Our separateness arises from the upadhi—the veil that obscures the soul. What is not my true nature, yet whose qualities are imposed upon me, is called an upadhi. Just as when the redness of a hibiscus flower is cast upon crystal, the crystal appears red—so too the upadhi of body and senses, imposed upon the soul, conceals the soul's true nature. In reality, the soul possesses none of these bodily and sensory qualities. Should the soul become free from all such upadhi-qualities, as a pure drop of water merges into a pure body of water, then it loses all separateness and becomes one with the Supreme Soul. What becomes of the muni—the contemplative one who knows his own nature with precision, who knows himself as pure, crystalline, and beyond all qualities? His soul becomes one with the Supreme Soul. From this attainment of unity no transformation occurs in him, yet his true nature then reveals itself. When the hibiscus is removed from the crystal, the crystal's transparency shines forth.
Why, then, is this called the para gati—the ultimate goal? Is it because it has neither the power nor the will to move? To this he responds: True, there is no will, nor is there power. For where nothing exists but the Self, where then would one go, and who would go, and by what means? To depart from there one would have to leave the Self itself, which is impossible. Therefore, nothing remains to be done.
Explanation: Divest the senses, and the body becomes mere inert matter. It is through the senses that this body is perceived as conscious. And the mind itself performs all actions through the senses. Here we speak of the knowing senses; yet the intellect lurks behind, silently puppeting the mind—"This is good, that is not good; this I shall do, that I shall not do." Because the mind is filled with resolve and doubt simultaneously, it is forever acquiring some things and rejecting others.
Yet the "I" remains witness to all this. And yet this very "I," mingling with the intellect, experiences pleasure and pain. Through countless births we have continued this way, ever identified with desire, anger, and greed. To gain liberation from this, the entire stream of events must be turned and directed inward—that is, the intellect must cease its dominion over the mind and senses. When the mind and senses become still and unwavering, an inner stream of "I am, I am" will flow; this current is asmita, the sense of individual identity. With the aid of this asmita, meditation becomes the means to distinguish oneself from body, mind, and intellect. Then, through clear understanding of how desire and anger subjugate the mind and intellect, conquering them becomes easy. Yet often it is better not to torment the body with endless thoughts of "I am not the body, I am not the mind," but rather to listen humbly to the scriptures and the guru, to follow true discipline and practice sadhana—this is the path. To attempt climbing a tree in a single leap is not seriousness but foolishness; all you break are your legs, and you never reach the top.
The verse may be parsed thus: 'The senses are supreme'—the subtle senses surpass the gross body. They are deemed supreme because they are pervasive and potent, for the senses are subtle, revelatory, and the body's animators; therefore, when the gross body perishes, the senses do not perish with it. By 'senses' here is meant the sensory faculty itself. When an image of an object falls upon the eye, the power by which we perceive that object—that is the faculty of sight. It is not the material thing called the eye; it is merely the gross instrument through which the faculty of sight operates. One must understand the other senses in the same way.
'Beyond them, the mind is supreme'—supreme (in the original, 'par') means superior and transcendent. Commentators have interpreted this verse variously. Anandagiri, Shankaracharya, Madhusudana, and other expositors maintain that the mind, characterized by doubt and resolve and serving as director and instigator of the senses, is superior to the senses. Furthermore, the intellect—firm in determination and conviction—regulates and actualizes the mind's resolves, and therefore intellect is superior to mind. And the individual self (jiva) is superior even to intellect; that is, the one who stands as witness to illuminate intellect and, dwelling within all hearts, engages the mind and senses in their respective functions and deludes them through desire and longing—he is the self.
Ramanuja, on the other hand, reads this verse in an altogether different way. He asks: who is the eternal enemy of the wise? It is this that is spoken of in the verse. That is, among those who obstruct knowledge, the senses are foremost; the mind is more powerful than the senses, and intellect is more powerful still than the mind. For even when the mind is turned away from objects, intellect—through contrary conviction—obstructs our attainment of knowledge. And what is superior or paramount to this intellect, that is, what most profoundly opposes knowledge, is desire and longing. According to this interpretation, Ramanuja understands the verse's 'that very thing' to mean—that very desire—demonstrating his reading of the passage.
