The senses are said to be superior to the gross body; the mind is superior to the senses; intelligence is superior to the mind; and that which is superior to intelligence—that is the Self. 42.
Word-by-word: The senses (indriyāṇi) are said (āhuḥ) to be superior (parāṇi) to the gross body; beyond the senses (indriyebhyaḥ) the mind (manaḥ) is superior (param); beyond the mind (manasaḥ) intelligence (buddhiḥ) is indeed (tu) superior (parā); and that one (saḥ) who (yaḥ) is beyond intelligence (buddheh parataḥ)—he is the Self. (The senses = indriyāṇi; superior = parāṇi; are said = āhuḥ; more than the senses = indriyebhyaḥ; superior = param; the mind = manaḥ; more than the mind = manasaḥ; indeed = tu; superior = parā; intelligence = buddhiḥ; who = yaḥ; beyond intelligence = buddheh parataḥ; superior = tu; he = saḥ) 42.
Translation: The senses are superior to the gross body. The mind is superior to the senses, and intelligence is superior to the mind; and that which is superior to intelligence—that is the Self. 42.
Verse Rendering: 1. The senses, it is said, stand supreme in place, Yet mind surpasses sense, and intellect surpasses mind— What lies beyond all intellect's embrace, That, truly, is the Self we seek to find.
(It is said: so it has been told; that: the Self)
2. Beyond the body rise the senses' might, Yet mind, the mover, stands above them all; Beyond the mind shines intellect's clear light, And beyond intellect—the Self's own call, The spotless witness to the world's plight.
3. The senses reign supreme among material things, Yet mind ascends where sense has ceased to soar; Intellect commands—the Self that brings All things to order, sovereign evermore, Beyond intelligence the Self supreme takes wings. (Satyendranath Datta)
The Extension of Connection: Though it is possible by some means to restrain the external senses, yet to abandon the thirst within the mind is exceedingly difficult—but when the vision of the Supreme Self is attained, even this thirst is quenched. Now the question arises: what is the nature of that 'Supreme' through whose vision thirst is extinguished? By the word 'Supreme' is meant the Pure Self—and this Pure Self, as designated by the term 'Supreme,' stands apart from the subtle, gross, and causal bodies. The five sensory faculties—the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and skin, which are called 'senses'—are said by the knowers of truth, or by all the revealed scriptures, to be exceeded by what is subtle, radiant, pervading, and internal; these senses are declared to be inferior, while the 'Supreme' is supreme. Again, it is said: 'Beyond the senses is the mind'—the mind, characterized by deliberation and doubt, is held to be superior to the senses, for the mind is their master, the one who activates them, impelling each sense to grasp its respective object. Without the mind's activity, the senses cannot function. Again, 'Beyond the mind is intellect'—the intellect, endowed with determination and conviction, surpasses the mind, inasmuch as determination is the nature of certainty, and this very determination underlies the foundation of thought. 'And what lies beyond intellect'—that which transcends even intellect, that which stands as the revealer of intellect itself, which, united with desire and other faculties, gives shelter to the veiling of knowledge and deludes the embodied soul, the creator of intellect—that very principle is the 'Supreme' or the 'Self.' He it is who has entered into his own being. From this perspective, the Katha Upanishad declares— Indriyebhyah para hy artha arthebhyascha param manah. Manasastu para buddhir buddherapma mahan parah. (1.3.10) Synthesis: From the senses (both the ten sensory and motor faculties), the objects are indeed superior—being more subtle, all-pervading, and belonging to the Self, they are supreme. And from these objects, the mind—which understands or initiates the perception of objects, characterized by thought and counter-thought—is superior. And from the mind, intellect—which awakens or understands the functions of determination and conviction within the inner faculty—is superior. Beyond intellect, the Great Self—the cosmic intelligence manifest as Hiranyagarbha, the first-born from the undifferentiated Prakriti—is supreme, being subtler than the subtle and thus the highest of all.
