Bhagavad Gita Overview Chapter 14

Hare Krishna. So, today we begin the 14th chapter of the Bhagavad Gita. In the 13th chapter, what was the main topic? Gyaan (knowledge). There were six questions asked: Kshetra, Kshetragya, Gyaan, Geya, Prakriti, and Purusha. When this was discussed, what was the underlying question Arjuna had? Yes, he wanted to understand how the philosophical worldview of Gyaan aligns or reconciles with the Bhakti worldview that Krishna is presenting.

Sometimes, when a question is asked, we can answer by addressing the content of the question, or we can look deeper to understand the intent behind the question. Answering the content is good, but understanding the intent and answering that is by far the best approach. That is what Krishna will do in this chapter.

A central element of the Gyaan worldview being discussed here is the gunas—the three modes of material nature. Krishna will elaborate on these three modes in this chapter. Let’s look at how Krishna introduces them in verse 5 of the 14th chapter. He lists the three modes: Sattva, Rajas, and Tamas. He says, Iti, gunaha, prakriti sambhavaha, meaning that these three modes are born of material nature. What do they do? Nibbathnanti—they bind.

Krishna often addresses Arjuna as “Mahabaho.” What does this literally mean? It means “mighty-armed” or “powerful.” In one sense, it’s a respectful acknowledgment of Arjuna’s position. However, Krishna sometimes uses it to convey that even though Arjuna is mighty-armed, the truth he is about to discuss is much more powerful. So here, Nibbathnanti Mahabaho, there’s a contrast: “Bound, O mighty-armed one.” The implication is that, despite your strength, you too are bound by these modes. Krishna doesn’t say specifically, “You are bound,” but rather that all embodied beings, every soul, are bound by the modes of nature from time immemorial.

Now, let’s understand the modes. The most common metaphor used to explain the modes is ropes. The modes are subtle forces that bind the soul to the body. Think of them as three ropes: Sattva, Rajas, and Tamas. These ropes are constantly present and bind the soul to the body or spirit to matter.

Imagine the soul as pure, unaffected by the modes, but its consciousness is shaped by them. For example, if there are three students at a college, one in Sattva Guna, one in Rajo Guna, and one in Tamo Guna, they may all come to the same college gate but experience different pulls. The Sattvic student may feel a pull toward the library to study, the Rajasic student may feel a pull toward the canteen to meet friends, and the Tamasic student may be drawn to a secret place for escapism.

These modes shape how we interact with matter. For example, if you are in Sattva Guna, you may feel a desire to understand this subject better. If your mind is in Rajo Guna, you might feel distracted by the idea of a good meal. If you are in Tamo Guna, you might be focused on getting rest. All these reactions are understandable, but none of the modes is intrinsically bad. In fact, Tamas is necessary for sleep and rest.

For example, when people go to bed and can’t sleep because their minds are racing with thoughts, that’s problematic. But if Tamas helps us sleep, then it serves a beneficial purpose. So, while the modes act on our consciousness and bind us in different ways, they all have a role in nature.

Sattva, for example, is associated with clarity and calmness. In a Sattvic state, we think clearly, plan, and strive for understanding. However, these modes are not only psychological forces; they also have associations with external things and environments. Some people’s minds are habitually in Tamas, seeking escapism through sleep, entertainment, or even substances. Others are more action-oriented and motivated by Rajas.

So, the modes influence both our inner mental states and our interaction with the outer world. Understanding these modes helps us understand how our consciousness is shaped and how we respond to various situations.

Sattva is associated with clarity, while Rajas is associated with activity, and often, hyperactivity. In Rajas, a person just cannot sit peacefully; they feel the constant need to do something. Sitting and thinking is important, but they don’t feel its value. They might say, “Enough. Let’s move on, let’s do something.” Generally, Tamas is associated with lethargy.

In Sattva, things are happening, and the focus is on figuring out how and why things are happening. The mood in Sattva is about seeking understanding and clarity. In Rajas, things are happening, but the mindset is about making them happen in one’s own way. There’s a desire to control things: “I have to do this, I have to do that, I have to bend the world to my will.” So, Sattva seeks understanding, clarity, and knowledge, while Rajas seeks control and action. Tamas, on the other hand, seeks escapism—”Things are happening, but who cares? I just want to escape into my own world and enjoy.”

The term “escapist entertainment” is often used when referring to movies. It provides an escape from the world for a time. Now, while we often associate Tamas with distraction, one might wonder if Rajas can also be associated with distraction. The answer depends on the situation.

Generally, Sattva is associated with concentration, where we can focus our mind. Concentration, however, requires effort, while absorption is more effortless. The same two traits—concentration and absorption—can exist in Rajas as well, but with a different purpose: control and enjoyment. People who are materialistic can work very hard, often forgetting to eat or sleep, consumed by the need to control their surroundings. This can lead to absorption, but it is absorption aimed at enjoyment.

Of course, Rajas can also cause distraction. If there are too many things happening, one might want to do everything at once—creating mental chaos. Now, Tamas is often associated with passive attention. What does passive attention mean? We generally think of attention as a good thing. If someone is watching a movie, they are fully attentive, right? In fact, the environment around a movie is designed to maximize focus: lights dim, the atmosphere is immersive. Today, people can watch movies on their phones or at home, but they still pay significant amounts to watch movies in theaters. Why? Because the movie is meant to provide an escape, and the environment at the theater helps people escape better.

