SELF-KNOWLEDGE

Published Quarterly by Shanti Sadan

29 Chepstow Villas

London W11 3DR, UK

+44 (0)20 7727 7846

mail@shantisadan.org

shantisadan.org

© Shanti Sadan 2024

Adhyatma Yoga And Advaita Vedanta

The highest spiritual wisdom experienced by the Seers of Truth has been passed down from ancient times to the present day through a line of traditional teachers. Its metaphysical side, Advaita Vedanta, establishes by reasoning a non-dualistic explanation of the universe; its practical side, Adhyatma Yoga, gives guidance on the life of thought and action, so that the purpose of life may be fulfilled. The essential teachings are:

The universe is a phenomenal expression of the supreme Reality, which is by nature Existence-Consciousness-Bliss Absolute.

Our innermost Self transcends the limitations of body, mind and ego, and is not other than the supreme Reality.

The purpose of life is conscious realisation of this identity, and this can be achieved while engaged in the duties of life.

Self-realisation gives unbroken peace, poise and bliss. It is the ultimate goal sought consciously or unconsciously through philosophy and religion, art and science.

The one Reality reveals and pervades all beings, and underlies the highest teachings found in the world’s religious traditions.

Shanti Sadan is a Centre of Adhyatma Yoga, founded in 1933 by the late Hari Prasad Shastri, where the teachings continue to be given and practised in the traditional way.

Information about meetings and events can be found at shantisadan.org/meetings

SELF-KNOWLEDGE

Autumn 2024

Vol. 75 No. 4

Contents

Inner Heroes

The Mundaka Upanishad

Human Nature—Beyond the Limits

Finding the Divine Element in Oneself

There is a Way to Freedom

The Ascent of the Mind

How Can Self and Not-Self Be Connected?

Hafiz and Mysticism

Inner Heroes

There is hardly a moment which is free from humankind’s extreme expression of conflict: war. Why this inveterate tendency to fight? Some conceive of a mythological or historical ‘fall’ as the point when the human mind chose the path of desire and discontent over the harmony of paradise. According to another view, a condition of misunderstanding, called ignorance, is the root of all other misjudgements and the misdeeds they lead to.

A teacher was asked: ‘Why this prevailing of suffering in the world?’ He replied: ‘Do you contribute to it?’ Few minds are not influenced by likes and dislikes—secretly choosing or excluding.

How can we fill our thoughts with true and unselective magnanimity free from prejudice? An inner struggle is needed, but it goes much further than the moral plane. For the mind which works to free itself is re-entering the paradise of higher experience that proves intuitively that there is only one fundamental reality, and it is one with our innermost self.

This inner struggle is also a war, but one of a special kind. When asked about another outer war that was raging in his time, the sage Shri Dada said:

Dear friends, you talk about the Boer war, but you should not ignore the war in your own being. When a person has triumphed in the war between the principles of right and wrong, between wisdom and love of power, there will be no war in the outer sphere of society. Intellect should be the field-marshal in command of the forces of compassion, collaboration and love, in the struggle against the dark forces of ignorance.

Friends, put on the armour of simplicity and truth; unsheathe the sword of divine wisdom and fight your chief enemy, love of illusory pleasures. In the outer world, the conquerors of today are the conquered of tomorrow, but the heroes of the inner world are freed from the bondage of birth and death forever.

The Mundaka Upanishad

satyam eva jayate (truth alone triumphs) [3:6:1]

The Mundaka Upanishad is an exposition of the higher knowledge that leads to omniscience. This is not the knowledge of empirical facts, or specialised knowledge of particular subjects. It is the knowledge we value because it satisfies our urge to know the essence of things, in contrast to knowing about the qualities that appear to our senses and can be worked on by our mind.

In the non-dual philosophy, that essence of all is indicated by the expression existence-consciousness-bliss. It is the existence in all that exists, and the consciousness in all conscious experience. Transcending differences, it is free from all limitations and is therefore also called bliss.

That essence is not to be thought of as far removed from our practical concerns because it is unseen, but rather as fundamental, because without it the apparent qualities would have nothing to rest on. Untouched by the differences, it may be contemplated as one and the same principle in all.

Our quest is to discover the subtle essence which is the real being in everything, the eternal amid the transient. And we have to begin by turning within to detect the essence of our own being as our real self. This is the search for satisfying knowledge, and is expressed in the question asked by a seeker at the beginning of the Mundaka Upanishad:

What is that knowledge, which, when known, everything there is becomes known? (1:1:3).

The question assumes that such knowledge is possible. This is reasonable, because the assumption is that it is knowledge of our own nature. In fact this is not knowledge of anything separate from us; it is the realisation of our consciousness as that which alone truly exists, the one universal and eternal Consciousness-Being within and behind the diverse forms that appear to fill our world. Self-knowledge is thus the focus of enquiry for those seeking to realise non-duality.

The answer given to the above question is:

There are two kinds of knowledge to be acquired, the higher and the lower. This is what is said by those who understand.

The lower comprises the Vedas and academic subjects. The higher is that by which is realised the immutable. [1:1:4-5]

It may come as a surprise to hear that the Vedas are classed as lower knowledge, for the upanishads themselves form the conclusion of the Vedas. But what is meant here is ritualistic action and instruction. This was based on ways to please and appease the gods—or powers of nature—in order to gain personal benefits, either in this life or after death. Those who advocated this form of religion insisted that it was the highest available to humankind, and were dismissive of the upanishadic wisdom, which they failed to comprehend or recognise. They taught rival views, which had to be refuted. These factors account for the sharp tone of the Mundaka verse:

The deluded fools, believing the rites inculcated by the Vedas and the smritis (derivative literature) to be the highest, do not understand the other thing that leads to liberation. (1:2:10)

Positively, this recognition of the limits of ritualism, and the affirmation that there is a way to liberation, may inspire us to go more deeply into the enquiry. We remember that the goal is nothing less than knowledge of all that is to be known, and the way is true Self-knowledge.

Let us turn to the practical and traditional way of approaching the truth in our own being. One must first recognise the futility of worldly aims and ends to deliver lasting satisfaction. This follows an intelligent assessment of one’s own experience. In our reflections, we have come to understand how any achievement or state brought about by action (karma) will not last forever. On this the Mundaka Upanishad says:

A wise person should adopt non-attachment after examining the worlds acquired through action [karma], with the help of this maxim: ‘There is nothing here that is not the result of action, so what is the need of performing action?’. [1:2:12]

This maxim is a reliable guiding principle. Everything in the world is the result of previous action and is transient. Therefore action, ritualistic or otherwise, cannot be the way to attainment of the Real. What is needed here is not action, but knowledge— the higher Self-knowledge which transcends all distinctions between the knower and the known. Then:

To one who approaches duly, whose heart is calm and whose outer organs are under control, the enlightened [teacher] should impart that knowledge of Brahman by which one realises the true and immutable. [1:2:13]

The necessary inner calm and control is expressed in self-effacing qualities like reverence and patience, which become all-important, as we are preparing the way for a new understanding of Self. These qualities are natural and life-enhancing when we remember the distinction between our thoughts and what we really are. In this way we make our mind tranquil and ensure that we are truly receptive to teachings on the nature of the Self that transcends all limited conceptions. Truth is to be seen as universal, embracing the whole of experience by virtue of its all-pervading presence:

By the higher knowledge the wise realise everywhere that Reality, which is not available to our normal understanding; which is eternal, which appears in many forms, which is present everywhere and is the source of all. (1:1:6)

So our preparation includes careful study and reflection on the non-dual philosophy. Notice that such verses indicate the nature of the supreme Reality in negative terms, by stating what it is not. To call Reality the Immutable is to say that it transcends the mutations of empirical life, including death, and it alone has this freedom.

On the other hand, this same immutable is what makes possible the entire world appearance. Without qualities itself, it appears to serve as a ‘seed bank’ for the qualities of all things; but being immutable, it has no real connection with the changing phenomena. And yet no ‘thing’ can appear or exist independent of this deeper reality, because it is the one principle of being that underlies them. There is no other cause or origin of all things.

How reality can be untouched by all mutations and differences, and yet apparently serve as the source and sustainer of all phenomena, is a mystery that will only be solved through direct experience of Reality as Self. The unillumined mind can only conceive of the world as apparently depending on the Immutable.

