) we find a parable about foolish and wise souls. Most of us do not really care if we are foolish, just as long as no one labels us so. But we should care, and so the Upanishad continues its teaching, saying:

Both the good and the pleasant approach a man. The wise man, pondering over them, discriminates. The wise chooses the good in preference to the pleasant. The simple-minded, for the sake of worldly well-being, prefers the pleasant. (1.2.2)

There is a lot of truth in these few lines that are beneficial for us when understood and followed.

“Both the good and the pleasant approach a man.” Whatever may be the excuses we may make for ourselves, even portraying ourselves as weak or victims, nothing and no one forces anything upon us in life, however much it may seem otherwise. Rather, the good and the pleasant simply present themselves to us. We are totally responsible for our response to them, although, like Adam and Eve in Genesis, we try to put the blame on someone else, on some external factor. “The man said, The woman whom thou gavest to be with me, she gave me of the tree, and I did eat.… And the woman said, The serpent beguiled me, and I did eat” (Genesis 3:12-13).

It is really essential to know as we move through life (hopefully forward) that although our deluded experience seems just the opposite, in reality all things are completely neutral. It is our response to them that really gives them any character such as good, bad, destructive, positive, etc. A little thought will show this. The deadliest poison is harmless if we do not make contact with it. Conversely, the best medicine is worthless if we do not consume it. Or think of it in this way: garbage seems heavenly food to a starving person, but not to someone who is well fed; a child’s toy means nothing to a mature adult. Nothing has an innate ability to draw or force us. All the drawing and forcing is in our mind as it responds to the object. We can blame no one at any time. It is all in us. If there are no grass seeds in the soil no grass will grow. The seeds have to be in us to sprout and grow and bear fruit as thinking, willing and acting.

“The wise man, pondering over them, discriminates” between them. Viveka, the ability to distinguish between the real and the unreal, between the true and the false, between the transient and the permanent, is indispensable for the serious spiritual aspirant. The wise possess and exercise this faculty, the eye of wisdom, by deeply examining whatever is presented to them and discerning whether it is the good or the merely pleasant they are being confronted with. Intelligence comes into the foreground, feeling and emotion being banished from the mental field altogether. Human beings operate either rationally or instinctually/emotionally. The wise are rational at all times. For example, real love is clearsighted, never blind, whereas infatuation masquerading as love is both blinding and blindness.

Between the wise and the foolish the distance and differences are profound, for they are rooted in their mind and intellect. Even as a child I always thought that the statement of Abraham to Lazarus: “between us and you there is a great gulf fixed” (Luke 16:26) was spiritually symbolic, that a great gulf did indeed lie between the Godwards and the earthwards. The Upanishad is outlining the nature of this gulf for us by describing its effects on both.

The wise prefer the good; they are not enticed, coerced, or “somehow drawn” to the good. They intelligently (yes, intellectually) prefer it because they know its nature and its effects. This is true of everything in their life, mundane, mental, and spiritual. This is markedly true in the matter of religion. The religious expression of the wise is always peaceful, clear, intelligent, informed and practical. It works.

The foolish, however are not so. As Isaiah and Saint Paul observed, they truly are a “troubled sea” (Isaiah 57:20) “tossed to and fro and carried about with every wind” (Ephesians 4:14). “The simple-minded (foolish), for the sake of worldly well-being, prefers the pleasant.” It only follows that they prefer the pleasant to the good, for the earthbound cannot even perceive the good to any appreciable degree; but they create a lot of illusions about it, all negative and self-assuring.

Their religion, of course, caters to their emotions and their demands for the indulgence of their whims and vices. However educated they may be, or how “uplifting” their religious activities, still animality reigns and all manner of subhuman behavior is sanctioned and even elevated and “spiritualized.” Wallowing in the sty of their comforting and indulgent religion, they cast many a contemptuous (and secretly guilty) glance at those who are not so, and create many a bon mot about their “unnatural denial and repressions,” hinting of sinister implications for those who “run away from life” and “refuse to face themselves,” and “expect too much from themselves and others.” Even though they like to say they are only human and that God understands they are, they are really subhuman in character though human in body. Driven by pleasure/pain, their humanity becomes submerged in the animality impressed in their subconscious by millions of incarnations in subhuman forms.

Merely possessing a human body is no guarantee of humanity. The redoubtable Dr. Bronner in a conversation with one of the monks of our monastery referred to some people as “not yet HUMAN!” He was right. A house does not make a home and a human body does not make a human being. Humanity only dawns when intelligence dominates and wisdom is gained. We need not be intellectual in the academic sense, but we must be intelligent. Then if we use our intelligence there is a chance we may become wise and thereby cross the great gulf.