This relates to two powers of Maya: Avanatmika Shakti, which covers everything else, and Prakshepatmika Shakti, which pulls us in a certain direction. When watching a movie, people are absorbed and immersed, but this is often passive—without much mental activity.

Similarly, when people get hooked on social media, they can mindlessly scroll from one post to another, hour after hour. Afterward, they often don’t even remember what they saw. This is an example of passive attention, which is not healthy.

There is a concept of attention regulation. Attention regulation refers to whether a person is able to focus. One extreme in attention regulation is distraction—where the mind is scattered in many directions and the person can’t focus on one thing. The other extreme is obsession or fixation—when attention is fixated on one thing to the point of being oblivious to the environment. For example, if someone is driving and watching a movie on their phone, they may be so caught up in the movie that they don’t even notice traffic around them. This is dangerous.

Distraction occurs when the mind is running in different directions, whereas fixation happens when the mind becomes focused on something without the person realizing it. Both extremes are unhealthy.

The best form of attention regulation is intentional focus—active attention. This is the ideal state, where we focus our attention on a specific task or goal with purpose.

This is a significant difference between reading books and watching TV or movies. When we watch a movie, the world is created for us, and we just passively consume it. But when reading a novel, our mind and brain have to work to create the world in our imagination, which requires more effort. This is why people tend to avoid it—they don’t want to exert mental effort. Unfortunately, watching too much TV can stunt intellectual development, which is why TV is sometimes called the “idiot box.”

So, the point I am making is that modes can shape both our external experiences and internal mental states. External experiences, like books or movies, can put us in certain modes. For example, reading a book is typically associated with Sattva, especially if it’s an intellectually engaging book, while watching movies is more associated with Tamas, unless the movie is philosophical or requires active mental engagement.

Some people’s minds are shaped in ways that make them prefer books over movies, while others may prefer movies. Those who prefer books tend to be more in Sattva, whereas those who prefer movies might be more inclined toward Tamas. People in Rajas may enjoy action-packed movies or situations where they can exercise control.

The modes are thus associated with both external stimuli and internal mental states. And over time, we become habituated to functioning in ways shaped by the dominant mode in our environment or mind.

So, I will give some metaphors to illustrate the idea of the modes, and then we’ll move forward to explain how Krishna analyzes them. One metaphor I use is ropes. The ropes convey the idea that we are being pulled. So, you could say the ropes act on the objects, and the ropes also act on the minds. Some minds naturally seek out certain objects, while some objects pull certain minds. You can see this in our own lives—sometimes, sense objects come toward us without our will, and sometimes our senses go out seeking sense objects. So, it works both ways. The modes are like ropes.

Another way to understand the modes is to think of them as colors. Krishna says that the material world is made of modes. If you consider colors, specifically in a digital medium, you have pixels, which are made of just three colors. But from these three colors, all images and videos emerge in the digital world. Similarly, all sense objects emerge from the modes (gunas). “Vishaya” means sense objects, not subjects. So, from the modes, all sense objects emerge. In this sense, the modes are the building blocks of material existence, just as pixels are the building blocks of everything that appears on a screen.

Another metaphor is that the modes are like gears. In a vehicle, when the car is in a particular gear, it naturally moves in a certain direction. Similarly, our body-mind machine can operate in different gears. Once it’s in a particular gear, it will start functioning in that way. For example, in the middle of the day, we might be working, and then suddenly someone calls us to have a philosophical discussion. If we are in a mode of active work (Rajoguna), it’s difficult to shift to a different mode. Like a car’s gear, once it’s in a particular mode, there is momentum associated with it, and shifting that momentum takes time. So, the modes are like gears, and these gears have momentum. Moving forward in a particular mode is easier, but shifting modes can be difficult.

The modes can change naturally or intentionally. For example, mornings are broadly in Satvik mode, with daytime generally in Rajasic mode, and nighttime in Tamasic mode. These are natural shifts in the modes. However, it’s also possible for a person to intentionally change their mode. For instance, if someone has developed the habit of staying awake late at night, studying, it might be easier for them to study at night. So, intentional change can come from present choices or past habits.

The modes are in competition with each other, as Krishna says in the Bhagavad Gita. He describes how one mode can dominate over others: “Rajas Tamas Cha Abhibhuvya” means that the modes of Rajas and Tamas can overcome and subordinate Satva. This can happen in various situations, such as a student being pulled between wanting to study (Satvik) and wanting to party (Rajasic). The modes can pull us in different directions, and sometimes, even within the same mode, there are different pulls. For example, both the desire to achieve and the desire to enjoy can come from Rajas, but one is more long-term and one is more immediate.

The key is that the modes ultimately determine our actions not just by what we do, but by the intention behind our actions. For example, Hiranyakashipu performed Tapasya (a form of austerity), which is normally considered Satvik. But his intention was to destroy Lord Vishnu, which was driven by Tamasic desire. So, the intention behind an action matters more than the action itself in determining which mode influences us.

When someone chooses not to drink, the reasoning behind this can vary. For example, they might think, “I don’t want to lose my license because then how will I go out? How will I enjoy?” This would be a Rajasic consideration. But someone else might think, “If I drive after drinking, I might hit someone, cause an accident, or even kill someone. I want to enjoy, but I don’t want to harm anyone.” In this case, the intention behind the regulation could be Rajasic, but it could also be Tamasic. It depends on the individual’s mindset.