And so we find that several verses seem to suggest a relationship of cause and effect between the world of appearances and the Reality, Brahman. Another way of putting this is to say that everything in our experience emanates from that deeper, changeless, non-dual reality, and nothing is really different from that reality. Anything that appears to be different from reality is, ultimately, found to be a phenomenal appearance, not absolutely real. As the Mundaka Upanishad puts it:

As from a fire, fully ablaze, fly off thousands of sparks, each non-separate from the fire, so from the Immutable originate different kinds of creatures, and into It they merge. (2:1:1)

It was said at the beginning that this Upanishad teaches a distinction between higher and lower knowledge. Here it does so with these indications of how we may reflect on the ultimate source of all manifestation:

The supreme source is transcendental, formless, birthless, without mind, pure and beyond what is beyond the perishable. (2:1:2)

We see the changing world around us and intellectually infer that it has an origin. Philosophers and scientists try to perceive this source. It is understood to be beyond the forms and processes presented to our senses, but is still conceived as having some finite quality—of being that from which the world appears. Here the Upanishad points even ‘beyond what is beyond’, to that which has no relation to finitude at all. This is subtle teaching on the higher knowledge, but if approached with a prepared mind and trust in the authority of the teacher, it will lead to fruitful meditation. The Upanishad continues:

From This originates the vital force, the mind, senses, space, air, fire, water and earth that supports everything. (2:1:3)

We now have a more refined understanding of what it means to say that all phases of nature, and life, are ultimately ‘from This’. Our preparation for enlightenment, as it were, is to see the world in this new light. At this stage of enquiry we find that ‘from This’ points to the Reality that transcends causality, and is yet the ultimate Self of all, our true being ‘present in the heart’ here and now. Realisation is direct experience of the fact indicated in these words: ‘I indeed am all this.’ (2:1:10, commentary).

Having prepared the way and planted the ideas based on Truth, we need to become rooted in the conviction that our true identity is the changeless light of conscious awareness which is present in our own being as our nature or Self. This higher Self-knowledge encompasses a right understanding of both the world of action, and that which transcends it:

This is all action and knowledge. One who knows this supremely immortal Brahman as existing in the heart, destroys here the knot of ignorance. (2:1:10)

The meaning is that we begin by discerning the light of Self-awareness in our own being. As this discernment deepens, the same essence is revealed in the heart of all.

How are we to make this higher knowledge our own? How to grasp it and live in its light? The Upanishad offers practical guidance:

Taking hold of the bow, the great upanishadic weapon, fix on it an arrow sharpened with meditation. Drawing the string with the mind absorbed in thought of it, hit the target, the immutable.

OM is the bow, Atman [self] is the arrow, Brahman is said to be the target. That is to be hit by the unerring person. Be one with that like the arrow. (2:2:3-4)

It is by constantly keeping the teaching in mind that one becomes absorbed in truth. Many aspirants have found that an effective way of doing so is to more or less continuously repeat a text, name or symbol such as OM, the sound-word that symbolises the immutable as Brahman, as the Self, and as their eternal identity. OM indicates that Reality which includes all, yet transcends all, and is free from any sectarian ‘terms and conditions’. OM can be chanted, meditated on, and the details of its symbolism may be studied in the Mandukya Upanishad.

Withdrawing attention from distractions by focussing on OM, the apparently individualised self is to be united with the Real, like an arrow embedded in the target. Then:

Know that Self alone that is one without a second, on which are strung [like beads] all things... and give up all other talk. (2:2:5)

Meditate on the Self with the help of OM. May you be free from hindrances in going to the other shore beyond darkness. (2:2:6)

The first step is to learn, through careful observation, that in your own consciousness there are no boundaries or divisions. It is one without a second. Next understand that the same is true of the Reality underlying all phenomena. Then let go of non-essential talk and thoughts by fixing the attention on an expression of Truth such as OM. The quest for self-realisation requires as much one-pointed concentration as a master bowman devotes to focussing on the target.

It is by letting go of non-essentials that we enhance our capacity for right discrimination. Then arises, not more discursive thinking, but heightened inner perception:

Those who discriminate realise, through knowledge, the Self as existing in its fullness on all sides, the Self that shines surpassingly as blissfulness and immortality. (2:2:7)

It is said here that the Self ‘shines’. This means that the Self is ‘self-luminous’: it is the light of awareness which makes all experience possible, and which requires nothing else to reveal it.

Our thoughts become liberating when we look on others as one with our own Self and we transcend likes and dislikes through a deeper understanding of our ‘I am’. This is to recognise the same light of awareness shining in our own mind and in all minds. In this way the obstacles to inner illumination are slowly weakened and dissolved, as the mind is made clear and serene, because it is imbued with right discrimination and detachment from what is non-essential and passing.

This liberating endeavour is to be pursued while living in the world. The world is sometimes called the realm of name and form, making itself known through countless transient qualities to which our mind reacts with feelings of personal connection and identity. But what appears to our inmost awareness is always an object to that awareness, and can never actually be that awareness, nor can that changeless witnessing consciousness ever really mingle with the moving picture-show that it reveals.

This non-identification of the immutable Self with the ephemeral not-self is taught in the Mundaka Upanishad, with the metaphor of the two birds.

Two birds, close companions, perch on the same tree. Of these two, one eats the sweet fruit, and the other looks on without eating. (3:1:1)

The tree stands for the body and nature. It is a metaphorical tree whose seed is unmanifest and roots invisible, whose branches and shoots form the world. One bird anxiously pecks at the fruits, the distractions and delusive pleasures of the world. The other bird sits calmly, without eating. What do the birds represent?

On the same tree the individual soul remains troubled (literally ‘as if drowned’); and so it grieves, being worried by its impotence. When it sees the other, who is the supreme Reality and Beauty—the adorable One—it is liberated from sorrow. (3:1:2)

Thus the human being appears to have two natures, one calm and self-contained, the other restless and fearful. At any time, the restless one can lift up its inner gaze, so to say, and revive its sense of identity with the serene bird, who represents one’s ever-present higher Self, realising ‘I am that’.

This turning and recognition exposes the ultimate unreality of the agitated nature and fixes one in identity with the Immutable, which is never other than one’s true and innermost Self.

In the concluding sections of the Mundaka Upanishad the nature of higher knowledge and how to attain it is presented once again for the benefit of dedicated students:

That is great, self-effulgent, unthinkable, subtler than the subtle, shining forth, further than the far yet near at hand, seen dwelling in the heart of conscious beings. (3:1:7)

As we have found, the Real transcends qualities and is yet the awareness that reveals all. So it is to be sought within consciousness itself. This requires an essential inner quality:

It is not apprehended by the eye, nor speech, nor the senses, nor austerity, nor karma. When purified by the effect of knowledge (jnana-prasadena), one sees the indivisible through contemplation. (3:1:8)

The essential quality is purity, and what purifies is knowledge. A theoretical knowledge is gained from the Upanishad as explained by a traditional teacher. When this knowledge is cherished in a restrained mind, there arises a tranquil transparency conducive to contemplation. Then:

The subtle Atman [Self] is to be known by the intelligence that pervades the mind and senses. When it is purified, Atman is revealed. (3:1:9)

The teaching is that there are three levels in our being. One is the inner world of the mind and senses. This is pervaded by intelligence. And intelligence in turn is pervaded by pure consciousness, the true Self. When intelligence is used to purify the mind by dwelling on the teachings and their implications, the obstacles that seem to obscure the conscious Self are removed.

Similar guidance with a further subtle hint regarding the higher knowledge comes in the final section of the Upanishad:

The Self is not attained through study, nor thought nor much listening. To one who seeks the Self it is attainable. To that one the nature of Self is revealed. (3:2:3)

This apparently simple indication is worthy of deep reflection. It is the very act of seeking that opens the way. To seek means to direct our most precious resources, time and attention, into the enquiry. And through enquiry we awaken to our own true nature as the Self of all. This is the higher Knowledge that satisfies forever.

B.D.

Human Nature—Beyond the Limits

Written by Hari Prasad Shastri in 1951

Descartes found that the fact of the existence of Self is self-evident and needs no proof. It is indubitable: I think, therefore I am. Kant postulates several ideas which he calls a priori, that is, they are not planted in the mind from outside but are natural to the mind.

‘I am’ is a fact and not an illusion. Some Buddhist philosophers doubt it and postulate the theory of Annata, selflessness (in the sense of being without a self). But our experience contradicts it. The force which integrates the functions of the mind and gives a feeling of unity to our self is Self. One who says: ‘I have no tongue’, contradicts himself. If he has no organs of speech, how could he say: ‘I have no tongue.’?