Chances are Nachiketas never got voted “most popular” of anything and was not “a good mixer.” But Yama assessed him quite highly, saying:

[But] you, O Nachiketas, have rejected [after] examining, the desires that are pleasant and seem to be pleasing. You have not taken to the way of wealth, where many mortals sink [to ruin]. (1.2.3)

Now this is a thumbnail portrait of a wise human being, but it is a test of the wise and the foolish. The wise will accept it and the foolish will not. So we should take a square look at it and our reaction will tell us which we are.

First of all, Nachiketas is not naive or “an innocent.” He knows what is going on, even if most things should not be going on. He has deeply looked into the desires of the flesh and the delights of the senses. He knows what the fake life of the foolish is all about, and he has renounced it all: not just a little bit or even most, but the whole mess. Why? Because he does not identify with the flesh and the senses, but with his intelligence and his true Self that is pure consciousness. He knows he is not the perishable body.

“You have not taken to the way of wealth, where many mortals sink,” says Yama. Nachiketas sees that the world of body-sense enslavement is a suffocating bog, not just ugly and repulsive to the wise, but deadly. He knows, with Jesus, that: “You cannot serve God and mammon” (Matthew 6:24). He also knows that in reality once a person has reached the level of human evolution he cannot live like an animal without dire consequences, including terrible suffering. We have at least potentially gone beyond that to which the foolish cling to so obsessively.

This is strikingly illustrated in Jesus’ parable of the Prodigal Son found in the fifteenth chapter of Saint Luke. After wasting his inheritance, the man hired himself out to a pig farmer. This is a symbol of someone who has enslaved himself to the lower nature and the senses: pigs that wallow in filth, eat garbage, and demand more. “And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat: and no man gave unto him” (Luke 15:16). Like nearly all of us, the poor soul wants to feed on and be satisfied with the garbage that the pigs revel in, grunting: “This is living!” But it cannot be; we are not pigs; we are not the senses or the body.

No matter how much we desire to regress to animal living, we cannot really do so. And usually only pain will wake us up from such folly. When we do wake up, like the Prodigal we will resolve: “I will arise and go” forward in the path of evolution, leaving the sty and its pigs behind. The rising and the going will not be easy, but there simply is nothing else for a true human being to do. Moreover, the path will not be long, though it may seem so, for time drags when we are having struggle and pain. Jesus indicates this, saying: “when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him.” All the perfected souls that have gone before have assured us that the effort required of us is but a token, nevertheless a token that must be paid. If we can but get a glimpse or conceive a bit of what it will be to have arisen and travelled the way, then the price will be seen to be small. As already cited, Saint Paul tells us that Jesus “for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God.” Just think: the joy. This should be our perspective, too.

Again, renunciation is the way of immortality.

Widely apart and leading to divergent ends are these, ignorance and what is known as wisdom. I know [you] Nachiketas, to be eager for wisdom for [even] many desires did not distract you. (1.2.4)

It is interesting to note that the concept of two ways of human life is to be found in all religious traditions. Jesus spoke of the Broad Way and the Narrow Way (Matthew 7:13-14), and when they met in Jerusalem and issued a joint spiritual letter (The Didache, usually called The Teaching of the Twelve Apostles) his apostles began by saying there are two ways in this world. Long before that, the Katha Upanishad spoke to Jesus of the way of ignorance and the way of knowledge.

The way of ignorance is the subject of the three verses we will be considering, but first Yama tells us the key trait of one who aspires to knowledge: he cannot be tempted by the pleasant. This is because he sees its nature and its results. The pursuers of the way of ignorance are not such as Nachiketas, and Yama now tells us about them and the results of their walking in that way.

Abiding in the midst of ignorance, wise in their own esteem, thinking themselves to be learned, fools treading a tortuous path go about like blind men led by one who is himself blind. (1.2.5)

That certainly is plain speaking! Let us go through this verse bit by bit.

Abiding in the midst of ignorance. Such a person is sunk deep into the darkness of ignorance, so deep that he cannot see anything but darkness, so deep that he can hardly be extricated from it, at least in this life. It is not that his condition is utterly hopeless, but that he simply has neither awareness nor interest. If that dawns, he is on his way out of the abyss. But most of the time it does not happen. I once heard in a comedy routine a disease described with the concluding words: “the only cure for which is death.” In many (actually most) cases of dark ignorance this is the truth. The individual requires another birth before he can arise from the depths. Until then he should be left alone.

Wise in their own esteem. Somewhere I once read the words: “The problem with ignorance is that it picks up confidence as it goes along.” Since ignorance is a by-product of ego, as ignorance increases so does egotism. Increasing in this alternating cycle, invincible arrogance and invincible ignorance arise, take hold and consume the person. This is really an ugly picture, but an accurate one. Thinking themselves wise, how can the ignorant ever see the truth about themselves–both the higher and the lower selves–and try to rectify themselves? They cannot. Not content to revel in their private kingdom of ignorance, they then set about to aggressively expand it through influencing others. And if they cannot influence they will dominate and bully others until they have extended their sphere of darkness. Again: ugly but accurate. Living in the fantasy-land of ego, they sink deeper, believing that they are rising. Actually the compulsion to control is inherent in ignorance.