The Upanishads guide us from the grossest senses toward ever-subtler realities, declaring: 'Indriyebhyaḥ parā arthāḥ'—the objects of sense (in their subtle essence) are superior to the senses themselves; they are 'para,' meaning finer, more refined. The word 'para' carries multiple meanings: excellence, subtlety, and causality. Here it is said that the subject-matter is subtler than the senses themselves. This seems to perplex us, for we regard the senses as subtle and objects as gross. But here, 'subject-matter' does not mean the gross elements, but rather the subtle elements from which even the senses are fashioned. We are not speaking of the gross forms of earth, water, fire, air, and ether—for the gross elements are not subtler than the senses. The subtle elements spoken of here transcend even the senses in fineness. They are the very substance of the senses, their constituent matter. Therefore, these subtle elements are declared superior to the senses, finer and more excellent. 'Arthebhyaśca paraṁ manaḥ'—from these subtle elements emerges the mind, subtler still. 'Manasas tu parā buddhiḥ'—and from the mind arises the intellect, even more refined. 'Buddheḥ ātmā mahān paraḥ'—beyond the intellect stands the Great Self, the Supreme Principle. The Upanishads use the term 'ātmā' here because the Self pervades cause and effect alike, and thus the Self's all-encompassing nature finds its perfect expression. These are also secondary selves in the hierarchy of individual beings. Therefore, the Great Principle stands superior to intellect itself, for it is the very ground of intellect's substance. In brief: the object-world surpasses all senses; the mind excels all objects; the intellect transcends the mind; the Great Self, or Universal Principle, exceeds the intellect or subtle matter; the Unmanifest, the causal body, exceeds the manifest; and the Purusha, or absolute Subject, surpasses even the Unmanifest. Beyond the Purusha there is nothing superior—it is the limit, the final goal. The Purusha alone is the absolute Subject, for none can make the Purusha an object. Save the Purusha, all other entities are relegated to object-hood in the hierarchy, and are therefore apparent subjects only. Sri Bharati Tirtha drew this conception from the Upanishads and the Bhagavad Gita, composing a Vedantic treatise titled 'Drig-Drishya Viveka' (The Discrimination of Seer and Seen), comprising forty-six verses.
The Vayu Purana declares that mind, the Great Principle, intelligence, Brahman, the Self, intellect, glory, and the Lord—all these are synonymous. From the growth of Hiranyagarbha (the cosmic egg), from 'param avyaktam'—the transcendent Unmanifest, known as Maya, the seed of all worlds—that which is unmanifested (the seed from which the world sprang forth, the world that existed in its subtle, unmanifested form before creation), that is para, that is supreme. The Upanishadic utterance confirms this: 'Know Nature to be Maya' (Svetasvatara Upanishad, 4/10), and 'At that time (before creation) this world existed in its unmanifest form, that is, in a subtle state' (Brihadaranyaka Upanishad, 1/4/7). From the Unmanifest emerges the Purusha—the Consciousness that illuminates all matter and inert things, the Self, complete and whole—and this Purusha is para, the supreme. 'Yo buddheḥ paratas tu saḥ'—He who transcends the intellect, who stands superior to all that intellect can grasp, He is that Purusha.
The Meaning: Without the exertion of the senses, the body can accomplish nothing. Without the stimulation and impulsion of the mind, the senses cannot even generate the effort to act. And without the participation of the intellect, no resolve can form within the mind. This is because resolve is of the nature of certainty—a fixed determination—and without the being and manifestation of the Self, the very development of intellect would be impossible. It is for this reason that, in this ascending order of three, the supremacy of the Self is established. The Upanishad itself proclaims: Mahataḥ param avyaktam avyaktāt puruṣaḥ paraḥ | Puruṣān na param kiñcit sā kāṣṭhā sā parā gatiḥ || (Katha Upanishad, 1/3/11)
Exegesis: From the Great (Hiranyagarbha) emerges the Unmanifest—that undifferentiated, all-seed-bearing Nature, supreme Prakriti or Maya. From the Unmanifest arises the Purusha—the Consciousness that reveals all name and form, the Supreme Self, supreme by virtue of being subtler than the subtle. Beyond the Purusha there exists nothing whatsoever of greater worth. That very Purusha is the ultimate limit—the boundary of all cause and effect, of gross body, subtle body, and causal body alike. That Self, in its own realization, is the Supreme Goal, the final destination.
