Gita key verses course 1 – What is the Gita? How is it relevant for me? – Gita 1.1
Thank you very much for joining today, and we will be discussing the Bhagavad Gita over the course of 75 verses in the next year or so. There are just a few logistics about Zoom. I have muted all of you so that it doesn’t disturb everyone else, but if any of you are not able to hear, you can type in the chat box. Toward the end of the class, we will be having a question-and-answer session.
We plan to have a more interactive format, but that format will evolve because we have a large number of participants right now. We will work out the format. If there are any questions during the course of the class, you can also raise your hand. Just look at the Zoom interface, and you can see that option. Usually, we will have some time for questions and answers at the end.
So, let’s begin.
I have framed the Bhagavad Gita in terms of 51 questions—questions that deal with our daily life as well as questions that deal with our spiritual journey. We will be sharing these questions shortly after this program with you. In each session, we will be discussing one question based on one verse from the Bhagavad Gita.
Today, we will start with the most basic question: What is the Gita, and how is it relevant to me?
We are going to discuss based on Bhagavad Gita, Chapter One, Text One. It begins with Sanjaya. Here, Dhritarashtra, the blind king of a powerful kingdom called the Kuru kingdom in ancient India several thousand years ago, is asking this question to his assistant, Sanjaya. A war is about to happen at a place called Kurukshetra, and he refers to it as Dharmakshetra, Kurukshetra—”Dharmakshetra” meaning “the field of Dharma” or righteousness. I’ll come to the significance of the word Dharma soon.
We will talk about the Bhagavad Gita in three broad terms: historical terms, trans-historical or universal terms, and contemporary terms.
The Bhagavad Gita is a part of the Mahabharata. The Mahabharata is a vast epic from ancient India. In fact, it is considered to be the longest poem in world history. Before Indian literature and culture were discovered by the West a few hundred years ago, the Germanic sagas, Iliad, and Odyssey were considered the longest poems in world history. However, the Mahabharata is at least seven times longer than the Iliad and the Odyssey combined.
It is a vast saga of intrigue, romance, war, politics, and all the dynamics that could make a thrilling movie or novel. Right in the Mahabharata, just before its climactic moment—where the whole story leads to a war—we find the Bhagavad Gita.
The context of the Bhagavad Gita is, at one level, very important, and at another level, the Gita transcends its context. The tension between the contextual and the trans-contextual is what we will address today, so we can explore the universal themes of the Gita.
Let’s first understand the context.
The Gita is spoken by Krishna to Arjuna. It is, we could say, two nested conversations. The outer conversation is between Dhritarashtra and Sanjaya. Now, these names, especially for those who are not from an Indian background, can be a little confusing and intimidating. However, these names are not particularly relevant to grasping the essential message of the Gita. Still, understanding the context can help.
So now, when Krishna and Arjuna are on the battlefield—we will come to the context of Krishna and Arjuna in the next class—the Gita itself is a conversation between Krishna and Arjuna. The dynamics of their relationship and dialogue will be discussed in the next session in more detail.
As I mentioned earlier, the Gita consists of two nested conversations. The first is between Krishna and Arjuna, which forms the heart of the Gita. Krishna is considered to be God descended into the world, playing the role of a human being. Here, he takes on the role of Arjuna’s charioteer, counselor, and mentor. This interaction forms the essence of the Gita.
Before the Gita reaches this core, however, it begins with another conversation—between Dhritarashtra and Sanjaya. Dhritarashtra’s blindness carries significance both in the Mahabharata and the Gita. Because of his blindness, he cannot officially or fully act as king and is often manipulated by his son. His son, Duryodhana, is the main antagonist in the Mahabharata. The war occurs because Duryodhana, the son of Dhritarashtra, has repeatedly committed atrocities against the Pandavas, who are virtuous.
Dhritarashtra, worried about the war, asks Sanjaya what is happening on the battlefield. He knows the war is about to begin and wants to know who is likely to win. This forms the second conversation within which the Gita is framed.
Dhritarashtra’s blindness also symbolizes the spiritual blindness that many of us experience in life. In the Bhagavad Gita, Dhritarashtra is congenitally blind—blind from birth. Arjuna, on the other hand, becomes circumstantially blind. Circumstantial blindness does not mean he loses his physical sight; rather, it signifies that he is so confused and overwhelmed that he cannot function.
