Commentary on Chapter 2 of The Bhagavad Gita: The Song of God
by
Mitch Hall
As “the most popular book in Hindu religious literature,” (Prabhavananda & Isherwood, 1944 & 1987, p. 24),The Bhagavad Gita has been a source of inspiration and reflection for millions of spiritual aspirants for about two-and-a-half millennia. It has also been interpreted in varying ways by many of the most noted Indian spiritual teachers and scholars throughout this long period of time. Some have seen the epic tale as an allegory wherein each character personifies complex, often-conflicting forces within the human psyche. Other interpreters have attempted to refute allegorical readings and have claimed the tale is relevant to the external, as well as internal, lives of humans in society. In this brief commentary, I will simply pay respects to this distinguished exegetic background without drawing explicitly upon it. Rather, I will share a few personal, perhaps iconoclastic, reflections that reading the text elicits in me and will focus on chapter 2,The Yoga of Knowledge.
Here is the scene. Poised on the plain of Kurukshetra before an impending battle against forces led by some of his relatives, the heroic Arjuna hesitates to engage in battle. Whereas his opponents--driven by envy, greed, lust for power, and vengeance--had previously and egregiously wronged Arjuna and his brothers, he nonetheless recognizes noble human qualities in them and their lineage. He does not want to commit evil by killing them even though they would not hesitate to kill him. He vividly laments the grievous consequences of killing in warfare, consequences for the victims and their families.
However, Arjuna’s charioteer is Krishna, a divine incarnation of the supreme reality Brahma that underlies and infuses all that is. Chapter 2 is a conversation between the hesitant, doubting human, Arjuna, and the decisive, persuasive avatar, Krishna. The latter enjoins Arjuna to put aside whatever sentiments of compassion, anticipatory grief, and doubts he has and to enter the battle without regrets. Krishna gives a metaphysical argument for why Arjuna’s killing of his foes will not be a sin. He also appeals to Arjuna’s sense of duty as a warrior, and to the shame his reputation will suffer among warrior chiefs if he refuses to fight valiantly to the death.
Krishna asserts that, “the truly wise mourn neither for the living nor for the dead (p. 38). He maintains that the indwelling Atman is unchanging and imperishable. He compares bodies to clothes that are worn and shed in death through the succession to different incarnations. “Bodies are said to die, but That which possesses the body is eternal. It cannot be limited, or destroyed. Therefore you must fight” (p. 39). This sentence, beginning with “therefore,” is a non-sequitur. There is no compelling logic to this assertion. It is rather an ideological rationalization for fighting on a purported ontological ground.
Krishna is dismissive of humane feelings of compassion and grieving, of embodiment because it is impermanent, of the desire to live long and die a natural, rather than a premature, death, and of the preference for pleasure, or at least comfort, over pain. Krishna says, “Death is certain for the born, Rebirth is certain for the dead. You should not grieve for what is unavoidable” (p. 41). In these proclamations, Krishna mixes observable facts with unverifiable beliefs. Whereas all humans can directly observe the certainty of death, reincarnation is, for most humans, a metaphysical belief that is not subject to empirical verification. Throughout his argument, Krishna speaks in the voice of putatively divine authority, so he does not need evidence to support his revelatory claims. He simply pronounces his views as self-evident. Also, in the foregoing quote, Krishna blurs the distinction between a natural death and a violent one inflicted by another human.
As I read this text, I find myself sympathetic to the perplexed, humanly fallible Arjuna and alarmed by the categorically assured voice of Krishna. Just because embodied human existence is perishable does not, by my values, justify treating it as negligible. Why not cherish this evanescent life? Why not respect the full range of human feelings, including painful grief over the loss of beings whom we have loved? I find Krishna’s views incompatible with an ethics of ahimsa and of reverence for life. Krishna comes across as a cold-hearted apologist for warfare and indifference to the suffering it causes.