The modes are determined not just by the activity we are engaged in, but more importantly by the motivation behind it. All of us experience different pulls in our lives. So, what do the modes actually do to us? How do they influence us?

Broadly speaking, at the level of the mind, two things happen: emotions and desires. Emotions are generally associated with the Gyaan Endriyas (the senses of perception). When we perceive something, we feel an emotion. For example, “Hey, that’s beautiful,” or “That’s terrible,” or “That’s disgusting.” Emotions are responses to things we perceive. There could be shock, anger, happiness, or various other emotions.

On the other hand, desires are associated with the Karmendriyas (the senses of action). When we have desires, we don’t just perceive—we pursue. The very nature of desire is the act of wanting something.

The Bhagavad Gita explains, “Dhyayato vishayan kumsah, sangah teshu pajayate, sangat sanjayate kamah”—When we contemplate on an object, we develop attachment to it, and from attachment, desire arises. So, emotions and desires are related. When we perceive something, we might feel an emotion, and from that emotion, desire can develop.

However, while emotions and desires are related, they are different in terms of their direction and modality. The modes primarily affect us by inducing emotions and desires. The modes shape our activities by influencing the emotions we feel and the desires we pursue.

The modes are subtle forces that awaken certain emotions and desires within us. Depending on the mode we are in, we may experience the same object in different ways. For example, in the case of a Bharatnatyam dance performed by a female dancer:

• A person in Sattva might appreciate the skill of the dancer and focus on the story being depicted, such as remembering Krishna Leela.
• A person in Rajas might focus on the sensuality and physicality of the dancer, rather than the story or spiritual aspect.
• A person in Tamas might disregard the dance’s meaning and only focus on the sensual aspect, without any awareness of the artistic or spiritual portrayal.

The same object can trigger different emotions and reactions in different individuals depending on their modes. Krishna explains this analysis of the modes in terms of how they manifest in us. The Gita offers a technical analysis, but I’ll just give a broad outline here.

Each mode is associated with a defining characteristic—clarity for Sattva, activity for Rajas, and lethargy for Tamas. Krishna also provides a way to determine which mode is becoming more dominant in us, using three key characteristics.

Let’s consider this:

“Sarva Dwareshu Deheshu” refers to the body having many doors, the senses through which we perceive the world. In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna speaks poetically and metaphorically about how the modes operate. When Prakash (light) arises in all the doors of the body, it signifies that we are aware of what is coming into our senses and what is going out. This light represents knowledge.

For example, if we are in a dark room and there is no light, we cannot see who is coming in or going out. But if the room is properly lit, we can see clearly and choose who to welcome or whom to send away. Similarly, when the senses are illuminated by knowledge, we become aware of what we are experiencing and can choose to act or not act.

So, when Krishna says that the “doors of the senses are illuminated,” he means that we are conscious of the emotions and desires we are feeling. We become aware of whether the emotions we are experiencing are healthy or unhealthy, and whether the desires we are pursuing are beneficial or harmful. This is the light of Sattva.

As Krishna says, “Gyaanam Yadav Tada Vidyad, Vivruddham Sattvam Ityuta,” when there is illumination through knowledge, and the senses are open and aware, that is when the mode of Sattva becomes prominent.

So, imagine we are watching TV. Now, we are aware of what we are watching. Is it a waste of time? Am I learning something valuable from it? And let’s say there’s Prakash. Even when we’re reading the news, reading a book, or talking with someone, sometimes we just get caught up in the conversation. Maybe it starts constructively, but then the person starts gossiping, and we get carried away. Eventually, it turns into prajnaparam. But we become aware of this. Now, it has become gossip, and we may decide, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

So, when we are aware of what is happening with our senses, that awareness is an indication of Sattvaguna rising within us. The key point of Sattvaguna is awareness. But it’s not just awareness; awareness, of course, is followed by action. Action, in terms of choice. Let’s say that awareness leads to intelligent action or intelligent choices. What is it that I want to allow into my eyes, my ears? We all know the three monkeys: “See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.” This is closely related to Sattvaguna. We are selective, careful about what we take in, and also careful about what we let out. We don’t see nasty things, we don’t speak nasty words—that is Sattvaguna.

Many people talk about being present. They say, “Live in the present. Be aware of the moment.” The whole idea of mindfulness, which is very common in today’s world, is closely related to Sattvaguna. It’s not much more than that. This is Sattvaguna—just becoming more aware of what is happening around us. We will revisit this theme toward the end of this chapter.

Now, let’s recite this verse once again: “Sarva Dvāre Shuddhe, together, Sarva Dvāre Shuddhe, Hesvin, Prakāśa Upajāyate, Gnānam yadātata vidyāt, Vṛdhāṁ sattva mithyukā.“

Regarding Sanskrit pronunciation: when it is I-T-I, it will be “iti.” When it is I-T-Y-I, it is “ityauta.” It’s not “ityauta,” it’s “ityauta.” The “ta” is half, and then “ye” follows after that. “Ityauta.”

Now, Krishna talks about Rajoguna. Rajoguna is also called “lobha” (greed). The first thing is “lobha”—the desire for more, more, more. Then there’s “pravṛtti” or “ārambhā.” “Pravṛtti” means we all have certain natural tendencies, which is fine. But when there is greed, we keep starting new things. Today, we like something, so we do it. Tomorrow, we like something else and do that. “Pravṛtti ārambhā” refers to starting new things without finishing them.