From the Great to the Unmanifest—behind the Great lies the Unmanifest, the as-yet-unexpressed, that into which no individuality has yet entered, which has not yet been made manifest. Needless to say, we are speaking here of that form presided over by consciousness, called the "Cause" or the "Supreme Witness." And then it is said: From the Unmanifest arises the Purusha, supreme. Now, if we imagine the gradual unfoldment of the world, we must understand it thus: first the Purusha, from the Purusha the Unmanifest (the causal body), from the Unmanifest the principle of the Great (the subtle body), from the Great intellect, from intellect mind, from mind the objects of sense and the senses themselves. This is the descent—the step-by-step descending order. This is the manner in which creation unfolds itself downward.
That Purusha is one and without a second. When we contemplate the order of creation, we speak of the Unmanifest state as that first seed-form of creation that arose within the Supreme Lord—a seed whose sprout has not yet burst forth. From this Unmanifest state emerged the principle of the Great, namely, that substance from which the entire universe shall be fashioned. Why distinguish between the Unmanifest and the principle of the Great? Because the principle of the Great is the sprouting forth from within that Unmanifest, the very first phase of creation. Then, in successive degrees of subtlety, intellect, mind, objects, and senses unfold—from subtle to gross, to yet grosser—and thus the entire creation is explained. The purpose of such explanation is this: to lead us ultimately to the Purusha. We are familiar with the gross body. Therefore, the scriptures describe it in this way to guide us step by step, through progressively subtler substances, from that which we know to that supreme reality, so that we might at last arrive at it.
Then comes the question: what is higher than the Purusha? To this the answer is given: Beyond the Purusha there is nothing whatsoever. He alone is the End, the absolute Subject. He is the ultimate limit, He is the Supreme Goal. That Purusha alone must be attained; beyond Him there is no further destination. Why not? Because when all particularity, all objecthood, ceases to be, who remains to go anywhere? By what means would one go? In reaching the Purusha, duality ends. Then, as a salt doll melts when it ventures into the ocean to measure its waters, as all the bubbles of the sea merge into the sea and become one—so too the separate existence of the individual self dissolves away.
We are examining here the constituents of our life. Subsequently, in the Samkhya philosophical tradition (according to which the cosmos is constituted by two fundamental realities—Purusha, the witness-consciousness, and Prakriti, primordial matter—where Purusha is the conscious being, supreme, autonomous, liberated and beyond the reach of sensory perception (aparoksha), impossible to describe through experience or language, while Prakriti's essence is material form, inert or unconscious, and exists as the equipoise of the three gunas: sattva, rajas, and tamas), the analysis proceeds with greater subtlety along this thread. Yet the constituents are not presented here precisely as in Samkhya; there is a distinction. First comes the Objective world, the Material world, the realm of objects. Then the world of the senses, then the world of the mind. Matter is superior to the senses; its significance lies in this—the objective world is the foundation of our existence. Theoretically, this objective world should have been placed first, but here the senses are mentioned first, then matter. In Samkhya, a contradiction appears between the non-self realm and the self. Between soul and non-soul lies avidya (ignorance or the absence of knowledge regarding Brahman). The practice consists in distinguishing or separating the self from the non-self. The non-self is matter. The self is the nature of consciousness. One must learn to discriminate between matter and consciousness, yet matter itself is the foundation of life. Matter is the root; from it have arisen the senses, life-force, mind, and so forth. In this Upanishad, a reconciliation between the objective world and the subjective world becomes apparent.