Furthermore, Krishna justifies the caste system, with its hierarchies and oppressive inequalities. He argues with Arjuna that, “even if you consider this from the standpoint of your own caste-duty, you ought not to hesitate; for, to a warrior, there is nothing nobler than a righteous war. Happy are the warriors to whom a battle such as this comes: it opens a door to heaven” (pp. 41-42). I shudder when I read these words and recall the sorry evidence that all acts of war and terrorism are proclaimed just in the minds, propaganda, and historical narratives of the perpetrators. The military addictions of the self-justifying ruling classes of empires have brought so much gratuitous suffering to people of all classes and castes, especially to the generations of underprivileged of the earth. Unfortunately, religious texts--including also the Hebrew Bible, the New Testament, and the Koran--have often been interpreted as sanctioning imperial predations and violence against those with differing religious beliefs or political interests. The Bhagavad Gita, a remarkably evocative, poetically powerful story, nonetheless is a product of a culture in which the priestly and warrior castes were dominant over all others. The book contains ideological elements that justify the rule of these privileged few over the underprivileged many. The “mixing of castes” (p. 33) was seen by Arjuna in chapter 1 as one of the abominations that result from war, along with breaking apart families, forgetting to observe religious rites, and defiling and corrupting the women.
An aspect of The Bhagavad Gita’s perennial appeal as the quintessential, narrative distillation of Vedantic ontology and Hindu culture may be the compelling way that it provides believers with a vision of symbolic immortality. “At the most fundamental level, cultures allow people to control the ever-present potential terror of death by convincing them that they are beings of enduring significance living in a meaningful reality” (Pyszczynski, Solomon, & Greenberg, 2003, p. 16). Along these lines, Krishna’s last two soliloquies in chapter 2 provide a mystic vision of self-realization of the unity of the Atman, or individual soul, with the Brahman, or universal reality. Also, they speak of yogic attainments of imperturbability, detachment from emotional investment in the outcomes of one’s actions, and freedom from inner disturbance to one’s peace of mind. Because we humans are prone to such excoriating discomforts as anxiety, fear, dread, doubt, and the terror of annihilation and ultimate meaninglessness, Krishna’s pronouncements about attaining a sort of invulnerability both within one’s mortal life and beyond death may be appealing to many who seek relief from inner turmoil. Indeed, sincere yogic practice, including meditation, has been demonstrated to help people develop more stable minds, greater equanimity, better health, and enhanced emotional self-regulation. These developments, to which the voice of Krishna alludes, are compatible with an ethics of ahimsa and reverence for life. However, by my own spiritual values, Krishna’s endorsement of war, of the obligatory performance of the duties of one’s caste, and of cold indifference to the slaying of life, as well as his appeal to Arjuna to be concerned about his reputation among war chiefs, are far from “divine” principles. Rather, they come across as ideological justifications for an unjust and violent social order.
The Bhagavad Gita’s solution to the human existential crisis engendered by the awareness of our mortality has endured through millennia. Personally, I find more comfort in humbler ways of coping with the ultimate existential dilemma posed by our awareness of the finitude of our embodied lives. I am speaking about empathy, friendship, creativity, human solidarity, providing one another with compassionate comfort and understanding to soothe our stress and help us through our periods of inevitable grieving. I am also talking about working together socially to reduce violence, warfare, oppression, and harmful inequalities of caste and class. Yogic practice can be a life-enhancing component of this approach. I am heartened that the first yogic yama (ethical principle) is ahimsa (nonviolence) and would like to close on this note.
References
Prabhavananda, S. & Isherwood, C. (Trans.) (1944, 1987). The Bhagavad Gita: The song of God. Hollywood, CA: Vedanta Press.
Pyszczynski, T., Solomon, S., & Greenberg, J. (2003). In the wake of 9/11: The psychology of terror. Washington, DC: American Psychological Association.
Rejoinder to Critique of Commentary, originally posted on the Internet Forum, Dialogues
Thanks to Dr. Raman for his detailed, spirited critique of my commentary on The Bhagavad Gita and to Louise Sundararajan for facilitating this exchange on the Dialogues Internet forum. Whereas Dr. Raman disagreed strongly with some of the positions that I expressed, he was also able to acknowledge areas of agreement. I appreciate all that he wrote. A benefit of such dialogue is that it provides an opportunity to question further one's own premises and conclusions. Having done so, I would like to clarify my views on a few questions.