Arjuna’s breakdown is what leads to the speaking of the Bhagavad Gita. Thus, the Gita presents two forms of blindness: Dhritarashtra’s congenital blindness and Arjuna’s circumstantial blindness. Arjuna himself says, “I can’t see clearly, my mind is overwhelmed, and I cannot act properly.” The Bhagavad Gita’s message restores Arjuna’s vision and his ability to act, freeing him from his circumstantial blindness. However, Dhritarashtra’s blindness—both physical and symbolic—is not cured.
It is important to note that the Bhagavad Gita is not a book of magical cures where physical blindness is healed. Instead, blindness signifies the inability to see and act properly. The Gita helps Arjuna regain clarity and action, but Dhritarashtra remains unchanged, which holds its own significance.
To summarize, the Bhagavad Gita is spoken just before a war is about to begin. Dhritarashtra, concerned about the war, asks Sanjaya what is happening on the battlefield.
In today’s world, violence and war alarm people. Violence in the name of religion is particularly troubling. This raises the question: if the Bhagavad Gita is spoken on a battlefield, was the battle real? And if the Gita is a sacred text, why doesn’t it stop someone from fighting?
In fact, the Bhagavad Gita is spoken to a reluctant Arjuna, who is confused and unwilling to fight. After hearing the Gita, Arjuna’s confusion dissipates, and he proceeds to fight. This context may disturb some people, as it might seem that the Gita is inciting violence.
However, this is far from the truth. If the Gita’s purpose were simply to incite Arjuna to fight, Krishna could have achieved this by highlighting all the wrongs done to the Pandavas. When leaders incite violence, they typically emphasize the injustices suffered by their group, stirring emotions of anger and vengeance.
The Bhagavad Gita, however, does not contain even a single reference to the atrocities committed against the Pandavas. These atrocities were significant: Bhima was poisoned as a teenager, the Pandavas were almost burned alive in a supposed home, and their wife Draupadi was publicly humiliated in an attempt to disrobe her. Such acts were unbearable, especially for warriors like the Pandavas, and recalling them could have easily incited them to fight.
Yet, Krishna does not mention any of these events in the Gita. This absence is striking. If Krishna’s goal were merely to provoke Arjuna into fighting, he could have easily reminded him of these injustices, especially the humiliation of Draupadi, to enrage him and spur him into action.
Instead, Krishna takes an entirely different approach. He speaks profound philosophy and addresses Arjuna’s confusion on a deeper, existential level. This absence of vengeful rhetoric highlights the true nature of the Gita—it is not a text that incites violence but one that inspires clarity, purpose, and right action.
What this points to is that the Bhagavad Gita is not specifically spoken to incite anyone to violence. Then, what is it truly about? The battlefield context of the Gita is so disturbing to some people that they interpret it as purely metaphorical. According to this view, the entire setting is symbolic, intended to convey a deeper message. In this metaphorical interpretation, Kurukshetra, the battlefield, represents the human body. The Kauravas, who number 100, signify the many vices or vicious desires within us. On the other hand, the five Pandavas symbolize virtues, indicating that virtuous desires are few in comparison to vices.
Thus, the Bhagavad Gita is understood as a battle within our psyche, a conflict between virtue and vice, between our noble and base desires.
This metaphorical reading of the Gita eliminates the discomfort associated with the imagery of warfare, especially the idea of a sacred book inciting someone to fight. However, interpreting the Gita solely as a metaphor is an intellectual shortcut that does injustice to its contextual framing.
Often, when faced with complex concepts, we seek simpler explanations. Just as electricity follows the path of least resistance, our brains also lean toward the easiest answers. A common approach in religious or philosophical discussions is to make challenging ideas symbolic or metaphorical. While this might be a convenient way to understand the text, it fails to address the profound and deliberate contextual elements of the Gita.
If the Gita were purely metaphorical, why choose a metaphor that would so clearly alienate or disturb people? If the metaphor was meant to convey peace or self-awareness, why set it on a literal battlefield?
Let us consider an analogy: imagine you are watching a movie, and the climactic war scene is about to begin. This is the moment the audience has been anticipating. Would it make sense to suddenly insert a long, deep philosophical conversation just before the action starts? Normally, a battlefield is a place of action, not deep contemplation.
