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A Constructive Survey of Upanishadic Philosophy c8: Chapter V. The Problem of Ultimate Reality in the Upanishads

A Constructive Survey of Upanishadic Philosophy c8

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English

Contents

Chapter V. The Problem of Ultimate Reality in the Upanishads

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1. In the midst of all the metaphysical conflicts that we have witnessed in the last chapter, there arises one supreme question—what, if any, is the core of Upanishadic teaching? Shall our minds be only tossed on the waves of philosophical conflicts, or can we have a ballast which will give the necessary poise to our philosophical speculations? Shall our minds be only sunk in the mire of the metaphysical conflicts of Pluralism, Qualified Monism, and Monism as we find them in the Upanishads? Is there not, at the basis of these various attempts at the solution of the central metaphysical problem, one fundamental conception, which will enable us to string together the variegated philosophical speculations of the Upanishads? This raises a very important problem—the problem of Ultimate Reality as understood by the Upanishadic seers. As we shall notice in this chapter, the Upanishadic philosophers solved the problem by taking recourse to the conception of Ātman, a word which originally signified the breathing principle in man, but which came in the end to denote the essence of the Universe. Readers of Greek philosophy need hardly be reminded of the close parallel that exists between this Upanishadic conception of Ātman and the Platonic conception of αὐτὸ καθ’ αὑτό. The Ātman, as we shall see in the course of this chapter, is the ultimate category of existence to the Upanishadic seers. How they arrived at this conception, and what use they made of it in the solution of the fundamental philosophical problem will form the theme of the present discourse.

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2. If we look at the history of philosophic thought, we shall see that there are various ways in which the problem of Ultimate Reality has been approached. The three chief types of approach are the Cosmological, the Theological, and the Psychological. Dr. Caird has said, that, by the very constitution of man's mind, there have been only three ways of thinking open to man: "He can look outward upon the world around him; he can look inward upon the Self within him; and he can look upward to the God above him, to the Being who unites the outward and inward worlds, and who manifests himself in both."¹ According to him, the consciousness of objects is prior in time to self-consciousness, and the consciousness of both subject and object is prior to the consciousness of God. As he also elsewhere expresses it: "Man looks outward before he looks inward, and he looks inward before he looks upward."² The question arises: Is this account of the development of the consciousness of Reality ultimately valid? Is it necessary that man must look at the outside world before he looks within, and must he always look within before he can look up to God? The solutions which the history of philosophy gives to this problem are not exactly as Caird would have them. The Cartesian solution does not start by saying that the outside world is real. For Descartes, the Self is the primary reality, self-consciousness the primary fact of existence, and introspection the start of the real philosophical process. From the Self, says Descartes, we arrive at the conception of God, who is the cause of the Self, and whom we must therefore regard as more perfect than the Self. Finally, it is from God that we arrive at the world which we started by negating, by regarding as the creation of a deceptive evil spirit. On the other hand, to the God-intoxicated philosopher, Spinoza, neither the Self nor the world is the primary reality. To him, God is the be-all and the end-all of all things, the alpha and the omega of existence. From God philosophy starts, and in God philosophy ends. The manner of approach of the Upanishadic philosophers to the problem of ultimate reality was neither the Cartesian nor the Spinozistic one. The Upanishadic philosophers regarded the Self as the ultimate existence and subordinated the World and God to the Self. The Self, to them, is more real than either the World or God. It is only ultimately that they identify the Self with God, and thus bridge over the gulf that exists between the theological and psychological approaches to Reality. They start, no doubt, by looking out into the world, but they find that the solution of the ultimate problem cannot come from the world without : it is necessary for us, they say, to go back to the psychololgical category. Then they try another experiment : they go by the theological approach to the problem of reality, but they find that also to be wanting. Finally, they try the psychological approach, and arrive at the solution of the problem of ultimate existence. We thus see that the problem of ultimate Reality to the Upanishadic philosophers is a cosmo-theo-psychological problem : finding both the cosmological and theological approaches deficient, they take recourse to the psychological approach and arrive at the conception of the Self, which they call the Ātman. We shall proceed to show at length in this chapter how the Upanishadic philosophers regarded the cosmological and theological approaches as only ancillary, and the psychological approach as the only true approach to the ultimate solution.

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¹ Evolution of Religion, I. 77.

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² Evolution of Religion, II, 2.

