The Gospel of Manliness

Swami Divyakripananda

Only that can be called knowledge which helps us navigate various crises of our lives; all else is merely information. When faced with events that demand courageous action, it is cowardice to shirk daunting responsibilities. Such a coward attains neither this world nor the next. Such an escapist may fluently quote scriptures to evade his or her challenging role in difficult situations, choosing instead to resort to a more comfortable life.

At the beginning of the second chapter of the Bhagavadgita, we find Arjuna, like many of us, appearing to have lost the sense of duty or responsibility he had committed to. Can we say that Arjuna was lacking commonsense here? It was simple commonsense to understand the gravity of the situation—all those great and elderly warriors had assembled there not to return home after seeing Arjuna’s childish retreat from the war at the last moment. It should have dawned on a learned and experienced prince like him that, come what may, he must fight this battle, especially after so many failed negotiations. As Swami Vivekananda said, ‘What we need now is strong common sense, a public spirit, and a philosophy and religion which will make us men.’1 More than its esoteric meanings and outcomes, spiritual enlightenment has an immediate and palpable expression—a crystal-clear understanding of one’s situation and how to act and react accordingly.

It is often believed that the solution to all problems lies somewhere outside—in the forest, under a tree, in a temple, and so on. Arjuna was no exception. He too argued for taking up a mendicant life, and living on alms, and letting the Kauravas take everything (Gita, 2.5). He exemplified a society that turns a deaf ear to the atrocities around it, unwilling to understand that if we desire a better world, we must take responsibility for building it. When the time comes to contribute to society’s development, we are often nowhere to be found. Yet, we are quick to criticise it.

Or was it a lack of validation for his actions that made Arjuna hesitant to fight? Seeing his beloved grandsire Bhishma and his revered Acharya Drona among other venerable elders on the opposite side, it was natural for someone like him to feel shame and remorse at the very thought of shooting arrows at them (2.6). Perhaps he was not fully confident, or he was sufficiently confused to the point where he couldn’t confess these feelings to anyone beforehand. His implicit faith in the wisdom of Bhishma and Drona might have worked against him to doubt that they were on the wrong side of the fence.

Even the strong Arjuna was infected by the virus of mental weakness. He faced a situation in which all his previous beliefs and prejudices were tested or challenged. We often encounter similar situations in our lives, where we become utterly confused about what is right and what is wrong. In such calamitous moments, we need a friend, philosopher and guide, who is unbiased and selfless. Such a guide need not be a perfected soul or God-incarnate, but rather a non-jealous, loving well-wisher. Each of us needs to secure at least one such person in our life so that, with his or her help, we can navigate the complex problems we face. Arjuna had declined the vast army of Sri Krishna, choosing instead Krishna himself by his side during the most tumultuous battle of his life.

Sri Krishna had to administer a bitter pill. A true friend sometimes has to do this. And just a moment later, his role would change to that of a teacher, a guru (2.7).

Gospel of Manliness

‘Yes! the older I grow, the more everything seems to me to lie in manliness. This is my new gospel,’ exclaimed Swami Vivekananda to Sister Nivedita.2 The reference to manliness here might be misunderstood in today’s gender-neutral world. We might better relate this to what had happened to Arjuna on the battlefield of Kurukshetra and to the very first admonition he received from his mentor, Sri Krishna (Gita, 2.2–3).

Arjuna was facing the crisis of his lifetime. He had succumbed to the emotions of a pious heart, and his new-found compassion struggled to justify itself in various ways. He was unable to imagine his life without all those ‘relatives’ fighting against him in the battle. It was as if he was holding on to this singular purpose of living with his oppressive cousins—a purpose he believed would be lost if either of them were killed in the battle. But for Sri Krishna, Arjuna might have convinced every one of us that a war, even when forced upon us, should never be fought, and that the only way, even in the face of atrocities, is the way of surrender. Again, we find Sister Nivedita narrating Swamiji’s admiration for Sri Krishna:

How wonderful was the Gita! Reading it, as a boy, he [Swamiji] would be stopped every now and then by some great sentence, which would go throbbing through his brain for days and nights. ‘They who find pleasure and pain the same, heat and cold the same, friend and foe the same!’ And that description of the battle—a spirited battle too!—with the opening words of Krishna, ‘doth it befit thee, Arjuna, thus to yield to unmanliness!’ How strong! But besides this, there was the beauty of it.3

The ancient Gita and the relatively modern Swamiji resonate on the same frequency when it comes to praising the necessity of intense action. Compassion, peace, love and forgiveness are luxuries only the strong can afford. War and strife would have no place when humanity lives in perfect harmony with each other and with nature. In such a society, controlling unruly elements would not be the primary business of governments; armies and police would be redundant. The vast sums spent on maintaining armies and their expensive weaponry could instead be used to eliminate poverty and advance humanity. But alas! That is not the reality.

The Absolute and the Relative

We are mostly unmindful of the impermanence of this world. Probably that is how we survive and function—by refusing to accept that everything material, within and without us, is going to perish. No doubt, we need to protect our lives and interests with all our strength until the very last available opportunity, but we also need to let go once we realise that ‘our’ things and people will not survive eternally, despite every effort. What survives is only the immortal Soul, which is indestructible (Gita, 2.11–24). We are mostly unmindful of the impermanence of this world. Probably that is how we survive and function—by refusing to accept that everything material, within and without us, is going to perish. No doubt, we need to protect our lives and interests with all our strength until the very last available opportunity, but we also need to let go once we realise that ‘our’ things and people will not survive eternally, despite every effort. What survives is only the immortal Soul, which is indestructible (Gita, 2.11–24).

It is not difficult to realise that our lives and our world do not end here. Observing the phenomena around us, we can easily surmise that we existed in some form before being born here and will exist in some form even after we die. Death is not a full-stop, but only a comma in the scheme of eternal life. Our grieving over the passing things in our lives only worsens our living. This world is a moral gymnasium, as Swami Vivekananda says, and we come here to strengthen ourselves morally and spiritually. We do not permanently belong here.

Then the question may arise: why take life seriously? Why not destroy it by our own hands? With what intention should we navigate our lives? If there is no meaning in anything here and it all is going to end, then why all this fuss? This would be the case if our life reset after we died. But it doesn’t. Life just takes another name and form and continues its journey. The journey ends only when we reach our true destination, the supreme cause of our journey—the search for our Self.

Understanding Swadharma

What do we do here? We perform our duty according to the circumstances into which we are born, and those circumstances were set forth by a cause created by us before entering them. Until the arrow we shot hits the target, it cannot be stopped. The gross lifecycle initiated through our subtle nature must work itself out. Thus, the gross body is just like a cloth, which is replaced after it is worn out.

Arjuna was reluctant to address the need of the hour. He remembered how his teacher Dronacharya had taken Ekalavya’s thumb to ensure that his most favoured pupil would remain superior, and how he was the jewel of the eyes of his old grandsire Bhishma. He was willing to let unrighteousness prevail, even at the cost of his own life. He forgot that life is not as important as dharma. He forgot his swadharma, one’s intrinsic duty.

And so, we see Sri Krishna reminding him of his intrinsic duties as a warrior. He assured him that a warrior getting killed in the battle for protection of dharma attains heavenly abodes, and that there is nothing more glorious for a Kshatriya than fighting to establish moral order in society. As a protector of the masses, he must throw himself wholeheartedly into warding off the evils of the time (see 2.31–37).

Thus, Sri Krishna took a holistic approach to remedy Arjuna’s ailment—both philosophical and practical. An intricate problem of life must be approached as comprehensively as Sri Krishna does in the Gita. At times, we might mistakenly think that Sri Krishna is deviating from the path or the initial problem, but with careful and patient study, we come to appreciate his method. By making Arjuna an instrument, Sri Krishna is educating the humankind.

References

  1. His Eastern and Western Disciples, The Life of Swami Vivekananda, 2 vols (Kolkata: Advaita Ashrama, 2004), 1.351.
  2. The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda, 9 vols (Calcutta: Advaita Ashrama, 1–8, 1989; 9, 1997), 8.264.
  3. The Complete Works of Sister Nivedita, 5 vols (Calcutta: Advaita Ashrama, 1995), 1.142.