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My notes from ‘Vedanta: Voice of Freedom” – a selected compilation from the Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda.
“God and Man in Vedanta” – Chapter Highlights reproduced below:
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So, from the very first, Advaita had no antagonism with the various sects existing in India. There are dualists existing today, and their number is by far the largest in India because dualism naturally appeals to less educated minds. It is a very convenient, natural, commonsense explanation of the universe. But with these dualists, Advaita has no quarrel. The dualist thinks that God is outside the universe, somewhere in heaven, and the Advaitist, that He is his own Soul, and that it would be blasphemy to call Him anything more distant. Any idea of separation would be terrible. He is the nearest of the near. There is no word in any language to express this nearness except the word Oneness. With any other idea, the Advaitist is not satisfied, just as the dualist is shocked with the concept of Advaita and thinks it blasphemous. At the same time the Advaitist knows that these other ideas must be, and so he has no quarrel with the dualist, who is on the right road. From his standpoint the dualist will have to see the many. It is a constitutional necessity of his standpoint. Let him have it. The Advaitist knows that whatever may be the dualist’s theories, he is going to the same goal as he himself. There he differs entirely from the dualist, who is forced by his point of view to believe that all differing views are wrong.
The Vedantist gives no other attributes to God except these three— that He is Infinite Existence, Infinite Knowledge, and Infinite Bliss, and he regards these three as one.
The ideal of man is to see God in everything. But if you cannot see Him in everything, see Him in one thing, in that thing you like best, and then see Him in another. So on you can go. There is infinite life before the soul. Take your time and you will achieve your end.
The Infinite, the Impersonal, is like the clay in the example. We and the Ruler of the universe are one, but as manifested beings, men, we are His eternal slaves, His worshippers.
I came to see my beloved. The doors were closed. I knocked and a voice came from inside, “Who art thou?” “I am so- and- so.” The door was not opened. A second time I came and knocked. I was asked the same question and gave the same answer. The door opened not. I came a third time, and the same question came. I answered, “I am thou, my love,” and the door opened.
Where shall we go to find God if we cannot see Him in our own hearts and in every living being? “Thou art the man, Thou art the woman, Thou art the girl, and Thou art the boy. Thou art the old man tottering with a stick. Thou art the young man walking in the pride of his strength. Thou art all that exists”— a wonderful living God, who is the only fact in the universe.
Of course, the impersonal idea is very destructive; it takes away all trade from the priests, churches, and temples.
The body is not the Real Man; neither is the mind, for the mind waxes and wanes. It is the Spirit beyond, which alone can live forever.
Why does man look for a God? Why does man, in every nation, in every state of society, want a perfect ideal somewhere, either in man, in God, or elsewhere? Because that idea is within you. It was your own heart beating and you did not know; you were mistaking it for something external. It is the God within your own self that is impelling you to seek for Him, to realize Him.
Two wheels joined by one pole are running together. If I get hold of one of the wheels and, with an axe, cut the pole asunder, the wheel I have got hold of stops. But upon the other wheel is its past momentum, so it runs on a little and then falls down. This pure and perfect being, the soul, is one wheel, and this external hallucination of body and mind is the other wheel, and they are joined together by the pole of work, of karma. Knowledge is the axe that will sever the bond between the two, and the wheel of the soul will stop— stop thinking that it is coming and going, living and dying, stop thinking that it is nature and has wants and desires— and will find that it is perfect, desireless. But upon the other wheel, that of the body and mind, will be the momentum of past acts. So it will live for some time, until that momentum of past work is exhausted, until that momentum is worked away, and then the body and mind will fall, and the soul will be free.
The man who has in this life attained to this state, for whom, for a minute at least, the ordinary vision of the world has changed and the reality has been apparent— he is called the “living free.” This is the goal of the Vedantist, to attain freedom while living.
What makes us miserable? The cause of all miseries from which we suffer is desire.
Wealth does not belong to anybody. Have no idea of proprietorship, possession. You are nobody, I am not anybody, nor is anyone else. All belong to the Lord. God is in the wealth that you enjoy. He is in the desire that rises in your mind. He is in the things you buy to satisfy your desire. He is in your beautiful attire, in your beautiful ornaments.
He works who is not impelled by his own desires, by any selfishness whatsoever. He works who has no ulterior motive in view. He works who has nothing to gain from work.
If a man plunges headlong into foolish luxuries of the world without knowing the truth, he has missed his footing. He cannot reach the goal. And if a man curses the world, goes into a forest, mortifies his flesh, and kills himself little by little by starvation, makes his heart a barren waste, kills out all feelings, and becomes harsh, stern, and dried up, that man also has missed the way. These are the two extremes, the two mistakes at either end. Both have lost the way. Both have missed the goal.
Work incessantly, holding life as something deified, as God Himself, and knowing that this is all we have to do, this is all we should ask for. God is in everything. Where else shall we go to find Him? He is already in every work, in every thought, in every feeling. Thus knowing, we must work. This is the only way. There is no other. Thus the effects of work will not bind us.
If we examine our own lives, we find that the greatest cause of sorrow is this: We take up something and put our whole energy on it— perhaps it is a failure, and yet we cannot give it up. We know that it is hurting us, that any further clinging to it will simply bring misery on us; still we cannot tear ourselves away from it. A bee came to sip honey, but its feet stuck to the honeypot and it could not get away. Again and again we find ourselves in that state. That is the whole secret of existence.
We are caught, though we came to catch. We came to enjoy; we are being enjoyed. We came to rule; we are being ruled. We came to work; we are being worked.
That is the one cause of misery: We are attached; we are being caught. Therefore says the Gita: Work constantly; work, but be not attached, be not caught. Reserve to yourself the power of detaching yourself from everything, however beloved, however much the soul might yearn for it, however great the pangs of misery you would feel if you were going to leave it. Still, reserve the power of leaving it whenever you want.
Attachment is the source of all our pleasures now. We are attached to our friends, to our relatives. We are attached to our intellectual and spiritual works. We are attached to external objects so we get pleasure from them. What, again, brings misery but this very attachment? We have to detach ourselves to earn joy. If only we had the power to detach ourselves at will, there would not be any misery. That man alone will be able to get the best of nature who, having the power of attaching himself to a thing with all his energy, has also the power to detach himself when he should do so. The difficulty is that there must be as much power of attachment as that of detachment.
We get caught. How? Not by what we give, but by what we expect. We get misery in return for our love— not from the fact that we love, but from the fact that we want love in return. There is no misery where there is no want. Desire, want, is the father of all misery.
The great secret of true success, of true happiness, then, is this: The man who asks for no return, the perfectly unselfish man, is the most successful. It seems to be a paradox.
Ask nothing; want nothing in return. Give what you have to give. It will come back to you— but do not think of that now. It will come back multiplied a thousandfold, but the attention must not be on that. Yet have the power to give. Give, and let it end there.
Be, therefore, not a beggar; be unattached. This is the most difficult task in life.
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