I wish to begin with the usage of the word "culture" in the quotation I chose from the work of the social psychologists who have developed and empirically tested what they call terror management theory (Pyszczynski, Solomon, & Greenberg, 2003). Their inquiry is about how we humans manage the terror that can potentially grip us when we are reminded of our own inevitable deaths. Inspired by the writings of the anthropologist Ernest Becker, they have observed that, "cultural worldviews consist of humanly constructed beliefs about the nature of reality that are shared by individuals in a group that function to mitigate the horror and blunt the dread caused by knowledge of the reality of the human condition, that we all die" (p. 16). Dr. Raman objected to their usage, and therefore mine, of the concept of culture which he set in contradistinction to that of religion. For him, religions serve the function of providing meaning to reality. By contrast, in his view, cultures, which include art, music, dance, and poetry, have "more to do with aesthetics and the enjoyment of life." What Dr. Raman failed to acknowledge is that religions are major subsets of cultures and that the arts often amplify through powerful aesthetic means the predominant worldviews articulated in religious myths and beliefs. The evidence for this is abundant, so I will not belabor the point with examples.
The purpose of my commentary on The Bhagavad Gita was to invite critical thinking about how some portions of the imagery and ideas of this influential work embody cultural violence, as defined by the peace researcher Johan Galtung (Galtung, 1999). "By 'cultural violence' we mean those aspects of culture, the symbolic sphere of our existence--exemplified by religion and ideology, language and art, empirical science and formal science (logic, mathematics)--that can be used to justify or legitimize direct or structural violence" (Pyszczynski, Solomon, & Greenberg, 2003, p. 39). On the basis of the textual evidence that I presented in my original commentary, I believe that some of the arguments spoken in the authoritative voice of Krishna in The Bhagavad Gita are examples of such cultural violence.
Cultural violence can be so pervasive that it often goes unnoticed. Furthermore, it is not only the representatives of forces that Dr. Raman would consider to be fighting a just war who rationalize their violence. All sides do so, as do violent criminals. Here is some evidence from the research literature. In his interviews of seven dictators, Orizio (2003) found that each considered himself to have been a just and self-sacrificing servant of his people. Similarly, in his work over a 25-year span in the maximum security prisons of Massachusetts, the forensic psychiatrist Gilligan (1996) found that serial killers and rapists viewed themselves as avenging agents of justice in enacting their horrific crimes. The sociologists Sykes and Matza (1988) also found that gang members used five “techniques of neutralization” to justify violent assaults, shootings, and property crimes. These rationalizing techniques are denial of responsibility, denial of causing injury, denial of a victim, condemnation of the condemners, and appeal to higher loyalties (e.g. their fellow gang members). Krishna’s argument to Arjuna about not needing to mourn anticipated slayings because the reincarnating atman is eternal can be viewed as an expression of denial of a victim and denial of injury. Krishna’s warning Arjuna about how his refusal to be fight would be seen as cowardice in the eyes of rival war lords, can be seen as an appeal to Arjuna’s higher loyalty to his warrior caste status. In pointing out parallels, I am not equating the persona of Krishna in The Bhagavad Gita with dictators, violent perpetrators, or youthful gang members. Rather, I am pointing out the pervasiveness of the rationalizations of cultural violence and the attendant difficulty in recognizing the many guises of these attitudes.
In another classical spiritual document from what Karl Jaspers called the Axial Age (800 B.C. to 200 B.C.), the grievous nature of war is acknowledged. In the 30th verse of the Tao Teh Ching, Lao Tzu counseled leaders that even if they win in military combat, it is appropriate for them to regret not having been able to prevent the war. This sounds more humane than does Krishna’s advice to Arjuna.