Other commentators say that this verse shows the means and foundation by which desire may be conquered. The Bhagavad Gita, in its second chapter, verse 58, declares: Yada samharte chayam kūrmo 'ngānīva sarvashah | Indriyānīndriyāarthebhyas tasya prajñā pratiṣṭhitā ||
Meaning: As a tortoise draws all its limbs inward from every direction, so does the practitioner of karma-yoga withdraw the senses completely from their objects in every way; then his wisdom becomes established (he becomes fixed in truth).
(The example of the tortoise means this: when the tortoise moves, six of its limbs are visible—four legs, a tail, and a head; but when it withdraws those limbs, only its shell remains visible. Similarly, the person of steady wisdom withdraws the five senses and the mind—these six faculties—from their respective objects. If there remains any mental connection with the senses, such a person cannot be called steadfast in wisdom. The word 'withdraws' here carries this significance: the steadfast person draws the senses back from their objects; that is to say, he does not allow any thought concerning those objects to arise in the mind. Just as the sun shines in the sky, yet when the eyes are closed it cannot be seen; and when the eyes open, the sun is perceived. Here there is no causal relationship between the sun and the eyes—the opening of the eyes does not cause the sun to appear; the sun has been as it is from the beginning. Before closing the eyes it was thus, and after closing them it remains thus. Only through closed eyes do we lose the perception of the sun. In exactly the same way, when the senses are withdrawn from their objects, the intuitive realization of the Supreme Self that arises remains unaffected by the mental focus on sensory objects. In other words, this self-evident truth exists even while one is absorbed in the thought of sense pleasures and the enjoyment of them. Yet due to the veiling caused by association with pleasures and such things, it is not perceived; only when this veil is removed does it become apparent.)
According to schools other than Ramanuja's, it is indeed that—that very thing is the Self, that is, the Self is supreme. He is the witness and perceiver of the intellect. From the Samkhya philosophy we learn that in proximity to the Purusha, from Prakriti first emerges the intellect. From the intellect comes egoism, from egoism the mind, and from the mind the senses. For the cause is superior to the effect. Since the intellect is the cause of the mind, it is superior to the mind; since the mind is the cause of the senses, it is superior to the senses. The senses belong to the subtle body, so they are superior to the gross body. The intellect, mind, egoism, and senses—all these originate from Prakriti. The Purusha transcends this Prakriti and is superior to it. This Purusha is what is denoted here by the word 'that.' This is the Self. Therefore, even according to Samkhya philosophy, the interpretation given by Shankara and others is appropriate. Hence, Ramanuja's interpretation cannot be accepted.
Desire—born from the rajas quality (sattva brings righteousness and knowledge, rajas brings egoism, tamas brings obscurity)—is an entity that dwells taking support in the intellect, mind, and senses. The supported can never be superior to the support. Since desire can be subdued by the aid of the intellect, it cannot be superior to the intellect. Of course, one may say that in the lower states of a being's evolution, desire prevails mightily, and at such times desire overpowers the mind and drives it; but when a being attains a higher human state, this desire can no longer be superior to the intellect. When there is a special effulgence of the sattva quality in the mind, 'desire' becomes overwhelmed, suppressed, and subdued. Therefore, in this passage, superiority is not being claimed for desire.
Now let us see how the Self becomes apparently perceived. The Katha Upanishad (1/3/12) declares: This Self, hidden in all beings, does not shine forth; Yet it is seen by the subtle intellect of those who perceive what is subtle.
Meaning: This Self (the supreme direct consciousness, the indwelling Spirit, the innermost Witness) lies hidden in all beings (from Brahma down to the blade of grass)—concealed by ignorance—and therefore does not reveal itself in its true nature to all. Yet the wise—those possessing keen discernment, capable of grasping the subtlest realities, armed with a sharp and steadfast intellect—perceive Him through that subtle wisdom.