Our experience also shows that the fact of the final death of the individual is undeniable. We are under a constant delusion and cannot imagine the death of the body. What has cast this delusion? Death is as hard a fact as ‘I am’. In spite of our care, and the claims of various groups, human beings are mortal.

We are thinking beings, not automata. If we have to undertake a journey, we prepare for it. Even holidays are carefully planned by thoughtful people. As long as we desire a cold drink in hot weather, think of taking an umbrella on a rainy day, tie the laces of our shoes when we go out, we must plan our life.

We need to know how to live best according to the laws of nature, ethics and spiritual wisdom, how to make the best and wisest use of our physical energy, thought-force and our ethical and aesthetic nature: these are the most important matters for us. But we will have to die one day. Yes, we have to. The inevitability of death points to two important questions, and if we ignore these questions, then we are courting a dangerous folly.

The first question is: ‘Does death mean extinction of the flame of consciousness?’ It is unimaginable. It is beyond the range of experience through imagination. No force in nature suffers annihilation. Nothing is lost when a candle is burnt out. Why should the force, which is the subject of all natural forces, suffer extinction?

The second question in this connection is: ‘What must be our main way of life if, as it seems to be the case, we have to leave all one day and disappear from the stage of time-space-causation?’

Mankind is partly animal and partly divine. He desires to possess the one he loves; forsakes the path of duty and beauty to carry out the dictates of greed, pleasure-sense, power and egoity. He tries to hide his motives; he inflicts misery on his fellow men for his material good. This is all the outcome of the beastliness in him. Yet we also expect continuity of joy, and when truly in love, he sacrifices his pleasure and possessions to serve the object of his love. He often feels infinitude in his being, particularly when he is absorbed in music, poetry, beauties of nature and sex-love. In moments of importance, man often goes beyond himself. In spite of himself he accomplishes wonderful tasks. How is it? What force is it which tells man to be good and do good? There is no one who is dead to the good. How can we explain man’s discontent with achievements in the realm of time-space?

Nothing but the immortality of the soul can explain this matter. Generally speaking we seem to live on and on even when death stares at us and the physician has abandoned all hope of our recovery. There are surely germs of immortality of the soul inherent in our consciousness.

It is good to know the facts about nature, to understand its laws with a view to overcoming its tyranny, but a sure and profound knowledge of the nature of the mind and the soul is also essential. It is also vitally important to know the ultimate purpose of life. Every traveller knows the goal of his journey; why should not man know the purpose of his existence? Let us seriously think of the final accomplishments.

Then it is also essential to know of the power which conceals the main issues from us and deludes us into thinking that wealth, health, pleasure, power, name and vanity are the only great values of life. Every object seems to be a composition of the finite and the infinite. A blade of grass is finite. You can measure its weight, length and breadth, analyse its chemical contents and explain the cause of its colour, but you cannot count the number of its atoms and electrons, neither do you know much of its growth and its relationship with the stars or the expansion of its inner life.

Man is no exception to this rule. The colour of his skin, his race, his individual habits, his likes and dislikes are known, but the life which animates him, his soul and the peculiarities of his mind are unknown. Knowledge influences our conduct. The great power-lovers of the world, called conquerors, have been materialists. Attila, Napoleon, Louis XIV, Hitler and Caesar, had no faith in the existence of God or the soul.

Death is an incontestible fact. It is inevitable. But it is the body which dies. To suppose the death of the consciousness in the body is unthinkable. Death being a fact, we should prepare for that radical change which implies permanent separation from those whom we love.

The first item of this plan is to know that all relationships in any form are temporary. To meet means to separate. It is folly to expect that our loves and the objects of the world are immortal. It is clear that the purpose of our life is to unfold infinity in goodness and knowledge, and not to live in the prison of love or hate, likes and dislikes. Let us love knowledge and delight in the extension of our sympathy with reason. Let us wake up to the sense of the immortality of the Self.

Dharma and not caprice is the true mode of life. Let us enrich our life with the practice of dharma and the light of devotion. What will you think of the wisdom of a student who falls in love with his school and wishes to continue in it with no regard to his graduation, duty and legitimate career? A wise person, in the words of the poem ‘The character of a happy life’, is one:

Whose passions not his masters are,

Whose soul is still prepared for death...

Our mind should daily be directed to the eternal interests. The spiritual values are the real values. Primordial substance evolves under the direction of the all-supervising force, omniscient and omnipotent. Yet this power is ‘the friend of all beings’, compassionate and liable to be well-disposed, who is eternal, inseparable essence, the true Self, seemingly conditioned by the limitations of matter, life, mind, intelligence and ego.

The final stage in this evolution is left to the human will. That consummation of the quest is spiritual perfection, transcendence of matter, life, humanity, mind and ego, and realisation of reality.

As the flow of a stream leaps up in disorder when obstructed, so the life, mind and intelligence of human beings break out in distress, restlessness, caprice and folly when life is directed solely to empirical ends. Our chief duty is conquest of death, achievement of ceaseless contemplation of Beauty as indicated in the great declaration ‘I am Shiva’.

The first great step towards absorption in the transcendental is the enquiry into the knowledge of the Absolute—the logical investigation known as Vichara. Shri Shankara says in his ‘Direct Experience of Reality’:

Without enquiry wisdom cannot be attained by any other means, even as the things of the world cannot be seen without light.

Death is a stern reality in the empirical world. Let us solve the riddle, now, today, and it is solvable. ‘The spirit looks forward, not behind! Here in the present our joy we find.’ (Goethe).

Finding the Divine Element in Oneself

The ultimate good news for us is to be reminded that we are more than the physical and mental being which we appear to be. If we were to literally dissect the body and the mind of a person, and continue to break it down into its constituent parts, what would we find? The same basic elements and chemicals which go to make-up all other objects, animate and inanimate, in the world about us. In essence, our mind and body are made up of inert matter, and derive their animation from some extra power, which non-duality calls our real Self. It is the proximity of the real Self which breathes life, so to speak, into the body and mind. They are no more than the tools which the real Self employs to play in the world. We have forgotten that we are the real Self through its close association with the body and the mind and through the play of the senses in the outside world. If every day of our life is taken up with the external world, then it is not too surprising that we forget about our deeper nature.

Each day we play many parts without even thinking about it. At the back of it all, there is a continuous stream of consciousness which identifies us as the same being throughout all these quick-change acting parts. We almost forget its presence, and it is only when we have a break from the hurly burly of life that we get a fleeting glimpse of it, so that we suddenly feel detached from the emotional turmoil of our normal life— almost as though we have been a spectator. At these times we regain our balance, so to speak, enabling us to find answers and solutions to our problems, and to experience a sense of peace which might well be out of keeping with the events of the day. This is one of the many hints that we are more than just the body and the mind, and that our normal state is one of peace.

What is it about our own innermost Self that gives us this sense of peace? The non-dual teachings reveal that our innermost Self is not other than the Self of the whole universe, that is the Essence of the universe, or God. They tell us that when we come to know the nature of our own Self, then we come to know God, and we experience peace, contentment and bliss at all times, no matter what life throws at us.

A broad and deep study reveals that in their highest expression all the great religions of the world contain the same Truth. The Gospel hints at this idea where it is recorded that Jesus said: ‘I and my Father are one.’ (John, 10:30) Some interpret this verse narrowly, saying that Jesus was special, and that the statement only applies to Him. But Jesus mentioned many times that God was the Father of all and that we were all His children. When pressed for a definitive answer about salvation, we are told:

And when he was demanded of the Pharisees, when the kingdom of God should come, he answered them and said, The kingdom of God cometh not with observation: neither shall they say, Lo here! or, lo there! for, behold, the kingdom of God is within you. (Luke, 17:20)

Buddha also gave similar advice:

The world, indeed, is like a dream and the treasures of the world are an alluring mirage! Like the apparent distances in a picture, things have no reality in themselves, but they are like heat haze. Peace comes from within. Do not seek it without.

What conclusions have dedicated enquirers of the past drawn about the origin and nature of the universe? They described the Universe as Maya, where Maya is defined as ‘The deluding power (or Shakti) of the Lord by which the universe has come into existence and appears to be real.’ The non-dual view is that the more you look outwards in life, the more diversity you will find. The world or universe is a truly astounding creation which dances before our senses—but it does not dance to our tune, or to our desire or whim. We may feel that we have control over our own corner of the universe, but even this is an illusion, for we have all seen how a person’s fortune can change overnight. And as we become older, and hopefully wiser, we eventually learn that we cannot fulfil our deepest desires by manipulating the world around us. We come to understand that no matter how successful we are in a worldly sense, we always end up feeling that there is something missing, something more to be attained. It is only when we become jaded with the searching in the outer world, that we are ready to look in a different way or direction for the answer to it all.