I—The Cosmological Approach

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3. We shall first discuss the cosmological approach, and see how it was found deficient. The naive mind of the natural man is likely to consider the forces of nature as ultimate realities; but a deeper speculation and a greater insight into events show that the phenomenal forces cannot be taken to be ultimate realities. This fact is illustrated by a story in the Chhāndogya Upanishad, where we are told how one student, Upakosala, lived for instruction with his preceptor, Satyakāma Jābāla, and served him assiduously for twelve years; how even though the ordinary period of tutelage was over, his teacher would not leave him; how the wife of the teacher asked her husband why it was that he would not leave this one disciple while he had left the others; how, when Upakosala had once gone to the forest, the three sacrificial Fires, whom he had assiduously served in his master's house, rose in bodily form before him; how the first, namely Gāhapatya, told him that the ultimate reality was to be found in the sun; how the second, namely Anvāhāryapachana, told him that it was to be found in the moon; how the last, namely Āhavanīya, told him that it was to be found in the lightning; how, in fact, Upakosala seemed to be temporarily satisfied with the instruction imparted to him by the three Fires; how, when he returned home, his teacher asked him why it was that his face shone as if with spiritual illumination; how the student told him that the spiritual illumination, if at all, was due to the instruction imparted to him by the three Fires; how the teacher replied that the teaching imparted to him by the Fires was deficient and inferior to the teaching which he himself knew; how he ultimately imparted that teaching to his disciple, which consisted in saying that the ultimate reality was to be found neither in the sun, nor in the moon, nor in the lightning, but in the image of the person reflected in the human eye. "It is this image," said Satyakāma Jābāla, "which is the Ātman. It is this image which is fearless, and the ultimate reality. It is this image which brings all blessings. It is this image which is the most resplendent thing in all the worlds. He who knows it to be so will himself be resplendent in the worlds" (S. 1). This passage evidently indicates a regress from the cosmological to the physiological category. Not satisfied with objective existences being regarded as ultimate reality, Satyakāma declares that ultimate reality is to be found in a physiological category, namely, the eye. This, in itself, as we shall see later on, is only an inferior truth, though evidently it has the merit of taking us from the outside world to the physiological sphere. In a similar spirit, in another passage of the Chhāndogya Upanishad, we are told how the light "which shines in the high heavens in transcendent space is the same light which is within man, and of this we have tactual proof, namely, when we feel the warmth in the body, and audible proof when after closing our ears we hear what may be regarded as the thunder of heaven, or the bellowing of an ox, or the sound of a burning fire. He who meditates on ultimate reality as thus dwelling in the human body becomes himself conspicuous and celebrated" (S. 2. a). This same idea is expressed in the Maitri Upanishad when the author of that Upanishad speaks of the ultimate reality in man as being verily the sound which a man hears after shutting his ears (S. 2. b). We thus see that in these passages we have a regress from the cosmological to the physiological categories, namely, the eye, or bodily warmth, or the sound that man hears after closing his ears. The cosmological approach has been tried and found wanting. It seems necessary for the Upanishadic philosophers to halt at the caravansary of the physiological categories¹ before they can proceed to the psychological destination.

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¹ There is the same distinction between physiology and psychology as Matthew Arnold would say between the poetries of Byron and Wordsworth.

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4. In a passage which occurs both in the Kaushitaki and the Bṛihadāraṇyaka Upanishads, we are told how both the cosmological and physiological categories must be regarded as deficient, and how they must, therefore, necessarily pave the way for the psychological category. There is here a discussion as to how the proud Bālāki once went to Ajātaśatru, the king of Kāśī, and how he tried to impose upon him by saying that he would impart superior wisdom to him; how Ajātaśatru welcomed this great man who told him that he would impart superior knowledge; how the proud Bālāki began by saying that true wisdom consisted in regarding the sun as ultimate reality; how he went on to say that the ultimate reality was to be found, one after another, in such objects as the moon, the lightning, the thunder, the wind, the sky, the fire, the water, the mirror, the image, the echo, the sound, the body, the right eye and the left eye; how ultimately Bālāki’s mouth was gagged when he could proceed no further in his peculiar way of philosophising; how Ajātaśatru took Bālāki by the hand, went to a man who had fallen in deep sleep, and called upon him saying ‘ Thou great one, clad in white raiment, O king Soma’; how the man, who had fallen in deep sleep, still remained lying; how he rose at once when Ajātaśatru pushed him with his stick; and how, finally, Ajātaśatru told Bālāki that in the person who had gone to sleep, the sleeping consciousness may be regarded as ultimate reality (S. 3). In this passage we have evidently the deficiency of both the cosmological and physiological categories brought out in favour of the psychological category, namely, the deep-sleep consciousness. We shall see later how even this is an inferior answer to the problem that has been raised; and, therefore, we shall not stop at this place to discuss the final psychological answer of the Upanishadic philosophers on this head.

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5. The cosmological approach has been tried and found wanting in favour of either of physiological or psychological categories. But it does not by any means follow that the cosmological speculations of the Upanishadic philosophers did not lead them independently to the positing of Absolute Existence. If we look deeper, we shall find in them the same kind of cosmological proof for the existence of the Absolute, as we find, for example, in the history of Greek Philosophy. A passage of the Taittirīya Upanishad declares that behind the cosmos there must be an existence which must be regarded as responsible for its origin, sustenance, and absorption: “that from which all these beings come into existence, that by which they live, that into which they are finally absorbed, know that to be the eternal verity, the Absolute" (S. 4. a). And, again, a cryptic formula of the Chhāndogya Upanishad declares that a man must compose himself in the belief that the world has come out of, lives in, and is finally absorbed in the Absolute. The philosopher of this Upanishad expresses this whole conception by means of a single word *tajjalān*, which means that it is from the Absolute that the world has sprung, it is into it that it is dissolved, and it is by means of it that it lives (S. 4. b).

