EACH IS GREAT IN HIS OWN PLACE

ACCORDING TO THE Sāmkhya philosophy, nature is composed of three forces called, in Sanskrit, sattva, rajas, and tamas. These, as manifested in the physical world, are what we may call equilibrium, activity, and inertness. Tamas typifies darkness or inactivity; rajas is activity, expressed as attraction or repulsion; and sattva is the equilibrium of the two.

In every man there are these three forces. Sometimes tamas prevails and we become lazy, we cannot move; we are inactive, bound down by certain set ideas or by mere dullness. At other times activity prevails, and at still other times the calm balancing of both. Again, in different men, one of these forces is generally predominant. The characteristic of one man is inactivity, dullness, and laziness; that of another, activity, power, manifestation of energy; and in still another we find sweetness, calmness, and gentleness, which are due to the balancing of both action and inaction. So in all created beings—in animals, plants, and men—we find more or less typical manifestations of these different forces. Karma-yoga has especially to deal with these three factors. By teaching what they are and how to employ them it helps us to do our work better.

Human society is a graded organization. We all know about morality and we all know about duty, but at the same time we find that in different countries the significance of morality varies greatly. What is regarded as moral in one country may in another be considered perfectly immoral. For instance, in one country cousins may marry; in another this is thought to be very immoral; in one, men may marry their sisters-in-law; in another, that is regarded as immoral; in one country people may have only one wife; in another, many wives; and so forth. Similarly, in all other departments of morality we find that the standard varies greatly; yet we feel that there must be a universal standard of morality.

So it is with duty. The idea of duty varies much among different nations. In one country, if a man does not do certain things, people will say he has acted wrongly, while in another country, if he does those very things, people will say he has acted wrongly; and yet we know that there must be some universal idea of duty. In the same way, one class of society thinks that certain things are among its duties, while another class thinks quite the opposite and would be horrified if it had to do those things. Two ways are left open to us: the way of the ignorant, who think that there is only one way to truth and that all the rest are wrong; and the way of the wise, who admit that, according to our mental constitution or the different circumstances in which we dwell, duty and morality may vary. The important thing is to know that there are gradations of duty and of morality—that the duty of one state of life, in one set of circumstances, will not and cannot be that of another.

For example, all great teachers have taught: “Resist not evil”—that non-resistance is the highest moral ideal. But we also know that if even a small number of us tried to put that maxim fully into practice, the whole social fabric would fall to pieces, the wicked would take possession of our properties and our lives, and would do whatever they liked with us. Even if for only one day such non-resistance were practised it would lead to disaster. Yet intuitively, in our heart of hearts, we feel the truth of the teaching, “Resist not evil.” This seems to us to be the highest ideal; yet to teach only this doctrine would be equivalent to condemning a vast portion of mankind. Not only so; it would make many feel that they were always doing wrong, cause in them scruples of conscience in all their actions; it would weaken them, and that constant self-disapproval would breed more vice than any other weakness would. To the man who has begun to hate himself, the gate to degeneration has already opened; and the same is true of a nation. Our first duty is not to hate ourselves; to advance we must have faith in ourselves first and then in God. He who has no faith in himself can never have faith in God. Therefore the only alternative remaining to us is to recognize that duty and morality vary under different circumstances. The man who resists evil is not necessarily doing what is always and in itself wrong, but under the circumstances in which he is placed it may even become his duty to resist evil.

In reading the Bhagavad Gitā, many of you in Western countries may have felt astonished at the second chapter, wherein, when Arjuna refuses to fight or offer resistance, because his adversaries are his friends and relatives, and makes the plea that non-resistance is the highest ideal of love, Śri Krishna calls him a hypocrite and a coward. There is a great lesson for us all to learn—that in all matters the two extremes are alike. The extreme positive and the extreme negative are always similar. When the vibrations of light are too low we do not see them, nor do we see them when they are too intense. So with sound: when it is very low in pitch we do not hear it, when very high we do not hear it either. Of like nature is the difference between resistance and non-resistance. One man does not resist because he is weak and lazy, and he will not because he cannot; the other man knows that he can strike an irresistible blow if he likes; yet he not only does not strike, but blesses his enemies. The one who from weakness resists not commits a sin and hence cannot receive any benefit from the non-resistance; while the other would commit a sin by offering resistance. Buddha gave up his throne and renounced his position; that was true renunciation. But there cannot be any question of renunciation in the case of a beggar who has nothing to renounce. So we must always be careful about what we really mean when we speak of non-resistance and ideal love. We must first take care to understand whether we have the power of resistance or not. Then, having the power, if we renounce it and do not resist, we are doing a grand act of love; but if we cannot resist, and yet, at the same time, try to deceive ourselves into the belief that we are actuated by motives of the highest love, we are doing the exact opposite. Arjuna became a coward at the sight of the mighty array against him; his “love” made him forget his duty towards his country and king. That is why Śri Krishna told him that he was a hypocrite: “Thou talkest like a wise man, but thy actions betray thee to be a coward; therefore stand up and fight!”