And yet, the Bhagavad Gita begins precisely at this moment of intense urgency, right before the war starts. The unlikeliness of this setting underscores the Gita’s profound universality. Most people do not give much time to philosophy in their daily lives. In fact, a well-known atheist scientist once declared in his book that “philosophy is dead” and that science has taken its place. Ironically, that same book is filled with philosophical discussions and contains very little actual science.
This highlights an important point: science addresses questions like how things operate, but questions like why they exist and what their purpose is are fundamentally philosophical. Philosophy, though often overlooked, shapes our worldview and actions. Even if we claim to be uninterested in philosophy, we all live by some philosophy—whether consciously or subconsciously. It could be a worldview shaped by upbringing, culture, media, or other subtle influences.
The Bhagavad Gita is framed in a unique setting: a war is about to begin, and Arjuna, the leading warrior, suddenly develops a case of nerves. He becomes overwhelmed and confused. This state of emotional and mental paralysis is not due to cowardice but arises from a deeper conflict within him.
Arjuna is not physically blind, but his emotional turmoil clouds his vision and judgment. He puts down his bow, stating, “I cannot fight.” The first chapter of the Gita ends with this dramatic moment, setting the stage for Krishna to begin speaking in the second chapter.
What is remarkable is the timing. When a war is about to begin, urgency is at its peak. Yet, even at such a moment, the Gita shows that beneath any action—no matter how urgent—there is a worldview that animates and informs it.
Arjuna is not just any warrior. He is the quintessential go-getter, someone who achieved unparalleled success and mastery in his time. He was widely regarded as the greatest archer of his era and had performed immense austerities, even ascending to higher realms of existence—something exceedingly rare, even among the most accomplished sages.
Arjuna’s accomplishments are not just extraordinary; they are almost unimaginable. In today’s terms, we might call him the quintessential high achiever—the highest achiever. He had attained what most people could only dream of, or perhaps couldn’t even imagine dreaming.
And yet, the Bhagavad Gita highlights a crucial truth: even a go-getter must pause to reflect on where to go and what to get.
Arjuna’s moment of doubt teaches us that no matter how successful or accomplished we may be, we all face moments of confusion and uncertainty. The Gita, through its dialogue between Krishna and Arjuna, provides timeless guidance for navigating these moments of crisis.
Where to go and what to get—this is the big question we all face. We are busy doing many things in life, but it is essential to ask: What truly matters? What is worth striving for? If we do not answer these questions, we may work hard but find ourselves unfulfilled. Even if we succeed in our efforts, the outcome may feel anticlimactic.
It’s like climbing a ladder with great effort, only to realize it was leaning against the wrong wall. The Bhagavad Gita highlights the importance of reflecting on these fundamental questions, even in moments of the greatest urgency.
Some might argue that it’s unrealistic for a philosophical discussion to occur on a battlefield, just as a war is about to begin. After all, the Bhagavad Gita contains 700 verses, which may seem lengthy. However, in another sense, it’s not so long. The Sanskrit verses of the Gita, if printed, might fill just the front and back pages of a major newspaper like The New York Times or The Times of India. A fluent Sanskrit speaker could recite the entire Gita in about an hour or slightly longer. Even today, during special occasions, it takes most people only two to three hours to recite it fully.
So, how realistic is it to believe that the Gita was spoken in the midst of a battlefield? Let’s explore the contextual significance. To dismiss the Gita as purely metaphorical is an intellectual shortcut that overlooks its depth. But if it’s taken literally, does that mean the Gita incites Arjuna to war? The answer is no. The Gita contains no inflammatory speech designed to provoke violence.
Why, then, is the Bhagavad Gita set on a battlefield? The context serves to highlight the importance of philosophical reflection, even in moments of extreme urgency. Most of us, no matter how busy we are, will rarely face a situation as urgent as preparing for war. And few among us, no matter how accomplished we may be, can compare to Arjuna, a warrior who is not just a high achiever but perhaps the highest achiever of his time.
Arjuna stands on the brink of the greatest war of his life, a war that promises to bring him unparalleled glory and achievement. Yet, in this moment of maximum urgency, he pauses to ask profound questions: What truly matters? Why am I fighting this war? What is the right thing to do in life?
These questions define the Bhagavad Gita. The very first word of the Gita is dharma—from the opening phrase Dharmakshetre Kurukshetre (the field of dharma, the battlefield of Kurukshetra). While dharma is often translated as “religion,” this translation is an oversimplification, to the point of distortion.