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This "cosmological" proof for the existence of an eternal verity behind the cosmos by reference to the origin, existence, and destruction of the world is known to all students of philosophy, and we find the same thing in the Upanishads also. It is true that the same kind of objections that were advanced by Kant against the traditional cosmological argument may likewise be advanced against this way of argumentation in the Upanishads ; but the fact cannot be gainsaid that the argument is there. When once an eternal verity behind the cosmos has been postulated, the Upanishadic philosophers have no hesitation in making it the fount and source of all power whatsoever. They consider it to be the source of Infinite Power which is only partially exhibited in the various phenomena of Nature. Thus the forces of Nature that we are aware of are ultimately only partial manifestations of the power that is in the Absolute. There is a very interesting parable in the Kenopanishad which tells us how this is so. Parables and myths in philosophical works are to be understood as merely allegorical representations of philosophical truths, and it is thus that the story in that Upanishad of Brahman, the eternal Verity, showing its prowess against the arrogant godlings of Nature, must be understood. The story runs, that there was, once upon a time, a great fight between the gods and the demons, and the gods were successful.

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The gods thought that the success was due entirely to their own power, and forgetting that this power was only a manifestation of the power of Brahman in them, they became proud. The Brahman, knowing this, suddenly made its appearance before them, and the gods were greatly wonderstruck, not knowing what it was. Then they sent forth one of them, namely, the god of fire, as an emissary to Brahman, and charged him with the task of learning the real nature of that Great Being. The god of fire ran in pride to Brahman. Brahman asked him who he was, and the god of fire proudly answered that he was Jātavedas, in whom lay the power of burning the whole of the earth if he pleased. Then Brahman threw before him a small blade of grass, and asked him to burn it if he could. The god of fire was unable to burn it with all his might. He became disappointed and returned to the gods. Then the gods sent another godling of nature, the god of wind, and charged him with the same mission. The god of wind ran in pride to Brahman, and, being asked who he was, said that he was Mātariśvan, in whom lay the power of blowing away anything from off the surface of the earth. Brahman again threw a blade of grass before him. Not with all his might was the god of wind able to move it to an infinitesimal distance. Then the god of wind returned in shame, not being able to know the nature of that Great Being. Then the gods sent Indra and charged him with the same mission.

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Indra was a more modest god than either the god of fire or the god of wind. He ran to Brahman to know its nature, and Brahman disappeared from his sight, for the simple reason, it seems, that Indra was more humble than either of the gods previously sent.

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The cosmological argument for the existence of God : God is all-powerful.

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Then suddenly sprang before Indra one very beautiful celestial damsel, from whom Indra inquired what that Great Being was, which had made its sudden disappearance from before him. Then that damsel told him that it was Brahman, and said further, that it was due to the power of the Brahman that the gods had gained victory over the demons, and not to their own personal power. God Indra was shrewd enough and understood that the power of the gods was only a manifestation of the power of the Absolute. It was on account of this humility, which made it possible for him to go to Brahman and touch him nearest, that he became the foremost of the gods. " It is verily the power of Brahman which flashes forth in the lightning and vanishes again. It is the power of Brahman which manifests itself as the motion of the soul in us and bethinks itself" (S. 5. a). This parable tells us that all physical as well as mental power is to be regarded merely as a manifestation of the power of Brahman. We thus see how the philosopher of the Kenopanishad arrives cosmologically at the conception of an unmanifested Power which lies at the back of the so-called manifest powers of nature and mind, and which must therefore be understood as the primary reality.

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6. It is not merely that all the power in the world is ultimately due to Brahman : the very resplendence and illumination that we meet with in the world are also to be regarded as manifestations of the great unmanifest luminosity of the Absolute. " Does the sun shine by his own power?" asks the Kathopanishad; " Do the moon and the stars shine by their own native light? Does the lightning flash forth in its native resplendence?—Not to speak of the paltry earthly fire, which obviously owes its resplendence to something else?'' Shall we say that all these so-called resplendent things are resplendent in their own native light, or must we assert that they derive their power of illumination from a primal eternal verity which lies at the back of them all, and whose illumination makes possible the illumination of the so-called luminous objects of nature? ``Before Him the Sun does not shine, before Him the moon and the stars do not shine, before Him the lightning does not shine; far less this earthly fire. It is only when the Absolute shines first, that all these objects shine afterwards. It is by His luminosity that they become luminous'' (S. 5. b).

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7. The Brahman, therefore, which must be posited as the fount and source of all existence, and which must be regarded as the origin of all power and resplendence, must also be taken, say the Upanishadic thinkers, as the subtle essence underlying all the gross manifestations that we meet with in the world. Another parable, this time from the Chhāndogya Upanishad, tells us how in the conversation that took place between a teacher and his pupil, the teacher, in order to convince his pupil of the subtlety of the underlying essence, directed him to bring to him a small fruit of the Nyagrodha tree; how, when the disciple had brought one, the teacher directed him to break it open; how, when it was broken open, he asked him to see what was inside the fruit of the tree; how, when the disciple looked into it, he saw that there were seeds infinite in number, and infinitesimal in size; how when the teacher again directed him to break open one of those seeds, the disciple did so, and, being asked to see further what was there, said ``Nothing,

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God is the subtle essence underlying phenomenal existence.