A person with Rajoguna is very good at starting things, but not at finishing them. There is a lot of activity associated with “āśyamaha spruhā.” “Spruhā” is desire, something everyone has, but “āśyamaha” refers to insatiable desire, which is unhealthy.

For example, we all want to eat food, and nobody wants to eat tasteless food. But when it’s “ātma-guna,” we eat tasty food, and when our stomach is full, we feel satisfied. But when Rajoguna is present, we want to eat and eat and eat. Initially, we are human beings eating food, but as we go on, we become like pigs—eating more and more.

Desire is natural, but “āśyamaha spruhā” (insatiable desire) is unhealthy. When these things happen, “rajasya etāni jāyante.” Krishna says that these results occur when Rajoguna becomes dominant. He also refers to Arjuna as “Bharatarṣabha.”

“Lobha pravṛttir ārambhā, karmana āśyamaha spruhā, rajasya etāni jāyante, vivṛuddhe bhāratarṣabha.”

What Krishna is saying about Rajoguna is basically that it starts with desire, craving (lobha). And because there is craving, there is “pravṛtti”—the urge to do more. For example, you may have one job and get this much money, but then you take another job. Or you start one project and then take on another, driven by the desire to impress others or grow fast.

Somebody might start exercising, which is a good thing. But there is such a thing as exercise addiction. How can someone become addicted to something like this? People become so obsessed with their figure or biceps that they can’t stop. Even something good like exercise can become harmful when done excessively.

Karmana ārambhā means starting work or activities without finishing them. A person with Rajoguna constantly starts new projects but doesn’t bring them to completion. There’s also an obsession with work—being a workaholic. Workaholics can’t live without working; work becomes their identity. This work obsession is often glamorized in society.

When someone becomes a workaholic, their work doesn’t just become their livelihood—it becomes their whole identity. Excessive work is often seen as admirable, but it is not sustainable. Over time, people may become disillusioned with Rajoguna because it brings no real fulfillment. The desire for more becomes insatiable.

Many people are talking about work-life balance because Rajoguna is not sustainable. There is an initial thrill from doing exciting things, a rush of adrenaline at a neurochemical level. But that cannot be sustained for a long time.

Rajoguna is when desires are very strong and when the urge to do more is powerful. Work becomes excessive, disproportionate. Now, remember, this applies both externally and internally. Some people are driven to be workaholics, while certain professions require that kind of dedication. In fact, some people cannot succeed unless they are workaholics.

For instance, in high-stakes professions like law, especially in America, young women work 80-90 hours a week to rise to the top. But by the time they reach their 30s or 40s, they begin to question the point of it all. Many of them voluntarily choose to work part-time, desiring more balance in their lives, such as family time. Their work-life balance is disrupted, and they seek something more fulfilling.

This is why everyone needs both “varna” (profession) and “ashrama” (relationships) for satisfaction. Traditionally, men focused more on “varna” and women more on “ashrama.” In earlier times, much of the work was physical, and the male body was more suited for that. Women focused on home life and family.

But in modern times, there’s a shift. Women are often taught to prioritize their careers. In societies like India, not having children is considered unfortunate, while in the West, some women proudly say they are “child-free.” This is a distorted idea.

So, women are taught that marriage and motherhood are traps. They will prevent you from advancing in your career. This is one of the main reasons why the population is decreasing in the western world — because women don’t want to sacrifice their careers to have children. And then, who will have children? That’s why, although they don’t want too many immigrants, they do want immigrants; otherwise, there’s nobody to work over there, nobody to carry on future generations. But the point is, this doesn’t lead to any kind of fulfillment. Varna and ashram — both are needed.

It’s not that in traditional society, women were always just homemakers. Traditionally, women also had a varna. We see this in Krishna Leela itself, where there is the fruit vendor, who is a woman. Selling fruits is her job. Even the gopis would go to Mathura or outside the city to sell butter and milk. But it is said, “Vikre tu kaama khila gopa kanya.” They would be so absorbed in Krishna that normally, in India, people selling milk, butter, curd, etc., would promote their wares. But when the gopis would go, they would say “Krishna, Krishna, Krishna, Krishna” while selling. People would understand, “Okay, what have they got?” But the point is, they also had jobs.

However, the key was that, in the past, varna did not interfere with ashram. People were able to manage their varna in such a way that they could also take care of their ashram. But especially after the industrial revolution, jobs started going away from the homes. For example, if someone has a farm next to their house, they can go work on the farm and then come back to take care of the child as well. But when jobs started moving to different cities, the support system for society weakened. Taking care of a newborn baby is not a one-person responsibility; it’s very difficult for just one person to do it. An extended family is required.

I go to America regularly, and I noticed that Indians who settled in America, especially when they were going to have children, didn’t want to come to India because if the child was born in America, the child would naturally become an American citizen. And that’s the dream. So they would bring their parents to America to take care of them during the birth. However, during the pandemic, nobody could travel, and it was extremely difficult. There’s a whole category of babies called “pandemic babies.” These babies often have delayed cognitive and emotional development because they missed out on much-needed socialization.

Taking care of children, especially in modern society, has become much more difficult. Modern society’s fixation on varna at the expense of ashram affects men and women differently. For men, it’s bad, but for women, it’s worse. The female psyche is made in such a way that women value relationships more than men. Men value relationships, no doubt, but women prioritize them more. Men generally prefer action movies, whereas women are more interested in relationship-driven stories, romance, and emotional exchanges. Even in novels, there are books for women and books for men, with different focuses.

