Śaṅkarācārya, in his commentary on the Brahma Sutras, describes the self as eternally pure, eternally liberated, eternally conscious—the nature of the supreme self. The self bound up with the conflict of body and mind becomes ego or the sense of "I"; this very sense of self alone is the transgression, which is influenced by sin and unwholesome mental tendencies. Within us exist two orders of being. One is influenced by pleasure and pain, guilt and shame—this is the small self, whose origin is governed by the reproductive mechanism. The other is the eternally pure, eternally liberated, eternally conscious self. This distinctive matter is beautifully illustrated in the Muṇḍaka Upaniṣad (3/1/1) through the example of two birds in the same tree. We shall return to this verse later.
Brahmaiva edam amṛtaṁ purastādbrahma paścādbrahma dakṣiṇataśchottareṇa। Adhaśchordhvañcha prasṛtaṁ brahmaiva edam viśvam idam variṣṭham।। (2/2/11)
Purastāt (situated in front) idam (this; all that appears) amṛtam brahma eva (Brahman alone, the deathless), paścāt (behind), dakṣiṇataḥ (to the south), uttareṇa cha (and to the north) brahma; adhaḥ (below) ūrdhvam cha (and above) brahma prasṛtam (pervades); idam (this) viśvam (universe) idam variṣṭham (this most manifest) brahma eva (Brahman alone).
That is to say, all that exists in front is the deathless Brahman, and behind, to the north, to the south, above, below—all things possess being through the reality of Brahman. Brahman pervades and spreads throughout the world.
Brahmaiva edam amṛtam—this deathless Brahman pervades all that is "idam," all that is within the reach of the senses. Not merely what lies before us, but all things in front and behind, north and south, above and below—all possess being through Brahman's reality. By the mention of different directions, all that we perceive or experience is encompassed; thus it is said, "brahmaiva edam viśvam." This entire universe possesses being in Brahman; Brahman pervades and spreads throughout all things. Brahman is therefore variṣṭha, the supreme. Without him, not even the minutest thing has existence. Thus the Upaniṣad declares—"neha nānāsti kiñchana" (Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad, 4/4/19)—in this world, without him, there is no multiplicity. The meaning of this is not that all things are joined to Brahman; the true sense is—Brahman alone is the world. Apart from Brahman, nothing else has being. All the diversity we see or experience in the world is born of ignorance. What we call the world is therefore, in its true nature, Brahman alone. By way of example, it is said—yo ayaṁ sthaṇuḥ pumāṇeṣaḥ—this pillar or immovable wooden object that appears before us is not truly what it seems; it is actually a particular man. When the knowledge of the man dawns, the pillar ceases to have any reality. In the case of the rope and serpent, when knowledge of the rope (comparable to Brahman) arises, the serpent (comparable to the world) vanishes. Similarly, the world rests in Brahman, and when knowledge of Brahman dawns, the existence of the world dissolves. By "purastādbrahma paścādbrahma" and so forth, it is not meant that Brahman is scattered in all directions; rather, he exists at the very root of the manifestation of all things. Swami Vivekananda expressed this very truth to Mary Hale in different words: "All are God—this is not right; God is and all are not—this is the truth." There exists no reality apart from Brahman. If we try to understand the world by setting him aside, we find nothing; the fundamental principle of all things rests in Brahman—this is the meaning of the verse. By analyzing the objects of our perception, we shall find that the fundamental principle of all things resolves into Brahman—this knowledge itself is knowing Brahman. However much diversity we perceive, Brahman transcends all things—"virajam brahma niṣkalam" (Muṇḍaka Upaniṣad, 2/2/9).