Go about. Cycling in confusion, the foolish spiral downward, seeming to go up and down but really only going down and down. In their minds they veer back and forth, up and down, agitating themselves and others, but in actuality they just keep on sinking. Because of this they continually go round and round in the wheel of birth and death, perpetually bound to the torture wheel of samsara, and reveling in every moment. They have discovered the secret of false happiness in this world: unconsciousness.

Blind men led by one who is himself blind. Ignorance as well as misery loves company, in fact needs it desperately and thrives on it. Supporting each other they stumble through this world until death claims them and they get to do it all over and over and over. When they are not being the leader and the led, they are the pusher and the pushed, the dominating and the dominated, the victimizer and the victim. Alternating in these two roles, they reel onward and downward.

What lies beyond shines not to the simple-minded, careless, [who is] deluded by the glamor of wealth. Thinking: This world exists, there is no other, he falls again and again into my power [into death]. (1.2.6)

Rendered heedless of the truth about his condition through involvement with materiality (both his body and objects in the world) and deluded by what he thinks is going on, the ignorant never sees the way beyond the abyss in which he dwells. He simply cannot see it, just as we cannot hear sounds beyond the range of our hearing or see things beyond the range of our sight. He is deaf and blind to spirit in all its aspects. Even if by some chance he should seek the way, if he finds it he will not know it, nor if he comes face to face with the way will he realize it. Just the opposite. He will despise and deny it, even denouncing it as delusive or evil. On the other hand, he will exult in devilish religion, teachers and practices, seeking them out and devoting himself to them. Let me give two examples I know of personally.

Yogananda used to plead with a young American man to learn meditation, assuring him that his progress would be rapid and he would be liberated in this life. But he did not heed the master’s urging. When the master was about to leave his body he told his disciples that if the man ever came to the ashram and expressed an interest, one of them was to instruct him in meditation immediately. A dozen or so years later one of the biggest frauds the yoga world has ever produced came to town charging money for a worthless technique. The man was in poor financial condition, and could not really afford it, but he immediately paid the money and got initiated into nothing.

Two Buddhist friends of mine, practicers of the Pure Land School of Buddhism, regularly visited a prison and instructed the inmates in Buddhist philosophy and spiritual practice. Whenever they tried to get the prisoners to chant the liberating name of Amitabha Buddha they would refuse and insist that they chant “power mantras” instead. They loved bondage and lusted after control. They belonged where they were.

“This world exists, and there is no other” is thought by many of the foolish, and there are many others who do not actually think it but live as though they did. Denial of spiritual realities is done more by deeds than by words. It does not matter how devoutly or spiritually we may think, if we live carelessly and materially, as centered on our ego as any ignoramus we would regard as “unspiritual.”

This is the real test. Thinking the material world alone is real, the ignorant return to it again and again, living in the jaws of death. If we do the same, then we are fools. If we do not, then we are wise.

Seeing is not always seeing and hearing is not always hearing. In some instances it is misperception, and in others it is no perception at all but complete delusion, a fantasy. Yama had this to say to Nachiketas about the matter of understanding the Self:

He who cannot even be heard of by many, whom many, even hearing, do not know, wondrous is he who can teach [about Him] and skillful is he who finds [Him] and wondrous is he who knows [Him] when instructed by the wise (1.2.7)

He who cannot even be heard of by many. Most people have never heard of the Self and never will in this lifetime. Oh, yes, they will hear about an immortal soul/spirit that a tyrannical God will reward or punish according to his whim, but the real nature of that spirit as part of and therefore one with the Supreme Reality, eternal, immortal, and indivisible, will never be even hinted at nor will they come up with the concept on their own. Further, it will not be even suggested to them, either from within or without, that the spirit nature is their true Self and is the only true identity they can ever have.

Being unchanging, this Self cannot be affected or changed by anything–no, not even by God. It is what it is, just as much as God is what he is. It is, therefore, not only the most worthwhile thing for us to get involved with, it is the only thing we can possibly be involved with. Everything else is illusion. This glorious truth of the Self must be the sole perspective in which we view our present situation as consciousnesses experiencing the process of evolution.

Many, even hearing, do not know. This is true of many who, though ostensibly adherents of dharma, really do not get the idea about the Self. These are those that frequent temples, ashrams and saints as a kind of insurance against calamity and trouble. Then there are those that only run to those holy places when problems arise. Obviously they have no degree of comprehension regarding the Self.

Neither do most who profess to understand the Self, as is seen by their words and deeds. If someone believes the building is on fire we can tell it by their attempts to get out. Similarly, if someone believes in the truth about the Self they will order their entire lives accordingly, not just assent to the concept. To know the Self, to enter into the fullness of its consciousness and being, will be the focus of their life and thought.