This Purusha, this Person—He is the Self. The word "Purusha" means "by whom all is filled" (Katha Upanishad, Shankara's commentary 2.1.12)—He through whom all things are made complete; or it means "He who dwells in the city" (Nirukta 2.1.4)—He who resides in this body as in a dwelling, or in the cosmos itself as in a city, yet remains distinct from the world, the primordial cause of all existence. He pervades, interpenetrates, and flows through the innermost being of all creatures; He is omnipresent and all-pervasive. He alone is the Self. The word "Self" carries here two meanings: first, proximity—He is within; second, transcendence—He is also beyond. In short, He is everywhere. Now, if the Person described is different from the individual seeker, what good comes to the seeker from knowing Him? Therefore the scripture proclaims: though the Self is the ground of all existence, He is not distant from us, not external to us, not some foreign thing. He is my very essence. If I can recognize Him as my own true nature, then I attain supreme fulfillment—for then I shall understand: I am that Supreme Lord, that Self pure, luminous, and free. I am that ultimate pinnacle, that highest reach. Nothing finer, nothing subtler exists than myself. Therefore I have nowhere left to go, nothing left to attain. Consequently, I have nothing left to do.
Yet this supreme Truth, though He is my Self, remains unknown to me, uncomprehended by me. There is no familiarity between us. I—through whom all is woven, both within and without—I do not know my own true nature. Even the foolish would find this absurd. And yet, how can I deny what is irrefutable truth?
"This Self in all beings"—though the Self dwells in every creature from Brahma to the grass, He remains "hidden"—veiled by ignorance and unknowing—and thus "does not shine forth" in His true form. Then what is the proof of His existence? He is not manifest, yet must we appeal to scripture to say He "is"? The Upanishad answers: True, He does not reveal Himself to all; yet "through the keen intelligence, the sharp and focused mind, the subtle vision"—through an intellect of penetrating clarity and unwavering concentration (for the Self shines forth only in and through the awakening of such intellect)—He becomes visible. To the "seers of subtlety," to those masters of spiritual wisdom adept at perceiving the finest truths, He stands "perceived," directly apprehended, evident and immediate.
We must understand the term 'concentrated intellect' with care. The intellect has no physical form. It is compared to a weapon—to a sharp blade. These are but metaphors. Their real meaning is this: the intellect can be wholly gathered and focused upon a single object. The scriptures call this a pointed intellect. What shall this intellect be like? Gross or subtle? The grossness or subtlety of the intellect depends upon its capacity to grasp the nature of its object. No one sees the intellect directly; it is knowable only through inference, and we come to know of the intellect's existence through the perception of visible things. It goes without saying that no sense organ can perceive itself or be apprehended through its own function. We know of them only through their effects. The organ through which we see we call the eye; the organ through which we hear we call the ear. Each sense is inferred from its work. Similarly, that through which cognition arises we call the intellect. Though we do not see it, we infer its existence from its function. And when we make distinctions within the intellect itself—deeming it gross or subtle—this distinction arises not from the intellect's own intrinsic nature, but from the kind of objects it is capable of grasping. Whether the intellect is gross or subtle is determined by what objects it can comprehend. This is why, when the scriptures explain the nature of the Self, they say that not all are able to grasp the Self. Only those possessed of subtle vision can do so. How do they do it? Through an intellect that is pointed and subtle—through what the scriptures call a sharp, keen intellect.
Here we must bear in mind: there is no way to understand the Self except through the intellect. We understand everything in the world through the intellect, and we must understand the Self through it as well. Now, if the intellect can reveal the Self, then the Self is not self-luminous; rather, the Self is revealed by the intellect. Yet the scriptures themselves call the Self self-luminous. It is said: 'Whom the mind cannot think' (Kena Upanishad, 1/6)—that which cannot be known through the mind (but through whom the mind is illumined—in other words, that which is not the Self, which people worship as God, investing it with limiting attributes—is not Brahman). The mind means the inner instrument, of which the intellect is but one condition or state. So when we say the Self is apprehended by the subtle intellect, it appears at first glance that the scriptures contradict themselves. In truth, what the scriptures intend here has been explained by the commentators with subtle skill. When we say the Self can be known, there is no other instrument besides the mind through which knowledge can arise. Just as we must employ the mind to know objects and the world—pots and pans and such things—so too we employ the mind to know the Self. Yet the process of knowing the Self differs somewhat from the process of knowing ordinary objects.