Dharma is not merely religious practice associated with a temple or church. At its essence, dharma means “the right thing to do.” The word originates from the Sanskrit root dhru, meaning “to sustain.” Dharma reflects the understanding that there is an underlying order to the world, and we must function in harmony with it.
Consider an example: when we drive on the road, we become part of a larger system—the road transport network. There is a right way to drive, a way that ensures safety and smoothness for ourselves and others. Following traffic rules doesn’t limit our freedom to choose our destination; rather, it enables us to reach our destination with minimal risk.
Similarly, in the context of the universe, dharma refers to the right way to belong harmoniously to the world. We are part of a much larger whole—we depend on the world for air, water, food, and countless other necessities. To live in harmony with the universe is not about adhering to restrictive moral codes but about sustaining a balance that benefits both the individual and the whole.
Dharma allows flexibility, just as drivers can change lanes or choose different routes while following traffic rules. There are multiple levels and practices of dharma, with room for variability. Yet, the underlying principle remains the same: the right way to belong.
Arjuna is confused about this very principle. What does it mean for him to belong harmoniously in the context of his life and his role? This question arises because we all belong to various “wholes”—larger systems or identities that shape us. For example, we may belong to a particular country, gender, profession, or religion. Each of these aspects can pull us in different directions.
Consider the idea of belonging: say someone belongs to India but lives in America. During the Cold War, tensions between India and America were palpable. While India was officially non-aligned, it was perceived to be aligned with Soviet Russia to some extent. This perception created suspicion toward Indians in America, and even when Srila Prabhupada brought his American disciples to India, they were sometimes viewed with suspicion simply because they were American.
Now, imagine an Indian living in America during a period of tension between the two nations. On one hand, they feel a sense of belonging to India, their homeland. On the other, they are living in and contributing to America, which creates another sense of belonging. If asked which country they are loyal to, the answer may not be simple.
This dilemma becomes more relatable when applied to everyday life. Suppose someone faces an urgent project at work and, simultaneously, an important family obligation—perhaps a birthday or anniversary. They belong to their workplace, which demands their focus, but they also belong to their family, which pulls them in another direction. When two different senses of belonging clash, it creates inner conflict: which direction should they choose?
Arjuna faced a similar, but much more intense, conflict on the battlefield. One oversimplified interpretation of the Bhagavad Gita is that Arjuna, a peace-loving individual, was incited to fight by Krishna. This view distorts the Gita’s message. Another simplistic explanation is that Arjuna suffered from pre-war jitters, like a novice soldier overwhelmed by the brutality of war.
However, this interpretation doesn’t hold up under scrutiny. Arjuna was no novice—he had fought and won many wars. Furthermore, in the first chapter of the Bhagavad Gita, not once does he express fear of his own death. His hesitation is not born from fear for his life but from a deeper conflict: the question of what is the right thing to do.
This brings us to the concept of dharma, which plays a central role in the Gita. As previously mentioned, dharma means “the right thing to do,” determined by the roles and contexts we belong to. For Arjuna, this conflict arose from two competing dharmas:
- Kula Dharma: This refers to his duty toward his family and dynasty. As a member of the Kuru dynasty, Arjuna felt obligated to protect his relatives, even though many of them were on the opposing side of the battlefield. His sense of belonging to his family urged him not to be the cause of their destruction.
- Kshatriya Dharma: This refers to his duty as a warrior or, more precisely, as a martial guardian of society. The term kshatriya is derived from kshatra (hurt) and trayate (to protect), meaning one who protects people from harm. As a martial guardian, Arjuna’s duty was to defend society from aggressors.
The Kauravas, who opposed him, had committed numerous atrocities: they had dishonored Draupadi, conspired to kill their cousins (the Pandavas), and sought power through treachery. Allowing such aggressors to wield unchecked power would have disastrous consequences for society. Thus, his kshatriya dharma demanded that he protect society by opposing them.
Arjuna’s conflict stemmed from the fact that these aggressors were also his relatives. His kula dharma pulled him toward protecting his family, while his kshatriya dharma compelled him to fight against them. These two duties pulled him in opposite directions, creating a moral and emotional impasse.
Arjuna found himself in a profound dilemma. On one hand, his kula dharma—his duty toward his family and dynasty—urged him to protect even potential aggressors, who were his relatives. On the other hand, his kshatriya dharma—his duty as a martial guardian of society—compelled him to protect potential victims by neutralizing those same aggressors.
