The ancients had a custom—to invoke God's name at the beginning and end of any undertaking; the purpose of invoking it at the start was to ward off all obstacles, and at the conclusion, to give thanks for its unimpeded completion. So I too begin by taking God's name, though whether He will be pleased with what I have to say—who can know?
In the dawn of civilization, religion held dominion over mankind, over philosophy and science alike, and visited harsh punishment—even death—upon those who refused its rule. But times have shifted. Now religion itself has become answerable before the tribunal of science and philosophy. In a play by the Greek dramatist Aristophanes, a young man is beating his aged father. The father, being an elder, argues that one should not lay hands upon him—thus pleading his own case through his own authority. The son replies, "Father, this is your second childhood. Just as in my childhood you ruled over me and forced me to obey your words, so now in this present childhood of yours, I shall rule over you and you must follow my commands." I cite this tale not merely as a tale, but to make a point.
Between philosophy and science on one side, and religion on the other, a similar reversal has taken place. Science has begun to subject religion, in its old age, to no small scrutiny. A particular current has emerged among the psychological scholars of Europe and America. Religious sentiment, religious consciousness, and religious belief are all matters of the mind. Therefore, all feelings, convictions, and actions pertaining to religion naturally fall within the domain of psychology, alongside other mental phenomena. Once this view gained acceptance, the analysis of religious sentiment and religious knowledge from the psychological perspective began in earnest.
The question arose: is not religious sentiment and religious practice merely a transformation of the sexual instinct of primitive man? In many ancient religions, the worship of the phallus, the vulva, and such has existed, and much of religion's terminology, many of its rituals, evoke memories of sexual instinct. In India, Tantra provides a ready example; in ancient Egypt, Assyria, Greece, Rome and elsewhere, the worship of wine and other intoxicating drinks was more or less prevalent. And even if sexual instinct were not the root of religion, fear certainly could be. Nature lacks no source of terror; storms, earthquakes, floods—countless things strike us with dread and confusion. Through such analyses, many have concluded that religion is merely a somewhat gentler, somewhat more elegant, somewhat more refined form of one or another of man's baser instincts.
Yet not all have embraced this view. Religion is religion—this remains the conviction of the majority even now. But to turn a blind eye to the contrary argument would be a failure of courage. We must therefore acquaint ourselves with what the opposing voice has to say.
So religion in its old age now finds itself harassed by the hand of science. But what has happened in God's sight? The question of God's existence has been much debated in Western philosophy. Generally, the proofs offered for God's existence amount to these few: (1) We possess the idea of God, therefore God exists; (2) The world had a cause—the world did not come to be without cause and effect. Therefore, there must be a first cause for the world—a cause that itself has no other cause. Hence, God the creator of the world exists. (3) The workings of intelligence are visible in the world—we observe the marks of purpose achieved through means; therefore, there must be a God who, using the entire world as a means, can fulfill his purposes. (4) There must be a judge of sin and virtue; who else could it be but God? Therefore, God exists. (5) Throughout human history, some form of belief in God has taken root; this universality of belief too stands as proof of God's existence.
Several of these proofs have been considered in the philosophy of this land as well. Moreover, some philosophers of this country have not hesitated to say that God is unproven, or even that he does not exist. The same has occurred in the West. It is clear that all the proofs for God's existence, taken together, have not convinced everyone's mind.
Certain questions concerning God have been the subject of particular discussion of late. (1) Is God truly very wise? Can he create without flaw? (2) Was this world created with great care? (3) Can he alone accomplish all things? (4) Is God at the beginning of creation, or at the end?
If God does not exist, not one of these questions would arise. Only by assuming that he exists (or will exist) are such inquiries possible. If the questions are valid, what answer do they demand? First, many have expressed doubt as to whether God is truly very wise. Wisdom reveals itself in action. In God's creation, so many flaws can be pointed out that it becomes difficult to call the creator of them thoughtful or wise. Could we not have done without the Saharan desert and the frozen ice of the polar regions on the same earth? Had heat and cold been distributed with a little more consideration, how much convenience it would have afforded us! There is no need to cite more examples. Any reasonably intelligent person can gather plenty of instances himself.
Here is a simple matter: creation contains much suffering and pain. Their number seems infinite; to the simple mind, it appears that if God had wished, he could have removed them all. From this follows the second conclusion: the creation of this world was not done well. Many have certainly said that among all possibilities, this is the best of worlds—but why would the question of possible and impossible even arise in the case of him whom we call omnipotent?
Here then is another question—a vexing one: In God's creation, does He have helpers, or is He alone the creator? Yet mankind performs countless works; felling forests to build cities, blasting mountains to forge roads—half the world's beauty is surely man's own handiwork! Those Greek statues, Egypt's pyramids, India's temples and the Taj Mahal—could God have created such things? True, those who built the Taj Mahal could not fashion the Milky Way or the Great Bear; yet they too were creators! In sculpture, in architecture, in poetry, in music, in the very events of history—is man not a creator? By extinguishing wild beasts and birds while cherishing domesticated ones, by cultivating forests and building gardens, is man not revealing the development of his creative power equally in the lifeless and the living? By breaking his ancient states and societies, is man not fashioning the new? What conclusion should we reach? The world is the creation of many working in concert; yet among these creators, God remains first and foremost. Thinkers in the West have expressed something very like this thought.