Sri Ramakrishna often said that if a thief learned of a great treasure kept in the room next to where he was living, he would not be able to sleep for thinking about how to break through the wall and get it. In the same way, those who really understand about the wonder of the Self will not rest until they have (re)claimed the Treasure for themselves. Spiritual purification and spiritual practice are the means for breaking through the wall and claiming the prize.

We have a dilemma here, also: Only those who understand about the Self will be motivated to engage in tapasya to realize it fully. Yet only those who are engaged in tapasya can have any glimmer of the Self and be motivated to practice. The solution lies in the fact that in time the Self begins to urge us to its realization, that we will intuit the presence of the Self and start moving toward the point where, when we hear about it, we will accept and act upon what we hear.

It is interesting to see that Yama does not mention those who reject or deny the truth of the Self. Apparently to him they do not even exist.

We joke sometimes about the exaggerations of the motion picture industry in its early years. “Colossal! Magnificent! The Greatest Ever!” and similar effusions continually poured out in conversation and advertisements. The song, “Hollywood” assured us that out there “you’re ‘terrific’ if you’re good.” Divinity, on the other hand, has a somewhat different viewpoint, so Yama tells Nachiketas: “Wondrous is he who can teach [about the Self].” He is not speaking of a parrot, a spiritual phonograph, but of one who speaks with awakened awareness, even if not from perfect knowledge or realization. “For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh” (Matthew 12:34). The implication here is that we should seek out and only listen to those who speak of the Self, from the Self and in the perspective of the Self. Theology is usually only so much distracting noise, and so is most religious and “spiritual” talk. Buddha likened a true teacher or teaching to a finger pointing at the moon–only that which points us to our own reality is itself real and worthwhile. Such a teacher or teaching is wonderful indeed.

Yama assures Nachiketas that the intelligent person is the one who pursues knowledge of the Self. This is done in two ways: listening to or reading the teachings about the Self by those who have themselves known the Self, and (most importantly) by actively seeking to know one’s own Self through careful self-analysis (swadhyaya) and spiritual practices, most especially meditation. This latter point is very necessary for us to grasp. Intellectually intelligent people love learning, and they should. However, it is easy to fall into the trap of studying all the theory and not getting down to any practice to determine the validity of the theory.

Saint Silouan of Athos said that delight in the study of theology was the false mysticism of the ego. When Swami Turiyananda first met Sri Ramakrishna he was intensely studying Vedanta for at least six hours a day. Upon hearing of this, Sri Ramakrishna was astounded. “What else does Vedanta say except that Brahman alone is real, the world is illusory, and the Self and Brahman are one?” he asked. “Why do you need six hours of study for that?” Turiyananda had the good sense to understand, and began to devote himself to japa and meditation in order to know the Self, not just know about the Self. In the West it is a common error to assume that knowing about something is the same thing as knowing it. More than once I have read in a Catholic catechism that knowing God is accomplished by reading the catechism.

To be wonderful and intelligent is good, but to be rare among men is the ideal. So Yama concludes: “Wondrous is he who knows when instructed by the wise.” This is because a good teacher does not just impart theoretical knowledge, but reveals to the student the practical means by which he can open his understanding through meditation to behold and know the Self. Krishna, being the Supreme Teacher, instructs Arjuna in the Gita about meditation, saying: “Having directed his mind to a single object, controlling thought and activity of the senses, sitting on the seat he should practice yoga for the purpose of self-purification” (Bhagavad Gita 6:12). “The yogi who is always content, self-controlled and of firm resolve, whose mind and intellect are fixed on me, who is devoted to me–he is dear to me” (Bhagavad Gita 12:14). “Tranquility of mind, kindliness, silence, self-control and purity of the mental state: these are called tapasya of the mind”(Bhagavad Gita 17:16). “With mind made steadfast by yoga, which turns not to anything else, to the Divine Supreme Spirit he goes, meditating on him” (Bhagavad Gita 8:8).

Taught by an inferior man He cannot be truly understood, as He is thought of in many ways. Unless taught by one who knows Him as himself, there is no going thither, for it is inconceivable, being subtler than the subtle. (1.2.8)

By “taught” is meant learning the intellectual truth about the Self, its nature, and its possibility of realization. We all know the incredible and impenetrable tangle of theologies that constitute the religions of the world. The reason for this is simple: most (almost all) teachers of religion are fundamentally ignorant–ignorant not in the intellectual sense, but in the intuitive sense. Since we do need an intellectual road map to help us in our search for direct experience of the Self, this is a serious matter. For an attempt to figure out the truth of the Self in a purely theoretical manner will only add to the prevailing confusion. We will just become one more voice in the cacophony of ignorant religion and philosophy.