Such is the central idea of karma-yoga. The karma-yogi is the man who understands that the highest ideal is non-resistance, and who also knows that this non-resistance is the highest manifestation of power; but he knows, too, that what is called the resisting of evil is a step on the way towards the manifestation of this highest power, namely, non-resistance. Before reaching this highest ideal man’s duty is to resist evil. Let him work, let him fight, let him strike straight from the shoulder. Then only, when he has gained the power to resist, will non-resistance be a virtue.

I once met a man in my country whom I had known before as a very stupid, dull person, who knew nothing and had not the desire to know anything and was living the life of a brute. He asked me what he should do to know God, how he was to get free. “Can you tell a lie?” I asked him. “No,” he replied. “Then you must learn to do so. It is better to tell a lie than to be a brute or a log of wood. You are inactive; you have certainly not reached the highest state, which is beyond all action, calm and serene. You are too dull even to do something wicked.” That was an extreme case, of course, and I was joking with him; but what I meant was that a man must be active in order to pass through activity to perfect calmness. Inactivity should be avoided by all means. Activity always means resistance. Resist all evils, mental and physical; and when you have succeeded in resisting, then calmness will come.

It is very easy to say, “Hate nobody, resist not evil,” but we know what that kind of advice generally means in practice. When the eyes of society are turned towards us we may make a show of non-resistance, but in our hearts there is canker all the time. We feel the utter want of the calm of non-resistance; we feel that it would be better for us to resist. Further, if you desire wealth, and know at the same time that the whole world regards him who aims at wealth as a very wicked man, you will perhaps not dare to plunge into the struggle for wealth; yet your mind will be running day and night after money. This is hypocrisy and will serve no purpose. Plunge into the world, and then, after a time, when you have suffered and enjoyed all that is in it, will renunciation come, then will calmness come. So fulfil your desire for power and everything else; and after you have fulfilled the desire, will come the time when you shall know that they are all very little things. But until you have fulfilled this desire, until you have passed through that activity, it is impossible for you to come to the state of calmness, serenity, and self-surrender. These ideas of serenity and renunciation have been preached for thousands of years; everybody has heard of them from childhood; and yet we see very few in the world who have really realized them. I do not know if I have seen twenty persons in my life who are really calm and non-resisting, and I have travelled over half the world.

Every man should take up his own ideal and endeavour to accomplish it; that is a surer way of progressing than taking up other men’s ideals, which he can never hope to accomplish. For instance, we take a child and at once give him the task of walking twenty miles; either the little one dies or one in a thousand crawls the twenty miles to reach the end exhausted and half dead. That is what we generally try to do with the world. Not all the men and women in any society are of the same mind, capacity, or power to do things; they must have different ideals, and we have no right to sneer at any ideal. Let everyone do the best he can to realize his own ideal. Nor is it right that I should be judged by your standard or you by mine. The apple tree should not be judged by the standard of the oak, nor the oak by that of the apple. To judge the apple tree you must take the apple standard; and to judge the oak, its own standard.

Unity in variety is the plan of creation. However men and women may vary individually, there is unity in the background. The different individual characters and classes of men and women are natural variations in creation. Hence we ought not to judge them by the same standard or put the same ideal before them. Such a course only creates an unnatural struggle, and the result is that a man begins to hate himself and is hindered from becoming religious and good. Our duty is to encourage everyone in his struggle to live up to his own highest ideal, and strive at the same time to make that ideal as near as possible to the truth.

In the Hindu system of morality we find that this fact has been recognized from very ancient times; and in the Hindu scriptures and books on ethics different rules are laid down for the different classes of men—the student, the householder, the vānaprasthin, and the sannyāsin.