Can we deny the evident diversity before us in such a manner? In the Sayings of Ramakrishna, he offers the example of a wax tree, wax flowers, wax leaves to say that Brahman has become all—yet this seems to be speaking from several steps removed from the ultimate truth. When we look through the lens of true principle, we see that nothing exists but Him. Analyze any object or experience thoroughly enough, and ultimately you will find that all has dissolved into that non-dual Brahman. We recognize a transformable thing as transformable only by comparing it with something immutable. The entire universe can be characterized by a single quality—that it is transformable. Then the question returns: by comparing it with what shall we call the world transformable? Brahman, in this regard, is immutable, while all the diversity of the world is His transformation. This is the central mystery of Vedanta. Thus His universal and particular nature unfolds in 'non-manifestation' and 'manifestation,' in unity and multiplicity. All this diversity exists only in our perception and experience, not in Brahman. To describe the indescribable, it is said that He dwells in all things; yet in truth, nothing has any existence apart from Him. When we say "the salt is dissolved in water," we mean that one thing exists and salt has become thoroughly mixed with it. Though the scriptures say Brahman is thoroughly pervading the world, this too is spoken for the sake of description, from a distance from ultimate truth. Otherwise, we would limit Him.
In the case of the rope and serpent, the rope does not hold the serpent; there is no serpent at all—its head and tail, all of it is merely rope. In this sense, "Brahman before and Brahman behind"—Brahman above and below, north and south. Just as the serpent is manifested through the manifestation of rope, so too the world is manifested in Brahman's being. This is the doctrine of non-dual Vedanta. The wax flower and wax fruit speak to the qualified non-dualism view. Yet though doctrines may differ, ultimate truth cannot be of two kinds; still, that we encounter two kinds of examples is chiefly because the supreme truth can never be made fully clear through words spoken from the lips. It is the province of each person's own direct understanding. Pots and pans can be made intelligible to reason, but the Self is not an object of knowledge—and therefore worldly examples cannot bring complete understanding of the nature of Self. And because they cannot, the scriptures have attempted in many places to convey truth through negation. Even the word 'Sat-Chit-Ananda' does not directly denote Brahman. There it means: Sat signifies not non-being, Chit signifies not insentience or matter, Ananda signifies not the absence of bliss or suffering. Because Brahman cannot be expressed in speech, He must be understood through various analogies. This is why Ramakrishna said in one place: an immense expanse of water, and within it, at some point, a heap of ice is visible. All around the frozen mass, there is water. Between this water and ice there is no material difference—only variety of form. So too between Brahman and the visible world there is variety of manifestation. In this sense lies the truth of 'All this is indeed Brahman' (Chandogya Upanishad, 3/14/1).
This visible universe in all its manifold diversity is itself the unfolding of Brahman. Brahman cannot be apprehended through any attribute, nor can be known through the senses, for he lies beyond their reach. Thus the non-dualists, to make Brahman comprehensible, proclaim: "Neti neti"—"Not this, not this"—and "Not gross, not subtle, not short, not long," and so forth (Brihadaranyaka Upanishad, 3/8/8). How does this Brahman pervade the entire cosmos? Without him, nothing could have any foundation whatsoever. All the diversity we perceive in the world—if it is indeed his manifestation—then he must be omnipresent: "This entire universe is Brahman." Thus within all the varied tapestry of existence, he is manifest, supreme, and preeminent. In this way we come to know Brahman obliquely. When what he is cannot be spoken aloud, our thought must proceed through negation—through understanding what he is not. To "know" him here does not mean knowing through any external means—"He is known through every act of understanding" (Kena Upanishad, 2/4)—he manifests as the very self of all intellection. With the arising of each function of mind, his presence shines forth; thus we know him. Yet intellect cannot reveal him, and yet through every movement of consciousness, as pure knowing itself, he stands revealed. Through the revelation of each mental function comes his revelation—such is the conclusion of Vedanta. Thus in this verse the omnipresence of Brahman is brought to its perfect summation.
But there is yet another perspective—that of worship and devotion. One need not accept this view that Brahman's manifestation is the visible universe. Instead, if the worshipper holds the conviction that Brahman dwells in all things—acknowledging thereby the independent existence of other entities apart from Brahman—and proceeds from this standpoint, then through constantly contemplating that one Brahman everywhere, his attachment to duality, his mind's inclination toward the dual world, will gradually diminish. Then he shall come to realize the truth: that Brahman alone is the sole support and refuge of all existence.