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Sir ”, upon which the teacher told him, “ My dear boy, it is of the very subtle essence that you do not perceive there—it is of this very essence that the great Nyagrodha tree is made. Believe it, my dear boy ” (S. 6). This parable tells us how the underlying essence of things is to be regarded as subtle and unmanifest, and how the gross and manifested objects are to be understood as merely phenomenal appearances. There is, however, a further point in the parable which we must duly notice. When the teacher told his disciple that behind the Nyagrodha tree there lay a subtle essence which was unmanifest, he also told him that it was to be identified with the Self, and further, that the disciple must identify himself with it (S. 6). We see here the limitation of the mere cosmological conception of an underlying essence of things, and it seems as if cosmology must invoke the aid of psychological categories once more before the essence underlying the cosmos could be identified with the essence that lies at the back of the human mind. Thus the whole Universe becomes one, only when we suppose that there is the same subtle essence underlying both the world of nature and the world of mind.

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8. The cosmological argument, as it happens in the history of thought, seems also to take the help of the physico-theological proof and the two together seem to offer a formidable front to the thinking mind. Likewise does it happen in the case of Upanishadic philosophy. The argument from design and the argument from order are merely the personal and impersonal aspects of the physico-theological argument. Those who believe in God believe in design. Those who believe in an impersonal Absolute believ only in order. Very often, as in the case of the Upanishadic thinkers, the personal and impersonal aspects are fused together, and we are told how the Self as personal existence is yet "an impersonal bund which holds the river of existence from flowing by. Neither night nor day, neither age nor death, neither grief nor good nor evil, are able to transgress this eternal bund of existence" (S. 7. a). "It is at the command of this imperishable existence," says the Bṛihadāraṇyaka Upanishad, "that the sun and the moon stand bound in their places. It is due to the command of this Absolute that the heaven and the earth stand each in its own place. It is due to the command of this imperishable Brahman that the very moments, the hours, the days, the nights, the months, the seasons, and the years have their appointed function in the scheme of things. It is at the command of this Brahman that some rivers flow to the east from the snow-clad mountains, while others flow to the west" (S. 7. b). We shall not try to disentangle here the personal and impersonal aspects of the physico-theological proof, the aspect of design and the aspect of order. Suffice it to say that the physico-theological proof is present in the Upanishads, pointing out that the Absolute must be regarded as the ballast of the cosmos, preventing it from rocking to and fro at the slightest gust of chance.

II—The Theological Approach

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9. We shall now see how the Upanishadic philosophers went by the theological approach to the conception of reality. They began by inquiring how many gods must be supposed to exist in the universe. They could not rest content until they arrived at the idea of one God, who was the ruler of the whole universe. Ultimately, they identified this God with the inner Self in man. In this way did theological categories become subservient to the psychological category of the Self. We shall see how this happens. In the controversy which took place between Vidagdha Śākalya and the sage Yājñavalkya as reported in the Bṛhadāraṇyaka, we are told that the former asked Yājñavalkya how many gods must be regarded as existing in the world, to which the first answer of Yājñavalkya was "three and three hundred," Yājñavalkya closely following upon this by saying that there were "three and three thousand." Not satisfied with the answers, Śākalya asked again how many gods there were. Yājñavalkya replied there were thirty-three gods. Śākalya was again dissatisfied and asked again. Yājñavalkya replied there were six gods. In answer to further inquiries from Śākalya, Yājñavalkya went on to say that there were three gods, and then two gods, and even one-and-a-half (!) god, and finally that there was only one God without a second. Yājñavalkya was merely testing the insight of Śākalya as to whether he would rest satisfied with the different answers that he first gave, and when Śākalya did not seem satisfied, he finally said that there was only one God. By mutual consent, Śākalya and Yājñavalkya came to the conclusion that He alone is the God of the Universe, "whose body the earth is, whose sight is fire, whose mind is light, and who is the final resort of all human souls" (S. 8. a).

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10. The Śvetāśvatara Upanishad develops this conception of a personal God. In a theistic vein it declares how the one God, whom it calls Rudra, beside whom there is no second, and who rules the worlds with his powers, stands behind all persons, creates all the worlds, and, in

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The theistic conception of God and His identification with the Self.

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the end of time, rolls them up again. He has his eyes everywhere, and his face everywhere; his hands and feet are also omnipresent. He creates the men of earth and endows them with hands. He creates the fowl of air and endows them with wings. He is the only God who has created the heaven and the earth (S. 8. b). In a later passage of the same Upanishad, the author inquires further into the nature and attributes of this God. He calls him the only Lord of the universe, the creator, the preserver, and the destroyer of all. He ends by declaring that it is only to those who regard this God as identical with the Self within,—to those belongs eternal happiness, to none else: "Some so-called wise men, being under a great philosophic delusion, regard Nature, and others Time, as the source of being. They forget that it is the greatness of the Lord, which causes the wheel of Brahman to turn round. It is by Him that all this has been covered. He is the only knower, he is death to the god of death, the possessor of all qualities and wisdom. It is at His command that creation unfolds itself, namely, what people call earth, water, fire, air and ether. He is the permanent as well as the accidental cause of unions. He is beyond the past, the present, and the future, and is truly regarded as without parts. That universal God, who is immanent in all these beings, should be meditated upon as dwelling in our minds also—that God who is the Lord of all gods, who is the Deity of all deities, who is the supreme Master of all masters, and who is the adorable Ruler of the universe. There is no cause of Him, nor any effect. There is none equal to Him, nor any superior. The great power inherent in Him manifests itself alike in the form of knowledge and action. There is no master of Him in this world, nor any ruler, nor is there anything which we might regard as His sign. He is the only Cause, the Lord of all those who possess sense-organs. There is no generator of Him, nor any protector. He is the self-subsistent mover of the unmoving manifold, who causes the one seed to sprout in infinite ways. It is only to those who regard this Universal Being as immanent in their own Selves, to them belongs eternal happiness, to none else" (S. 8. c). In this theistic description of the Śvetāśvatara Upanishad we are told how God is the only cause of the world, and how ultimately he is to be regarded as identical with the Self within. Here again the purely theological category becomes subservient to the psychological category of the Self; and it seems as if the ultimate category of existence to the Upanishadic philosophers is God-Ātman.