Few things are worse than an ignoramus who believes he has an inside track. As Jesus observed: “If therefore the light that is in thee be [actually] darkness, how great is that darkness!” (Matthew 6:23). Consequently, it is a most detrimental thing to come into the orbit of an ignorant teacher and accept his words, and even worse to act on them.

“It is inconceivable, being subtler than the subtle,” says Yama. Being subtler than the subtlest, the Self cannot possibly be perceived by any senses, including those of the subtle bodies, or conceived of by even the highest and subtle reaches of the intellect. Yet, the Self can be known. This is possible when “taught by one who knows Him as himself [his Self]” through the practice of meditation, in which a qualified teacher will give instruction first and foremost. This really marks out the knowledgable teacher from the ignorant teacher. The ignorant teacher will only expound theory, proving what he teaches by intellectual means. The worthy teacher may say much the same words, but will point the student to the means by which he can attain the vision of the Self. He will establish the student in the practice of meditation, without which nothing that is real can possibly be known.

A bit more. Yama tells us that the teacher should be one who who has become one with the Atman, not a rhetorician or theoretician. Now it is impossible for us to look into the consciousness of a teacher, so how will we know he has real knowledge? We cannot, but there is a trait that at least assures us the teacher is not altogether astray: He will affirm the oneness of the Self and Brahman. No matter how cleverly and convincingly he may speak, however much he may appeal to our emotions and deluded intellects, if he does not insist on the unity of the Self and Brahman, saying with the Chandogya Upanishad, “That You Are,” he is unworthy and to be turned away from.

Unhappily, there are a lot of ignoramuses who appeal to egotistical students by saying: “You are God.” The true teacher says not that we are God, but that God is us. There is an infinite difference. Furthermore, the real teacher does not just tell us this fact, he instructs us in the way to find it out for ourself. These two traits must be present before we even begin to think about accepting anyone as a valid guide.

The ultimate test of a teacher is our own capacity, made accessible to us by his instruction, to leave all speculation behind and enter into the Reality that is both Brahman and the Self, yet One. Then all the gods and sages will say of us what Yama said of Nachiketas:

Not by reasoning is this apprehension attainable, but taught by another, is it well understood. You have obtained it, holding fast to truth. May we find, Nachiketas, an inquirer like you. (1.2.9)

There is a little-known Protestant song entitled “With Eternity’s Values in View.” Musically it is not much, but philosophically it is right on target. We are not temporal, mortal beings, and if we live our life as though we were, then only confusion, conflict and chaos can result. Instead we must see ourselves as eternal beings presently dreaming the dream of evolution, a dream whose culmination is the awakening toward which all of our attention and awareness should be directed. Nachiketas knew this, but Yama underlined it, telling him:

I know that wealth is impermanent. Not through the transient things is that abiding [one] reached; yet by me is laid the Nachiketas fire and by impermanent means have I reached the everlasting. (1.2.10)

What are a billion years compared to eternity? Not even a glimmer. Why, then, do we scramble after short-lived earthly goals, goals that even if attained prove to be worthless since they vanish away so quickly? Why do we continually deny our eternity and affirm the delusion of temporality? Because we identify thoroughly with that which is temporal and finite.

It is true that there is nothing on this earth we cannot ultimately attain, even if it takes many lives, if we put forth the effort. In previous creations human beings performed elaborate rituals to become gods in this subsequent creation, including Brahma the creator. They succeeded, and the result was that they suffer more pain and anxiety than human beings do and are more subject to mental aberrations than humans. Furthermore, they are bound until the end of this creation cycle to fulfill their offices and can in no way shirk or abandon them. So they are bound more than any human being could ever be. Their main anxiety is fear over falling from their exalted status and returning to human form. They have learned nothing from their experience.

“Yet by me is laid the Nachiketas fire and by impermanent means have I reached the everlasting.” Only the spirit is eternal and everlasting. Everything else is temporal and impermanent, and in time will dissolve back into the primal energy of pre-manifestation and we will lose them, never really having had them at all. Consequently, the wise seek only for the eternal spirit, though using the material and the temporal to aid them in their search. For example, physical health is not enlightenment, but it certainly makes the enlightenment process easier. Material sufficiency relieves us from anxiety and helps us pursue spiritual life without distraction.

Discipline is essential for material life, and even more so for spiritual life. Yet, discipline will not take us to the goal. It will greatly facilitate our going, but we must never mistake proficiency in any discipline or practice for spiritual attainment. In the same way, any type of yogic practice that does not deal directly with consciousness will not result in enlightenment. Like discipline, it may help us in our ascent to higher awareness, but it must not be mistaken for that awareness.

