The Age of the Sages

by Mark W Muesse

  “Throughout the Upanishads, we are told that Brahman is one—a singular, undifferentiated unity. There are no parts or divisions to Brahman. In various passages, Brahman is credited with creating and sustaining the world and all life. It is sometimes called the ‘thread’ that strings together all creatures. Brahman is said to permeate all things but cannot be perceived. It embraces good and evil yet transcends both. It is beyond morality altogether. In short, Brahman encompasses the whole of reality yet surpasses it. There is nothing beyond the scope of Brahman.”

  At this level, it would be misleading to identify Brahman with god, if by god we mean a supreme being. Brahman is not a being, certainly not a personal being; hence, it is referred to with impersonal pronouns such as it, rather than as he or she. Brahman would be more aptly described as the Absolute or Being-itself. These words obviously do not tell us much or give us concrete images with which to conceive of Brahman, but that is precisely the point.

  This excerpt from the Isha Upanishad captures the sense of the magnificence and elusiveness of Brahman:

  [Brahman], without moving, is swifter than the mind; the senses cannot reach it: It is ever beyond them. Standing still, it overtakes those who run. To the ocean of its being, the spirit of life leads the streams of action. It moves, and it moves not. It is far, and it is near. It is within all, and it is outside all. [Brahman] filled all with its radiance. It is incorporeal and invulnerable, pure and untouched by evil. It is . . . immanent and transcendent. It placed all things in the path of Eternity.[6]

  Through the use of paradox and negation, this passage asserts that Brahman transcends all human categories and images. In claiming that it moves and it moves not, for instance, the author demonstrates how Brahman exhausts and depletes our categories for understanding it. How can it both move and not move? What kind of sense does that make? Well, it makes no sense according to our conventional forms of logic. The very point of such a phrase is to confound our thinking. Hindu theologians eventually said of Brahman that it was nirguna, meaning “without qualities.” To try to describe it in anything other than a paradoxical or negative way makes it into something that can be comprehended, which by definition, it cannot be.

  Gradually, the Upanishadic sages began to realize that Brahman was ultimately unknowable, or at least not knowable in the conventional sense of that word. Brahman, they believed, eluded conceptualization and perception, and so these faculties were ineffective in discovering the absolute reality. What the sages sought was the deepest kind of knowing, a grasp of reality that we can best call “mystical” or “ineffable.” An excerpt from the Kena Upanishad, one of the shortest of the principal Upanishads, describes the mystical features of this knowledge:

  What cannot be spoken with words, but that whereby words are spoken: Know that alone to be Brahman, the spirit, and not what people here adore.

  What cannot be thought with the mind, but that whereby the mind can think: Know that alone to be Brahman, the spirit, and not what people here adore.

  What cannot be seen with the eye, but that whereby the eye can see: Know that alone to be Brahman, the spirit, and not what people here adore.

  What cannot be heard with the ear, but that whereby the ear can hear: Know that alone to be Brahman, the spirit, and not what people here adore.

  What cannot be indrawn with the breath, but that whereby breath is indrawn: Know that alone to be Brahman, the spirit, and not what people here adore.[7]

  Sight does not reach there; neither does thinking or speech.

  We don’t know, we can’t perceive how one would point it out.

  It is far different from what’s known.

  And it is farther than the unknown.[8]

  The Identity of Atman and Brahman

  As the sages of the Upanishads continued their search to discover the human essence and the ultimate reality, a new insight began to emerge into awareness, an epiphany that came to full expression in the later Upanishads. As they increasingly appreciated the incomprehensible and unutterable nature of both atman and Brahman, these two concepts converged. The sages concluded that what is called the atman, or the true self, is identical with ultimate reality. They are the selfsame reality.