The immanence and transcendence of God

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The Upanishads are not without reference to the immanence and transcendence of God. There are some passages which declare merely his immanence, others merely his transcendence; others again bring together the two aspects of the immanence and transcendence of God. Thus, for example, we are told in the Śvetāśvatara Upanishad that "God is to be regarded as being present in fire and in water, in all the universe, in the herbs and plants." In the Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upanishad we are told how God-Ātman is immanent in us from top to toe, as a razor is entirely closed up within the razor-box, or again, as a bird is pent up within its nest. A story from the Chhāndogya Upanishad also brings into relief this aspect of the immanence of God. We are told there how the disciple was asked by his teacher to place a small piece of salt in water at night, and come to him in the morning; how the disciple did as he was commanded; how, when the teacher asked him what had become of the salt, the disciple could not find it out because it had already melted in the water; how when the teacher asked him to taste the water from the surface, then from the middle, and then from the bottom, the disciple replied that it was salt in all places; then how the teacher told him that the salt, even though it seemed to have disappeared in the water, was thoroughly present in every part of it. Thus, verily, says the clever teacher, is that subtle Ātman immanent in the universe, whom we may not be able to see, but whom we must regard as existing as the supreme object of faith (S. 9. a). All these passages speak of the thorough immanence of God. A passage from the Kaṭhopanishad, which reminds us of a similar one from the Republic of Plato, which speaks of the Sun of the world of Ideas, tells how the universal Self is to be regarded as beyond all the happiness and the misery of the world—“like the celestial Sun who is the eye of all the universe and is untouched by the defects of our vision” (S. 9. b). Here the transcendence of God is clearly brought into relief. In other passages, we are also told how God is to be regarded as having “filled the whole world and yet remained beyond its confines.” “Like the fire and the wind which enter the world and assume various forms, the universal Ātman is immanent in every part of the universe and protrudes beyond its confines.” “Verily motionless like a lone tree does this God stand in the heaven and yet by Him is this whole world filled.” This is how the Śvetāśvatara Upanishad declares the transcendence and immanence of God (S. 9. c). We see from all these passages how God-Ātman is to be regarded as having filled every nook and cranny of the Universe, and yet having overflowed it to a limitless extent. In any case, the God in the universe is to be regarded as identical with the Self within us : it is only when this identification takes place that we arrive, according to the Upanishadic philosophers, at the ultimate conception of Reality.

III—The Psychological Approach

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12. Let us now proceed to see how the Upanishadic philosophers reached the idea of ultimate reality by the psychological method. In a conversation which took place between King Janaka and Yājñavalkya as reported in the Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upanishad, we find that Yājñavalkya asked Janaka as to what psychological doctrines he had heard about the nature of ultimate reality. Janaka was a very inquisitive and philosophically inclined king, and he had therefore known all the opinions on that head which had been imparted to him by different sages. He proceeded to tell Yājñavalkya the opinions of these various philosophers. "Jitvan Śailini told me," said king Janaka, "that speech was the ultimate reality." Yājñavalkya answered that this was merely a partial truth. Then king Janaka told him that Udaṅka Śaulbāyana had said to him that breath was the ultimate reality. This also, said Yājñavalkya, was only a partial truth. Varku Vārṣṇi had told him, said Janaka, that the eye was the final reality. This again, said Yājñavalkya, was only a partial truth. Then the king went on to say how Gardabhi-vipīta Bhāradvāja had told him that the ear was the final reality; how Satyakāma Jābāla had said that the mind was the final reality; how Vidagdha Śakalya had told him that the heart was the final reality;—all of which opinions, said Yājñavalkya, were only partial truths (S. 10. a). In this enumeration of the opinions of different Upanishadic philosophers as regards the various physiological or psychological categories as constituting the ultimate reality, and in Yājñavalkya’s rejection of each one of them in turn, there lies implicitly the conception that ultimate reality can be found only in the Self, and not in the accidental adjuncts with which the Self may come to be clothed. This same idea has been developed in the Kena Upanishad where we are told that “the Self must be regarded as the ear of ear, as the mind of mind, as the speech of speech, as the breath of breath, as the eye of eye. Those who know the Self thus are released from this world and become immortal.” “That which speech is unable to give out, but that which itself gives out speech, know that to be the ultimate reality, not that which people worship in vain. That which the mind is unable to think, but which thinks the mind, know that to be the ultimate reality; that which the eye is unable to see, but that which enables us to see the eye, know that to be the ultimate reality; that which the ear does not hear, but that which enables us to perceive the ear, that which breath is not able to breathe, but that by which breath itself is breathed, know that to be the final reality” (S. 10. b.). In this passage we are told that the Self must be regarded as the innermost existence, while all the physiological and psychological elements are only external vestures, which clothe reality but which do not constitute it.