Sadhana is spiritual practice that leads to the revelation of the Real (Sat). The temporal does not lead to the eternal, therefore real sadhana must begin and end in spirit-consciousness. No material procedure is sadhana, nor is any externally-oriented practice sadhana. The only true sadhana is the turning inward of the mind and the perception of the inmost spirit. In other words, meditation alone is sadhana, meditation free of all mechanics and gimmicks, simple and direct, leading to the ultimate simplicity that is the Self. We must begin with spirit if we are to end with spirit.

All truth is a two-edged sword. It tells us what is and what is not. The truth about the Self and Brahman also tells us what is not the Self or Brahman. Those of us who are clinging to the unreal will find this painful or at least uncomfortable, but we have to let go of the unreal to lay hold of the Real. The wise listen and act upon Yama’s next words to Nachiketas:

[Having seen] the fulfillment of [all] desire, the support of the world, the endless fruit of rites, the other shore where there is no fear, the greatness of fame, the far-stretching, the foundation, O wise Nachiketas, you have steadfastly let (them) go. (1.2.11)

To enter into Life we turn away from all fulfillments of material and temporal desires, no longer attracted by their false glitter. Nor do we aspire to some heaven or heavenly pleasures offered to us by ego-oriented religion, things that also end as painfully as the joys of earth. Even miracles mean nothing to us, for they occur only in the realm of duality, the realm of death.

Seeing that Nachiketas was yearning to pass from death to immortality, Yama continues:

Realizing through Self-contemplation that primal God, difficult to be seen, deeply hidden, set in the cave [of the heart], dwelling in the deep, the wise man leaves behind both joy and sorrow. (1.2.12)

By knowing ourselves through meditation both the primal God and the primal Self can be known. But it is difficult to see because it is so deeply hidden beneath the layers of our gross and subtle bodies and the countless illusions and delusions, samskaras, vasanas, desires and aversions we have accumulated through equally countless births. But by dwelling in the depths of our heart, having become true knowers of the Self, we leave behind both joy and sorrow.

It is not that Self-knowledge renders us incapable of experiencing pleasure or pain, but of being in bondage to them, being subject to reaction to pleasure and pain. “He who is without desire in all situations, encountering this or that, pleasant or unpleasant, not rejoicing or disliking–his wisdom stands firm” (Bhagavad Gita 2:57). “In tranquility the cessation of all sorrows is produced for him. Truly, for the tranquil-minded the buddhi immediately becomes steady” (Bhagavad Gita 2:65).

All the world seeks happiness. The Declaration of Independence says that the pursuit of happiness is an inalienable right for every human being. But see how miserable people really are beneath the frantic veneer of the pursuit of happiness in an ever-changing and pain-producing world. The problem? We are looking in the wrong direction. We are seeking outward when we should be seeking inward. We are seeking the non-self instead of the Self. From the Katha Upanishad we learn the right line of action.

Hearing this and comprehending [it], a mortal, extracting the essence and reaching the subtle, rejoices, having attained the source of joy. I know that such an abode is wide open unto Nachiketas. (1.2.13)

The Self is separate from the body, the senses, and the mind. Therefore the body, senses, and mind cannot perceive the Self as an object, and so cannot possibly experience the Self to any degree. The happiness experienced by body, senses and mind is not true happiness at all, but an approximation, a sham that distracts us from the real thing, inevitably leading us to frustration and all-around misery. This must be learned. Then the Self itself must be known as totally separate from that realm of illusion-producing ignorance.

The Self is the very soul of Truth, of Reality. It is not just the basis of reality, it is reality. Apart from it there simply is nothing. It is subtle beyond all conception, but not beyond all experience. It is when we enter fully into the Being that is the Self, that we attain to the Boundless. For the Boundless itself shall be ours.

Yama then tells us an important fact: the Self is the source of all joy. Now this is most intriguing. We are saying that the Self is all there really is, and then we hear that it is the source of all. This is the key to true non-dual comprehension. Sri Ramakrishna explained that at first we follow the path of negation saying “Not this, not that,” the idea being that everything we can see or think of is not the Real. But when we come to the end of that approach which is not just intellection or mind-gaming, but the inner path of meditation, and turn back, we will say, “All this!” We will see that everything is the Real, that the unreal was only our way of seeing and (mis)understanding it. The whole world, said Sri Ramakrishna, will then be seen as “a market of joy.” Unless this is understood at the beginning we will end up being just another dyspeptic world-and-life-denying philosophical grouch, claiming that our dryness and grimness is jnana (wisdom). “There is a state beyond bliss, you know,” grated one of them to a friend of mine who dared to smile. India abounds with these anatmic misfits and we have plenty of them in the West, too. (One is too many.)

All that is dwells in and is rooted in the Self and is therefore an expression of divine ananda. What a wonderful world-view: one that sees not “the world” but Spirit. We do not go from one point to another to pass from the unreal to the Real, from darkness to the Light, from death to Immortality. It is only a matter of changing our base of perception. This is the real alchemy, changing the lead of mundane experience to the gold of supernal joy.

