The ritual ordinances prescribed in the Vedas—those whose fruits are not manifest in any determinate time—bear imperceptible fruit; yet the natural actions impelled by desire and the like yield visible results. Thus there is no contradiction if both the performance of the sacrifice called Sangrahaṇī and the act of service prove to be means of obtaining a village. The efficacy of scripture is limited merely to this: it prescribes the means for the attainment of an objective. It should be noted that Sangrahaṇī is a Vedic sacrifice, reckoned particularly among the rites following the Agnihotra. It is a Śrauta sacrifice—one conducted according to Vedic ordinance. Its purpose is to reap the fruit of food, wealth, village, or the preservation of household dharma. In other words, through the Sangrahaṇī sacrifice, the householder seeks material prosperity and the continuance of domestic life. Just as the Sangrahaṇī sacrifice and service both can yield fruit, so likewise natural action and sacrifice—both may serve as means to the fulfillment of desire.
In this situation the question arises—if one is excessively desirous of fruits and thus both serves and also performs the Sangrahaṇī sacrifice—either simultaneously or one after another—where then is the conflict? Therefore, to say that all actions producing visible fruit are prohibited would be wrong; for then all the rites and ceremonies founded upon the injunctions of Vedic scripture would be nullified. The reason is this: for a person who has not acquired wealth, the performance of wealth-dependent sacrifices becomes impossible—that is, without means, even adherence to scriptural ordinance becomes impossible.
Moreover, there is no distinction between action that yields visible fruit and action that yields invisible fruit, if both are impelled by desire and serve to accomplish the desired objective. This may be understood as follows—suppose someone desires heaven. His natural desire-born activity is present. Then the scriptural injunction directs him to a particular means (sacrifice), so that he may attain his desired fruit. But here a similarity persists between both—both are born of attachment, both are world-centered. Then by what logic can it be said that the rites prescribed by scripture aid the attainment of self-knowledge, while actions arising from natural desire oppose it?
In reality, the pull of desire draws the mind in the same way—in both cases.
And if it be said that the sacrifices prescribed by scripture are not truly the means to the desired fruit—then, as was stated before, the birth and death of all living beings would become devoid of causality; and the doctrine propounded by the sage Jaimini—that sacrifice is the cause of the fulfillment of aims (Karma-Mīmāṁsā, or Pūrva-Mīmāṁsā)—would crumble. Since both types of action (natural and scripture-prescribed) are considered mutually opposed because they produce the same fruit—the argument was offered that one (namely, natural action) must be set aside—yet this argument does not hold at all; it is refuted by its own inner contradiction.
Jaimini declared: "Dharma is to be known as that which bears the mark of Vedic injunction." That is: dharma is the action prescribed by the utterance of Vedic scripture (chodanā = injunction). Therefore, according to him, dharma or the means to the fulfillment of aims is sacrifice, gift, oblation, and other Vedic rites. Jaimini believes that sacrifice itself bears fruit, yet not immediately; rather, it accumulates as apuṇya (invisible merit). Later, that invisible merit itself bestows the experiential fruit—such as the attainment of heaven, prosperity, and the like.
In Mīmāṁsā, the need for a separate divine being to grant the fruit of sacrifice is not presumed. Jaimini holds that sacrifice is fruitful by its own power (through the process of the apṛṣṭa). Knowledge is not primary; action is—for according to his view, unlike Vedānta, self-knowledge is not the sole path to liberation. Rather, sacrifice is the correct means to attain the desired fruit—such as heaven, happiness, and prosperity. The doctrine propounded by sage Jaimini is: "Sacrifice is the cause of the fulfillment of aims." The reason is this: sacrifice is the duty prescribed in Vedic utterance, sacrifice accumulates invisible merit, and that invisible merit subsequently yields fruit—such as the attainment of heaven.
The argument is advanced that the injunctions concerning sacrifice aid the attainment of knowledge, because they exhaust desire through the enjoyment of its objects—"When all desires clinging to the heart fall away, then man becomes immortal and attains Brahman here" (Kaṭha Upaniṣad, 2.3.14).
But this is wrong; for desire is never exhausted through enjoyment. Rather, it is exhausted only through discrimination (viveka)—that discrimination which arises from contemplating the defects of desire.
What happens when the mind is touched by desire? If the mind is grazed even slightly by desire, it becomes bound by that desire’s pull. Just as a thief carries away goods in secret, so does desire “steal away” the mind—the mind is no longer free.
What do the scriptures say about this? The Manusmṛiti (2.94): “Desire is never ended through enjoyment.” That is, the more one indulges, the more desire grows. The Yoga Sūtra Bhāṣya (2.15): “Desire and sense-power—they increase together with enjoyment.” That is, in trying to satisfy desire, only new desires awaken all the more. What does this mean? If the Vedic rites and prescriptions are not taken as means to gain desired fruits, then gradually a person will abandon desire. Then he will take refuge in self-knowledge. Self-knowledge naturally pacifies all suffering.
But if the Vedic prescriptions are taken as means to gain enjoyment? Then a person will think: “If I perform the sacrifice, I shall attain heaven, cattle, and so forth.” In this way he becomes attracted toward enjoyment. This enjoyment will bind the mind further, will not let it go free. Then self-knowledge will no longer appeal to him. For self-knowledge pacifies all desire. If rituals and actions are thought to be means to gain the fruit of desire, then desire will only increase and the mind will be trapped. If they are not thought to be means to gain fruit, then desire will diminish and self-knowledge will come—and as a result, suffering will end.