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13. We now come to a very famous parable in the Chhāndogya Upanishad which unmistakably tells us how we must arrive at the conception of the Self-conscious Being within us as constituting the ultimate reality. In a very clever analysis of the psychological states through which a man's soul passes, the author of that Upanishad brings out how the ultimate reality must not be mistaken with bodily consciousness; how it must not be confused with the dream-consciousness; how it transcends even the deep-sleep-consciousness; how, finally, it is the pure Self-consciousness, which is beyond all bodily or mental limitations. We are told in the Chhāndogya Upanishad that the gods and demons were, once upon a time, both anxious to learn the nature of final reality, and they therefore went in pursuit of it to Prajāpati. Prajāpati had maintained that "that entity, which is free from sin, free from old age, free from death and grief, free from hunger and thirst, which desires nothing, and imagines nothing, must be regarded as the ultimate self." The gods and demons were anxious to know what this Self was. So the gods sent Indra and the demons Virochana as their emissaries to learn the final truth from Prajāpati. They dwelt there as pupils at first for a period of thirty-two years, which condition was necessary before a master could impart spiritual wisdom to his disciples. Then Prajāpati asked them what it was that had brought them there.

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Indra and Virochana told him that they had come to him in order that they might know the nature of the Self. Now Prajāpati would not immediately tell them the final truth. He tried to delude them by saying first that the Self was nothing more than the image that we see in the eye, in water, or in a mirror. It was this, he said, which must be regarded as the immortal and fearless Brahman. Indra and Virochana became complacent in the belief that they had understood the nature of the Self. They bedecked themselves by putting on excellent clothes and ornaments, cleaned themselves, looked into a water-pan, and imagined they had visualised the ultimate Self, and went altogether composed in mind. Virochana told the demons that he had been in possession of the ultimate secret, namely, that the so-called Self was no other than the image that one sees in the eye, in a mirror, or in a pan of water, thus identifying the Self with the mere image of the body. The Upanishad tells us how there are a certain set of people who take this as final gospel, which it calls the gospel of the Asuras. There must be a slight reference here to those, who, like the later Chārvākas, maintained that the Self was nothing more than the mere consciousness of body. Indra, however, unlike Virochana, bethought himself that Prajāpati must not have given him the final answer in the matter of the knowledge of ultimate reality. There was this difficulty that pressed itself before him.

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"It is true," he said, "that, when the body is well adorned, the Self is well adorned; when the body is well dressed, the Self is well dressed; when the body is well cleaned, the Self is well cleaned; but what if the body were blind, or lame, or crippled? Shall not the Soul itself be thus regarded as blind, or lame, or crippled"? He thought that there was this great difficulty in the teaching that had been imparted to him by Prajāpati, and so he went back again to Prajāpati to request him once more to tell him what ultimate reality was. Prajāpati advised him to practise penance once more for thirty-two years, and, when Indra had performed that penance, Prajāpati supplied him with another piece of knowledge. "The true Self is he," said Prajāpati, "who moves about happy in dreams. He is the immortal, the fearless Brahman." In fact, Prajāpati told him that dream-consciousness must be regarded as identical with the Self. This seemed to please Indra and he went back; but before he reached the gods, he saw again that there was another difficulty in the information that had been imparted to him.