The life of every individual, according to the Hindu scriptures, has its peculiar duties apart from those which are common to humanity. The Hindu begins life as a student; then he marries and becomes a householder; in old age he retires; and lastly he gives up the world and becomes a sannyāsin. To each of these stages of life certain duties are attached. One of these stages is not intrinsically superior to another; the life of the married man is quite as great as that of the celibate who has devoted himself to religious work. The scavenger in the street is quite as great and glorious as the king on his throne. Take the king off his throne, make him do the scavenger’s work, and see how he fares. Put the scavenger on the throne and see how he rules. It is useless to say that the man who lives outside the world is a greater man than he who lives in the world; it is much more difficult to live in the world and worship God than to give it up and live a free and easy life. The four stages of life in India have in later times been reduced to two: the life of the householder and that of the monk. The householder marries and carries on his duties as a citizen; the duty of the other is to devote his energies wholly to religion, to preach and to worship God. I shall present to you a few ideas from the Mahānirvāna Tantra which treat of this subject, and you will see that it is a very difficult task for a man to be a householder and perform all his duties perfectly:

The householder should be devoted to God; knowledge of God should be the goal of his life. Yet he must work constantly, perform all his duties; he must give up the fruits of his actions to God.

It is the most difficult thing in this world to work and not care for the result, to help a man and never think that he ought to be grateful, to do good work and at the same time never look back to see whether it brings you name or fame or nothing at all. Even the most arrant coward becomes brave when the world praises him. A fool can do heroic deeds when he receives the approbation of society; but to constantly do good without caring for the approbation of his fellow men is indeed the highest sacrifice a man can perform.

The great duty of the householder is to earn a living, but he must take care that he does not do it by telling lies or by cheating or by robbing others; and he must remember that his life is for the service of God and the poor.

Knowing that his mother and father are the visible representatives of God, the householder always and by all possible means must please them. If his mother is pleased, and his father, then God is pleased with that man. That child is really a good child who never speaks harsh words to his parents. Before one’s parents one must not utter jokes, must not show restlessness, must not show anger or temper. Before his mother or father a child must bow down low; he must stand up in their presence and must not take a seat until they order him to sit.

If the householder enjoys food and drink and clothes without first seeing that his mother and father, his children, his wife, and the poor are supplied with them, he is committing a sin. The mother and father are the causes of this body; so a man must undergo a thousand troubles in order to do good to them.

Even so is his duty to his wife. No man should scold his wife, and he must always maintain her as if she were his own mother. And even when he is in the greatest difficulties and troubles, he must not renounce his wife if she is chaste and devoted to him.

He who cherishes another woman besides his wife—if he touches her even with his mind, that man goes to a dark hell.

Before women a man must not use improper language, and must never brag of his powers. He must not say, “I have done this, and I have done that.”

The householder must always please his wife with money, clothes, love, faith, and words like nectar, and must never do anything to disturb her. That man who has succeeded in getting the love of a chaste wife has succeeded in his religion and has all the virtues.

The following are a man’s duties towards his children:

A son should be lovingly reared up to his fourth year; he should be educated till he is sixteen. When he is twenty years of age he should be employed in some work; he should then be treated affectionately by his father as his equal. Exactly in the same manner the daughter should be brought up, and she should be educated with the greatest care. When she marries, the father ought to give her jewels and wealth.

Then there is the duty of a man towards his brothers and sisters, and towards the children of his brothers and sisters, if they are poor, and towards his other relatives, his friends, and his servants. Further, there are his duties towards the people of the same village, and the poor, and anyone that comes to him for help. If the householder, having sufficient means, does not care to help his relatives and the poor, know him to be only a brute; he is not a human being.

Excessive attachment to food, clothes, and the tending of the body and the dressing of the hair should be avoided. The householder must be pure in heart and clean in body, always active and always ready for work.

To his enemies the householder must be a hero. When threatened by them he must resist. That is the duty of the householder. He must not sit down in a corner and weep, and talk nonsense about non-resistance. If he does not show himself a hero to his enemies, he has not done his duty. And to his friends and relatives he must be as gentle as a lamb.

It is the duty of the householder not to pay reverence to the wicked, because if he reverences the wicked people of the world, he patronizes wickedness. And it will be a great mistake if he disregards those who are worthy of respect, the good people. He must not be gushing in his friendship; he must not go out of his way to make friends everywhere; he must watch the actions of the men he wants to make friends with, and their dealings with other men, reflect upon them, and then make friends.

These three things he must not talk of: He must not talk in public of his own fame, or preach his own name or his own powers; he must not talk of his wealth; and he must not talk of anything that has been told him privately.