No one is excluded from this glorious truth, it extends to all and is vital to all in an equal degree. No one is nearer or farther from the Self: it embraces all. This is the real Gospel, the Evangelion, the Good News humanity needs so desperately. Therefore Yama says “I know that such an abode is wide open unto Nachiketas.” And for us, too.

Previously Yama has spoken to Nachiketas of the manner to experience the Self that is immanent in all that “is.” Now he completes the picture by an exposition of the Transcendent and the means to realize It. He does this in response to Nachiketa’s question:

[Nachiketas asks] Tell me that which you see beyond right and wrong, beyond what is done or not done, beyond past and future. (1.2.14)

He desires to know about the Transcendental Reality that is beyond all qualities or designations. The Immanent Being has infinite names, forms, conditions, and qualities, but beyond that is something much greater: the Transcendent. That can neither be said to exist or not to exist, to be with form or without form, with qualities or without qualities, for all these propositions are dualities, one presupposing the other. Where there is one there is its opposite: duality is an absolute in the realm of the Immanent Reality.

Nachiketas is certainly pleased with the truth that all can be seen as the Divine Unity, but he wishes to complete his knowledge by learning about what lies beyond even that. For there is a state of consciousness in which even the question of duality/unity, form/formless, and suchlike cannot even arise. That is the state Nachiketas aspires to comprehend and experience.

Everything in manifestation is dual. This is the truth for every aspect of life. There is an interesting divinatory process known as The Alphabet of the Magi. To work it a question is formulated and then written on cards–one letter per card. The cards are then shuffled and dealt out in a special way to form the words that are the answer to the question. It was The Alphabet of the Magi, worked by a Benedictine monk who practiced divination and astrology in Paris after his monastery had been closed by the anti-religious government, that inspired Charlotte Corday to assassinate Marat, and inspired Napoleon, then a mere corporal, to aspire to the rulership of France. So it certainly works.

The idea that the answer is inherent in the question is very important, for it means that the questioner already knows the answer on the subconscious (or superconscious) level, that the question cannot arise until the answer is subliminally known. The purpose of questioning, then, is to bring out onto the conscious level what is known unconsciously. When we seemingly ask another to teach us we are really seeking to stimulate and bring forth our own knowledge. That is why the wise have assured their students that in time they would be able to find the answers within themselves: it is only a matter of developing intuition through clarifying the mind.

It is very common to hear someone demand: “Why did you ask me if you are not going to accept what I tell you?” The reply should be: “So I can figure the answer out for myself.” The very fact that we reject a given answer indicates that we think we do know what is the truth about the matter. Otherwise we would mindlessly accept what we are told. (Many do, alas.) It is all inside us. Questioning reveals the ripening of our innate knowledge. Knowing this, Jesus said: “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you: For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened” (Matthew 7:7-8). He is not urging us to seek outside ourselves, but to seek within.

Nachiketas seems to be asking Yama about the Transcendent, but his question reveals how much he already knows.

The moment we enter duality, relative existence, we become subject to the situation that some thoughts, words, and acts will impel us onward to higher consciousness and others will impel us to lower consciousness. No matter where we may be at the moment, it cannot be permanent. By the nature of things we will keep moving up and down, back and forth. Whenever we think we have attained some stability it is only a matter of the movement being so slow it is imperceptible to us. We are always in danger of incurring suffering because of this. In truth, suffering is inevitable, for even rising requires effort and unsureness or doubt as to the success of our endeavor. As Krishna describes, the ordinary person is “bound by a hundred snares of hope” (Bhagavad Gita 16:12). We suffer anxiety as to what is the right or wrong and anxiety as to whether we can avoid the wrong and manage to think and do the right. Even more, we are busy getting and losing, anxious to get the good and rid ourselves of the wrong. And of course we are mostly deluded as to what is really right and wrong, usually thinking that the pleasurable is right and the painful is wrong. The danger is obvious.

Nachiketas intuits that this terrible dragging back and forth, this dilemma inherent in relative existence, can come to an end–not in the realm of relative existence, but in its transcendence. Realizing this truth is a tremendous breakthrough for the developing consciousness and indicates that the end of the search is near. Some of our monks visited a great saint in the Himalayan foothills and spoke with him about spiritual life. He told them: “Your questions show that you are not far from the Goal.”

In ignorant religion “sin” and “righteousness” occupy a great deal of attention, not necessarily because of a sincere desire to be virtuous, but because of their effects. Desire and fear motivate the religionist, at least mentally and emotionally, for sin gets punished and righteousness gets rewarded. Punishment hurts and reward feels good. Punishment takes away and reward supplies. The dispenser of reward and punishment is some kind (or many kinds) of deity who, being an extension of the ignorant egos of the adherents of the religion, judges good and bad on the basis of “I like” and “I don’t like,” “I want” and “I don’t want.” Good sense and practicality have nothing to do with it. The deity is either pleased or displeased and acts accordingly.