In the book Wisdom from the East, Hari Prasad Shastri describes Maya like this:

God is compared to a magician, and through his magical power called Maya He has made the world appear. The world hides the Lord, manifesting only His magical power.

Further on in the section on Maya, the author explains how to continue the search for that missing element:

When we go deeper into this study of the how, why and wherefore of the world, we may be able to go far, but in the end the only thing that we can come to is, it is all Maya. Shankara advises those people who want to know Maya to remember that we cannot know about Maya but we can know about the Lord of Maya; and to know about the Lord of Maya is not only to know Maya, but to participate in the magic show which the Lord has projected through His power. It is not by means of our intellect that we shall know the secrets of the universe, but it is by finding the Lord and by being united with him fundamentally that all the secrets of Maya and the universe, and much more, shall be as clear to us as a crystal placed on the palm of our hand.

If it is assumed that creation has a separate existence from God, and that it has been fashioned by Him into its present form, like a potter fashions a vase from clay, then we will always be separate from Him. But this is not the non-dual view, for if God existed separately from the universe, the question would arise as to who created the material of the universe in the first place, before God fashioned it into its present form?

The non-dual view is that the whole of creation is projected from the supreme Reality, like the magician projecting the illusion of the rope trick, where an audience is collectively hypnotised into believing in the veracity of a series of impossible events.

From the point of view of the magician nothing has happened. From the point of view of an ignorant onlooker it is a fact. From the point of view of philosophy or reason, it is inexplicable. We do not know and cannot give any reason at all.

As such, creation is part of the Lord and never becomes anything different from Him, except through the error of mis-identification, or superimposition, or Maya. In the non-dual literature it is said that God alone is real and all else is unreal, or transient. Put another way, God is the unchanging element who is hidden behind the ever-changing aspects of creation.

If we are aware of change, it means that we also know something of its opposite, in which all change takes place. The philosophy also states that what changes has no independent existence apart from its unchanging substratum. The practical approach to discovering the unifying principle is not to look at the veils and their components, but to remove them.

How then can we go about removing these veils? Since we are part of this magnificent creation, we need to look for that underlying reality within ourselves. We shall discover for ourselves that the body and mind are part of the veil, but that our real Self is none other than the substratum of all, and that true Self-knowledge is knowledge of God.

S.M.B.

There is a Way to Freedom

The supreme benefit of regular and progressive meditation is that it brings to light an element of perfect freedom in our own being. This has been compared to the forming of an opening in our mind, through which the light and peace which are normally hidden in the depths of our being, may pass into our conscious life and inspire it.

This wisdom is a conscious power that is more inward than thought, and before which thoughts come and go like traffic. It never changes, yet its quality and proximity make possible an inner transformation that transcends limitations and is irreversible. Its nature is not so much conscious as consciousness itself, the original and eternal light that is the source of all sentiency. When realised, it is recognised as the true nature of the Self, the ‘I’.

We may ask how this principle of unsurpassed grandeur can relate to the local and limited forms of practice carried out by individuals? It is true that the Reality itself is transcendent and beyond all relativity. But for purposes of inner progress, there is a kind of interplay between our finite nature and the infinitude which is its ultimate being. Thus we can become aware of a twofold effect based on our efforts to harmonise with the highest values.

Firstly, traditional meditation includes the persistent endeavour to lead the mind from its restlessness to a state of peace. Each practice we do equips our will with techniques to reduce the mental activity. It is when our attention is no longer claimed by the passing thoughts and feelings, that something deeper than thought will begin to disclose itself as the background to all thought.

Secondly, each meditation practice we do that is based on the non-dual philosophy, refers to our true nature in its unlimited form and connects our finite mind to the infinite reality that underlies it as Self.

In these two ways—mind-pacification and true identification —we connect, so to say, with the highest. Our inner life takes on a new and definite aim, leading to our realisation of a deeper understanding of what we really are.

If there is no instruction in mind-pacification, and all we are told is ‘Affirm what you really are’, it is probable that our everyday thoughts will continue to arise with undiminished force, and thus obstruct our deeper enquiry. Similarly, if our meditation stops short at mind-pacification, the great teaching about our true nature will not be absorbed, and the real potentiality of meditation will be overlooked.

It was said before that what is greatest in us—the light and peace of our ultimate nature—is hidden. The apparently concealed nature of ‘absolute reality’, which is one of many ways of indicating the supreme Being, is a theme that appears in all wisdom traditions. In Christianity, for example, there are the lines from the poem, Corpus Christi, by St Thomas Aquinas:

I adore Thee devoutly, hidden Truth,

Who art truly hidden beneath these forms.

My whole heart yields itself to Thee,

For when contemplating Thee it wholly fails.

In the non-dual tradition, the classics sometimes refer to this veiling of Truth by a special term, Maya, a word suggestive of magic or illusion, and which reason is unable to explain. Shri Krishna, a personification of the ultimate Power, declares:

Truly, this Divine Illusion of mine, is hard to transcend,

but anyone who seeks Me alone is freed from this Illusion.

Bhagavad Gita, 7:14

Elsewhere in the same tradition, another term, Avidya, not knowing, or ignorance, is used to indicate that the limitations of our understanding are not only, or primarily, to be blamed on a general and impersonal power such as Maya; our own character and conduct makes its contribution, as factors that hinder realisation, and these hindrances can be cleared by our dedicated quest for right knowledge. We have to work on ourselves to follow the means of reducing our avidya. This is a challenging process, because one of the main signs of ignorance is our unawareness of it. We know not that we do not know; or to put it in plain language, we have a deep conviction that we are always right, and secretly cling to our position as if our life depended on it. This leads us back into the life of the mind and its thoughts, and indicates why a teacher who has transcended the ways of the mind, can be our greatest friend on the path.

There is a simple and far-reaching saying of the teacher, Shri Dada of Aligarh:

Your mind is what you have made it; you can unmake it and remake it.

To ‘make’ the mind means to make changes to its present store of ingredients and to ensure that the future quality of our inner life conduces to our highest well-being. Those inner ingredients are our thoughts, feelings, memories, imagination, and the way our intellect has been nurtured by others as well as by personal efforts and selection. The remaking of this material must be based on discrimination—choosing that which has the most fruitful effect on our life. It also requires humility, based on our recognition that we still have much to learn. Humility, in its spelling, is close to two other words that may prove helpful: hum and humour. To hum indicates a relaxed and carefree state of mind (it need not be taken literally), and this in itself is liberating. Humour is necessary to gently mock and undermine the egoism which goes on stalking us, hiding behind such subtle masks as insincere professions of failure, self-righteousness, self-importance, pretensions to teacher-hood and seniority. All these distortions have their comical side, and we should welcome their exposure, grasping with both hands the lesson we are being taught.

We can learn much about this path to inner freedom from books, talks and other forms of communication, but to get our mind into a condition where our supreme nature becomes a living and certain experience, we need to be dedicated to the task. This means deep interest in the teachings, verging on, and merging into, love; and our will must be applied to practices such as meditation and the way of harmlessness in daily life. Otherwise, if we bear antagonism to anyone, or any group, and if we skip the practice of meditation, our mind will lack the sensitivity and inner space through which the higher aspects of our nature will begin to manifest.

It is through tranquillity that we are able to pass into the still depth of our own being—or to recognise that there is a still depth. And in that depth, with peace and attention, there will be revealed a principle that is pure, free, and joyous. This is not a visitor to our mind. It is the true nature of our self—our ‘I’— when all the limited associations are forgotten, or ignored.

There is something in our nature that transcends nature. It has no name, but we may call it pure Being, Krishna, Allah, Brahman, God. The true teaching is splendid in its universality. The innermost self is recognised as free from the limitations that condition our everyday consciousness—free from fear, free from frustration, free from desire, free from limitation. It is that ground of pure being in us which worry does not reach, where anxiety has nothing to work with. This is called Self-knowledge and the greatest achievement is to be aware of our essential freedom at all times and under all phenomenal conditions. As the sage Ashtavakra expresses it:

Wonderful am I! In spite of the body and its properties,

I am one. I go nowhere, I come from nowhere,

I abide in my Self, pervading the whole universe.