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him by Prajāpati. "Do we not feel," he asked himself, "as if we are struck, or chased in our dreams? Do we not experience pain, and do we not shed tears in our dreams? How can we account for this difficulty if the Self were to be identified with dream-consciousness"? So he went back to Prajāpati again, and told him that the knowledge which he had imparted to him could not be final, inasmuch as the dream-consciousness seemed to him to be affected with feelings of pain and fear. The true Self could experience neither pain nor fear. Prajāpati saw that Indra was a pupil worthy to know better things, and so he asked him once more to practise penance for another thirty-two years, at the end of which time he imparted to him another piece of knowledge which was yet not the highest knowledge, namely, when he said, that the true Self must be regarded as identical with the deep-sleep consciousness in which there is perfect repose and perfect rest. Indra was satisfied with the answer which Prajāpati had given and returned. But before he reached the gods, he again saw that the real Self could not be identified even with deep-sleep consciousness for the simple reason that in deep-sleep we are conscious neither of our own selves nor of objects. In fact, in deep-sleep we are as if we were only logs of wood. There is neither consciousness of self nor consciousness of the objective world. Feeling this great difficulty in the teaching that had been imparted to him by Prajāpati, he went back again and told him that he could not be satisfied with the knowledge which had been imparted to him, namely that the ultimate Self was to be found in the consciousness of deep-sleep. For, he said, in that state there was neither self-consciousness, nor any consciousness of the objective world; and it seemed as if the soul was entirely annihilated in that state. This could not be regarded, said Indra, as the final wisdom. Prajāpati now saw that Indra by his shrewd insight had made himself worthy of receiving the highest knowledge. So he asked Indra once more, and this time finally, to practise penance for five years again. Indra practised penance for five years, thus completing the round of penance for a hundred and one years. At the end of that period, he went in all humility to Prajāpati and implored him to give him an insight into the final knowledge. Prajāpati said, "Verily, O Indra, this body is subject to death, but it is at the same time the vesture of an immortal Soul. It is only when the Soul is encased in the body, that it is cognisant of pleasure and pain. There is neither pleasure nor pain for the Soul once relieved of its body. Just as the wind and the cloud, the lightning and the thunder, are without body, and arise from heavenly space and appear in their own form, so does this serene being, namely, the Self, arise from this mortal body, reach the highest light, and then appear in his own form. This Serene Being, who appears in his own form is the highest Person." There is here an indication of the true nature of ultimate reality as being of the nature of self-consciousness. That which sees itself by itself, that which recognises itself as identical with itself in the light of supreme knowledge—that must be regarded as the final reality. The final reality, therefore, according to the Chhāndogya Upanishad, is reached in that theoretic, ecstatic, self-spectacular state in which the Self is conscious of nothing but itself. (S. 11). There is a great meaning which runs through this parable. By an analysis of the different states of consciousness, the philosopher of the Chhāndogya Upanishad points out that the bodily consciousness must not be mistaken for final reality, nor the consciousness in dreams, nor that in deep sleep.

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The Soul is of the nature of pure self-consciousness, the Kantian "I am I." Those who mistake the ultimate Self as identical with bodily consciousness are the materialists. Those who identify it with the consciousness in the dream-state rise a little higher no doubt, but they mistake the Self for what the modern Theosophists call the "etheric double." Those, on the other hand, who regard the Self as identical with deep-sleep consciousness also misunderstand its nature, because there is in that state no consciousness either of the object world or of the Self. The true Self could only be the self-conscious Being, shining in his own native light, thinking of nothing but his own thought, the νόησις νοήσεως of Aristotle, the supreme theoretic Being, the eternal Self-spectator.

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14. We have hitherto seen how the philosopher of the Chhāndogya Upanishad arrives at the conception of Self-consciousness as constituting the ultimate reality. We have seen also how the Upanishadic philosophers generally regard God as identical with this pure self-consciousness. The philosopher of the Taittirīya Upanishad gives us certain characteristics of this final reality which enable us to regard his argument as almost an ontological characterisation of reality. "The Absolute," he says, "is Existence, Consciousness, and Infinity" (S. 12. a). In this identification of the Absolute with Consciousness, we have again the real nature of the Ātman brought out in bold relief. Existence to that philosopher means Consciousness. The same idea is repeated elsewhere in the Aitareya Upanishad, where the author of that Upanishad speaks "of the gods of the heaven and the beings of the earth, whether produced from eggs, or embryo, or sweat, or from the earth, everything that moves, or flies, or is stationary—Self-consciousness is the eye of all these. They are rooted in Self-consciousness. Self-consciousness is the eye of the world; it is Self-consciousness which is the Absolute" (S. 12. b). Here we have unmistakably the ontological argument, namely, that ultimate Existence must be identified with Self-consciousness. Thus by a survey of the different approaches to the problem of Reality, namely, the cosmological, the theological, and the psychological, we see that the Upanishadic philosophers try to establish Reality on the firm footing of Self-consciousness. Self-consciousness to them is the eternal verity. God to them is not God, unless he is identical with Self-consciousness. Existence is not Existence if it does not mean Self-consciousness. Reality is not reality, if it does not express throughout its structure the marks of pure Self-consciousness. Self-consciousness thus constitutes the ultimate category of existence to the Upanishadic philosophers.

IV—The Significance of Self-consciousness

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15. The great question that now confronts the Upanishadic seeker after truth is: if Self-consciousness is the final reality, how would it be possible for us to realise it? Can bare intellect suffice to give us a vision of this final reality, or is there any other process beyond the reach of intelligence which has the power of taking us within the portals of pure Self-consciousness? The Upanishadic answer is that mere intellect would be lame to enable us to realise pure Self-consciousness. Pure Self-consciousness could only be reached in a state of mystic realisation. Whether

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Self-consciousness : its epistemological and metaphysical significance contrasted with the mystical.

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the mystical faculty, which may be called intuition, is higher than, analogous to, or included in the faculty of intellect, whose product all philosophy is, we shall not stop here to consider. It raises a large problem which does not lie within the scope of this work. We shall, however, try to describe it partly in our last Chapter on “The Intimations of Self-Realisation,” where we shall see how it would be possible mystically to realise Self-consciousness. Our answer there would evidently be the super-sensuous and the super-intellectual answer. Intuition, as we shall see, is a superior faculty to either mere sensuous perception, or intellective apprehension. At present, however, we are concerned merely with the “philosophic” aspect of pure Self-consciousness, which may be looked at from two different points of view, the epistemological and the metaphysical. We shall see first what the epistemological aspect of Self-consciousness is according to the Upanishads, and then shall end this chapter by bringing out its full metaphysical significance, reserving the mystical aspect of it for our last chapter.