It is precisely because I do not dwell “in the comfort zone of the ivory tower,” as Dr.Raman erroneously assumed to be the case, that I have intentionally chosen to refrain from subtle, spiritual interpretations of The Bhagavad Gita, but rather to speak about disturbing elements of the text that I believe are woven into an ancient fabric of cultural violence that is too easily overlooked in this religious tradition as it is in others. I am not working as a professor but rather as a mental health counselor with a non-profit agency that serves at-risk, underprivileged, traumatized children and youth, many from minority backgrounds, in Richmond, California, one of the most extremely violent areas of this country. Among my clients are those who have witnessed murders of loved ones and strangers; have lost family members and friends to murder; have been physically, emotionally, and sexually abused; have either been bullied or bullied others; and have been in gangs and used at early ages alcohol, other drugs, or self-cutting to try, in vain, to escape their inner pain. A few times in my earlier career, I have risked my jobs and safety because the prevention of violence and abuse was more important to me than comfort and job security. In one academic position I previously held, I opposed the university’s lucrative, half-million-dollar-per-year contract with the Kopassus, the special forces of the Indonesian military implicated in the genocide in East Timor as well as other crimes against humanity. My research, writing, speaking, and former teaching work have been devoted for decades to seeking understanding of the roots of violence promoting the prevention of violence, contributing to healing from violence, and working for the building of more peaceful cultures. This is a glimpse of the background out of which my commentary on The Bhagavad Gita has emerged. Dr. Raman may, if he wishes, continue to dismiss my summary of some elements of this spiritual classic as “superficial.” Nonetheless, I invite him to reconsider the evidence in the text itself and the implications of what I have written concerning cultural violence and The Bhagavad Gita.
References
Galtung, J. (1999). Cultural violence. In M.B. Steger and N.S. Lind, Violence and its alternatives: An interdisciplinary reader, pp. 39-53. New York: St. Martin's Press.
Gilligan, J. (1996). Violence: Reflections on a national epidemic. NY: G. P. Putnam’s Sons.
Orizio, R. (2003). Talk of the devil: Encounters with seven dictators. NY: Walker & Company.
Prabhavananda, S. & Isherwood, C. (Trans.) (1944, 1987). The Bhagavad Gita: The song of God. Hollywood, CA: Vedanta Press.
Pyszczynski, T., Solomon, S., & Greenberg, J. (2003). In the wake of 9/11: The psychology of terror. Washington, DC: American Psychological Association.
Sykes, G.M. & Matza, D. (1988). Technique of neutralization. In J.M. Henslin (ed.), Down to earth sociology: Introductory readings, 5th edition, pp. 225-231. New York: Free Press
by
Mitch Hall
As “the most popular book in Hindu religious literature,” (Prabhavananda & Isherwood, 1944 & 1987, p. 24),The Bhagavad Gita has been a source of inspiration and reflection for millions of spiritual aspirants for about two-and-a-half millennia. It has also been interpreted in varying ways by many of the most noted Indian spiritual teachers and scholars throughout this long period of time. Some have seen the epic tale as an allegory wherein each character personifies complex, often-conflicting forces within the human psyche. Other interpreters have attempted to refute allegorical readings and have claimed the tale is relevant to the external, as well as internal, lives of humans in society. In this brief commentary, I will simply pay respects to this distinguished exegetic background without drawing explicitly upon it. Rather, I will share a few personal, perhaps iconoclastic, reflections that reading the text elicits in me and will focus on chapter 2,The Yoga of Knowledge.
Here is the scene. Poised on the plain of Kurukshetra before an impending battle against forces led by some of his relatives, the heroic Arjuna hesitates to engage in battle. Whereas his opponents--driven by envy, greed, lust for power, and vengeance--had previously and egregiously wronged Arjuna and his brothers, he nonetheless recognizes noble human qualities in them and their lineage. He does not want to commit evil by killing them even though they would not hesitate to kill him. He vividly laments the grievous consequences of killing in warfare, consequences for the victims and their families.
However, Arjuna’s charioteer is Krishna, a divine incarnation of the supreme reality Brahma that underlies and infuses all that is. Chapter 2 is a conversation between the hesitant, doubting human, Arjuna, and the decisive, persuasive avatar, Krishna. The latter enjoins Arjuna to put aside whatever sentiments of compassion, anticipatory grief, and doubts he has and to enter the battle without regrets. Krishna gives a metaphysical argument for why Arjuna’s killing of his foes will not be a sin. He also appeals to Arjuna’s sense of duty as a warrior, and to the shame his reputation will suffer among warrior chiefs if he refuses to fight valiantly to the death.