Freedom is a most important term in the non-dual philosophy. In Sanskrit it is called moksha, and it is the goal of life, of philosophical enquiry and of the yoga of Self-knowledge. The desire for liberation becomes the main motive of life, and its power of attraction makes it possible to transcend other desires. In a real sense, it is ever achieved. ‘You would not be seeking me if you had not already found me’, said Pascal. But avidya, with its erroneous knowledge, makes it seem otherwise.

Many years ago, at London’s Speakers Corner, one of the side attractions was an escapologist. This was a man who deliberately had himself imprisoned in a canvas sack, secured by a network of chains. He would then spend several minutes wriggling and rolling on the ground until all his shackles were shaken or squeezed off, and he emerged free and victorious.

But was he ever not free? Even while in the confinement and darkness, he knew he was free, because he knew the method of escape, and he knew the weak spots in the chains and the sack.

In a similar way, we may be imprisoned in the sack and chains of our circumstances, but our imprisonment—our bondage to limitations—is only apparent, not real or final. And here we are shown a way, one of many ways, to recover our freedom.

We began with some comments about meditation. Let us close with a meditation on the theme of freedom

The universal consciousness is in me. I am that.

Peace and love are my attributes.

A.H.C.

The Ascent of the Mind

Notes of a lecture given by Hari Prasad Shastri

Our aim is the ascension of the mind from its present state of alternation between turpitude, passion-struggle and equilibrium, into the higher state of illumination. The word ascension has no spatial connotation; it just means lifting the mind from one state to another. It is a great secret. One who knows how to change thoughts, without getting excited, from one state to another, knows the secret of living and happiness.

If our mind is left to itself, then according to the psychological law of association, very often it presents pictures in the imagination. Habit plays an important part in our mind, as in our bodily life. Habit formation is one of the most important parts of our nature. One who knows how to form good and useful habits is wise and practises the highest form of yoga.

Such a person rides the mind as a rider rides a horse. The horse is under control, and may be led to the desirable channels and restrained from the useless ones that deplete our energy.

This life-energy is called Prana. It expresses itself through muscles, senses and through the mind. If we make an indiscriminate and inordinate use of it physically or mentally, we are sure to suffer from exhaustion or depletion. When there is depletion of the mental energy we become neurotic. We live in a world of imagination, lose the balance of our mind, and suffer from a hundred allied complaints.

Therefore let us economise the mental energy. Every now and then replenish it, and be much more economical and judicious in the use of the mental energy than with money. Sometimes we lavish our precious human affection on our pets; kindness and care is necessary, but we should not forget that it is our fellow humans who can actually be improved by such affection; otherwise we risk wasting our energy by depletion. Love is a most precious element in our being, and the object that deserves it more than anything else, is Truth.

Fanaticism is condemned in each and every religion. When you shut your eyes deliberately to any truth other than the one to which you have pinned your faith, you are no longer human.

Practise how to direct the mind from one point to another. If you are also able to stay the mind on one point as long as you like, you are on the way to true meditation. Many cannot concentrate the mind on an abstraction, such as the philosophical doctrine of the Forms of Plato, or the Non-Duality of Shankara. Then they are advised to choose their God for contemplation. But be open-minded: if you love Jesus, you love the truth in Jesus and not necessarily the body. The truth of Jesus is all living. He was and is and will always be alive, and the worship of a corpse does no good. St Teresa was in love with the child Jesus, and so were many other saints of God. You should also see Jesus in Rama, in Krishna, and in the saints of other religions.

The morning is the best time for meditation. Study, and uproot the mind from the muddy field of passions. Avoid likes and dislikes and narrowness of vision. It is an all-time occupation. Our practice is not to be reserved for special times. It is practised in the deep silence of the heart, in which you try to imagine the omnipotent, omniscient Lord present in the form of your own consciousness.

Now I present to you a conception in the form of a house of several storeys. The first, the foundation, is what I called ‘ascension’. In the first storey you have to climb through the steps of pride, egoity and love of power. If you are a student of history you will learn valuable lessons about the consequences of excess of pride, egoity and love of power. You have to crush them under the feet.

The next storey is the practice of goodness, devotion and self-control. Self-control means practice of devotion, because control of the mind is like control of a horse, not control of a machine. You make a horse steady, and then you change its direction. To be a good rider does not mean to stop the horse and remain still. But if the horse tries to get out of control, you make it quiet with a view to give another direction to it. Control thoughts, emotions, and more than all, control the will. When you have controlled them, you give them another direction, partly ethical and partly psychological. The ethical part is: goodness, peace, forgiveness, tranquillity, harmlessness. The psychological part is: meditation, reflection and absorbed contemplation.

In the final storey you come to peace, devotion, ego-negation and God-vision. When you have had God-vision, you have had all you wanted. It may appear at present meaningless. When I was a youth, I used to ask for descriptions of the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas. Some said one thing and some another. From the various descriptions I got some sort of idea. But only when I saw them with my own eyes did I really understand what no picture, no talk, no conversation, had conveyed.

Take this word ‘God-vision’ and keep the meaning in reserve till you have reached it. Nothing which is high and ecstatic can be described positively. Negatively it can be described as no discontent, no strife, no duality, no suffering, no desire for anything else in the soul, because you will have achieved the highest and there is nothing higher than that. Those who have studied the philosophy of Shri Shankara have given up their pleasures to pursue inner realisation, have given up all they held dearest. And so will anyone who is convinced of the theory of God-vision.

There is an illustration used by the philosopher Moses Maimonides, who wrote the ‘Guide to the Perplexed’. A man was travelling in a field, when there was a mist. He saw something like a stump of a tree and thought it was that. He came nearer and saw it was a man, then closer still and saw it was his own brother. If you will follow and practise the higher yoga, first you will think it the stump of a tree, that is meaningless. Life was meaningless to the Romans. The whole tenor of the Stoic philosophy was to commit suicide. In Shakespeare’s ‘Julius Caesar’ the last lines give this idea well.

But when you come nearer, you will find the whole world is alive. Stones, earth, trees are alive. You will find all is unity and all works for good. That is equivalent to seeing that the imagined stump of a tree was a man. When you come nearer still, through negation of the old self and devotion, you will find: ‘It is my brother’. You will find the whole world is my Self, the stars my expression, the mountains my manifestation, the woods and forests my consciousness.

Every object is in a state of motion. If you study the functions and structure of an atom, you will find that the electrons are in a state of motion and are sending out radiations at unimaginable speed. The table, the objects, the walls and stones are all in a state of constant motion. Molecules are in vibration and motion takes place in space. Underlying both molecules and space is the non-dual Reality from which atoms have come; it is all light, and light is God. As it is said in the non-dual classics, ‘tajjalan iti’ — ‘From that supreme Being this universe comes forth, by That it is sustained, and to That it finally returns and is dissolved.’

The reality thus found in atoms, which is the basis and support of every phenomenon, subjective and objective, in the world, is sakshi, consciousness, one and alone and free from attributes (kevalo nirgunashcha).

People ask: ‘Where is God in us?’ The senses are not God because they change. Mind is not God because mind changes. Some people say that life is God. But life is in constant motion, it appears and disappears. How can an object which has these changing attributes be God, which is all-pervasive, immutable? Life, mind, senses, are not God. What is God? That element in you which witnesses motion and rest, that is God. In Sanskrit it is called sakshi (the witness). The element which knows that the waking and dream and dreamless sleep have passed away, who took note of them without being identified and correlated with any of them, is God within.

In your state of meditation try to find out: ‘Who is this witness element in me?’ We do not say the ‘knower’, because knower is a relative term. There is no knower unless there is a known. The existence of the knower depends on the known and vice versa. If there is no knower of the rainbow, there can be no rainbow.

The senses create the picture, and the mind receives the picture and says: ‘I see objects’. But really it sees only pictures. The word kevala (pure, absolute, non-composite) means not one, not two, not three. Only a vocabulary highly developed philosophically can find a word for this. Where there is ‘this’ and ‘not this’, there can be no recognition of existence in the form of a substratum or an underlying ground of being. Without this support, our transient experience is all words, words, words, and has no reality, as Shri Shankara says.

To awaken to the deeper reality—the Immutable—is a matter of realisation. After a theoretical understanding we have to practise. This means study, undergoing the discipline, meditating, and working in harmony and cooperation.