But the point is, varna and ashram are required for everyone. What Rajoguna does is create an imbalance. When one’s identity becomes solely fixated on work, it doesn’t work. Many women are now told, “Pursue your career, rise in your career, and when you’re 50 or 55, you can have a child.” But the problem is, there’s a biological cycle for women’s bodies, and they cannot bear children after a certain age. Some companies even provide “egg banks” for women to store their eggs for future use. But this doesn’t address the reality: while the eggs might be stored, it’s still very difficult for a woman to carry a child at an older age. So, there’s an increasing trend of surrogate parenting or surrogate pregnancies, where the egg and sperm are from the parents, but another woman carries the baby. This is leading to the commercialization of childbirth.

All of this is a result of Rajoguna. Rajoguna is associated with control — control over one’s body, refusing to cooperate with natural cycles. This is part of the philosophy of transhumanism, especially popular in Silicon Valley and the East Coast of the U.S. They believe death, old age, and disease are problems that can be transcended through technological advancement. They are developing more and more technology to control these natural processes. For example, my friend, who turned 50, started receiving emails offering remedies for aging issues like back pain, indigestion, and arthritis. The message was: “Now, your real life begins after 50. You can enjoy life after working hard for so many years.” They suggest that with technology, you can stay young, even if you’re physically aging.

However, the International Gerontological Association has stated publicly that no technology or medication can reverse, stop, or slow down the aging process. They say that all we can do is “hide” aging. The wrinkles on your face can be minimized with treatments like Botox, but it doesn’t reverse aging. There’s even a debate about whether men should use Botox, as women do.

This is the impact of Rajoguna, which leads to a desire for control over everything.

Now, let’s talk about Tamoguna. Tamoguna is the opposite of Rajoguna and Sattvaguna. The defining characteristics of Tamoguna are “Aprakasho” (lack of illumination) and “Apravruthi” (lack of activity). There is no clarity, no progress — just madness (Pramada) and illusion (Moha). In Tamoguna, one wants to escape from reality. While Rajoguna is about control, Tamoguna is about disconnecting from reality, either through madness (internally) or illusion (externally). Watching movies, for example, is an illusionary escape from the real world.

In America, I once visited a college that was named the “American Institute of Illusion.” They trained people to make movies — to create illusions. Hundreds of movies are made every year. Some of them become blockbusters, but others are flops. Now, there’s even a term for extremely unsuccessful movies: “Flopbusters,” where huge amounts of money are lost. Why does that happen? Because the illusion isn’t good enough — the characters aren’t relatable, or the action isn’t believable. People want to escape into something believable, but when that illusion doesn’t work, they get bored and dissatisfied.

Until recently, Hollywood used to make fun of Bollywood movies for their unrealistic plots and fight scenes, which defied the laws of gravity and logic. But now, it’s widely accepted that such illusions can work if done correctly.

They just can’t figure out. You want to have a movie, you’re trying to replicate real life in a more entertaining way. But suddenly, in the middle of real life, who starts dancing? They used to make fun of this, but now the influence of Bollywood is also increasing. Some Bollywood movies have even won big awards, and the West is noticing. But the point is that there may be different ways people try to escape. To the Western mind, what happens is that this is too unrealistic. You can’t believe it. Everybody has to suspend their belief to some extent when you watch a movie, like when Superman starts flying through the sky.

So, what happens is you have to suspend your belief to some extent, but the way the Western mind suspends this belief and the way the Indian mind suspends this belief are slightly different. There might be different kinds of attachment for different minds, but the point is everybody wants escapism. People seek escapism in different ways. Tamas says, “This reality is so boring,” and rather than doing the work to make the reality better, they just escape. In Rajiv Munna, we try to control and make reality better, but Tamavuna just escapes from reality.

So traditionally, India had, in one sense, escapism, which is basically like a painkiller. Life can be dissatisfying or even devastating. Dissatisfaction is often associated with boredom, but devastation is something unbearable. Distress can be wide-reaching, and people want to escape from distress. I mean, when we say this world is a place of “dukkha layam,” it doesn’t mean everyone is crying in misery. But who can say they are completely satisfied with their life? Everyone has some form of dissatisfaction, which, for them, is tormenting. For someone else, it may not be a big deal, but for them, it’s a big deal. So, the world is a place of distress, and people want to escape. Escapism is like a painkiller — rather than curing the disease, it just covers the pain.

India traditionally had two painkillers: Bollywood and cricket. About 15 years ago, both of them got married, and they had a child — IPL. So, it’s like a double dose of painkiller.

Entertainment has always been a part of human society, and yes, people want a break from life. That’s fine. Krishna says, “Yukta ahara, viharasya” — recreation and entertainment are a part of life. But now, people are so caught up in entertainment that entertainment is not a break from life. Life has become a break from entertainment. The entertainment world is the real world. People are focused on, “What is my score in the video game? I want to move forward, I want to win more, I want to get to a higher level.” But then they say, “I just have to go eat food or go to work. I’ll come back and play the game.”

I saw one cartoon where a man is telling his friend, “Yesterday, my broadband Wi-Fi went down, so I spent some time with my family. They seem to be nice people.”

This is the mobile. People just escape from the real world, and this is very toxic. It’s also associated with mental health problems like depression, where one just finds reality unlivable.