Common people believe God to be infinite, eternally powerful, eternal. And omnipresent. Yet some have ventured to think that God is not infinite but finite; His wisdom and strength are great, but not endless; He is eternally youthful, the leader or general of mankind—labouring alongside them in the work of creation. The world is growing progressively better; through mankind's efforts, states and societies advance, and with them God too advances, grows greater, acquires ever more power and wisdom. A child grows; a youth develops in body and mind; so too with God.
Yet another grave question has arisen: Did God create the world, or will the world create God? Was God at the beginning of creation, or at the end? Some have even dared to say that God has not yet appeared—but the world's motion is nevertheless directed toward the manifestation of Godhood. This would suggest that the ancients were wrong when they declared, "In the beginning, O beloved, this alone existed—one without a second" (Chandogya Upanishad, 6.2.1), or when they said "In the beginning was God"—these are conclusions we cannot accept. In the beginning was the world; the world continues to evolve. At the end of this evolution, God will manifest Himself. God did not create the world—the world is uncreated; rather, the world will create God. All the world's action moves toward God's becoming; this appears to be the world's very purpose. God is not the world's maker or cause—He is the world's ultimate end!
If we accept this conclusion, the three earlier questions become unnecessary. If God has not yet been born, then inquiry into His intellect is beside the point; and if creation is not His work, then neither should He bear the blame or credit for it, nor does the question arise whether He sought or seeks help in the work of creation.
When we speak of religion and God, another question inevitably arises: the question of the afterlife. The belief that the soul does not perish with the death of the body is widespread throughout human society. According to Indian philosophers, after death this soul passes from body to body, moving not only from one human form to another but even into animal bodies or plants. This is called Samsara—the cycle of becoming. And herein lies the soul's suffering. Through philosophical knowledge, the soul gains liberation from this suffering. This state of liberation is described in many ways, and is itself called the afterlife. In the common imagination, this afterlife has two divisions—heaven and hell. Some have conceived of a middle realm between these two. Similar ideas appear, in greater or lesser measure, in Western thought as well. Yet the belief in transmigration of souls has found acceptance among only a few in the West.
Yet across ages and nations, people have spoken in one form or another of the soul's immortality—that beyond this life it possesses another, eternal existence. That the soul is deathless—"It is never born, nor does it die, nor will it ever cease to exist" (Bhagavad Gita, 2.20)—that the body may perish but the soul is never destroyed—such proofs have been offered in countless ways. One great proof is the matter of justice: of sin and virtue. People believe that sin must be punished and virtue rewarded. Yet in this life we see that not everyone receives the full measure of punishment for their wrongs or reward for their goodness. Therefore, it is argued, there must be another life in which this justice can be fulfilled.
Furthermore, we observe that the powers of the human mind grow stronger with age. If death were the end of all things, then this mental development would be a vast waste of nature. For what use are these acquired powers to the world, or even to the soul itself? Therefore, we must suppose that in the afterlife, the soul's faculties will develop further and will serve its continued perfection. This too becomes evidence for the existence of the afterlife.
Yet are these truly proofs? Can nothing be said against them? That sin must be punished and virtue rewarded—this may be a matter of belief, but is it established truth? And nature contains so many instances of waste—of human knowledge and intellect left unused—that we cannot reasonably infer from this alone that another life or realm must exist where such things will find their purpose. Thus many have come to the conclusion that while it is easy to imagine and believe in the soul's immortality, in its eternal existence beyond death, it is not so easy to prove it.
It would be easier, rather, to prove bodily immortality. We have said this before. In the world of living creatures and plants, we observe that one body gives rise to another. Plant a bamboo shoot in the earth, and from its roots countless bamboos spring forth. In this proliferation of bamboo, there is a kind of immortality to be seen. With living beings too, the seed cell from one body that produces another body does not perish; in some mysterious way, this generative seed cell creates body after body—from the first body to a second, from that second to a third, and from there to a fourth. Thus, it progressively creates body after body, traveling from one form to the next, yet it knows neither death nor dissolution in creation—this is a doctrine of biology. If it is true, then it too is proof of bodily immortality. But if you cut down the bamboo and make it a post for your house, or use it as fuel for fire, the soul dwelling in it will not then take shelter in another bamboo or in a living body, nor will it find new life in some other world or age—this is mere strain of imagination. With humans too, this is not an easily grasped truth.