Why is it so? To know an inert object, we must illuminate it with consciousness; but to know a conscious being, we need not illuminate it with consciousness. We do not need to light a lamp to show the sun, for he is self-luminous. Similarly, the self-luminous soul need not be revealed through the intellect. Yet when the intellect attempts to reveal the soul as it would reveal an object, it becomes overwhelmed by the soul's own luminosity. Thus it does not reveal the soul in that manner, though the process resembles ordinary revelation. That is to say: to know any object, the inner faculty takes the shape of that object. We call such a modification of the inner faculty a *vritti*—a mental mode. As when the inner faculty takes the shape of a pot, we call it the pot-shaped modification of the inner faculty. By shape here, understand not the gross form—the inner faculty is subtle matter and never assumes gross form. When we speak of the pot-shaped inner faculty, it does not mean the faculty literally takes on the shape of a pot. And if someone understands shape in this crude sense, a question arises: what do we mean by a pleasure-shaped modification? Pleasure has no shape. When we experience pleasure, there arises a pleasure-shaped modification of the inner faculty; when we experience pain, a pain-shaped modification. This shows that shape does not mean form. Shape means essential nature—that by which one experience is distinguished from another. This power or distinctive quality we call 'shape.'
The Vaisheshika philosophy recognizes a substance called 'the particular,' whose function is precisely this kind of distinction—it is through it that the intellect grasps that one object differs from another. The shape here performs that identical function. A pleasure-shaped modification does not mean the mind takes on the form of pleasure; rather, it is such a state of mind as enables us to understand pleasure as distinct from other things. This understanding applies to every object. Whether gross matter or subtle matter or a particular quality manifested within the mind, the word 'shape' can be applied to all. The soul—whom I call the Person—also gives rise to a modification of its shape when known. In the knowledge of a pot, the sense organ comes into contact with the pot. The inner faculty emerges through the sense apparatus and takes the pot's shape. The ignorance regarding the pot is destroyed by pot-knowledge, and the pot is revealed through reflected consciousness—*'Tatra jnanam dhiya nashyed abhaasen ghatah sphuram'* (Panchadashi, 7/91). What do we mean by reflected consciousness? The consciousness reflected in the inner faculty, through which the inner faculty is illumined—this is called reflected consciousness. Why reflected? Unable to grasp the omnipresence of universal manifestation, when we grasp it distinctly within the inner faculty, its light becomes fragmented, limited—hence we call it reflection, sometimes also the reflection of consciousness. The word *'chidabhas'* means the reflection—the limited manifestation—of *'chit,'* consciousness itself.
When we undertake to make Brahman the subject of knowledge in this way, our task is this: to destroy the ignorance concerning Brahman through a mental disposition directed toward Brahman. Then there is no need to manifest Brahman further. The self-luminous Brahman remains manifest. It is in this manner that the process of Brahman-knowledge is being explained. Following this process, it is said here that through subtle perception, a subtle mind, and a subtle intellect, the Self becomes knowable—meaning ignorance regarding the Self is dispelled. Once ignorance is removed, the self-luminous Self stands revealed. Thus, when the Upanishad declares, "That which the mind cannot think" (Kena Upanishad, I.6)—when it speaks of that which the mind cannot contemplate and the intellect cannot manifest—we must understand that the manifestation of the self-luminous Brahman never depends upon the manifestation of matter such as mind and intellect; rather, the manifestation of mind and intellect depends upon Brahman. Yet when He is called accessible through mind and intellect—"Through mind alone is this attainable" (Katha Upanishad, II.1.11): "By the teaching of the teacher and scripture, through a mind made pure and refined, this Brahman is realized," or in the present Sruti passage, "He is perceived through the superior intellect"—there we must understand that through this intellect, ignorance concerning the Self will be destroyed. Then, in the absence of obstruction, the eternally self-manifest Self stands revealed. There is no need to manifest Him anew.