Contact the spirit of God in you, which is your true Self. First create silence within and silence without. Unless you know how to create silence within, you cannot create silence without. It does not mean running to a place where there is no noise, but it means what the Japanese samurai used to do: in the thick of the battle, in the rain of arrows, they could go into a state of meditation and into a state of ecstasy, because the samurai’s training was not only to learn the art of war but at the same time the art of meditation. This way was not like that of those soldiers who pillage and oppress. In the samurai culture, every soldier was a poet, almost a holy man, because they were taught the art of poetry and the art of meditation, which go together. Confucius said: ‘Teach a man philosophy twelve years and then he is fit to be a soldier; otherwise he will only be a means of destruction.’

Outer silence means that you may be in a crowd but your mind is united with the image of God in your heart and you are not bothered by that crowd. By elevating the mind to the spot Trikuti (between the eyebrows), you are able to keep silence. Retirement is necessary occasionally to a quiet place, as a matter of practice. But the real thing is to make the mind of such a nature that nothing can move it.

Meditate that God-consciousness is an infinite sea. You are a log of wood. The whole universe is like a log of wood carried in the sea—sometimes in the middle of the current, sometimes on the peak of a great wave, sometimes in a whirlpool. But detached, unconcerned, resigned—such ultimately is one whose state is comparable to that log. To be voluntarily and consciously a log of wood in the ocean of consciousness, in which the mind and ego come and go by the wind of Maya, like the ripples and foam, but the sea is unconcerned with them: this is some proficiency in the practical teachings. But it will never come by merely physical means. Only God is, and you are not, and nothing else is. This state is obtainable.

The height of realism is when you feel you are in God, God is in you. You are not, God is; God is also not, and what is it? Who can say? Who can describe it? Neti Neti, Neti Neti, says the Upanishad: Not this not this, not this, not this.

Hari Prasad Shastri

How Can Self and Not-Self Be Connected?

The Thousand Teachings of Shankara, Prose Part, Section Two

In the Thousand Teachings of Shankara we find a dialogue between a student and a knower of Truth. The student has thought carefully about the non-dual teachings and come across points which seem to him contradictory or even incomprehensible, and so he approaches the teacher with due respect for help.

The Thousand Teachings is the one work which is not a commentary on something else and which almost all scholars agree is definitely by Shri Shankara, the great philosopher-sage of non-duality. The text is partly prose, partly verse. The prose part is in three sections, and this dialogue is the second prose section.

It presents a model of ideal student-teacher interaction. Yet it is also psychologically astute, and has appealing human touches. The student sincerely tries to understand, but occasionally a desire to demonstrate his own cleverness seems to come through. The teacher is evidently aware of the student’s efforts, and his foibles, and responds to both. Finding this balance of rigorous enquiry, without cavil, is an important aspect of the path.

The student begins in this way: Revered teacher, how can I find liberation? I experience suffering while awake, respite in deep sleep, and then suffering again. Is this condition my real nature? Or is it something fortuitous? If it is my own nature, there is no hope of liberation, because no-one can escape from their own nature. But if it is fortuitous then liberation may be possible by removing its cause. [from The Thousand Teachings, prose part, section two, verse 45]

So far, this question does not relate to the non-dual philosophy specifically. There is a generally accepted principle that the true nature of something can be distinguished from what might be called ‘fortuitous’ or ‘contingent’ qualities, as heat is the nature of fire, while smokiness is a contingent quality sometimes associated with fire. And although the student is asking the question of whether suffering is in his true nature or fortuitous, it is clear what he hopes and expects the answer to be. He is looking for reassurance, which the teacher gives him: ‘Listen my child, suffering is not your nature, it is fortuitous.’ [2:46]

The student next asks: What then is the cause of this condition, and how can it be ended? The answer is: The cause is ignorance and it is ended by knowledge. Your true nature is the Supreme Self, transcendent, immutable, immortal. But you think that you are the individual passing through life, doing actions, experiencing pleasure and suffering, and who will one day die. This is ignorance; when it is removed by true Self-knowledge, you will be liberated. [2:47-50]

To often remind ourselves of what is said here about the essential challenge will keep our efforts focussed and balanced.

Now the student comes to the particular points that he finds problematic. He says: I exist, that is certain. But I am not the supreme Self which is changeless and immortal. According to the philosophy, direct experience is one of the ways in which we acquire knowledge. I have direct experience of growth, decline, pleasure and pain, so I know that this is my nature.

The student continues: It is said in the non-dual teachings that ignorance of the true Self is caused by what is called the ‘superimposition’ of Self and not-self. Another example of superimposition is when someone sees mother-of-pearl and thinks it is silver, in which case the quality of silver, which is strong and valuable, is superimposed on mother-of-pearl, which is brittle and valueless. But this cannot be the cause of the ignorance regarding our true Self, because one can only superimpose things which are already known. If one did not know about silver and mother-of-pearl, one would not superimpose them on each other. And if the Self is unknown, it cannot be superimposed on something else, or vice versa. [2: 51]

The student is making clear that he has thoroughly studied the teaching and found what he believes to be real weaknesses within it. What follows can appear quite obscure and hard to follow. The obscurity and difficulty are not in Reality, but in the student’s confusion—which is always the case! Let us see how the dialogue proceeds, and how the difficulties are resolved.

The teacher first responds by saying no, it is not a rule that one can only superimpose the qualities of things that are already known, because there are exceptions. For example, he says, we observe features of the body, such as the colour of the skin, and then superimpose these qualities onto the Self, which is the object of the ego-sense, and think ‘I am fair-skinned’ or ‘I am dark-skinned’. [We will review what is meant by ‘the object of the ego-sense’ shortly.] Equally, we superimpose the Self onto the body and say ‘I am this body’. [2:52]

The student then says: In that case the Self is known, as the object of the ego-sense, and the body is known, through sense perception. So this is an example of the superimposition of two objects which are already known. What then did you mean when you said that there are exceptional cases in which objects that are not known are superimposed? [2:53]

The teacher answers: It is true that the Self and the body are known, but they are not known as distinct objects in the way that silver and mother-of-pearl are known through separate perceptions. How then are the Self and body known? Always as inextricably combined concepts. It is in this way that the world falls into confusion about Self and not-Self and different opinions arise. This is the exception I referred to. [2:54]

This dialogue provides an example of how a teacher can respond to a student’s difficulties in a way which might appear circuitous but in fact helps the student proceed by steps to a clearer understanding.

In his explanation the teacher has stated that the Self is the ‘object of the ego-sense’ (aham pratyaya vishaya). In the non-dual teachings it is often said that the Self cannot be an object of knowledge, precisely because Self is by definition the subject, the knower; if Self were known as an object it would no longer be the Self, it would be something observed by the Self. So why is Self here said to be known as the object of the ego-sense?

Central to our life-experience as human beings is what might be called the ‘ego-sense’ or ‘I-conviction’, or ‘I-am awareness’. This always has an object; our sense or conviction or awareness is: I am something, usually the mind and/or body. How does this come about? It is the superimposition of Self (which in truth is the real ‘I’, pure consciousness) onto the body-mind, resulting in what we experience as the direct knowledge ‘I am this’. This seems to resemble other forms of knowledge, but there is an essential difference. For example, we may say ‘I know that when water gets hot enough, it boils’. In this case, experience has taught us what water is, and other perceptions have taught us what heat is. And then we know boiling as the result of combining water and heat. Our knowledge of the world is built up in this way. And the ego-sense, the conviction ‘I am this’, seems to be knowledge of the same kind. But in fact it is an exception, one with great consequences. When the Self is superimposed onto the body-mind, and vice versa, they have not been known separately, and the result, the ‘object of the ego-sense’ is always a perception in which self and body-mind are inextricably amalgamated without ever having been known distinctly in their true nature. This is how the whole world comes to be confused about Self and non-self.

Following the steps in Shankara’s presentation here brings into focus the ‘ego-notion’ at the centre of our experience, and how it seems to be a self-evident truth but is in fact the result of a superimposition. This is precisely where we are to pursue the inquiry into the nature of Self and not-Self.

The student proceeds to raise what he thinks is another logical problem. He reasons like this: Wherever something is superimposed through ignorance (avidya) on something else, it does not exist there; for example silver does not exist in the mother-of-pearl which is mistaken for silver, and vice versa. If Self and body are superimposed, then the Self does not exist in the body, and the body does not exist in the Self. If there is no Self in the body, the student reasons, the Self does not exist, and if there is no body in the Self, the body does not exist. This means that the Self and the body are both unreal. This conclusion, he says, is unacceptable; it is the view of nihilism, which is contrary to the non-dual teachings.

