When we talk about
self-knowledge, we have to identify who that self is. What do we mean when we
say ‘I’? It is an irony that the word ‘I’ has no definite object. Every other
word elicits a known object or concept in the mind. Say the word “pot” and the
corresponding thought-form of the object pot is there. This is how language
functions. If I hear the word “pot” and see “cot” you would say I have
erroneous knowledge. If I see nothing, you would say I am totally ignorant of
the object “pot.” If I use the word “gagaboogai”—a meaningless, nonsense word—I
use it as just that, not to connote something in the world.
So who is this ‘I’? Who is
this ‘I’ that I experience so intimately—who is myself? It seems to be this I
who is unhappy, who cannot get his life together, who wants to fulfill his
potential, his capacities, who wants a meaningful relationship, who does not
want to suffer, and, now, who wants to know himself. I want to address this I.
I want to see this I. Who is he?
It is my experience that I
am here as a conscious being and everything else is the world. We can reduce the entire creation to two
factors, one the subject and the other the object. Anything I can objectify is
an object and the one who objectifies is the subject. I am not there in an
object because it is something I know. Here object includes not only the
tangible but also the intangible, such as time and space.
While it is an acceptable
fact that I am the subject and as a subject I am not anywhere in the world as
an object of my knowledge, one tends to conclude that I, the subject, am the
physical body. But, then, we tend to overlook the fact that the physical body
is an object. I know my body and all its corners and crevices. But since the
subject and object are always two different entities, since the knower of
anything is distinct form the thing he knows, then I cannot be the physical
body. Similarly, if I try to attribute the identity of ‘I’ to any function or
system of the body, it resolves in the same subject-object, knower-known
relationship.
If I am neither the physical body, its sense organs, the psychological
system, nor any relative role I play, then what is left? I must be the mind.
The thoughts of the mind are objects. Each perception, conclusion, doubt, etc.,
is known as an object. So even though I say, “I am restless, I am agitated,” I
am only speaking of conditions that belong to the mind. The thoughts come and
go but I am still here. Before the thought arrives, while the thought is there,
and after it goes away, I am very much present. So that means I am independent
of thought.
In Sanskrit we call the
total mind with its various functions antaÒkaraÙa. KaraÙa means instrument. So the mind is an instrument capable of giving me
knowledge, imaginations, memories, emotions, problems, and so on. Being an
instrument, it must necessarily be in the hands of something else that is
different from it, like any other instrument. The telescope for example does
not see through itself. Therefore, ‘I’ cannot be the mind. You could say
perhaps that what is different from all this is ignorance. But even ignorance
is an object. What I know I know, and what I do not know also I know. (I know,
for example, that I am ignorant of Russian language.)
Therefore, if you analyze
the situation you would have to say “I exist and I know. I am the a knower of
things. Things I know vary, but I am the one who knows all the time.” But here,
we have to go one more step. That is, if I am the knower of all this, I am the
knower only when I come to know something. In other words, with reference to
things known, I am the knower. If I reduce the identity of ‘I’ to the knower,
what does “knower” mean? As the one who is aware of “I am.” The ‘er’ is added to aware to mean “the one who” and is again a relative name. The ‘I’ I want
to know is the one who is unrelated to anything and that can only be the
content of the knower, the awarer—which is awareness. And this unqualified awareness is the meaning of the
word ‘I. ’ If you place ‘I’ anywhere else but in the subject, the ultimate
subject, you commit a mistake.
In the body, awareness is.
In the thought, awareness is. But awareness is also independent of both. Both
depend on awareness for their existence, but awareness depends on nothing. It
is self-existent, self-evident. Once I see that I am this awareness, I am free
from all possible limitations that I can ever suffer from.
One seeks happiness and
takes happiness to be a state of mind, an experience, and so it comes and goes.
Even at that, for its brief moment of glory it has to be worked for, struggled
for and hoarded for. The ‘I’ one comes to know as oneself through this teaching
is said to be fullness (Ënanda). For the self, being
formless awareness has no limit, no qualities to circumscribe it and cannot be
but fullness, completeness, and happiness. It must not be clear that fullness
is not the quality of an object outside, nor is it inside the physical body.
When I pick up a moment of happiness, I am simply with myself. At that moment
the mind is not wanting. Because that coincides with the gain of a desired end,
we attribute it to the thing. However it is the very absence of any want or
projection that allows one that golden moment of being with oneself.
The self which is said to be
awareness (cit) and fullness (Ënanda), is also said to be that
which always is, which is never negated (sat).
Vedantic Teaching
We showed in the beginning
that people’s urges and pursuits, if reduced to their fundamental forms, would
be expressed in the desire to live and live happily and to be free from
ignorance. When the teaching unfolds the nature of the self, its identity is
revealed as:
sat existence which is never negated.
cit awareness, the basis of all that is known.
Ananda fullness, without limit.
If awareness is the real
meaning of ‘I’ then ‘I’ is not a historical person. All the problems one
suffers from belong to the historical I, the relative I, the falsely identified
I. It is something like an actor, playing the part of a beggar, who takes the
hunger and poverty of the beggar home with him after the show. All problems
belong, in fact, to the object of one’s knowledge, not to the subject who
witnesses them. It is something like watching a congested traffic scene and
saying, “I am congested.” Yet we watch the traffic of our thoughts flow and
take its various conditions upon ourselves. These problems belong to the mind.
The problems belong to the object, not to the subject. That is true
objectivity.
A wise man, a liberated
being knowing himself to be full and complete, is not dependent on a situation
or thing or condition to be full. You
could say he is a master of himself because he knows the truth of himself. In
knowing the truth of himself, he naturally comes to know the truth of the world,
of the objects of knowledge. The problem that he originally took as real and
thus needed to resolve, he now sees as belonging to a false person. He knows,
“I am the one who gives reality to that person.
I have no problem. I am so full and complete that nothing can add to me
or take from me.” That is seeing oneself and one’s life as they are. Only then
can a topical problem be tackled for what it really is.
VedËnta has always been an oral
tradition, passed from teacher to student. It is a means of knowledge (pramana). As an oral tradition, it
requires a teacher who handles the words and unlocks the meaning behind the
words. To say, “You are full, you are limitless,” is one thing, but to make the
student see what that actually means
is another. If that is not done, the words just evolve into another
conditioning. Thus, the subject matter being so unique, being neither an object
nor a concept, yet undeniably there, the communication of it requires very
special handling. Words must be elaborately defined so that what is meant is
what is received. Paradoxes must be juggled, illustrations handled, and
contexts set up so that the implied meanings can be seen. For this a teacher is
necessary, because he knows the truth as well as the methodology for revealing
it.
Finally, he who comes to
this teaching comes to it with a particular attitude. Being a mumukshu, desirous
of knowledge, he has discerned the
nature of the problem to a degree, and so there is receptivity, openness to
what the teacher teaches. What is sought is very simply the truth. This distinguishes the teaching from all other types of
learning and problem solving. We find that in the very learning process there
is love and trust that come from the relief of discovering the means for what
you really want to gain. The teacher is not an authority but a candle that
lights another candle.
Thus, this knowledge gives a
person the end that he was seeking in all his pursuits and in all problems. He
sees the true nature of the “owner” of the problem and the true nature of the
problem itself.
1980