This internal tug-of-war disoriented Arjuna, leaving him confused about what the right course of action was. In the second chapter of the Bhagavad Gita (2.7), he explicitly admits his confusion and surrenders to Krishna, asking for guidance: “I am confused about my duty and am overwhelmed. Please instruct me on what is best for me.”
The specifics of Arjuna’s battlefield situation may not apply to us directly—few of us will ever face a physical war. However, the underlying principle is universal. Like Arjuna, we are often pulled in different directions by conflicting roles and responsibilities. For example, a student may attend university to study and fulfill their family’s expectations, but they also belong to a peer group, which might pull them toward leisure activities like movies, sports, or other distractions.
Sometimes this pull is overt, and we feel the tension of conflicting responsibilities. At other times, it is so subtle that we don’t even realize we are being pulled away from our goals. The question then arises: when we are being pulled in different directions, how do we resolve the conflict?
The Bhagavad Gita addresses this timeless question by exploring what is right. It begins by asking an even deeper question: what is the right way to belong? Understanding this requires a proper conception of our identity—who we are at our core. That’s why Krishna, in his response to Arjuna, begins with the topic of identity: “Who are you really, Arjuna?”
This question of identity, and by extension the question of duty, is universally relevant. The Bhagavad Gita provides guidance on what is the right thing to do when we are pulled in different directions—whether by forces within us or outside of us.
It is this universality that has given the Bhagavad Gita enduring relevance for thousands of years. The greatest thinkers in history—both from India and beyond—have drawn wisdom from the Gita. Indian philosophers such as Shankara, Ramanuja, and Madhva, as well as Western intellectuals like Emerson and Thoreau, have admired and commented on its teachings. Even scientists like Einstein appreciated the depth of its wisdom.
Today, the complexity of modern life has only intensified the forces pulling us in multiple directions. We belong to various roles, communities, and responsibilities, and it is easy to feel overwhelmed by these competing demands. The Bhagavad Gita offers timeless insights to help us navigate these complexities by teaching us to understand our identity and guiding us toward the right way to act.
To summarize:
- The Bhagavad Gita is a philosophical dialogue between Krishna and Arjuna, set within the framework of the Mahabharata, the longest poem in history. It consists of 700 verses, a relatively compact work with immense depth.
- The Gita’s battlefield setting emphasizes the urgency of philosophy as a guiding force in life, not to incite war. In fact, the Gita actively de-escalates emotional agitation by promoting equanimity and equipoise, not hatred or incitement.
- Its primary purpose is not to advocate war but to highlight the necessity of a well-thought-out philosophical framework to guide life’s most challenging decisions.
The Bhagavad Gita reminds us that understanding our duties begins with understanding our true identity, and this foundational wisdom can help us determine the right way to belong and act in a complex and ever-changing world.
Many people claim they have little time for philosophy. Yet, whether they realize it or not, they live by an unthought philosophy—a set of beliefs, values, and assumptions that guide their decisions without conscious contemplation. The Bhagavad Gita challenges this approach to life by asking: what really counts? What should we live for?
When the Bhagavad Gita is spoken, Arjuna is not paralyzed by fear or pre-war jitters. Unlike novice soldiers who dread their own mortality, Arjuna never once mentions fear of death as a reason for his hesitation. Instead, his dilemma arises from conflicting pulls of duty. His kula dharma—his familial duty to his dynasty—pulls him away from fighting, while his kshatriya dharma—his responsibility as a martial guardian of society—compels him to protect potential victims by acting against the aggressors.
The ethical crisis deepens because the aggressors in this case are his own relatives. This tension between roles creates a profound sense of confusion, one that many of us can relate to. We, too, belong to various groups and communities—our families, workplaces, social circles, and more—and these “wholes” often pull us in different directions.
The Bhagavad Gita helps us navigate this complexity by revealing the ultimate whole to which we belong: the universal reality or the Supreme. It then teaches us the healthiest way to belong to that ultimate whole, while harmonizing our connections with all other roles and responsibilities in life. This understanding forms the foundation of the Gita’s guidance, which will be explored further in subsequent discussions.
Question: Was Arjuna deliberately put into illusion by Krishna so the Bhagavad Gita could be spoken?