Suppose someone has a strong desire to eat sweets. The mind is touched by desire. He thinks: “Today I shall eat a rasgullā.” Here the mind is caught in desire. What happens with enjoyment? He ate the rasgullā. But after eating, his craving for sweets did not diminish. Rather, he thinks: “Tomorrow I shall eat again.” Desire, instead of being exhausted, only grew further. This is what the scriptures say. If someone tells him: “Give it all up, live in peace,” he will not want to listen, because his mind is now attached to the pleasure of enjoyment. On the other hand, if he thinks: “Eating rasgullā will not bring me peace. There is no end to this craving. It will only create new ailments and increase the exhaustion of indulgence. True peace is within”—then gradually his desire will diminish. And the mind will turn toward self-knowledge or inner peace. As a result, liberation from suffering will come.
By reading the scriptures one learns about the joy of the self, but one does not gain direct experience of it. Therefore it can never even reduce the longing born of desire for enjoyment—let alone exhaust it. Thus the only means to destroy desire is discrimination (viveka), but the prescriptions work the opposite way—they incite toward enjoyment.
Again, an argument was put forward—the Veda everywhere denies some kind of error or false distinction. For example—”Let him who desires heaven perform sacrifice”—this injunction or prescriptive statement actually refutes the notion that the body itself is the self. But this too is wrong. For the real purpose of that prescription is not this. That statement was not uttered with the intention of making us understand that the self is different from the body. If it were said—or even if we can infer it indirectly—then it would be like this: seeing the footprint of an elephant and inferring the elephant’s existence, when all the while the elephant is visible right before us!
In reality, the statement that the body, senses, and so forth are not the self has been directly expressed in the words of the Upaniṣads: “It is not gross, not subtle…” (Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad, 3.8.8).
Therefore, we must infer indirectly—the very weight of desire that tightens into a knot as one runs after the various means prescribed by the Vedic injunctions concerning sacrifice bears responsibility that ultimately falls upon the Veda itself.
To put it plainly: desire is not exhausted through gratification; it is exhausted through discriminative understanding. The injunctions of sacrifice draw a person toward enjoyment, and thus they multiply desire. The self is not the body—this is stated directly in the Upanishads as a separate truth; it is not the work of sacrifice-prescriptions. Rather, the injunctions relating to sacrifice only tighten the knot of desire further.
Since desire, as has been said before, is never exhausted through enjoyment; since the prescriptions concerning sacrifice are fulfilled by their stated results; and since there is no rational ground for combining these with something else (namely, knowledge of the self)—therefore, the second view too is untenable. If we assume that the injunctions concerning sacrifice and the injunctions concerning knowledge share one and the same aim, then all sacrifices would be united with knowledge; but this is impossible.
Those who reverse this relationship (that is, who make knowledge subordinate to sacrifice) and claim that knowledge and sacrifice have the same aim must certainly demonstrate how knowledge becomes subordinate to sacrifice. For instance, from the scriptural statement “rice is scattered”—we understand that rice becomes connected with sacrifice. There, it is evident that scattering rice has no meaning unless it is used in sacrifice; therefore, contextually or through consideration of the framework (when doubt arises about the meaning of a word, sentence, or injunction, one way to determine its meaning is to examine the framework or context, which reveals the true purpose of any statement), we understand that when rice is scattered, it becomes connected with the invisible power of that sacrifice and thus becomes efficacious.
Knowledge of the self is never spoken of within the context of ritual action; and the self is never necessarily connected with sacrifice. Therefore, to say that knowledge of the self is connected with sacrifice is erroneous. Thus, since knowledge of the self does not produce any other direct result, the scripture that speaks of attaining results through it is not merely a laudatory statement; rather, it has its own fruit. And therefore, the person qualified for knowledge of the self is different from the person qualified for ritual action.
An objection might be raised: Since the scriptural statement—”he does not return here again” (Chandogya Upanishad, 8.15.1)—is expressed in the present tense, and since it is not connected with any desire, the result that will come about must be made known by changing the words of the text; and this is possible only when the text contains the expectation of a result. But when there is a visible result, such expectation does not arise. By “he,” we mean—the one who has directly perceived the nature of the self, who has attained knowledge of Brahman. By “here,” we mean this cycle of existence, the realm of rebirth, the coming and going of birth and death. “Does not return” means—the wise self is no longer bound to rebirth, does not come to assume a body, driven by karma.
To engage in activities that produce results for enjoyment in another body—this itself is the visible result of knowledge-related prescriptions. The fruit of karma (the consequence of all that we do—good or evil, conscious or unconscious actions) does not end immediately. Often, its full fruition cannot be experienced in the present life. Then that accumulated karmic fruit (impression or accumulated karma) manifests in the next birth or “in another body” for enjoyment. That is—the karmic fruit of one life becomes the cause of birth in another body. This is much like seed and plant—if we sow seed today, often there is no immediate fruit. Later, when environment, time, and circumstance align, the seed germinates, becomes a tree, and bears fruit. Similarly, the seed of karma also remains—when an appropriate body is obtained, the fruit is revealed.