We can see that these three modes and their characteristics are very much evident, especially rajoguna and tamoguna, in our society. As Krishna says, if we live in sattvaguna, we’ll get elevated. If we are in rajoguna, we’ll stagnate. If we are in tamoguna, we’ll get degraded. After hearing this, Arjuna asks a question. He basically asks three questions: What are the characteristics of a person in the three modes? How do I know the characteristics of a person who has transcended the modes? And what is the behavior of such a person?

Arjuna’s questions are then answered by Krishna. If you consider the modes to be like a disease, then how can we know that we are healthy? How can we know that others are healthy? And how can we all become healthy?

Krishna begins by talking about the internal characteristics. Let’s look at that verse.

The first question is more internal, so Krishna says, “Udhaseena vad aaseeno” — as if detached. There are two words in English: disinterested and uninterested. Is there a difference between these two? Uninterested means not caring, while disinterested means impartial. For example, in a cricket match, the umpire should be disinterested, not uninterested. The umpire must observe the appeal impartially, not based on the volume of the appeal, but the merit of it. So, similarly, we become an umpire inside our own consciousness.

Many desires and emotions will pop up, like, “Hey, come on, eat this, watch this, touch this.” We can’t be uninterested, but we must be disinterested. This means, just because a desire arises, we don’t automatically say yes to it. We must evaluate whether it is of value or not. We don’t adopt our desires; we observe them. When we observe, then we analyze and regulate. Observe, analyze, and regulate — like an oar guiding a boat in the ocean.

When we are disinterested, we are able to observe our thoughts and desires without being swept away by them. So, Krishna says that when we are beyond the modes, we will not be affected by dualities like pleasure and pain, honor and dishonor. These things will not disturb our steady consciousness. Just like in life, happiness and distress will come, but we will remain steady and move forward without getting tossed around by the fluctuations of the modes.

Now, even in modern society, this is appreciated. For example, if someone can stay cool under pressure, that is valued. However, people often want to celebrate wildly when they win and expect to remain unaffected when they lose. It doesn’t work that way. Happiness and distress are two sides of the same coin. The more we celebrate when we are happy, the more we will be devastated when we suffer or fail. This is the duality we must understand.

The idea is to go beyond this duality. By becoming an inner observer and understanding that these feelings come and go, we realize that neither happiness nor distress will stay forever.

Arjuna asks how to go beyond this, and Krishna provides a paradoxical answer. It seems contradictory, but it is not. Krishna says: “Without any deviation, one who serves me through Bhakti Yoga will attain the spiritual platform.”

Sagunaan samatit yaitaan, Brahma bhuyaya kalpate.

What is the paradox here? Krishna says that by unbroken devotion (Bhakti), we can transcend moods. But isn’t it moods that cause breaks in our devotion? When we are in a state of Rajoguna or Tamoguna, it becomes difficult to practice Bhakti. We may succumb to Maya, our illusions. So, how do we overcome this?

The key is understanding that devotion can be at different levels: intention, emotion, and action. For instance, when we try to chant, we may have the intention to chant attentively, but sometimes we feel bored or tired. Krishna understands not just our feelings but our feelings about those feelings. For example, when I feel bored, I can pray to Krishna: “Your holy name is so merciful. I want to connect with you, I want to serve you, please help me.” Even if we don’t feel like chanting, if we maintain the intention, we are still holding onto Bhakti.

Unbreakable devotion doesn’t mean perfection at every level. If we sometimes fail, we can still rise again. What matters is not giving up. It’s like holding onto an anchor in a storm. Even if the waves of emotion try to throw us off, as long as we hold onto Krishna (the anchor), we will eventually stabilize.

Krishna is always near us, no matter how far we feel from him. His presence extends through all the modes of material nature—Satvaguna, Rajoguna, and Tamoguna. If we can hold on to Krishna, we will gradually transcend these modes.

Sometimes, we might fall, but even when we fall, we must not lose faith. Krishna is like the anchor that we can always hold on to. No matter how strong the waves, Krishna is always there, waiting for us to reach out.

Even if we are in Tamoguna, it may be harder to connect with Krishna, but it’s still possible. For example, even someone who is addicted to alcohol can connect with Krishna if they remember that everything, even the taste of alcohol, comes from him. This may be a long path, but it shows that no matter where we are, we can always find a way back to Krishna.

The point is that Krishna Consciousness can accommodate different levels of devotion. Some may feel disconnected, but Krishna is always near, and we can always turn to him.

This is the essence of the spiritual journey: it’s not about being perfect, but about maintaining the connection. Even if we are far from Krishna, he is never far from us. Our ultimate goal is to connect with him wholeheartedly.

To illustrate this, consider a boy proposing to a girl: “Please marry me.” But the girl asks why. The boy responds, “Because no other girl is ready to marry me.” This is not the most romantic or flattering proposal. If the girl accepts, it shows her love for him, not his love for her. The true test of love is not in the easy moments, but in how we remain devoted despite challenges or temptations.

Similarly, our relationship with Krishna may start with us seeking him when nothing else works, but as we grow in devotion, we learn to stay connected to him even in difficult times. The ultimate goal is to offer our whole hearts to Krishna.

Now, consciousness is like the energy that powers awareness. So, just like a battery powers a device, consciousness powers the awareness of our thoughts, emotions, and surroundings. When you’re thinking, feeling, or perceiving, that is the energy of consciousness at work. The external world can impact this awareness, but consciousness itself is the observer or experiencer of everything that happens within us and around us.