The student continues: If it is said that only the body is superimposed, so that the Self is real but the body is not, this also is unacceptable because it contradicts sense-perception, which tells us clearly that the body is real.

The student’s problem has in fact already been answered. Realising that he has not understood, the teacher proceeds with a different approach. Taking what the student has just said, the teacher asks: How then are Self and body related? The student replies: They are always connected, like stone and wood. [2:55]

To that the teacher responds: This cannot be right. It would mean that the Self is composite, depends on something else for its existence, and changes. This shows that the Self, being transcendent and immortal, is not joined to the body. [2:56]

The teacher evidently expects the student to understand and accept that a theory which leads to the conclusion that the Self is non-absolute and changes must be wrong (as a mathematician accepts that a mistake must have been made if a calculation leads to a contradiction). This is not just dogmatism: that the Self is beyond change is a principle that is established with logical rigour elsewhere. (For example, all change is known by one that does not change. If the Self changed it would require another Self to know it, and so on in infinite regress.)

But the student still sees a problem and rejects in advance what he thinks might be offered as a solution. He says: If the Self is only superimposed on the body, then the body has no Self. This too is the view of the nihilists. (Here ‘body’ includes, for example, the sense-organs and senses. If there were no Self in the body, there would be a mere stream of thoughts and perceptions, with no conscious subject to know them.) [2:57]

The teacher says: No, the Self by nature is not joined with anything; in this sense, Self is comparable to pure space. Nothing can be ‘joined’ to space, but this does not mean that objects do not have space. Similarly, the fact that the body is not joined to Self does not mean that it has no Self. [2:58]

This analogy points out how different in nature are objects and space, and that comparable differences apply between the body and the Self, although Self, being transcendent, is more subtle even than space. Many difficulties arise from failing to appreciate such differences. And now there is an opportunity to address another problem raised earlier by the student (again illustrating how the teacher arranges his argument according to what will most help the student step by step.) The student said [2:55] that if the body is superimposed on the Self but does not really exist in the Self, this would contradict sense-experience. We have just been reminded that Self is subtle and is not known through sense-experience in the same way as objects. We do not ‘see’ the body existing in the Self in the way we see fruit in a bowl, nor like a picture painted on a wall. So there is no contradiction here with sense perception. [2:59]

The student’s objections arose from a misconception of Self. He conceived the nature of Self as such that it could enter into relationships with objects, and be ‘joined’ to them or ‘seen existing in them’. This error, the habit of extending modes of understanding that are valid in regard to objects but not to the transcendent Self, is at the root of the student’s problem. For Shankara, and the teacher presented in this model dialogue, the primary objective is to make the student (and all of us struggling to remove the obstacles to direct Knowledge of Self) aware of the difficulties in our ways of seeing and thinking.

This point is easily missed. The scholar Sengaku Mayeda writes in the introduction to his widely-read translation of the Thousand Teachings: “With the above objection the student has put forward a cogent argument striking at the very basis of the Advaita doctrine. If mutual superimposition is accepted, not only the body but Atman as well would come to be non-existent. The teacher well understands what the student wants to say but does not answer directly. Deliberately side-stepping the sharp thrust of the question, the teacher asks instead what the relationship is between the body and Atman... [2:55] Thus the teacher does not give any definite answer to the point raised by his student that a further examination of ignorance (avidya) as mutual superimposition results in nihilism.” [Mayeda S., Thousand Teachings, Tokyo, 1979, p82-83]

Professor Mayeda says: “Avidya is mutual superimposition between Atman and non-Atman. If so, avidya would come to be logically untenable.” And he goes on to cite the objection raised by the student above.

This overlooks the essential difference in the cases that Shankara has just illustrated. Mother-of-pearl and silver are both originally known separately through different experiences. Then, if someone sees mother-of-pearl, but because of superimposition thinks they see silver, there is no silver in what is perceived, which is just mother-of-pearl.

In contrast, where there is mutual superimposition of Self and not-Self, there has been no previous knowledge of Self and not-Self as distinct through different perceptions, and what is perceived in this ‘exceptional case’, the ego-sense, is an inextricable amalgam in which Self is present. There is no flaw or gap in Shankara’s presentation here. It precisely illustrates the superimposition of Self and not-Self and ignorance (avidya) of our true nature. As we noticed above, the teacher does not ‘sidestep’ the student’s question because there is no answer to it, but because he wants to lead the student to a right understanding by stages that he can follow.

The student comes back with his problem in a slightly different form. Earlier, he questioned how there could be superimposition of what is not known as an object [2:52]. Now he asks how there could be superimposition of the Self if Self is not known by any of the usual ways of gaining knowledge. [2:60]

This time the teacher’s answer is quite short. He says that there is a natural familiarity with the Self. And that we do find superimposition of what is never known as an object, for example, the superimposition of a ‘dome’ on the imperceptible space of the sky. [2:61]

Here much is left unsaid. That there is a ‘natural familiarity with the Self’ is a significant idea, to be worked out in detail elsewhere. The essential point is that the problem arises from extending modes of understanding that apply to the things of the world, to the transcendent Self.

Now the student brings up what he sees as another difficulty in the theory. He asks: Is superimposition done by the body combined with the senses and the rest, or by the Self? [2:62]

This question has been formulated in such a way that either answer is obviously unacceptable. Is the student really trying to make progress on the path, or could some desire to demonstrate his debating skills be in evidence here?

The teacher’s response challenges the student’s motive as much as his logic. He asks: Does it matter if superimposition is done by the body or the Self? [2:63]

Thus pressed, the student has to express himself carefully: If I am just the bodily-combination, I would be non-conscious and would not be self-aware, so it could not be me that superimposes the body on the Self. Therefore I must be the Self, conscious and self-aware. In which case it is the Self that superimposes the body on myself, even though this is the root of all misfortune. [2:64]

The teacher responds, again probing what drives the student as much as his conclusion: If you know that wrong superimposition is the root of all the troubles, don’t do it! [2:65]

To this the student says: I can’t help it, I am forced to do it by something. [2:66]

The teacher proceeds to show that there must be an error in this reasoning. He says: In that case you cannot be conscious and self-aware, you are just the combined body and senses and the rest. The one that forces you must be conscious and self-aware. [2:67] (Contradicting what the student just said.)

The student realises that his reasoning has led to an untenable conclusion and asks: If I were nonconscious, how could I be aware of pain and pleasure and what you say to me? [2:68]

Now the teacher sets up a line of reasoning that will lead to a right understanding. He asks: Are you different from sensations of pleasure and pain, and what I say to you, or not? [2:69]

To this the student gives a full reply: Certainly I am different, if I were not I could not know them. And if I were not different, these sensations would exist without anyone to be aware of them, which is absurd. Sensations do not affect themselves, but the one who is aware of them. So I must be different, as I am the one who knows whatever enters my mind. [2:70]

The teacher says: In that case you are conscious and self-aware. You cannot be ‘forced’ or ‘used’ by another. A conscious being cannot be used by another conscious being because they are the same, like the light of two lamps. And non-conscious beings cannot force or use anything because they have no purpose to serve. [2:71]

To this the student says: What about a master and servant, is that not an example of conscious beings who serve each other’s purposes? [2:72] The teacher explains: When I spoke of your consciousness I meant that you have consciousness in the way that fire has heat and light (which are the very nature of fire). I gave the example of light from two lamps (and light is always the same wherever it appears to come from). It is through the ever-fixed, eternal consciousness, comparable to the light of fire, that you know all that comes into your mind. [2:73]

We ‘have’ consciousness in the sense that it is our intrinsic nature, like the light of fire. The mind is revealed by consciousness, and it is not possible that ‘another’ consciousness could do so, because consciousness is always one and the same.

Now the teacher returns to the point where the original confusion arose. He asks: ‘Why did you say “I experience suffering while awake, respite in deep sleep, and then suffering again. Is this condition my real nature? Or is it something fortuitous?” Has this delusion gone yet?’ It has gone, says the student, evidently having grasped that his true Self is not the one that suffers and enjoys, but the transcendental consciousness.

Guided by Shankara’s reasoning we too may become increasingly aware that at the centre of our experience every moment there is a principle which is self-evident, self-illumined, self-aware, dependent on nothing other. At first we understand this in theory, in time it is to become a living experience.

There will always be guidance wherever our inquiries need it. Our student now has another question: If it is consciousness that knows all, this knowing involves action and change. If so, how can consciousness be absolute and changeless?

[To be continued.]

P.H.