  The Upanishads express this insight in a variety of ways. One text asserts, “Who[ever] denies [Brahman], denies himself. Who[ever] affirms [Brahman], affirms himself.”[9] The Chandogya Upanishad puts it this way: “This is the Spirit that is in my heart, smaller than a grain of rice, or a grain of barley, or a grain of mustard-seed, or a grain of canary-seed, or the kernel of a grain of canary-seed. This is the Spirit that is in my heart, greater than the earth, greater than the sky, greater than heaven itself, greater than all these worlds.”[10] Another celebrated passage tells how a father named Uddalaka teaches this revelation to his son Svetaketu, a young man who has just completed his formal schooling but who apparently has missed the most important lesson of all. Uddalaka creates an object lesson by asking Svetaketu to take a fruit from the great banyan tree, break it open, and dissect one of the seeds. Svetaketu does as he is told. When he tells his father he finds nothing within, Uddalaka makes his point: “My son from the very essence in the seed which you cannot see comes in truth this vast banyan tree. Believe me, my son, an invisible and subtle essence is the Spirit of the whole universe. That is Reality. That is Ātman. THOU ART THAT.”[11] These passages are not merely claiming that the true human essence is a part of god or carries a divine spark or is created in the image of god. Rather, the identity of atman and Brahman means they are consubstantial, two names for the same reality. The true self is ultimate reality.

  “The Upanishads do not merely claim that the true human essence is a part of god or carries a divine spark or is created in the image of god. Rather, the identity of atman and Brahman means they are consubstantial, two names for the same reality. The true self is ultimate reality.”

  It is hard to imagine a more exalted view of humanity. This assessment of the self seems almost diametrically opposite to that of mainstream Western monotheism, in which god is viewed as “wholly other” than humanity, to use a phrase popular among early-twentieth-century Protestant theologians. Or to cite the Christian theologian Søren Kierkegaard, there is an “infinite qualitative difference” between god and humanity.

  Despite the Upanishads’ lofty view, the self nonetheless finds itself in an endless cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. Like many religious traditions West and East, the classical Hindu view understands that the embodied self is not at rest, is not in its true home. It continues in this restless state, seeking ever-new manifestations until it finds, as Augustine would say, its rest in god.[12] So how do we reconcile these two seemingly contradictory claims? On the one hand, our true selves are identical with ultimate reality, absolutely the same; on the other, we suffer the rounds of incessant rebirth. How can this be?

  According to the Upanishads,samsara is a consequence of our ignorance, our misperception and misunderstanding of reality. The Vedantic sages speak of maya, a veil over reality that accounts for our ignorance. Maya causes us to perceive plurality when in reality there is unity. We think of the world as comprising many different things rather than the one reality that it is. Maya deceives us into thinking of ourselves as separate entities, as individuals, separate from one another, separate from ultimate reality. It causes us to forget who we truly are and prompts us to identify with our lower selves. But our lower selves, because they are transitory and inconstant, are ultimately not real. Until we fully recognize the truth about Brahman and atman, we continue to suffer on the wheel of samsara, because we continue to generate the karma that binds us to the phenomenal world. Believing ourselves to be individuals, we tend to think and act in self-centered ways, creating the desires and deeds that perpetuate the illusion of our separateness from Brahman. And it is this sense of separateness that engenders fear and hatred of others, the greed for material goods and power, and ultimately the fear of death. The Maitri Upanishad says, “Whe
never the soul has thoughts of ‘I’ and ‘mine,’ it binds itself with its lower self, as a bird with the net of a snare.”[13] Paradoxically, the very desire to “be special” that we spoke of earlier is the source of our misery.

  Describing the Indescribable

  Ironically, we have been discussing a reality that by definition cannot be discussed. Whether we call it Brahman or atman, the referent of our terms is defined as something beyond mind, concept, and language. Yet without concept and language, this “discussion” of ultimate reality in Hinduism would have been a sheaf of empty pages. Though we must try to speak of these subjects, the most lucid possible essay on Brahman and atman will never suffice to engender the kind of knowledge required for liberation, and until one attains such liberating knowledge, one has not realized ultimate reality.

  But if not through language, how is it that one comes to such an understanding? How does one penetrate the maya that deceives our minds and causes our unhappiness? This will be the subject of our next chapter.