The second part of your question about the poetic nature of the Bhagavad Gita and why Krishna and Arjuna spoke in a poetic form on the battlefield is intriguing. Sanskrit itself is a very poetic and rhythmic language, which lends itself well to expressions of deep spiritual concepts. In the Bhagavad Gita, the use of poetry, meter, and rhyme isn’t just a stylistic choice—it’s a way of conveying profound truths in a memorable and impactful way.

The poetic nature of the Gita serves multiple purposes:

1. Rhythm and Repetition: The verses of the Gita are composed in a meter called “Shloka,” which often has a rhythmic and repetitive quality. This helps make the teachings more accessible and easier to remember.
2. Emotional Impact: The use of poetry allows for a deeper emotional resonance, helping the teachings penetrate the listener’s heart. The beauty of language can elevate the message beyond dry logic and appeal to the soul, which is key in spiritual texts.
3. Symbolism and Allegory: Sanskrit poetry often has layered meanings, allowing for deeper reflection. The verses in the Gita use this symbolic style to convey philosophical and spiritual truths in a way that simple prose might not be able to express as effectively.
4. Divine Speech: The Bhagavad Gita presents the teachings of Krishna as divine wisdom. Poetic speech, with its elegance and rhythm, reflects the transcendental nature of the divine and sets apart the dialogue as a unique, elevated exchange rather than a casual conversation.
5. Cultural Context: The Gita was part of the Vedic tradition, which heavily relied on oral transmission. Poetic forms helped preserve the text for generations before it was written down, and it also made the text more impactful when recited in public.

In the battlefield setting, where Arjuna is in the midst of his existential crisis, Krishna’s poetic words provide a calming, clarifying influence. They are not just rational answers to Arjuna’s doubts but also serve to uplift his spirit and align him with a higher purpose. The use of poetic language in this context elevates the entire conversation, adding both depth and beauty to the teachings.

So the battery is like the soul, and the beam of light coming out is consciousness. However, why is it that simple? What happens is, when we talk about consciousness, sometimes we refer to it as the beam of light, but sometimes we also refer to it as the content of awareness.

When we say, “My consciousness has gone down,” what does that mean? It means that within my consciousness, there are things that are not very uplifting, that are degrading. So, in that sense, consciousness refers both to the capacity and the content—the capacity for being aware and the content of that awareness. But broadly speaking, consciousness is the capacity for awareness, which is an intrinsic characteristic of the soul.

Now, why did Krishna and Arjuna speak on the battlefield in a poetic way? Well, it’s not just Krishna and Arjuna; the whole Mahabharata is presented in a poetic way. The Bhagavad Gita is simply a part of the Mahabharata.

Yes, please.

Prabhu, like yesterday, you spoke about the connection between the soul, mind, and body. Can you help me fit these three modes of nature into that picture? You also mentioned that there is a link between us and the mind by which we interact. Are these modes those links?

Well, not exactly. The soul is here, and the mind is here. Now, from the soul, you could say that consciousness flows through the mind to the outer body. Just to continue this metaphor, the soul is generally the root of consciousness, in the sense that from the soul, consciousness originates. Now, the mind is the pathway through which consciousness comes out and reaches the outside world.

To take this metaphor further, this pathway has multiple lanes. In one sense, consciousness can go anywhere, even across the country, but generally, when driving, you will stay on the road, within its lanes. These lanes are like the modes. Consciousness tends to follow certain tracks, although the modes can mix, so there are subtleties here.

Generally, when we say there’s a link between two cities, we can have a physical road that links them, and then people, vehicles, or messages traveling along that road connect the two. Similarly, the pathway through which the link happens is the modes. But the consciousness flowing through the form of desires and emotions—that is the actual link happening. So the link itself is the infrastructure (the modes), and the actual information traveling along it are the desires and emotions.

Thank you.

Okay, do these modes change, like the ropes you mentioned earlier? Is there any certain proportion in which they remain in every person, or do they change over time?

The controlling mode can change. For example, with respect to sleep, everyone needs to sleep, but a person will know when to sleep and when to wake up. So, tamoguna (the mode of ignorance) doesn’t take control of them. In contrast, a person in tamoguna may sleep even when they don’t want to, or they may not be able to sleep when they want to—this could be due to disease or insomnia, or it could simply be the influence of tamoguna.

So yes, the controlling mode changes as we evolve. To some extent, the modes will always be there.

Can a person change them? Is the connection, like the infrastructure you mentioned, static?

Well, the pathways are always there, but we may choose not to travel by a particular pathway. If a road is not used, it may become disused, broken, or disintegrate over time. Similarly, the modes can change, and the infrastructure may evolve with our choices.

Yes, a few more questions.

Yes?

Prabhu, as you discussed that greed is the actual cause of being in the mode of passion, can you elaborate on how that emerges?

So, how can we address this issue? How can we voluntarily restrain ourselves? For example, I am studying at night, and I get completely absorbed in my work. I forget that I need to sleep and keep playing a game, or something similar. How can I voluntarily restrain myself in such situations, when our intelligence and mind are fully engaged in the activity?

Yes, it’s tough, and we have to do it gradually. Generally speaking, our modes shape what we desire and how we feel. In general, you can say they shape what we value, and we can’t change what we value immediately. But even within our framework, we can start to recognize what is of higher value. For example, I may say that my studies and career are very important, but then I may realize that for my career to work, my health is also important. If I spoil my health, it won’t benefit my career. Similarly, if my mind is disturbed or restless, I won’t be able to focus, and that will affect my ability to work. So, I need to take care of my body and my mind. Gradually, we can start valuing other things too.