Krishna asserts that, “the truly wise mourn neither for the living nor for the dead (p. 38). He maintains that the indwelling Atman is unchanging and imperishable. He compares bodies to clothes that are worn and shed in death through the succession to different incarnations. “Bodies are said to die, but That which possesses the body is eternal. It cannot be limited, or destroyed. Therefore you must fight” (p. 39). This sentence, beginning with “therefore,” is a non-sequitur. There is no compelling logic to this assertion. It is rather an ideological rationalization for fighting on a purported ontological ground.
Krishna is dismissive of humane feelings of compassion and grieving, of embodiment because it is impermanent, of the desire to live long and die a natural, rather than a premature, death, and of the preference for pleasure, or at least comfort, over pain. Krishna says, “Death is certain for the born, Rebirth is certain for the dead. You should not grieve for what is unavoidable” (p. 41). In these proclamations, Krishna mixes observable facts with unverifiable beliefs. Whereas all humans can directly observe the certainty of death, reincarnation is, for most humans, a metaphysical belief that is not subject to empirical verification. Throughout his argument, Krishna speaks in the voice of putatively divine authority, so he does not need evidence to support his revelatory claims. He simply pronounces his views as self-evident. Also, in the foregoing quote, Krishna blurs the distinction between a natural death and a violent one inflicted by another human.
As I read this text, I find myself sympathetic to the perplexed, humanly fallible Arjuna and alarmed by the categorically assured voice of Krishna. Just because embodied human existence is perishable does not, by my values, justify treating it as negligible. Why not cherish this evanescent life? Why not respect the full range of human feelings, including painful grief over the loss of beings whom we have loved? I find Krishna’s views incompatible with an ethics of ahimsa and of reverence for life. Krishna comes across as a cold-hearted apologist for warfare and indifference to the suffering it causes.
Furthermore, Krishna justifies the caste system, with its hierarchies and oppressive inequalities. He argues with Arjuna that, “even if you consider this from the standpoint of your own caste-duty, you ought not to hesitate; for, to a warrior, there is nothing nobler than a righteous war. Happy are the warriors to whom a battle such as this comes: it opens a door to heaven” (pp. 41-42). I shudder when I read these words and recall the sorry evidence that all acts of war and terrorism are proclaimed just in the minds, propaganda, and historical narratives of the perpetrators. The military addictions of the self-justifying ruling classes of empires have brought so much gratuitous suffering to people of all classes and castes, especially to the generations of underprivileged of the earth. Unfortunately, religious texts--including also the Hebrew Bible, the New Testament, and the Koran--have often been interpreted as sanctioning imperial predations and violence against those with differing religious beliefs or political interests. The Bhagavad Gita, a remarkably evocative, poetically powerful story, nonetheless is a product of a culture in which the priestly and warrior castes were dominant over all others. The book contains ideological elements that justify the rule of these privileged few over the underprivileged many. The “mixing of castes” (p. 33) was seen by Arjuna in chapter 1 as one of the abominations that result from war, along with breaking apart families, forgetting to observe religious rites, and defiling and corrupting the women.
An aspect of The Bhagavad Gita’s perennial appeal as the quintessential, narrative distillation of Vedantic ontology and Hindu culture may be the compelling way that it provides believers with a vision of symbolic immortality. “At the most fundamental level, cultures allow people to control the ever-present potential terror of death by convincing them that they are beings of enduring significance living in a meaningful reality” (Pyszczynski, Solomon, & Greenberg, 2003, p. 16). Along these lines, Krishna’s last two soliloquies in chapter 2 provide a mystic vision of self-realization of the unity of the Atman, or individual soul, with the Brahman, or universal reality. Also, they speak of yogic attainments of imperturbability, detachment from emotional investment in the outcomes of one’s actions, and freedom from inner disturbance to one’s peace of mind. Because we humans are prone to such excoriating discomforts as anxiety, fear, dread, doubt, and the terror of annihilation and ultimate meaninglessness, Krishna’s pronouncements about attaining a sort of invulnerability both within one’s mortal life and beyond death may be appealing to many who seek relief from inner turmoil. Indeed, sincere yogic practice, including meditation, has been demonstrated to help people develop more stable minds, greater equanimity, better health, and enhanced emotional self-regulation. These developments, to which the voice of Krishna alludes, are compatible with an ethics of ahimsa and reverence for life. However, by my own spiritual values, Krishna’s endorsement of war, of the obligatory performance of the duties of one’s caste, and of cold indifference to the slaying of life, as well as his appeal to Arjuna to be concerned about his reputation among war chiefs, are far from “divine” principles. Rather, they come across as ideological justifications for an unjust and violent social order.