To know the principle of Brahman is so profound and elusive that it must be approached from many angles, and the scriptures themselves approach it repeatedly in diverse ways. Therefore, in the domain of sacred teaching, what would be considered a fault of repetition elsewhere is never a blemish. To illuminate this most difficult truth concerning Brahman, the scriptures present the parable of two birds:
Two birds, forever joined, companions dear, Embracing one same tree in their dwelling here. One of the two tastes well the fruit of life— The other gazes on, untouched by strife. (3/1/1)
Two birds [syuja—forever united] companions [sakhayu—those bearing the same name "self," of identical nature] two [dve] birds with fair wings [suparṇa] embrace [parisasvajate—clasp and dwell within] the same tree [samana vṛkṣa—the body]; of these two [tayoḥ], one [anyaḥ] tastes [svadu—with relish] the fruit [pippala—the fruit, the fruit of one's actions], consuming it; the other [anyaḥ], without partaking [anashnan], merely beholds [abhichakshiti—witnesses].
Two birds, forever united and bearing the same name—of equal nature—dwell in the same tree. Of these two, one bird eats all manner of fruit, bitter and sweet alike; the other eats no fruit at all, but only watches.
Two birds dwell in the same tree. One bird eats all manner of fruits—bitter and sweet alike—meaning it experiences the fruits of action, pleasure and pain. The other bird eats no fruit; it merely watches, yet remains in joy. So too in the tree of the body dwell two birds: one is the individual self, the other the Supreme Self. The individual self claims the body, mind, and senses as "I" and, changing with the transformations of body and senses, deems itself happy or sorrowful. We constantly see that our sense of pleasure and pain arises from the contact between the senses and their objects. The Gita declares—*mātras-sparshās tu kaunteya śītoṣṇa-sukha-duḥkha-dāḥ* (2:14)—from the union of the senses with their objects alone arise the dualities of heat and cold, pleasure and pain. I stand related to all things in this world and thus experience joy and sorrow, yet behind this there exists another being, always revealed in its own glory, unchanging and immutable. Without conceiving of something immutable, the mutable cannot be understood. That I am now happy, and in the next moment sorrowful—behind this transformation must stand something immutable; without it, a self endowed with joy and sorrow could not manifest. The reason is this: where there is change, unless there be another who witnesses that change, the change would not be perceived. That immutable principle is called the Supreme Self or simply the Self—one who pervades all, without whose support nothing can manifest, yet who is utterly distinct from all that appears.
The very word "Self" means omnipresent. Therefore there cannot be two, for one would limit the other. If one Self were subject and the other object, the omnipresence of Self would be negated. The conception of two omnipresent beings is logically contradictory. In essence, the two are one; we have merely imagined them as different through error and illusion—this separation is nothing but imagined. Why then are both called "Self"? Because both are conscious. One possesses the quality of consciousness; the other is consciousness itself—both are manifestations of awareness.
For this reason, both are called birds. One is the Supreme Self, the other the individual self. In essence they are not distinct; hence they are called *sayujā*—always together, these two birds, and they are *sakhāyā*, selves—equal in name, of the same kind, possessing the same nature—the nature of consciousness. Together in the same tree, that is, in the same body, they manifest as lord and dwelling-place, as support and what is supported. The substrate is like crystal: crystal has no inherent red colour, yet when a red flower or hibiscus is placed near it, the red is cast upon the crystal, and it appears red. The crystal is the substrate of this projection. The changeable form of the individual self is that which is projected; the projector, the substrate, the source, the witness, the eternal observer—that is the Supreme Self.