This question can be examined from different perspectives. From a transcendental perspective, Arjuna was indeed a close associate of Krishna and a spiritually evolved individual. Such a person is unlikely to experience confusion under normal circumstances. Therefore, it is understood that Arjuna’s ethical crisis was part of Krishna’s divine arrangement to facilitate the delivery of the Gita’s teachings.
However, this divine arrangement does not mean Arjuna’s experience was artificial. The crisis he faced—so intense that his bow slipped from his hand, his body trembled, and his eyes filled with tears—was very real to him. He was genuinely afflicted by the ethical dilemma.
As Madhvacharya explains, epics like the Mahabharata (of which the Bhagavad Gita is a part) can be analyzed from multiple frames of reference. From a transcendental frame, Krishna’s arrangement explains the context of the Gita. However, from an ethical frame, we can explore the specific causes of Arjuna’s crisis, how it relates to our own struggles, and what lessons we can draw for our lives.
Both perspectives are valid and compatible, depending on the frame we choose to adopt. The transcendental explanation preserves Arjuna’s enlightened status, while the ethical explanation provides actionable insights for us.
Question: Has the emphasis on the Bhagavad Gita in the Gaudiya Vaishnava tradition been a recent phenomenon?
The answer is both yes and no. Historically, the Gaudiya Vaishnava tradition has focused primarily on Krishna Bhakti (devotion to Krishna). Foundational figures like Jiva Goswami do reference the Bhagavad Gita in their works, such as the Sandarbhas. However, as the Gaudiya tradition expanded beyond its roots, particularly to audiences unfamiliar with Krishna or bhakti, the Gita’s teachings became an essential entry point.
For those new to spiritual knowledge, the Bhagavad Gita serves as a foundational text. Its universal and accessible wisdom lays the groundwork for understanding the higher, more esoteric aspects of the Gaudiya tradition. Thus, while the Bhagavad Gita has always been respected, its role as a bridge for engaging broader audiences has grown in prominence in recent times.
Is the Bhagavad Gita a later insertion in the Mahabharata?
When discussing the possibility of the Bhagavad Gita being a later addition to the Mahabharata, it’s essential to examine the evidence carefully. Stylistically, the Bhagavad Gita—in its meter, language, and structure—is remarkably consistent with the rest of the Mahabharata. From a historical perspective, however, determining the exact date of its composition is a challenging endeavor.
The primary challenge lies in India’s historical context. In ancient India, texts were often written on materials like leaves, which degraded over time due to the tropical climate. Paper, as we know it, wasn’t available. As a result, historians rely on indirect evidence, such as architectural remains or references to texts in other works, to approximate dates.
This approach is inherently speculative. One prominent scholar even described the dating of ancient Indian literature as being “shrouded in terrifying darkness,” where historians are left to “throw pins” at the timeline and accept wherever they land.
Moreover, Indian literature has a long-standing oral tradition that predates its written form by centuries, if not millennia. Empirical methods cannot capture the age of these oral traditions, leaving significant gaps in our understanding of their origins.
Despite this uncertainty, some strong arguments counter the idea of the Bhagavad Gita being a later insertion. For instance, Buddhism and Jainism, both predating the common era, frequently critiqued Krishna and his teachings. Over thousands of years, none of their criticisms separated the Bhagavad Gita from the Mahabharata. This modern theory of divorcing the two is thus a relatively recent phenomenon, not supported by ancient traditions or critiques.
Why did Srila Prabhupada refer to his commentary as Bhagavad Gita As It Is?
Srila Prabhupada’s use of the title Bhagavad Gita As It Is reflects a claim to authenticity, not exclusivity. He did not assert that his commentary was the only valid interpretation of the Gita. Instead, he emphasized its faithfulness to the Gita’s original intent and purpose, as revealed in the text itself.
Prabhupada drew from a wide range of commentators, including those from traditions outside his own Gaudiya Vaishnava lineage, such as Ramanujacharya. His approach was rooted in preserving the core message of the Gita as articulated by Krishna and understood by its first recipient, Arjuna.
In the Gita’s 10th chapter, Arjuna explicitly declares Krishna as the Supreme Being. By the end of the Gita, Arjuna resolves his ethical crisis by submitting to Krishna’s will, stating, “I will do as You say.” These responses demonstrate that the Gita’s primary purpose is to guide its reader toward devotion (bhakti) to Krishna as both the ultimate goal (sadhya) and the means (sadhana).