The Bhagavad Gita’s solution to the human existential crisis engendered by the awareness of our mortality has endured through millennia. Personally, I find more comfort in humbler ways of coping with the ultimate existential dilemma posed by our awareness of the finitude of our embodied lives. I am speaking about empathy, friendship, creativity, human solidarity, providing one another with compassionate comfort and understanding to soothe our stress and help us through our periods of inevitable grieving. I am also talking about working together socially to reduce violence, warfare, oppression, and harmful inequalities of caste and class. Yogic practice can be a life-enhancing component of this approach. I am heartened that the first yogic yama (ethical principle) is ahimsa (nonviolence) and would like to close on this note.
References
Prabhavananda, S. & Isherwood, C. (Trans.) (1944, 1987). The Bhagavad Gita: The song of God. Hollywood, CA: Vedanta Press.
Pyszczynski, T., Solomon, S., & Greenberg, J. (2003). In the wake of 9/11: The psychology of terror. Washington, DC: American Psychological Association.
Rejoinder to Critique of Commentary, originally posted on the Internet Forum, Dialogues
Thanks to Dr. Raman for his detailed, spirited critique of my commentary on The Bhagavad Gita and to Louise Sundararajan for facilitating this exchange on the Dialogues Internet forum. Whereas Dr. Raman disagreed strongly with some of the positions that I expressed, he was also able to acknowledge areas of agreement. I appreciate all that he wrote. A benefit of such dialogue is that it provides an opportunity to question further one's own premises and conclusions. Having done so, I would like to clarify my views on a few questions.
I wish to begin with the usage of the word "culture" in the quotation I chose from the work of the social psychologists who have developed and empirically tested what they call terror management theory (Pyszczynski, Solomon, & Greenberg, 2003). Their inquiry is about how we humans manage the terror that can potentially grip us when we are reminded of our own inevitable deaths. Inspired by the writings of the anthropologist Ernest Becker, they have observed that, "cultural worldviews consist of humanly constructed beliefs about the nature of reality that are shared by individuals in a group that function to mitigate the horror and blunt the dread caused by knowledge of the reality of the human condition, that we all die" (p. 16). Dr. Raman objected to their usage, and therefore mine, of the concept of culture which he set in contradistinction to that of religion. For him, religions serve the function of providing meaning to reality. By contrast, in his view, cultures, which include art, music, dance, and poetry, have "more to do with aesthetics and the enjoyment of life." What Dr. Raman failed to acknowledge is that religions are major subsets of cultures and that the arts often amplify through powerful aesthetic means the predominant worldviews articulated in religious myths and beliefs. The evidence for this is abundant, so I will not belabor the point with examples.
The purpose of my commentary on The Bhagavad Gita was to invite critical thinking about how some portions of the imagery and ideas of this influential work embody cultural violence, as defined by the peace researcher Johan Galtung (Galtung, 1999). "By 'cultural violence' we mean those aspects of culture, the symbolic sphere of our existence--exemplified by religion and ideology, language and art, empirical science and formal science (logic, mathematics)--that can be used to justify or legitimize direct or structural violence" (Pyszczynski, Solomon, & Greenberg, 2003, p. 39). On the basis of the textual evidence that I presented in my original commentary, I believe that some of the arguments spoken in the authoritative voice of Krishna in The Bhagavad Gita are examples of such cultural violence.