Whether we call it the individual soul or give it some other name, if it possesses the essential nature of the self, it cannot be related to pleasure, pain, and the like—for these are properties of matter. Yet a relation appears to exist even where none is possible; this is why we say they are superimposed. The crystal cannot truly be red, yet red appears within it; here the redness is superimposed. Before we analyze the individual soul, we consider it a distinct entity; but when we analyze it, we perceive that its true nature is pure consciousness, and it seems to change only due to the limiting adjuncts that bind it. So treating it as separate and following the illusion born of ignorance, we speak of two manifestations—yet upon careful examination, they resolve into one. A single consciousness reveals the entire universe; we ourselves create a difference within it and imagine two consciousnesses. One consciousness stands in relation to us; the other serves no such purpose. This is why two birds are spoken of. They remain forever united, their essence or nature being the same or equal—the same soul. आत्मा means the all-pervasive—"A samantāt tanoti vyāpnoti"—he who pervades all directions. The individual soul pervades "this assemblage of body and senses," while the supreme soul pervades "all things." And both are perceived in the same heart-cave; therefore it is said—"samanaṁ vṛkṣaṁ parisasvajāte"—they abide supported by the same tree or the same place. This tree is the body-sense assemblage or the interplay of body and senses. It is called a tree because "brashcanāt kṣaraṇāt vṛkṣa"—just as a tree, both body and senses are perishable and subject to decay, and transcending both, one must perceive the unity of the individual soul with the supreme soul. Moreover, as a bird takes shelter in a tree to eat its fruit, so too here the individual soul's experience of the fruits of action occurs by relying on the body—this understanding too is suggested by the metaphor. "Ūrdhvamūlo'vākśākhā eṣo'śvatthaḥ sanātanaḥ." (Kaṭhopaniṣad, 2/3/1) That is, "eṣaḥ sanātanaḥ aśvatthaḥ ūrdhvamūlaḥ avākśākhāḥ"—this eternal Aśvattha tree of saṁsāra has its root above, meaning the supreme soul is the cause of all, its branches extending downward into the unmanifest, Hiraṇyagarbha, Virāṭ, and so forth.—This utterance of the Śruti also indicates the resemblance between the world-tree and saṁsāra. The root of this world-tree is "unmanifest Brahman," and its branches and sub-branches extend downward toward "non-self objects," the opposite of Brahman. The world itself originates from that unmanifest Brahman. In this world-tree, which serves as the support for the fruits of action, dwell two birds. One is the self that abides in the subtle body, supported by ignorance, desire, action, and mental impressions—the subtle-body-identified soul. The other is the Īśvara, the Lord who governs all. Though these two birds are perceived within the assemblage of body and senses, one of them—called the kshetrajna or knower of the field (the individual soul)—tastes the many fruits of the tree formed by the limiting adjuncts of body and senses; that is, through action it acquires pleasure, pain, and the like, and experiences them, enjoys varied states of bliss and sorrow. Ignorance is the cause of this experience. Because the soul cannot conceive of itself as distinct from body and the rest, this experience befalls it.
There is another bird: the eternal, immaculate, ever-liberated Supreme Self—omniscient and of unbound nature. It dwells in all creatures through its manifest presence. It is the witness and controller of both the consumed and the consumer, yet itself partakes of nothing. It eats no fruit, that is to say, it experiences no karmic consequence. It merely abides there, observing—'anashnan abhichakashiti.' It shines forth, and that very radiance, that mere proximity of its consciousness, impels and governs the living being in all its action. The Lord does not move the creature to action in any other way; only its presence as consciousness becomes the mover of deed. It stands entirely apart from the affairs of this world, bearing no relation to them, and yet through its very manifestation this entire cosmos becomes illumined. Thus when one bird tastes the fruit while the other sits as witness upon the same tree—
Samane vrukshe purusho nimagnohā Nīshayā shochati muhyamānah. Justham yadā pashyatyanyam īsham Asya mahimānam iti vītashokaḥ. (3/1/2)
The Purusa (the individual consumer soul), immersed in the same tree (the body), deprived of lordship and bewildered by powerlessness, sorrows and grieves. But when he beholds the Other—revered and worshipped by the wise—distinct from himself, and recognizes his own imperishable majesty reflected therein, he is freed from sorrow.