Here it is said that through subtle intellect He becomes perceptible. Who perceives? Those with subtle vision acquire, through spiritual practice, the capacity to perceive subtle objects. It is true that because the Self is hidden and concealed, ordinary people cannot perceive Him—cannot experience Him directly. Yet it cannot be said that no one is capable of such perception. Through the purity of intellect, they perceive or directly experience the reality of the Self. In the terminology of philosophers, this is not called direct perception but rather immediate direct experience. The compound word "perception" literally means "graspable through the senses." Since the Self is not graspable through the senses, philosophers have been compelled to use the term "immediate" or "non-mediated." What I do not see directly before me, I call indirect or mediated. Just as there is a place called New York, which I know through hearsay, for I have never been there. Knowledge derived from hearsay is called indirect or mediated knowledge. Knowledge concerning the Self can never be mediated or indirect. Yet this knowledge is not accessible through the senses either, so it is called immediate or non-mediated knowledge. A question may arise: it has been said that mediated knowledge of the Self is impossible. Yet even though the intellect is not subtle, we can learn from scripture that the Self is all-pervading and invisible, beyond the reach of the sense organs, ungrasped and ungaspable, beyond the domain of action organs, without root or substratum, formless and shapeless—"Unseen, ungraspable, without lineage, without color" (Mundaka Upanishad, I.1.6)—what kind of knowledge arises from such teaching?
The answer is this: through direct knowledge of the Self, a person becomes freed from all bondage and attains living liberation. Living liberation is the fruit of authentic Self-knowledge. Yet even though we come to know about the Self through scripture, our ignorance is not dispelled, we do not become liberated. Therefore, the knowledge of the Self that arises from scripture cannot be authentic Self-knowledge. It must be called mediated or indirect knowledge.
It has been said: only a rare few possessed of exceedingly subtle intellect can conceive of the soul. We have established earlier that we typically measure the subtlety or grossness of intellect by the subtlety or grossness of the subject it grasps. Often we see that a person of keen intellect in worldly matters can devastate an opponent through logic. We say such a person possesses a subtle mind. Yet we also observe that subtlety of intellect in one domain does not necessarily manifest in another—for not all pursue every field of knowledge, nor do all share equal aptitude for every subject. A celebrated writer may know his subject intimately, yet understand nothing of medicine. Conversely, one of subtle intellect in medicine may comprehend nothing of literary craft. In the spiritual realm, subtlety of intellect bears a different meaning. Here, a subtle mind is a pure mind—one undarkened by passion, aversion, and the like.
Those whose heart and soul are surrendered to God will not draw their mind down from the realm of subtlety to fix it upon other things. For this reason, other matters remain beyond their comprehension. Sri Ramakrishna's curiosity knew no bounds—he sought knowledge even in many worldly affairs. He possessed a childlike wonder about countless things. One day he was conversing with a physician who described how, with the aid of instruments, one could observe tiny things invisible to the naked eye. Sri Ramakrishna asked, "Can you show me?" The gentleman brought a microscope and set it up. He said, "Sir, please look now." But Sri Ramakrishna replied, "My mind has ascended so high that I cannot bring it down, not by any means, to see things below." He could not draw his mind down from its upward flight to observe this worldly object, subtle though it might be.
This makes clearer still where the distinction between subtle and gross truly lies. The subtle matter perceived through instruments is merely a fragment of gross matter. But when we call the soul subtle in the sense intended here, it is not a fragment of gross matter. Gross means its substance is gross; subtle means its very substance is subtle. Therefore, the subtlety of the soul cannot be compared to the subtlety of inert matter. One might object: if the subtlest soul gave birth to this gross world—if from the soul came the five elements of space and all else, and from these elements arose all objects in creation—how then can gross matter originate from subtle substance? The answer is this: in the Vedantic view, what we mean by "gross" is different. We must begin with the world itself.