A man must not say that he is poor or that he is wealthy; he must not brag of his wealth. Let him keep his own counsel; this is his religious duty. This is not mere worldly wisdom; if a man does not do so, he may be held to be immoral.

The householder is the basis, the prop, of the whole of society; he is the principal earner. The poor, the weak, and the women and children, who do not work—all live upon the householder. So he has certain duties towards them, and these duties should be such as to make him feel strong while performing them, and not make him think that he is doing things beneath his ideal. Therefore if he has done something unworthy or has made some mistake, he must not say so in public; and if he is engaged in some enterprise and knows he is sure to fail in it, he must not speak of it. Such self-exposure is not only uncalled for but also unnerves the man and makes him unfit for the performance of his legitimate duties in life. At the same time, he must struggle hard to acquire two things: first, knowledge, and second, wealth. This is his duty, and if he does not do his duty he is nobody. A householder who does not struggle to get wealth is immoral. If he is lazy and content to lead an idle life, he is immoral, because upon him depend hundreds. If he gets riches, hundreds of others will be thereby supported.

If there were not in this city hundreds who had striven to become rich, and who had acquired wealth, where would all this civilization and these almshouses and mansions be? Going after wealth in such a case is not bad, because that wealth is for distribution. The householder is the centre of life and society. It is a kind of worship for him to acquire and spend wealth nobly; for the householder who struggles to become rich by good means and for good purposes is doing practically the same thing for the attainment of salvation as the anchorite does in his cell when he prays; for in them we see only different aspects of the same virtue of self-surrender and self-sacrifice prompted by the feeling of devotion to God and to all that is His.

The householder must struggle to acquire a good name; he must not gamble; he must not move in the company of the wicked; he must not tell lies and must not be the cause of trouble to others.

Often people enter into things they have not the means to accomplish, with the result that they cheat others to attain their own ends. Then there is in all things the time factor to be taken into consideration; what at one time might be a failure would perhaps at another time be a very great success.

The calm householder must speak the truth and speak gently, using words which people like, which will do good to others; and he should not boast about himself or criticize other men.

The householder, by digging wells, by planting trees along the roadsides, by establishing rest-houses for men and animals, by making roads and building bridges, goes towards the same goal that the greatest yogi attains.

This is one part of the doctrine of karma-yoga—activity, the duty of the householder. There is a passage later on where the Mahānirvāna Tantra says: “If the householder dies in battle, fighting for his country or his religion, he comes to the same goal that the yogi attains through meditation,” showing thereby that what is duty for one is not duty for another. At the same time, it does not say that the former duty is lowering, and the latter, elevating; each duty has its own place, and according to the circumstances in which we are placed must we perform our duties.

One idea comes out of all this: the condemnation of all weakness. This is a particular idea in all our teachings which I like, whether in philosophy or in religion or in work. If you read the Vedas you will find one word always repeated: “fearlessness.” Fear nothing. Fear is a sign of weakness. A man must go about his duties without taking notice of the sneers and the ridicule of the world.

If a man retires from the world to worship God, he must not think that those who live in the world and work for the good of the world are not worshipping God. Neither must those who live in the world, working for the good of wife and children, think that those who give up the world are low vagabonds. Each is great in his own place. This thought I will illustrate by a story.

A certain king used to inquire of all the sannyāsins that came to his country, “Which is the greater man—he who gives up the world and becomes a sannyāsin or he who lives in the world and performs his duties as a householder?” Many wise monks sought to solve the problem. Some asserted that the sannyāsin was the greater, upon which the king demanded that they prove their assertion. When they could not do so, he ordered them to marry and become householders. Then others came and said, “The householder who performs his duties is the greater man.” Of them, too, the king demanded proofs. When they could not give them, he made them also settle down as householders.

At last there came a young sannyāsin, and the king asked him the same question. He said, “Each, O King, is great in his own place.” “Prove this to me,” demanded the king. “I will prove it to you,” said the sannyāsin, “but you must come and live with me for a few days, that I may be able to prove to you what I say.” The king consented. He followed the sannyāsin out of his own territory and they passed through many other countries until they came to a great kingdom. In the capital of that kingdom a ceremony was going on. The king and the sannyāsin heard the noise of drums and music, and heard also the criers; the people were assembled in the streets in gala dress, and a proclamation was being made. The king and the sannyāsin stood there to see what was going on. The crier was proclaiming loudly that the princess, daughter of the king of that country, was about to choose a husband from among those assembled before her.

