by Naresh Jotwani and K. M. Chandrashekharan

Naresh Jotwani:

(1) In the age of the ancient Rishis, spiritual knowledge was imparted by Rishis to small groups of disciples. Few means of transportation and communication were available, and therefore the education must have proceeded without distraction.

(2) Today, educational institutes, run by highly business- oriented managements, impart education to millions, all of whom have the primary objective of learning how to earn. At the same time, means of transportation, communication and entertainment are all-persavive, resulting in all kinds of distractions during student life.

If truth and the search for truth are essential in any healthy society, what do the above two observations imply?

K. M. Chandrashekharan:

Distractions have always been present. I think there have always been only a small fraction of the population interested in spirituality; perhaps even the proportion may always have been the same. But the number and type of distractions presently available were absent in the old days.

Of course, over the ages, the means of communication and transportation have totally changed. This has had the desirable effect of making esoteric teachings more easily accessible to everyone. People travel great distances to listen to a guru of their choice or find one on the internet; however, serious practitioners are limited in number, as always.

What makes a person turn to spirituality? The primary reason is probably karma, which includes what has been done in our present incarnation and that which we have carried over from past lives. Someone could say, for example, that re-incarnation is just bunkum, but that does not alter the truth of the matter. The truth is what it is, regardless of what someone may choose to think or say about it.

Also, no one is really in a position to define what precisely is a ‘healthy’ society. Any formulation that anyone may offer on this question has limited value, because every mind is limited and cannot make such generalizations.

This formulation is also related to the traditional idea of Brahman as ‘that which is’, regardless of time and space. So the question regarding a ‘healthy society’ can be answered only if everyone recognises and lives in the Aham Brahmasmi state. But how does that state ever come about?

There is the Upanishad story of the two birds on the tree – one being extremely busy in the marketplace of the world and the mind, and the other being just a quiet observer of the frenetic activity all around.

In our everyday lives, we tend to identify ourselves totally with the ‘busy’ bird, making the body and the mind the centrepiece of our existence and being only occasionally conscious of the other bird. But when faced with increasing age and ill-health, and perhaps even the prospect of approaching death, we become increasingly conscious of the false identification that has ruled our lives. Willy-nilly, we then turn the other way.

[Editor: Useful link: Why now?]

Can this inward turning happen earlier? Yes, our sages would say, if there is the burning desire to discover the true nature of our being. As Ramakrishna Paramhamsa used to say, this question should be like the quest of a drowning person for a breath of air. This extraordinary desire could be the outcome of karma of actions in our past lives, or, as in the case of Gautam Buddha, it could come about through keen observations of everyday life.

What usually happens with most of us, is that this query, when we are young, does not have the quality of a great fire – it is more like the fire from a matchstick, easily struck and quickly put out. We sense the truth of the mahavakya, but hesitate to act on it, for we are distantly aware of the disruption and the consequences thereof to our usual lives.

But there is a way to use the matchstick to create a great fire and this is what is suggested by the rishis – sravana (listening) , manana (reflection) and nidhidhyasana (focus on inner experiences). Many of us do the first part – listening to the various talks on spiritual matters, but we tend to mostly ignore the second and third parts of this pedagogical scheme.

Perhaps the easy way to reflect on what we have heard, manana, is to become increasingly aware of the ‘second’ bird the transcendental self, while not ignoring the antics of the ‘first’ bird, the transactional self. For example, when faced with a person who insults you, you might usually respond with your everyday self. But if you are at that moment aware also of the transcendental self, you may realise that this conversation is one between two illusory selves, and the nature of your response will change accordingly.

At all moments, 24×7, keeping in mind the three T’s – the transactional self, the transcendental self and the transformational response – is by no means an easy task! But that is what helps with nidhidhyasana, the third and final part of the Vedant pedagogy.

Then, no more questions arise! For who questions, and who answers?