Let us suppose the world to be an object perceived by our five senses. By examining it repeatedly, we arrive at its cause. That which is the final state of the world and that from which the world originates—both lie beyond the reach of all the senses, beyond perception. These two are called the subtle. Even if we magnify them, multiply them many times over in our attempt to see them, the subtle never becomes gross. However powerful a microscope we invent, so long as an object remains within its range, we must understand it to be gross matter—however subtle it may appear to ordinary sight. The subtle-sighted intellect does not possess this kind of microscopic power in that sense, but it has such a faculty that it can fix itself even upon objects that transcend the senses, beyond perception. In the scriptures, this subtlety of the mind and its purity are synonymous. The mind freed from attachment, aversion, and the like is called the pure mind, and only such a mind can hold the substance of the Self. A mind turbulent with attachment, aversion, and such cannot become steady in the substance of the Self—this is what is meant here.
We can cultivate the mind and sharpen its acuity, increasing our capacity to penetrate ever more subtly into the interior of things. In this way we can practice philosophy, science, and various other disciplines. This is one faculty of the mind. The purification of the mind is another matter altogether. To purify the mind, one must free it from attachment, aversion, and the like. In acquiring skill in worldly matters, one need not free the mind from attachment and aversion, but for knowledge of the Self, a mind purified and liberated from attachment, aversion, and such is the sole refuge. The Bhagavad Gita (2/64) declares— रागद्वेषवियुक्तैस्तु विषयानिन्द्रियैश्चरन्। आत्मवश्यैर्विधेयात्मा प्रसादमधिगच्छति।।
Meaning: He who is master of his own mind, freed from attachment and aversion, permits his senses—subdued and brought under the dominion of the Self—to dwell upon objects without clinging to them, and thereby attains equanimity of heart; that is, he preserves the evenness of consciousness.
Therefore, in the present mantra, the pure, single-pointed intellect—free from attachment, aversion, and such—is called the "supreme" intellect. Only those possessed of such a pure and concentrated mind are subtle-sighted; they alone are fit to attain knowledge of the Self. Without a pure and one-pointed intellect, comprehension of this subtle truth of the Self is never possible. With the aid of this truth, consciousness must be elevated step by step. The higher we ascend, the more liberated we become. When driven by the senses, we are least free. When guided by the mind alone, we possess greater freedom; when directed by both mind and intellect, we gain still more liberty. And when the intellect is illumined by the light of the Self, then any action guided by such an intellect grants us the highest and most absolute freedom.
In his commentary on the Brihadaranyaka Upanishad (1/4/7), Shankaracharya has said: "The infinite, non-dual nature of pure consciousness, the ultimate truth, cannot be confined even by a name—not by the words 'Atman' or 'Brahman.'" Behind the intellect stands the Atman. This truth concerning the Atman or Brahman has been expressed in manifold ways throughout Vedanta. "Om Tat Sat"—Om, that is the truth. And again, "Tat Tvam Asi"—"Thou art That." The distinctive marks of this truth are: it is eternally pure, eternally free, eternally conscious. This is the supreme teaching of Vedanta. The Atman is untouched by sin—no sin can affect it. No disease can reach the Atman. Therefore it is called eternally free. This teaching is found not only in Vedanta and Sufism, but in the esoteric practices of all the world's religions—Christian, Buddhist, Hindu, and others. The mystics who have realized this truth constantly declare that the innermost soul of man is eternally pure, eternally free, eternally conscious. Afflictions and obstacles arise from lower planes; they do not reach that higher realm. This is a hidden truth to mankind and an utterly inspiring one. If all were defiled, how could the defilement be removed? Suppose I am surrounded by vast quantities of filth, and I bring water to wash it away—yet that water too is soiled. How then can the filth be cleansed? To remove filth, one needs pure water. Thus, in Vedantic thought, the sages turned inward and penetrated into the depths of the inner Self, where they discovered the pure, infinite Atman that exists beyond the conflict of body, mind, and intellect.
(To be concluded in the next two parts)