The living being too becomes immersed in this very tree of existence, bewildered by helplessness, and grieves in bondage. When it beholds the Lord, worshipped by many and separate from the body, and recognizes his glory—distinct from its own embodied nature—then it is freed from sorrow.
That consuming bird, the individual soul, becomes immersed in the tree of worldly life and is bewildered by its powerlessness, consumed by anguish. Being deprived of mastery—separated from the Lord who is the true Master—the soul drowns in its craving for the fruits of action. Because it mistakes the body and senses for itself, it sinks ever deeper, afflicted and tormented by manifold sufferings. Thus it becomes not the master but the mastered. This helplessness is its 'anisha'—its deprivation of lordship.
When through losing freedom to agency and consumption, it regards itself as lowly and oppressed, there rises within it a contemplation of the other bird: Who is this one whom pleasure and pain do not overwhelm, whom no karmic fruit can bind, who sits here as the revered object of all worship and adoration? Then, gradually, the soul begins to turn toward that other bird. And at last it perceives that the two are not separate after all. The soul's own distinct existence dissolves. It comes to know that what it had long beheld as another bird, what had dazzled it with its glory, is none other than itself. The majesty of the other bird is its own majesty—with this realization, it escapes at last from the grip of sorrow.
The meaning of this is thus: so long as we regard ourselves as separate from God, so long as we see ourselves as the doer of our actions and the experiencer of pleasure and pain, so long do we remain in bondage. When, through the accumulated merit of many births, the mind becomes purified, and a person follows the path of spiritual discipline as taught by the guru or the scriptures, and when finally the mind becomes absorbed in the ultimate reality, then alone does he come to know—I am that self-transcendent Spirit, of the nature of pure consciousness and all-pervading. He will further come to know that whatever exists in this world—all names and forms—are nothing but my glory, my splendor, the radiance of my being.
Once the sense of doership and experience falls away, we become free from sorrow, for once we know that experiencing is not our nature, the fruits of action can no longer bind us. Illness, sorrow, pleasure, pain—these are the nature of body and mind. How can I, who am distinct from body and mind, be touched by sorrow or delusion? Ramakrishna used to say: "The body knows pain; mind, you remain in joy." Then he understands—it is not he, but his body-mind alone that is the seat of pleasure and pain, and thus he passes beyond them. This is what is called discriminative knowledge, or the knowledge of distinction. Through this discriminative knowledge, he perceives that God's glory is his own glory—"Seeing another as the Supreme, he becomes free from sorrow."
From the Vedanta we learn that the sages, having conducted their inquiry into the depths of the science of human potential, perceived in their illumined minds this truth—that the possibility of liberation lies inherent within each of us. This is the teaching of Vedanta. Therefore, we never call any human being sinful. In the Vedantic teaching, you will nowhere find the notion that human nature is sinful; yet certainly a person may commit sinful acts, but he is not a sinner. For though one may commit sinful deeds without knowing one's true nature, the means of our salvation also lies inherent within each of us.
Swami Vivekananda alluded to this great truth in his speech delivered at the Parliament of Religions held in Chicago in 1893:
"As a tiny boat before a fierce wind, rising once to the crest of a foaming wave and the next moment hurled into the abyss of the trough—is not the soul equally helpless, tossed about relentlessly by the inescapable current of good and evil deeds? Is the soul not cast about weakly and hopelessly in the eternally raging, thunderous, unconquerable torrent of cause and effect?... To ponder thus is to be seized by despair, yet such is the law of nature. But is there no hope? Is there no path to deliverance? From the depths of humanity's despondent heart rose such a cry of anguish, and it reached the throne of Compassion. From there descended the word of hope and consolation, and it kindled the heart of a Vedic sage. Standing before the world, the sage proclaimed aloud this joyous message to the universe:
"Hear, hear, O children of immortality! Hear, inhabitants of the celestial realms! I have known that Ancient and Great One. His radiance is like the sun itself; he stands beyond all the darkness of ignorance. To know him is to cross over death; there is no other path whatsoever."