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16. Epistemologically, we are told in various passages of the Upanishads, it would not be possible for us to know the Self in the technical meaning of the word “knowledge.” Our readers might bring to mind the fact that Kant equally well regarded Reality, as consisting of God and the Self, as technically unknowable. These were, he said, merely matters of faith. The Upanishadic answer is that it is true that God and the Self are unknowable, but they are not merely objects of faith, they are objects of mystical realisation. Then, again, the Upanishads do not regard the Self as unknowable in the agnostic sense of the word, for example, in the sense in which Spencer understands it. Rather, it is "unknowable" from the standpoint of philosophic humility.

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(i) The Ātman, say the Upanishadic philosophers, is unknowable in his essential nature. "That, from which our speech turns back along with mind, being unable to comprehend its fulness, is the ultimate reality," says the Taittirīya Upanishad. "That where the eye is unable to go, where neither speech nor mind is able to reach—what conception can we have of it, except that it is beyond all that is known, and beyond all that is unknown!" says the Kenopanishad. The philosopher of that Upanishad says in an Augustinian mood that he who thinks he knows does not know, while he who thinks he doesnotknow does really know. *Cognoscendo ignorari, et ignorando cognosci.* The Kathopanishad in a similar vein says that "the Self is not in the first instance open to the hearing of men, but that even having heard him, many are unable to know him. Wonderful is the man, if found, who is able to speak about him; wonderful, indeed, is he who is able to comprehend him in accordance with the instruction of a teacher" (S. 13. a). We see in all these passages how the Ātman is to be regarded as unknowable in his essential nature.

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(ii) There is, however, another side to the subject of the unknowability of Ātman. The Ātman is unknowable because He is the Eternal Subject who knows. How could the Eternal Knower, ask the Upanishads in various places, be an object of knowledge? "The Ātman is the Great Being," says the Śvetāśvatara Upanishad "who knows all that is knowable; who can know him who himself knows?" In the Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upanishad, in various passages, we are put in possession of the bold speculations of the philosopher Yājñavalkya. " That by whom everything is known, how could he himself be known ? It is impossible to know the knower." " It would not be possible for us to see the seer, to hear the hearer, to think the thinker, and to apprehend him by whom everything is apprehended." " He is the eternal seer without himself being seen ; he is the eternal hearer without himself being heard ; he is the only thinker without himself being thought ; he is the only comprehender without any one to comprehend him ; beyond him there is no seer, beyond him there is no hearer, beyond him there is no thinker, beyond him there is no being who comprehends"(S. 13. b.) We thus see that the question of the unknowability of Ātman has another aspect also, namely, that He is unknowable because He is the Eternal Subject of knowledge, and cannot be an object of knowledge to another beside Him.

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( iii ) But this raises another fundamental question. Granted that the Self is the eternal knower of objects, granted also there is no other knower of him, would it be possible for the knower to know himself ? This very subtle question was asked of Yājñavalkya in another passage of the Bṛhadāraṇyakopanishad, and here again we see the brilliant light which the sage Yājñavalkya throws on the problem. It is possible, he says, for the knower to know himself. In fact, Self-knowledge or Self-consciousness is the ultimate category of existence. The Self can become an object of knowledge to himself. According to the philosophy of Yājñavalkya, nothing is possible, if self-consciousness is not possible. Self-consciousness is the ultimate fact of existence. We see here how boldly Yājñavalkya regards both introspection and self-consciousness as the verities of experience. We also see the nudity of the doctrines of Kant and Comte when they try to deny the fact of introspection. Introspection is a psychological process corresponding to Self-consciousness as a metaphysical reality. Self-consciousness is possible only through the process of introspection. The Self is endowed with the supreme power of dichotomising himself. The empirical conditions of knowledge are inapplicable to the Self. The Self can divide himself into the knower and the known. It is wonderful how Kant should have posited the " I am I " as the supreme metaphysical category, which he called the transcendental, original, and synthetic unity of apperception, and yet should have denied the reality of the corresponding psychological process of introspection. The answer of Yājñavalkya is that Self-consciousness is possible, and is not only possible, but alone real. King Janaka asked Yājñavalkya what was the light of man. Yājñavalkya first said that the light of man was the sun. It is on account of the sun that man is able to sit and to move about, to go forth for work, and to return. " When the sun has set, O Yājñavalkya," asked king Janaka " what is the light of man?" Yājñavalkya said that then the moon was the light of man. For, having the moon for light, man could sit, and move about, and do his work, and return. " When both the sun and the moon have set," asked king Janaka, " what is the light of man?" " Fire indeed," said Yājñavalkya, " is man's light. For having fire for his light, man can sit and move about, do his work, and return." " When the sun has set, when the moon has set, and when the fire is extinguished, what is the light of man?" asked Janaka. " Now, verily," says Yājñavalkya, " you are pressing me to the deepest question. When the sun has set, when the moon has set, and when the fire is extinguished, the Self alone is his light ” (S. 13. c.). Yājñavalkya is here clearly positing what Aristotle called “ theoria, ” the act of pure self-contemplation in which the Self is most mysteriously both the subject and object of knowledge.

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