Those who study ghosts and seek to summon ghostly spirits to prove their existence after death—against their claims too, counter-arguments are possible. The ghost spirit does not divulge much about its new life, its new realm, or its new address—beyond words like "I am well," "I am content," "it is hard to come"—nothing much else is obtained from the ghost. Yet to make plain that it is the soul of this or that person, it describes certain events from that person's past life. Such an account might equally be the resurgence of suppressed memory in one who knows these details. From all such discussion, it is impossible to arrive at any certain or irrefutable conclusion—this both believer and skeptic acknowledge.
Whatever the answer, the question remains: is the soul immortal? We have not yet gained certain proof or solution to it. With this, we must also ask whether eternal life—a life that will never know cessation, such a life—is truly desirable. After work we desire rest; does the thought of a pause, an ending to life itself, truly make the heart weary? Is this not a weakness of thought? Many believe that this pause, this ending, should rather be a joy!
These are not the trivial disputations of debate clubs, but matters that philosophy itself has taken up with gravity. The philosopher delights in considering the arguments that can be marshalled on either side. Yet there is one thing we must say again and again—and that is the courage of the West. We find similar courage in ancient India too; the Jains and Buddhists also rejected God. In the modern West, there exists a powerful religion—it has its congregation, its power of governance, and once it even ruled over philosophy and science. To show such courage during the very reign of that religion is no small matter. In our own country, we may well doubt whether everyone would tolerate such boldness. We have witnessed more than once the death of those who dared bring forth an image of some incarnate deity or evidence concerning him before the public, and yet this was not even a criticism of religion itself—merely the unwitting violation of some religious injunction. Alas, examples of people losing their lives for speaking against religion are far from rare! And yet, observe—in Europe, such fearless inquiry into the very nature of Jesus has been permitted that one is truly astonished. When a religion resorts to barbarism as its final refuge, it is only natural that people of other faiths should wonder whether the philosophy of such a religion too is barbaric. If speaking of religion leads to murder, then surely it behoves us all to think seriously about what religion is actually teaching mankind.
It is easy to speak in favour of the prevailing or majority religion, to praise its greatness, but it is far more difficult to speak against it, to judge it as one would judge literature or science—to do so requires one to ascend to the peak of knowledge unshackled by prejudice. You will find that such things have been said about the religion of Jesus as would fill many of the devout with fear and dread. They have even said that if Christianity does not perish, civilization cannot advance. That Christianity is false, that the worship of God is no different from idol-worship, that prayer bears no fruit, that the soul is not immortal, that heaven and hell, reward and punishment are not real—such notions Europe and America have heard for many, many years now. If one wishes to remain at the forefront of knowledge and science, one cannot obstruct the free exercise of thought—whether it be for religion or against it. For religion born of fear ends only in fear.
Those who desire the abolition of Christianity desire the abolition of all religions; for when Christianity is assumed to be superior to all other faiths, and even then regarded as an obstacle to human progress, there is no need for separate mention of other religions. All ancient religions contain teachings about worship, fasting, pilgrimage and the like; they harbour belief in heaven, hell, and the immortal soul. When these are tested by the touchstone of today's knowledge and science, will their ancient worth endure? One need not accept such sentiments and language, but is not the courage that shines through them remarkable? Cannot we accord it some respect? Cannot we revere it?
What then is our resolution? We cannot wait for God himself to arrive and deliver us by answering everything. We cannot think that God, having created all things, withdrew from the world; nor can we conceive that he will appear in the final act of creation's drama. Many have supposed that God created and then stepped back, leaving the world to run of its own accord. Yet in times of special need, he returns and sets things right—as a kite-maker repairs his kite. We cannot imagine that God is absent from the world.
True, there is suffering and sorrow in the world; but perhaps this, in the end, is merely our perspective or a failure of understanding. And should we conclude that the Creator is absent from creation simply because suffering exists? There is no logic that compels us to call him cruel. Even those who deny God's existence have been heard to say—God is pitiless. But how can he who does not exist be pitiless? For that, he would first have to exist.
Just as we cannot think of the Creator outside creation, neither do we believe he ever sat idle with folded hands, unemployed. The breaking and building of the world is an eternal flow. The world we see may not be the first or the final creation. Let us not forget: active power can never remain dormant. Therefore, God's creation is like God himself—without beginning and without end.
And we do not believe that God has not yet revealed himself. In our understanding—
In the Vedas, the Ramayana, and likewise in the Puranas and the Bharata,
From beginning to middle to end, Hari alone is everywhere proclaimed.
(Harivamsha, 255)
That is to say, in the Vedas, in the Ramayana, in the Mahabharata, in the beginning, middle, and end of the Puranas—everywhere it is Lord Hari alone who is celebrated.
In exactly the same way, God is present everywhere in creation—yet creation has no beginning and no end. Therefore God exists everywhere and at all times—this is the final word of Indian philosophy; and it remains, even to this day in Western philosophy, the view of the majority—though dissenting voices hold firm positions, they are not victorious. Set them aside, and the existence of God and the awakening of consciousness are the very foundation upon which philosophy rests.