Our natural or folk mind begins with the senses. Here we do not speak of life-force, nor does Sankhya; the senses have taken the place of life-force. The Sankhya framework or scheme consists of the five great elements—this is what is meant by 'object' or 'artha'. These five great elements are divided into two categories: gross and subtle. The five gross elements are earth, water, fire, air or wind, and space or ether. The five subtle elements are smell, taste, form, touch, and sound. When consciousness comes into contact with gross matter, the qualities manifest—these are the subtle elements. They are called tanmatras (the subtle substances in Hindu cosmology, or merely the idea of a single quality); they too are included among the elements. This can be understood thus: when we perceive an object through the senses, the object remains outside on one hand, yet simultaneously it blossoms forth within us as well. Take light, for instance—the luminous thing outside becomes form within us and blooms. This is a transformation of matter itself. Outside lies the objective world of the five great elements; within lies an exactly corresponding subjective world. The word 'tanmatra' is used in the context of spiritual practice. Outside, everything exists in a state of complex mixture. When we see a fruit, for example, we see that its form, taste, touch and so forth are mingled together. When we receive it inwardly, we can apprehend sometimes its form, sometimes its taste or smell, or even two or three of them mixed together. Now if I wish to receive only the form, then this becomes the 'tanmatra' of form. Through such practice comes what is called deliberate or discerning absorption. (If the mind becomes absorbed in some subtle object—such as a particular tanmatra or inner faculty—devoted and steeped in it, and becomes unified or non-wavering between word, meaning, and knowledge, or is bounded by space and time, then such a transformation of the mind is called deliberate absorption. When such a subtle object manifests itself free from word, meaning, and knowledge, and unbounded by space and time—that is, manifests as bare objectivity—then that transformation of the mind is called non-deliberate absorption.) And after that comes the capacity to grasp the universal form or the universal of form. Form is simply form, with no admixture of anything else. Ordinarily we think of two things together, as we do with the sweetness and whiteness of sugar. In practice, we do not do this; instead we contemplate only its sweetness or only its whiteness (deliberate absorption). Then this understanding arises: that there is a sweetness or whiteness pervading the whole universe, and this sugar is merely one manifestation of it. By thus practicing the tanmatra of each object, we attain general or universal knowledge. And as a result, the attraction toward any particular object diminishes.
Matter exists, and within it there dwells a receivability, a potentiality of force that allows it to become perceptible to consciousness. The being of matter and its receivability—these two together comprise its meaning. There was a time when the world was meaning alone. When consciousness enters into it, receivability manifests within it. When there were no humans, no eyes, no one to see, the play of color existed nonetheless. But when it becomes perceptible to consciousness, a distinctive form appears within it. This color that emerges is a vibration of electricity, the oscillation of its force—that vibration is eternal, material. When I perceive the oscillation of that force before my eyes, then the form of rose-color or other hues reveals itself. On one side, the primary quality is the vibration of force—when it unfolded before my eyes, its distinctive form appeared. In a manner of speaking, this is 'meaning.' Without touching consciousness, meaning does not quite become meaning; even if it exists, it remains imperceptible. Primary quality is the grossly manifest (the creation of rose-color), and secondary quality is the subtly manifest (the existence of colorless light).
There is no difficulty in accepting that matter came first and consciousness appeared later. At the root of the world of meaning, matter existed first, and then the senses emerged. That which appears later becomes God (in the sense of the seer, or witness). Matter is the primary substance. Consciousness arose within that matter.
'From elements came the senses'—matter to life—this is the view of the Charvaka, the materialists. Modern scientists hold the same view. But when the senses awoke from matter, those very senses began to govern matter. This is the mark of consciousness. If our life is true, then the unfolding of consciousness within it is life's greatest significance. That consciousness has unfolded, that it has pierced through—this is the supreme matter. The work of consciousness is to establish mastery over matter. Although matter existed even before consciousness revealed itself, consciousness nonetheless dominates and rules it. The materialists make much of the fact that matter came first and that consciousness emerged within it. They say, if matter had not existed, where would consciousness come from? If soil had not existed, where would the flower come from? Therefore they declare that the pursuit of consciousness, the pursuit of religion, is illusory and meaningless. But that is wrong. We are always seeking values and significance in life. We are all, in one way, idealists—where there is pure matter alone, there is no question of good or evil. The root of all idealism lies in this: that in life we are searching for excellence. Whether we are materialists or idealists, we are always seeking new values and significance in life. Matter is the primary substance, but the feeling that awakens through it is itself the very promise of this matter, and it is our duty to bring forth the unfolding of this feeling.