'Sons of the Immortal'—what a sweet and hopeful name! Brothers, it is by this sweet name that I wish to address you—you are heirs to immortality—Hindus do not wish to call you sinners. You are children of God, heirs to immortality—sacred and complete. Gods of the mortal earth, you are! You sinners? To call man a sinner is itself a great sin; it is a false slander cast upon the true nature of humanity. Rise up, come forth—you who are lion-natured, why do you think of yourselves as sheep? Dispel this delusion. You are immortal souls, free souls—eternally blissful. You are not matter, you are not body; matter is your servant, you are not servants of matter."
Borrowing from Rabindranath Tagore: Let the children of immortality be heard throughout the world, Those who dwell in celestial abodes. (Svetasvatara Upanishad, 2/5)
I know this mighty Purusha, Radiant as the sun, beyond darkness. Knowing Him alone, one transcends death; There is no other path for liberation. (Svetasvatara Upanishad, 3/8)
Hear, O world, hear, O sons of immortality, all ye gods Dwelling in celestial mansions, I have known Him— The mighty Purusha beyond the darkness, Radiant with light. To know Him, to turn toward Him, You can cross the threshold of death; there is no other way.
The Rishi of the Svetasvatara Upanishad, like the Greek Archimedes, could cry out, "Eureka! Eureka!"—that is, "I have found it, I have found it!" "I have discovered a wonderful truth." And when that verse's meaning, as I have just spoken it, poured forth from Swami Vivekananda's lips before the American audience, he brought the power of that tremendous discovery before that multitude. "Hear, hear"—'Srinvantu'! 'Visve' means 'everywhere in the world.' The Rishi, from his side, called out to the inhabitants of the world, saying: 'Amritasya putrah'—'Children of the Immortal!' O children of immortality! Hear my words; I bring you good tidings. And see the audacity born of universal comprehension in the Rishi himself; he sends his message even to 'the gods and the celestial beings in heaven'—'A ye dhamani divyani tasthu.' What is this message? Has it been drawn from some scripture, or is it the product of fertile imagination? No! 'Veda aham etam'—I have known this truth—I have realized it, I have experienced the reality of this truth itself.
This idea of 'I have known'—*vedahametan*—is itself a splendid truth, from which have sprung all manner of religious developments thereafter. The religion of the Upanishads is not—'I believe'; rather it is—'I have realized'—I have gained direct experience of this matter. Later the sage will say: 'You too can realize it.' What is this thing? 'The Supreme Being'—*purushan mahantan*—'beyond the limited person, the infinite person'. 'Small' and 'great', these two Sanskrit words mean 'petty' and 'vast'. The ego or 'I' is the small, while the self is the great. When we are small, we are prone to transgression; when we are great, no such thing can occur. All wrongdoing, all failures in duty arise from the petty ego, from ignorance of our own magnificent or boundless nature. The Upanishads teach that each one of us can become a great soul—this is our birthright. The sage has said: 'I have realized the infinite self that stands beyond the limited ego'—'I have known the Supreme Being'. 'Radiant as the sun'—*aditya-varnan*—'shining with splendor like the sun', 'beyond all darkness and delusion'—*tamasa parastaat*—'this truth have I realized'; but at that time he did not say: 'Merely believe in me for deliverance.' Rather he said: 'By knowing this very thing, you too shall attain immortality'—*tameva viditvā atimṛtyum eti*—'realize this truth yourself, for it is your birthright. To attain this truth you need not beg or borrow from anyone else. So generous and so bold a proclamation is rarely found in any religious philosophy.'