  * * *

  Chandogya Upanishad in Mascaró, trans. The Upanishads, 123. ↵

  Maitri Upanishad in Mascaró, trans. The Upanishads, 99.↵

  Kaushitaki Upanishad in Mascaró, trans. The Upanishads, 107.↵

  Katha Upanishad, Mascaró, trans. The Upanishads, 59.↵

  Science and Theology News, May 2006, 19.↵

  Isha Upanishad in Mascaró, trans. The Upanishads, 49. I have replaced Mascaró's misleading use of the masculine pronoun with the neuter "it."↵

  Kena Upanishad in Mascaró, trans. The Upanishads, 51. The masculine pronoun has been replaced by "it."↵

  Kena Upanishad, 1.3, in Olivelle, trans. Upaniśads, 227.↵

  Taittiriya Upanishad in Mascaró, trans. The Upanishads, 110.↵

  Chandogya Upanishad in Mascaró, trans. The Upanishads, 114.↵

  Chandogya Upanishad in Mascaró, trans. The Upanishads, 117.↵

  See Augustine, Confessions, trans. R. S. Pine-Coffin (London: Penguin, 1961), 21.↵

  Maitri Upanishad in Mascaró, trans. The Upanishads, 101.↵

  9

  The One and the Many

  According to the Upanishads, it is not enough for the mind to grasp the concepts of atman and Brahman. Merely knowing the identity of self and ultimate reality in a theoretical or conceptual way does little good unless it is apprehended by the core of one’s being. Only then does it become the liberating knowledge that leads to moksha. Without this deep, existential understanding, one continues to live a life of self-centeredness and desire, generating the karma that binds us to samsara. In this chapter, we will explore what the sages of the Axial Age thought it took to gain this extraordinary kind of understanding and what alternatives there were for those who found this approach too difficult or simply unappealing.

  The Knowing That Leads to Moksha

  Going Within

  Attaining the complete awareness of Brahman and atman involves, first of all, a reorientation to the discovery of truth. Whereas many religions encourage their followers to look for truth in a book or creed or rituals, the Vedantic perspective insists that the truth is not “out there,” but within, within one’s deepest self. To discover one’s self is to discover the highest reality. “He who has found and knows his Soul,” says the Chandogya Upanishad, “has found all the worlds.”[1]

  The discovery of the divine within is one of the aims of the introspective disciplines of Hinduism, particularly meditation. Meditation was probably practiced in India long before the Axial Age. Some of the artifacts discovered in the ruins of the Indus Valley Civilization depict individuals in what appears to be a traditional meditative pose. The Vedas, as well, suggest that the Indo-Aryans may have used a form of meditation. By the Axial Age, meditation had come to eclipse ritual as the chief discipline for shramanas seeking moksha.

  The various Upanishads recommended different methods for engaging in meditation, but there were characteristics common to all of them. Of prime importance was restraining the body and mind to achieve a state of inner stillness. Ordinarily, this objective involved sitting in an upright posture in a quiet place, free from distractions. Then the mind was focused on a particular object, such as the breath, an external or internal image, or a mantra, a special word intoned silently to oneself. This focus helped the mind concentrate and avoid thoughts and sensations that distracted from the aim of the practice. Over time, serious and regular meditation was said to bring about an array of experiences, including visions, ecstasy, the intensification of awareness, and transcendence of thoughts and imaginings. One of the Upanishads also promised “health . . . lightness of body, a pleasant scent, and sweet voice; and an absence of greedy desires.”[2] By the steady engagement of meditative techniques, one gained access to the higher self, to the atman.

  Disciplining the Lower Self

  The practice of meditation was complemented by the shramanas’ efforts to dissociate from the lower self that is habitually mistaken for the genuine self. Some of the techniques were intended to close off avenues that led seekers astray, keeping them trapped in the net of maya. Some ascetics took vows of silence to eliminate words, since the knowledge of Brahman was beyond language. Some tried to overcome their attachments to the material world by poverty, fasting, and celibacy. Others took more extreme measures that involved mortifying the body, literally putting the flesh to death. Mortification techniques comprised a wide range of observances, including standing immobile for long periods of time, often years; piercing the flesh with sharp objects; lying on beds of nails or thorns; and self-flagellation.