It was an old custom in India for princesses to choose husbands in this way. Each princess had certain ideas of the sort of man she wanted for a husband. Some wanted the handsomest man, others wanted only the most learned, others again the richest, and so on. All the princes of the neighbourhood would put on their best attire and present themselves before her. Sometimes they too had their own criers to enumerate their virtues—the reasons why they hoped the princess would choose them. The princess would be taken round on a throne, in the most splendid array, and would look at them and hear about them. If she was not pleased with what she saw and heard, she would say to her bearers, “Move on,” and would take no more notice of the rejected suitor. If, however, the princess was pleased with any one of them, she would throw a garland of flowers over him and he became her husband.

The princess of the country to which our king and the sannyāsin had come was having one of these interesting ceremonies. She was the most beautiful princess in the world, and her husband would be ruler of the kingdom after her father’s death. The idea of this princess was to marry the handsomest man, but she could not find one to please her. Several such meetings had taken place, but the princess had been unable to select a husband. This meeting was the most splendid of all; more people than ever before attended it. The princess came in on a throne, and the bearers carried her from place to place. She did not seem to care for anyone, and everyone was disappointed, thinking that this meeting also was going to be a failure.

Just then a young man, a sannyāsin, radiant as if the sun had come down to the earth, came and stood in one corner of the assembly, watching what was going on. The throne with the princess came near him, and as soon as she saw the beautiful sannyāsin, she stopped and threw the garland over him. The young sannyāsin seized the garland and threw it off, exclaiming: “What nonsense is this? I am a sannyāsin. What is marriage to me?” The king of that country thought that perhaps this man was poor and so dared not marry the princess, and said to him, “With my daughter goes half my kingdom now, and the whole kingdom after my death!” and put the garland on the sannyāsin again. The young man threw it off once more, saying, “Nonsense! I do not want to marry,” and walked quickly away from the assembly.

Now, the princess had fallen so much in love with this young man that she said, “I must marry this man or I shall die”; and she went after him to bring him back. Then our other sannyāsin, who had brought the king there, said to him, “King, let us follow this pair.” So they went after them, but at a good distance behind. The young sannyāsin who had refused to marry the princess walked out into the country for several miles. When he came to a forest and entered it, the princess followed him, and the other two followed also. Now this young sannyāsin was well acquainted with that forest and knew all the intricate paths in it. He suddenly entered one of these and disappeared, and the princess could not discover him. After vainly trying for a long time to find him, she sat down under a tree and began to weep, for she did not know the way out. Then our king and the other sannyāsin came up to her and said: “Do not weep. We shall show you the way out of this forest, but it is too dark for us to find it now. Here is a big tree; let us rest under it, and in the morning we shall show you the road.”

Now, a little bird and his wife and their three young ones lived in that tree, in a nest. This little bird looked down and saw the people under the tree and said to his wife: “My dear, what shall we do? Here are some guests in the house, and it is winter, and we have no fire.” So he flew away and got a bit of burning firewood in his beak and dropped it before the guests, to which they added fuel and made a blazing fire. But the little bird was not satisfied. He said again to his wife: “My dear, what shall we do? There is nothing to give these people to eat, and they are hungry. We are householders; it is our duty to feed anyone who comes to the house. I must do what I can; I will give them my body.” So he plunged into the fire and perished. The guests saw him falling and tried to save him, but he was too quick for them.

The little bird’s wife saw what her husband did, and she said: “Here are three persons and there is only one little bird for them to eat. It is not enough; it is my duty as a wife not to let my husband’s efforts go in vain. Let them have my body also.” Then she fell into the fire and was burnt to death.

Then the three baby birds, when they saw what was done and that there was still not enough food for the three guests, said: “Our parents have done what they could and still it is not enough. It is our duty to carry on the work of our parents. Let our bodies go.” And they too dashed down into the fire.

Amazed at what they saw, the three people could not of course eat these birds. They passed the night without food, and in the morning the king and the sannyāsin showed the princess the way, and she went back to her father.

Then the sannyāsin said to the king: “King, you have seen that each is great in his own place. If you want to live in the world, live like those birds, ready at any moment to sacrifice yourself for others. If you want to renounce the world, be like that young man, to whom the most beautiful woman and a kingdom were as nothing. If you want to be a householder, hold your life as a sacrifice for the welfare of others; and if you choose the life of renunciation, do not even look at beauty and money and power. Each is great in his own place, but the duty of the one is not the duty of the other.”