The Upanishads contain fundamental statements that kindle wonder at human greatness and glory—such statements are found nowhere else in world literature. They are uttered with such firm conviction that they awaken firm conviction in the listener's heart as well. After these words the sage spoke further: 'There is no other path'—*nānyaḥ panthā vidyate ayanāya*—'there is no other way to liberation, no other path'. Mark the language: there is no other path. Even a glimpse, however small, of this truth—even a fleeting vision of it—will transform a life. Today I am a man prone to wrong. Yet should I catch even a glimpse of this truth through someone, my life, once inclined toward transgression, will be transformed into the life of a good man devoted to human welfare and service.
In the lives of Buddha, Sri Krishna, and Jesus, we have witnessed how at a mere touch from these great souls, a single word, a glance—the sinful became the righteous. And in such moments, that divine essence awakened within them. "Go, and sin no more"—with these words from Jesus, the sinner was transformed into a saint. This became possible because we are, at our core, sinless. If we were truly sinful by nature, no one could ever transform us. No substance can alter its fundamental character. 'Svabhavam na jahati sah'—'Nothing abandons its essential nature.' Yet if that sinfulness is merely external, a veil drawn over our true nature, then transformation is possible. The substance can return to its authentic self. Fire never relinquishes its heat. Water never surrenders its wetness. This is their nature, their essence. Thus Shankaracharya invoked the words 'Svabhavam na jahati yah' (from the Mandukya Karika, commentary on the Mandukya Upanishad by Gaudapada, 4/9), which means: 'No substance abandons its true nature.' It may appear, for a time, as though it does. Touch a piece of iron and it feels cold. Place it in fire and it glows red-hot; remove it and it will grow cold again, as before.
Vedanta has proclaimed a great truth concerning all humankind. This is why the present world hungers to know that truth and to live accordingly. That truth is precisely like the truths of natural science; for this reason, the seers proclaimed a universal principle applicable everywhere. And the entire world pursues natural science—not because it was forced upon them. Truth is always universal, always applicable everywhere. Personal opinion and sectarian belief apply only to limited domains. Here lies a profound truth: "Shrinvantu viswe amritasya putrah"—"Hear me, O children of immortality!" Every child is a child of immortality. Vivekananda said: impart these noble sentiments to children while they are small. Like Queen Madalasa, whose story lives in our spiritual literature. The Queen would lay each of her children in a cradle and rock them while singing: "Nityohasi, shuddohasi, niranjanohasi, sansara mayamala barjitohasi"—meaning "My child, why do you weep? You are pure, eternally free, untouched by the stains of worldly existence." Thus Madalasa educated her children. Swamiji too praised this method greatly—you recognize the child as a person; there are deeper dimensions within it as well, and the deepest truth is this: "Amritasya putrah." It contains both education and religion, for here we understand religion as an expansion of education—which might be called the experience of all planes, from the realm of sensory knowledge to the transcendent realm. The Upanishads themselves have given us the teaching that from childhood, the responsibility and inspiration of becoming human must be impressed upon the human child.
Above and behind intellect stands the Atman—our own infinite self. This is why Shankara says that intellect is 'nedishthang brahma,' meaning 'the nearest to Brahman or the self.' Turn but once to look backward, and Brahman will be revealed before your eyes. Yet this turning back requires ages of penance; it is no simple task—and this is why the Upanishads offer such teachings. From these teachings emerges one profound truth: in every organ, every aspect of the body, no matter how flawed or corrupted it may be—there dwells a measure, a dimension, that remains eternally free from all such defects. That dimension is our own true Self. Otherwise, the wicked would have no hope whatsoever. The Upanishads alone—and nowhere else in the world—have explained this truth about humanity with such clarity and such rational force. This is why the Upanishads speak of the Opanishadic Person—the oupanishadam purusham. The student approaches the teacher and asks: 'Oupanishadam purusham prichami' (Brihadaranyaka Upanishad, 3/9/26)—'Tell me of that Person of whom alone the Upanishads speak.' And Shankara, in writing his commentary on the Upanishads, explains it thus: 'Upanishatsv eva vijnate, na anyatra'—'Only in the Upanishads is this teaching given; nowhere else.'
(To be continued)