It is first stated that matter is greater than the senses, that soil is greater than the flower. The Upanishads acknowledge this, but then the current shifts, and they declare that mind is greater than the senses and their objects—this is what awakening to consciousness means. Intellect is greater than mind, the vast is greater than intellect. The unmanifest is greater than the vast, and the Purusha is greater than the unmanifest. Here a remarkable reconciliation is effected between materialism and idealism. The materialist's body is indeed matter, but he does not remain occupied with the body alone—he too wishes to advance, to strengthen the senses, to expand the mind's power, to become wise. But here the materialist reaches an impasse. There is an excellence of consciousness founded upon matter, yet he does not wish to go beyond that point. Those who are idealists go further still. They will say: I am vast, I am unmanifest, I am the Purusha.
First comes the principle of matter, within which lie the gross and the subtle; then comes the principle of the senses. In Samkhya, eleven senses are spoken of—five organs of action, five organs of perception, and then the mind. The organs of action appear first; this concerns the collision and friction between self and world (sense-friction). In the lower animal world this is clearly evident. Here consciousness is meager, but the organs of action are quite powerful. First there appears an agitation of life upon the world, and from this the inner senses awaken. Initially there was only nourishment and such things, but if form and fragrance appear among them, then another world emerges—one on the borderland of the realm of feeling—this is the world of the inner senses. The mind appeared to transform all of this into the realm of feeling. In humans it has undergone its greatest refinement. What happens externally, she can repeat within and experience it in her inner being. After the mind comes the intellect. Many animals possess mind too, but when the mind grasps an object, it can only hold a particular form of it. Its perception is fragmented, dividing things into pieces. It cannot see the object in its wholeness. It cannot pass judgment, cannot render decision on any matter. The intellect can grasp things holistically. And another faculty emerges—absorption in the knowledge of form and such qualities. This belongs to the intellect, to consciousness itself. The mind brings the materials. What the mind gathers becomes the substance of the intellect, and from this the intellect discovers a higher world. This is the individual's own world. When feeling awakens from memory, if absorption comes from that feeling, then a further refinement will follow. This sense of beauty I possess is but a reflection of infinite beauty itself. This is universal knowledge. When this awakens, I can become a philosopher, a scientist, or a poet. Here begins the awakening of spiritual consciousness.
I see the vast in all directions. Whatever comes before me, I see it as vast—this is the refinement of consciousness, a heightened state. This is what is called the "Vast." In Samkhya it is called "vastness." In Samkhya, after the mind comes the principle of ego, and after that the vast; but here, after mind comes intellect, and after that comes the Vast. Individual mind refines itself into intellect, and what is more refined than that is the Vast. Great feeling emerges within feeling, and then consciousness expands. If I perceive infinite beauty in a flower, then I have grasped the principle of the Vast. When Ramakrishna beheld a woman, he saw the World Mother within her. That is the feeling of the Vast. Through intellect we can accomplish much, but only the Vast can bring spiritual feeling into the intellect.
Samkhya does not see things this way. The Upanishads' vision is synthetic, integrative, comprehensive; Samkhya, by contrast, is analytic, dissective. Thus the Samkhya thinkers have kept matter and consciousness separate—whereas in the Upanishads, matter and consciousness are seen as interpenetrated. It is consciousness, in its excellence and transcendence, that makes this self sublime and great. The Samkhya philosophers, on the other hand, have called even the great merely material. Here emerges the difference—the distinction between the scientific and philosophical mind on one side, and the spiritual seeker on the other. Beauty exists in the world, yes, but it flows from a pervasive beauty, from what we might call this Greatness itself—this is what the Upanishads declare.