Cultural violence can be so pervasive that it often goes unnoticed. Furthermore, it is not only the representatives of forces that Dr. Raman would consider to be fighting a just war who rationalize their violence. All sides do so, as do violent criminals. Here is some evidence from the research literature. In his interviews of seven dictators, Orizio (2003) found that each considered himself to have been a just and self-sacrificing servant of his people. Similarly, in his work over a 25-year span in the maximum security prisons of Massachusetts, the forensic psychiatrist Gilligan (1996) found that serial killers and rapists viewed themselves as avenging agents of justice in enacting their horrific crimes. The sociologists Sykes and Matza (1988) also found that gang members used five “techniques of neutralization” to justify violent assaults, shootings, and property crimes. These rationalizing techniques are denial of responsibility, denial of causing injury, denial of a victim, condemnation of the condemners, and appeal to higher loyalties (e.g. their fellow gang members). Krishna’s argument to Arjuna about not needing to mourn anticipated slayings because the reincarnating atman is eternal can be viewed as an expression of denial of a victim and denial of injury. Krishna’s warning Arjuna about how his refusal to be fight would be seen as cowardice in the eyes of rival war lords, can be seen as an appeal to Arjuna’s higher loyalty to his warrior caste status. In pointing out parallels, I am not equating the persona of Krishna in The Bhagavad Gita with dictators, violent perpetrators, or youthful gang members. Rather, I am pointing out the pervasiveness of the rationalizations of cultural violence and the attendant difficulty in recognizing the many guises of these attitudes.
In another classical spiritual document from what Karl Jaspers called the Axial Age (800 B.C. to 200 B.C.), the grievous nature of war is acknowledged. In the 30th verse of the Tao Teh Ching, Lao Tzu counseled leaders that even if they win in military combat, it is appropriate for them to regret not having been able to prevent the war. This sounds more humane than does Krishna’s advice to Arjuna.
It is precisely because I do not dwell “in the comfort zone of the ivory tower,” as Dr.Raman erroneously assumed to be the case, that I have intentionally chosen to refrain from subtle, spiritual interpretations of The Bhagavad Gita, but rather to speak about disturbing elements of the text that I believe are woven into an ancient fabric of cultural violence that is too easily overlooked in this religious tradition as it is in others. I am not working as a professor but rather as a mental health counselor with a non-profit agency that serves at-risk, underprivileged, traumatized children and youth, many from minority backgrounds, in Richmond, California, one of the most extremely violent areas of this country. Among my clients are those who have witnessed murders of loved ones and strangers; have lost family members and friends to murder; have been physically, emotionally, and sexually abused; have either been bullied or bullied others; and have been in gangs and used at early ages alcohol, other drugs, or self-cutting to try, in vain, to escape their inner pain. A few times in my earlier career, I have risked my jobs and safety because the prevention of violence and abuse was more important to me than comfort and job security. In one academic position I previously held, I opposed the university’s lucrative, half-million-dollar-per-year contract with the Kopassus, the special forces of the Indonesian military implicated in the genocide in East Timor as well as other crimes against humanity. My research, writing, speaking, and former teaching work have been devoted for decades to seeking understanding of the roots of violence promoting the prevention of violence, contributing to healing from violence, and working for the building of more peaceful cultures. This is a glimpse of the background out of which my commentary on The Bhagavad Gita has emerged. Dr. Raman may, if he wishes, continue to dismiss my summary of some elements of this spiritual classic as “superficial.” Nonetheless, I invite him to reconsider the evidence in the text itself and the implications of what I have written concerning cultural violence and The Bhagavad Gita.
References
Galtung, J. (1999). Cultural violence. In M.B. Steger and N.S. Lind, Violence and its alternatives: An interdisciplinary reader, pp. 39-53. New York: St. Martin's Press.
Gilligan, J. (1996). Violence: Reflections on a national epidemic. NY: G. P. Putnam’s Sons.
Orizio, R. (2003). Talk of the devil: Encounters with seven dictators. NY: Walker & Company.
Prabhavananda, S. & Isherwood, C. (Trans.) (1944, 1987). The Bhagavad Gita: The song of God. Hollywood, CA: Vedanta Press.
Pyszczynski, T., Solomon, S., & Greenberg, J. (2003). In the wake of 9/11: The psychology of terror. Washington, DC: American Psychological Association.
Sykes, G.M. & Matza, D. (1988). Technique of neutralization. In J.M. Henslin (ed.), Down to earth sociology: Introductory readings, 5th edition, pp. 225-231. New York: Free Press