I was going to talk about this later, but let me mention it quickly. Prabhupada defines realization in a broader sense in the first canto of the Bhagavad Gita. He says that realization means understanding the intersection between the message of scripture and the interests of the audience. A realized preacher is one who is able to take the message of scripture and present it in a way that resonates with the audience. They understand where the interests of the people overlap with the message of scripture. Without this, someone can just speak in a formulaic way that will not connect with the audience at all.

Now, applying this concept, I have my present interests, and there are also spiritual or higher interests in life. I need to find where my present interests intersect with my spiritual interests. For example, when we do outreach to students, we can tell them that if they want to study better, chanting, practicing bhakti, and disciplining their life will help them. We are linking their current interests with spiritual interests, and that’s how it works.

In the West, for example, Christianity has often presented God as the “cosmic supplier”—”O Father, thou art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, give us our daily bread.” But today, many people in the West don’t have to worry much about bread; they may worry more about other things, but not basic needs like bread. So, the concept of God as a cosmic supplier is not as relevant anymore. Many churches have rebranded God, not so much as a cosmic supplier, but as a cosmic therapist. The idea now is that you come to God, feel good, feel happy, and unload your troubles. God is seen as someone who will provide you with mental peace and relief, not just physical goods.

While this shift is not entirely wrong, sometimes it can become purely therapeutic, and that’s when it loses its transcendental aspect. Still, the point is that we should be able to connect our current interests with spiritual interests. Gradually, spiritual interests will become our priority.

So, in the case of studies or career, if we are ambitious and focused on our work, we can connect that with Krishna’s gift to us. Krishna has given us this ability and interest. We should thank Krishna for both the ability and the interest. If Krishna has given us this much, he doesn’t want us to neglect or waste it. Krishna wants us to use our talents well. Just like parents give pocket money to children, and when the children use it wisely, they are given more. Similarly, Krishna wants us to do good in the world, but ultimately, he wants us to come to him, like a river flowing toward the ocean. Along the way, the river benefits those it passes, but its ultimate goal is to reach the ocean.

If we spend time practicing bhakti and connecting with Krishna, the same Krishna who gave us our abilities and interests can give us even more opportunities. He will help us use our talents more effectively and reap greater rewards. By seeing the opportunities coming from Krishna, we can link our present interests with our ultimate spiritual goals.

One more question: You mentioned the “TAP formula” for dealing with urges and temptations—TAP stands for Abstinence, Persistence, and Patience. Can we apply this same formula for dealing with motives and desires?

Yes, definitely. The TAP formula is a broad strategy for managing the mind. We have to manage the mind with respect to desires, but also with respect to our motives.

For example, consider the umpire. Just because someone appeals loudly doesn’t mean that we will listen to their opinion. We have to abstain from being influenced and continue doing the right thing. Sometimes, some umpires are disliked by players because they never listen to their appeals. But still, the umpire keeps doing the right thing. Over time, the players realize that the umpire isn’t just going against their appeals; even when the appeal was against them, the umpire was fair. Gradually, the players will start to understand that they don’t need to hate the umpire. That’s when transcendence will come. So, this is a valid way of doing things.

We have one last question, and then we will continue tomorrow. We’ll have a question session tomorrow as well, and we can discuss more at that time.

You mentioned that the modes of nature are like a set of forces, both internal and external. How do we understand the external signs of these modes? For example, is it accurate to say that a certain color, like black, is necessarily in the mode of goodness or ignorance?

I’m not sure you can be that explicit, saying that this color is always in this mode. It’s more subtle. Broadly speaking, you could say that certain places reflect certain modes. For example, a bar or a brothel would be in the mode of ignorance, a supermarket or a mall would be in the mode of passion, and a library or a park could be broadly in the mode of goodness. A temple could be in the mode of goodness, but also transcendence, beyond the modes.

You can feel the effect of these places. For instance, if you walk by a river or spend time in nature, you feel calmer. So yes, certain places are in sattva (goodness), but whether you can specifically say that a color is always associated with a particular mode is more complex. The scripture says, phallena parishyate—you can judge something by its effect.

Now, when we talk about the modes associated with externals, there’s both an objective and subjective side to it. The objective side means that a particular place or environment is in a particular mode. The subjective side means that it depends on the individual. I have a friend who is a librarian at one of the Ivy League universities, and he told me that for him, the library is a place of rajas (passion). Why? Because he’s constantly busy, looking for books, checking registrations, finding where books are located—he’s always on the move. For him, the library is more of a karmakshetra (place of action), not a place of peace or sattva (goodness).

Of course, you can still say that working in a library is more sattvic than working in a supermarket or a mall. But for that person, it may feel more rajasic because of the nature of their work. So, there is both an objective and subjective aspect to the modes.

Rather than categorically deciding that, for example, a particular color is always associated with a certain mode, it’s important to understand that it’s not that simple. Surrounding yourself only with a specific color won’t automatically make you sattvic. The relationship between externals and the modes is complex.

Thank you very much.

Shreemad Bhagavad Gita ki Jai
Shri Prabhupad ki Jai
Gaur Bhakt Vrind ki Jai
Gaur Bhakt Vrind ki Jai