This Greatness, of which the unmanifest is but one aspect or dimension—beauty's formal expression is merely one shape of complete manifestation. It expresses beauty alone, nothing more. It might express Greatness, yet when we view any object from a single perspective, we do not gain its complete knowledge. If I know God from only one angle, I cannot possess full understanding of Him. Greatness is the excellence of consciousness itself. But that does not say all. Behind it lies something more—something we know by intimation, by hint, yet cannot fully articulate. This doctrine of intimation, of the suggestive and the hidden—this is the unmanifest.
Samkhya declared: this is nature, that is matter, inert and dead. But in the Upanishads, that is no mere matter—it is the unmanifest soul, the unmanifest person. What is manifest, what is expressed and made clear, that is the Great; what is unmanifest, unexpressed, that is the hidden. View it in terms of manifestation, and manifestation becomes Great; behind it, in shadow and outline, lies the unmanifest. Samkhya says: Greatness proceeds from nature. Here it is said: Greatness proceeds from the unmanifest. In the vastness of space—in that emptiness—shall the sun rise, and Mitra in Varuna's breast—from "nothing," from utter void, fullness shall blossom forth.
Above this stands another principle: the Purusa, the Person, who holds both the Great and the Unmanifest in a single embrace—beyond him is nothing. "Sa kastha sa para gatih"—He is the ultimate goal, the highest attainment. In Samkhya philosophy, He is known as the discriminating vision, the vision of difference. The Purusa alone is consciousness. Beside him stands nature, inert and lifeless. Nature is unconscious because she is the object of the Purusa's perception. From this nature spring forth Greatness and all else.
We begin with meaning, with substance, yet until we penetrate the mystery of the unmanifest, there is no end. (Compare the Vedantic method of "neti neti"—not this, not this.) A flower is an object; then comes its form, which the senses render comprehensible to the mind. Then the fact of the object stands before intellect as an idea, a concept; Greatness elevates it into infinite grandeur; beyond that lies the unmanifest; and beyond that, the Purusa. Within the finite dwells the infinite. This is the vision of the Upanishads.
Yathodakam shuddhе shuddhаmasiktam tаdrigeva bhavati. Evam munervijаnatа аtmа bhavati gautama. (Katha Upanishad, 2/1/15)
Analysis: O Gautama (dear Nachiketa), just as pure water poured into pure water becomes wholly pure and indistinguishable—just so does the self of the wise man, he who perceives unity and truth, become one with That, undifferentiated, achieving non-duality itself, becoming Brahman.
That is, just as a drop of pure water cast into pure water—'becomes the same,' becoming indistinguishable from the pool itself—so too 'the self of the sage who knows becomes Brahman'—the atman of the meditative truth-seer who has realized the Self likewise becomes Brahman. (Compare: the foam of the ocean, mingling with the ocean's waters, becomes part of the ocean, becomes the ocean itself, and can no longer be recognized as separate foam.)
We invoke this illustration in many contexts to show that when the atman is freed from adjuncts—from the coverings that veil it—the very nature of Brahman is attained; that is, one manifests as one truly was, and separation ceases to be. Just as a drop of pure water falling into a vast pool of clear, pure water merges completely with it, becoming one with its vastness. But a murky drop falling into pure water does not merge in this way. A single drop of ink in clear water will show its darkness for some time. A drop of poison will make the entire pool poisonous. Even one drop of cow's urine in a bucket of milk will spoil all the milk—and yet milk mixed with milk becomes one, becomes identical, merges completely. We who are lacking discernment—ignorant of Brahman—have become as it were a murky drop, veiled by the coverings of body and senses. The atman lies confined within these sheaths. Thus we speak of my self, your self, and so forth—difference appears. But if these bodily and sensory coverings could be removed, dissolved away, then just as 'all the impurity that veils the drop would vanish' and it would 'become pure, merging with the pool of pure water,' so too the individual, freed from all adjuncts, would become one with that undivided whole—that unified being which comprises all. No separation would remain. (To be continued in three parts)