Prabhupada’s concern was that some commentators, while exploring the Gita’s philosophical richness, often overlooked or even distorted this central message. In emphasizing the title As It Is, he sought to uphold the original conclusion of the Gita as a text of devotion and practical spiritual guidance, rather than one reinterpreted to justify external philosophies or agendas.
That said, Prabhupada acknowledged that the Gita offers a wealth of wisdom applicable to various aspects of life. However, he cautioned against presenting this auxiliary wisdom as the Gita’s primary purpose. His commentary sought to maintain a balance: providing insights on diverse topics while staying anchored in the Gita’s original intent.
Notably, Prabhupada himself mentioned that he would have liked to write another commentary on the Gita, highlighting his openness to the text’s depth and diversity. Thus, Bhagavad Gita As It Is stands as a declaration of authenticity, ensuring faithfulness to Krishna’s intended message while leaving space for multiple explanations and perspectives.
So now, is the Bhagavad Gita a later insertion in the Mahabharata, based on the style of writing and other factors?
Well, if you consider the style of writing, meter, and other characteristics, they are remarkably similar. From a historical perspective, with all due respect to academic scholars, it’s a very iffy game.
Why “iffy game”?
“Iffy” means there are a lot of “ifs” and a lot of guesswork. Ultimately, how do we know the exact date when a particular book was written? India, being a hot tropical country, had its writings recorded on leaves in ancient times, as paper was unavailable. These leaves, or other writing materials, would not last long.
When historians attempt to date any book, they usually rely on physical evidence that suggests the existence or prevalence of that book. For instance, they might examine architectural remains, cross-references in other texts, and various other sources. However, what they can definitively find are merely traces or signs of the text’s existence.
Here’s an analogy: imagine a thief who steals money and stores it in an envelope. The investigators find the envelope, but finding it does not recover the stolen money. Similarly, historians can only determine the historical age of written references or remains of the Bhagavad Gita or Mahabharata, but they acknowledge that India had a strong oral tradition much older than the written one.
The question of how ancient this oral tradition was remains unanswered, as there’s no empirical way for historians to determine this. A prominent indologist has even remarked that dating Indian literature is shrouded in “terrifying darkness,” and any conclusions often amount to nothing more than educated guesses.
Regarding the Bhagavad Gita and the Mahabharata:
Historians recognize that Jainism and Buddhism originated in pre-Christian times. The Jains and Buddhists, who were critical of Krishna and his teachings, criticized his character and philosophy but never separated Krishna and the Bhagavad Gita from the Mahabharata. Thus, the idea of divorcing the two is a relatively modern phenomenon.
Now, regarding your second question: why did Srila Prabhupada refer to his commentary as Bhagavad Gita As It Is?
Srila Prabhupada never claimed exclusivity in his commentary; he claimed authenticity. Exclusivity means asserting that his commentary is the only correct one, which he did not do. Instead, Prabhupada drew insights from other commentators in the tradition—not only from the Gaudiya tradition but also from Ramanujacharya and others from different schools.
When Prabhupada referred to his commentary as Bhagavad Gita As It Is, it signified his faithfulness to the Gita’s original purpose. He explained this in the introduction to his commentary:
The Bhagavad Gita was spoken by Krishna to Arjuna for a clear purpose. By the 10th chapter of the Gita, Arjuna accepts Krishna as the Supreme, and by the end, he acts in a devotional way, saying, “I will do Your will.” Thus, the Gita is about addressing the question of dharma—both the objective (sadhya) and the means to achieve it (sadhana). Krishna is the ultimate objective, and bhakti is the means.
Prabhupada emphasized keeping this original conclusion clear in his commentary. While the Gita offers much other wisdom, if any other conclusion is presented as the Gita’s essence, it leads to misrepresentation. Many have used the Gita to justify their philosophies by claiming that it supports their views, and Prabhupada strongly opposed this.
While the Gita is open to various explanations, its context leads to one primary conclusion, as seen in Arjuna’s understanding and actions. Prabhupada’s commentary stays true to this, making it authentic.
Additionally, Prabhupada himself stated that he might like to write another commentary on the Gita, indicating that his claim was never one of exclusivity. It was about being true to the Gita’s original message.
Thank you very much for your attention! Some other questions remain, which we will address separately. I’ll send the answers to the WhatsApp group.
Hare Krishna! Bhagavad Gita ki Jai!