Hafiz and Mysticism

The poet Hafiz was probably born between 1320 and 1326 in Shiraz in southern Iran, and died there in 1389. Although much studied and analysed, little more is known about him with certainty. He remains almost totally hidden behind his work*. We could assert that he lived to be old, that he was an expert in Quranic studies, that he valued a liberal form of the religion of love above Islamic orthodoxy, without rejecting the latter completely. We do not know for certain whether he was a Sunni or a Shi’ite, for there are some verses in his work that would have been objected to by a strict Sunni and others that would have found no favour amongst strict Shi’ites.

We may suspect, though we do not know for certain, that he was married, and that he mourns the loss of a son in his poems (134). He sometimes declares himself to be a recluse (e.g. 433) and a ‘wearer of wool’ (sign of poverty, though not necessarily of asceticism, 158 and 398), and as poor (145) and as having only one coat (240) and as unable to afford a minstrel since he lacks silver and gold (367). But there is today general agreement that he was not a retired ascetic. Even in old age, he appears to thank Shah Mansur for leaving him in ease and comfort (329). And it is also when he is already old that he expresses shame that he is still ‘dependent on king and minister’ (332).

He also says that in youth he indulged in wine and youthful company (29). However, there are many places where we do not know whether or not he was giving straight autobiography, and many places where we do not know whether he intended his meaning to be taken literally or allegorically or both at the same time. For these reasons we cannot ask how far Hafiz lived up to his spiritual ideals. But we can ask what the spiritual ideals expressed in his poems are.

It has been suggested that only three poems (142, 143, 342) are mystical throughout, and that this is such an insignificant number in proportion to Hafiz’s total output that the remaining scattered mystical utterances should be dismissed as a mere concession to the aristocratic taste of the times. It may be accepted that Hafiz was probably a court-poet and not a monastic spiritual teacher. But it can hardly be denied that his poems were mainly intended to convey spiritual teaching. He has said that every verse of his poetry is a love-song of gnosticism (ma’rifat). ‘This land lacks mystical vision (ma’rifat); / Send help, O God most High, / That I may find purchasers for my pearls’ (252) and ‘Let us rise and give up the religion of show; / Let us buy two cents’ worth / In the shop of gnosticism (ma’rifat)’ (381).

It may be that for Hafiz mysticism was only one traditional theme among others, and that it does not necessarily follow that he was a practising mystic simply because he excelled at the expression of mystical feeling. But it has been said that those who have loved and understood Hafiz and read his works and practised his teaching, have made his Diwan a text to be placed alongside the Quran and the Mathnawi of Maulana Rumi.

Hafiz taught a spiritual path which rested on discipline. The technical terms of Greek philosophy occur only rarely in his work, but the technical terms of the Sufi spiritual training are more frequent and varied. There is, however, no systematic teaching about the central Sufi practices of zikr and fikr and so on set out in orderly arrangement as would have been appropriate in an organized prose treatise. Instead, we find references to what would appear to have been a personal discipline of nights of vigil and prayer and study of the Quran, represented as having led to success on the spiritual path. ‘What guided me out of this darkness / Were prayers half the night / Followed by tears at dawn’ (452) and ‘Do not go to sleep, / For Hafiz has reached the harbour of acceptance / Through reading the Quran at midnight / And teaching it at dawn’ (242).

The suggestion that he himself has made serious efforts on the spiritual path and regards himself as capable of teaching it to others recurs. ‘O ignorant one, make serious efforts / To acquire wisdom; / How can one lead others / Unless one has oneself trodden the path?’(487), ‘I have taken steps every day to meet Him. / Every day I have begged intercession / From the high spiritual Masters’ (344). Stress seems to be laid on a private discipline of intense study and prayer at evening, midnight and dawn, rather than on the regular prayer-sessions and communal worship of orthodoxy. The social aspect of religion, strong in Islam generally, is little developed in Hafiz. What really mattered for him was an individual love-relationship with God. ‘O Hafiz, do not regret your midnight sighs, / For they are they are the mirror of your pure heart, / Radiant in the dawn’ (197) and ‘Your morning and evening prayers / Are the key to the treasury of your goal’ (440).

Somehow, Hafiz seems to have gained some intuitive insight that gave him the confidence to castigate not only the squabbling of the seventy-two sects—a traditional theme—but even the pilgrim to Mecca. ‘O leader of the pilgrimage to Mecca, / You should not boast in my presence; / You see only the house, / I see the Master of the House’ (357). There are other verses in a similar confident vein, such as, ‘They hold me dear in the temple of the Magians / Because an undying flame burns in my heart’ (22) and, assuming the persona of someone else, ‘Poor, like Hafiz, on the path of love, / I have reached a station (maqam) beyond description’ (270).

Hafiz’s religious sensibility was based on faith in a merciful God. ‘Make over your work to God, / And be happy. / Our private pretensions may not have mercy on us, / But God will’ (187). Such a God cannot be deceived: ‘He did not accept Hafiz’s false coin, / For that merchant sees every defect’ (203). Even if Hafiz has been sinful, he can be redeemed, if not by his own efforts, ‘by the prayers of some righteous one’ (468). Hafiz’s God is tolerant and merciful. ‘Tyranny is not the style of a true promoter of religion / God’s law is all mercy and kindness’. And He accepts worship on the path of love from people of different religious traditions: ‘The path of the Beloved was grace and mercy through and through, / Whether He commanded use of the Muslim rosary / Or brought the belt of a Christian’ (187).

Religion for Hafiz was primarily internal. ‘On the Day of Judgement / The face of the truth will be revealed / And the traveller who has applied himself to externals / Will be ashamed’ (133). Those who follow it accept criticism. ‘Hafiz is on his way from the convent to the tavern; / It seems he has recovered / From his drunken pride in asceticism and hypocrisy’ (175).

The path of love is secret. Hafiz says that he is ‘keeper’ of his own secret (341). He claims to be expounding the truth in a way that will be understood by those struggling on the spiritual path, but not by others. ‘I have written these few words in a way that outsiders may not understand’ (476) and ‘If you do not take steps to make friendship, / You will hear no secret behind the veil’ (286) and ‘Only the nightingale understands the book of the rose / For not everyone who reads a single leaf (petal) / Can fathom the meaning’ (482).

It is uncertain whether Hafiz himself was an initiate of a society of secret worshippers. If we were to restrict our search to single verses, there are many that would be compatible with such an idea. He writes, for example, ‘I am the servant of the elder of the ruins, / Whose compassion is constant; / The compassion of the Sheikh and the ascetic / Comes and goes’ (71). Even more explicit is: ‘Let us rise up from the roadside, / And I will take you to the tavern, / That you may see in what honour I am held in that circle’ (36). But in contrast to Attar and Rumi, Hafiz rarely devotes a whole poem to such a theme: he will speak of it for one or two verses, and then pass on to other matters.

It seems that for Hafiz the highest ideal of spiritual life was total dissolution in God, exemplified by the martyr, ibn Mansur Hallaj (d. 922). Hallaj and his school were rejected by the classical Sufi theorists, beginning with Shibli and Junaid, because they did not follow the Sharia, the religious law. Hafiz himself hints at the conflict between Hallaj and the orthodox schools when he says, ‘Hallaj sang this truth from the stake, / But do not ask it of a Shafa’i’ (307). But he knew that the example of Mansur was an ideal that he could not himself attain. ‘Those who are truly fruitful (bar-dār) go on the stake (bar dār) like Mansur. / They summoned Hafiz to that court, / But later drove him away’ (194). Perhaps he could have agreed with the definition of love given by Junaid (d.910), the great theorist of the Sufis, as ‘the substitution of the attributes of the Beloved for those of the lover’. Meeting with the Beloved was, for Hafiz, not a mere meeting but a total dissolution in the object of love.

Hafiz speaks of the ego as the final veil between the lover and the Beloved. He says also, ‘There is no curtain between the lover and the Beloved. / You have made the veil with your own ego...’(266). An enigmatic verse over which the commentators do not agree says, ‘O Hafiz, what are all these colourful conceptions? / Do not misread the text: I am the bare slate’ (364). Since final union implies loss of the ego, it is associated with ecstasy and with things that produce temporary ecstasy on the worldly plane —music, wine, erotic love. The traditional allegorical explanations of Hafiz’s lyrics are widely applicable and defensible, so long as they are not used to explain all references to sensuality in his work.

A.J.A.

* His poems were collected into the ‘Diwan (anthology) of Hafiz’. The numbers in what follows refer to the edition of Muhammad Qazwini and Qasim Ghani.