  The point of all these practices, from the mild to the harsh, was to train the ascetic to give up all attachments that encouraged a sense of individuality or separateness from the rest of reality. To realize the higher self and its identity with Brahman, one had to relinquish all selfish desires. The Supreme Teaching says, “When all desires that cling to the heart disappear, then a mortal becomes immortal, and even in this life attains Liberation.”[3] Since desire creates karma, and karma binds one to samsara, giving up desire is freedom from samsara.

  Moksha

  For the Upanishadic sages, to see the true self meant to see there was nothing to desire and nothing to fear. If the atman were immortal and consubstantial with ultimate reality itself, what reason would there be to want or fear anything? Because one lacked for nothing and feared nothing, taking this path to its end brought about a deep sense of serenity and indescribable joy beyond all earthly pleasures. “The Spirit of man,” says The Supreme Teaching, “has crossed the lands of good and evil, and has passed beyond the sorrows of the heart.”[4] There would be no rebirth, because there would be no clinging to life, no dread of dying, just a state of equanimity toward the world. This was moksha. It was a goal that could be realized in one’s lifetime, and those who did were called jivanmuktas—living, liberated souls.

  Some texts refer to the experience of moksha as “merging with” or “returning to” Brahman, but those images may be somewhat misleading. The true self does not need to unite with Brahman because it already is Brahman; it merely fails to recognize that. Moksha, then, is less an achievement than the simple apprehension of truth. And here we encounter another paradox of this spiritual pathway. Although the jivanmukta must strive to reach liberation, it is not the effort that accomplishes unity with Brahman. This remarkable insight was beautifully expressed by a mystic from another tradition similar in many ways to Vedanta. Bayazid al-Bistami (804–874 CE), a medieval Sufi shaykh, or master, told his followers, “This thing we tell of can never be found by seeking, yet only seekers find it.” So it was with the path of Vedanta.

  The Philosophical Problems of Vedanta

  Although the identity of Brahman and atman is a lofty conception, it is not without problems as theology. For instance, how does one account for maya? If Brahman-atman is the only reality there is, why does the illusion of maya exist, and how is it created? An even more vexing question is this: If there ar
e no individuals, then there are no selves in the plural. But if there are no selves, only atman-Brahman, in what sense is reincarnation real? Is samsara itself an illusion? In an intriguing passage, one Upanishad comes very close to making this claim: “Samsara, the transmigration of life, takes place in one’s own mind. Let one therefore keep the mind pure, for what a man thinks, that he becomes: this is the mystery of Eternity.”[5] The Upanishads blended tantalizing and provocative ideas with just enough vagueness and uncertainty to inspire successive generations to continue to work through and reinterpret their essential features. No less than three subschools of Hindu philosophy were based on Vedanta, and they each developed different perspectives on the issues we have been discussing. Two of Hinduism’s greatest philosophers, Shankara and Ramanuja, both postaxial sages, were founders of Vedantic schools.

  But the Upanishads’ significance goes well beyond providing grist for the philosopher’s mill; their importance to the overall Hindu traditions was more a matter of establishing the key elements that provided Hinduism with many of its characteristic features: the belief in the unity and incomprehensible nature of the ultimate reality; the conceptions of samsara, karma, atman, and moksha; and the sense that the world and our selves are not really the way they appear.

  Worship of the Gods and Goddesses

  Despite the profound importance of the Vedantic perspective in the development of the Hindu tradition, though, not everyone found Vedanta congenial to his or her religious sensibilities. As Hinduism evolved through the Axial Age, it continued to add new perspectives and practices to accommodate individual beliefs and tastes. Ultimately, Hinduism became a family of religions without a creed or core of beliefs that every Hindu was expected to accept. Unlike some other religions in which doctrinal purity is essential and dissidents are excommunicated, Hinduism has embraced differences rather than excluded them. Early on, Hinduism recognized that people were at various stages in their spiritual lives and the practices and beliefs for one person might not be suitable for another. In its most quoted passage, the Rig Veda declares, “Truth is One, but the sages refer to it in different ways.”[6] Rather than impose a single set of doctrines and rituals, Hinduism has given wide latitude for persons to appropriate its vast resources in the way most meaningful and enriching for the individual.