To complicate matters, the deity can be placated if “sinned against” and, being mollified by groveling and penitence, will reward the sinner as much as if he had been virtuous–maybe even more, so the deity’s “love” and “mercy” can be revealed. We see this behavior in human beings all the time: tears, apology and self-castigation not only stop the anger or displeasure, they evoke a tenderness and openness that should sensibly only be evoked by right conduct. So in evil religion (for ignorance is evil), despite the assurance that virtue is rewarded, we see that sin and repentance are rewarded and the sinner assured of salvation.

Unfortunately we can carry this along with us if we only intellectually adopt a higher, more metaphysical view. For example, we see among people who “turn East” in their search that good karma and bad karma are bugaboos just as much desired and feared as any heaven or hell proffered by Western religion. I knew a man that had a metaphysical bookstore. Shoplifting was a real problem. Now, if he had put a sign on the door so the departing malefactors would have read something like: “Thou shalt not steal,” (Exodus 20:15), or “The soul that sinneth, it shall die.” (Ezekiel 18:4), or “Know thou that God will bring thee into judgment.” (Ecclesiastes 11:9), it would have had no result, perhaps even the opposite. For after all, were not his customers “beyond all that Judeo-Christian negativity”? Indeed they were! So he put a sign on the door for all to see as they departed saying: “Shoplifting Is Bad Karma.” Nearly every day that sign stopped at least one person. Most sheepishly shuffled back to the shelf and sneaked the book back. Some actually came to the owner and gave him the book along with an apology. Why? Had he evoked their higher moral sensibilities? Not a bit. They had traded fear of sin and hell for fear of bad karma and retribution, maybe even a bad rebirth. The ego was still in the driver’s seat, and quite liable to stay there for a long time. Karma may be more positive a concept than sin, punishment, and hell, but the fear engendered is just as egoic, and therefore just as negative and ultimately ignorant.

Nachiketas had a clear vision of things. The problem was not tears or smiles, but the Law of Cause and Effect, the truth that for every action there is an equal responsive reaction. Reactivity, inner and outer, is also inherent in relative (dual) consciousness. But Nachiketas did not just want to get away from the noise and damp of the ocean of samsara, he wanted to get away from the ocean itself. A jail cell may be luxurious, but it is still a prison. Nachiketas aspired to freedom. He wished to attain that which was beyond cause and effect, not just a means of avoiding them. This is one of the reasons why religion is usually so pointless: it attempts to make the fire stop burning rather than showing the way out of the conflagration. It seeks to make bondage palatable, pleasing to both the egocentric deity and the egocentric devotee. A confederacy of dunces, indeed.

My first reading of the Bhagavad Gita revealed to me something I had intuited all my life: the fundamental truth that space and time are basic delusions in the human consciousness. What a relief! So when in three or four days I heard one of the most intelligent of my university professors remark that time and space were the two fundamental realities, you can imagine how much I appreciated the Gita for clearing that nonsense up for me. (I appreciated myself, too, for being so clever as to understand it.)

The time-space continuum is a torment to the awakened consciousness, for it is the basis for the existence of cause and effect and therefore of right and wrong. It is impermanence itself, the root cause of all suffering, fear, anxiety, and instability. Since we have been immersed in relativity for creation cycles beyond number, we find ourselves in a present whose vast roots are thoroughly unknown, and whose effects will create an unknown future that will be a fusion of the past and the present. Uncertainty and confusion are the results of even a small attempt to make sense of the whole thing. And the idea of controlling any aspect is simply beyond our imagination.

We are drowning in a shoreless ocean. But we do not just drown once and have it over with. We drown daily–every moment, actually. Only the stupid or the willfully ignorant do not see this. How can we blame those who take refuge in illusion, whatever the form? They do not need an analysis or judgment of their predicament; they need a way out. Nachiketas is asking for that, not for more philosophy or exposition of the problem.

There is not a place beyond right and wrong, beyond cause and effect, beyond past, present, and future, but there is That which transcends them. Nachiketas sought to become an altogether different order of being, to enter into the state of Brahman Itself. Knowing this to be so, Yama does not hesitate, but literally spells it out.

The knowing Self is never born; nor does he die at any time. He sprang from nothing and nothing sprang from him. He is unborn, eternal, abiding and primeval. He is not slain when the body is slain. (1.2.18)

Through Self-realization we shall know that we are pure consciousness, we are not born, we do not die, we are neither cause nor effect; we are birthless, eternal, everlasting and ancient. For us there is no beginning and no end. We do not die when the body dies. We are unaffected by any conditions of the body whatsoever. For as Shankara sang:

I am not the mind, intellect, thought, or ego;

Not hearing, not tasting, not smelling, not seeing;

I am not the elements–ether, earth, fire, air: