Introduction to the Bhagavad-gita

To do this right, let’s begin at the most elementary level: in any case, few have actually read the Bhagavad-gita, and fewer still understand anything of it. So, let us be rational.

At first glance, we have a book with a title which is translated as The Song of the Blessed One. What does it mean? What does it tell us? That it is composed in the form of a song and that its subject is the Lord, God. That is point number one. This leads me to believe that its content can only be explained through art, rather than through philosophy or analysis, though these can undeniably contribute. The essence of this art is poetry. Poetry and art are the primary motivations of the author, Vyasa, which radically distinguishes him from earlier teachings —the Vedas or the Upanishads— as well as from his famous work, the Vedanta-sutra, also known as the Brahma-sutra.

The second aspect concerns the dating of this work. Scholars claim it was written between the 6th and 1st centuries BCE, which, let’s be honest, is as vague as can be and in no way corresponds to the indications provided by the text itself, or by many others. Here we have a first, major stumbling block that will need to be cleared up.

Starting from this point alone, we can gauge the difficulty that lies ahead. We must not imagine that the discovery and study of a work as extraordinary as the Bhagavad-gita could be simple. In reality, it is a truly spiritual experience in the broadest sense of the term —which is not necessarily synonymous with serenity or consolation. It can even be quite the opposite. The process begins with an awareness, often against our will, of our mental predisposition to bruise our own ego; an ego accustomed to a psychological and dogmatic comfort widely shared by society, from the highest strata to the most modest. The very substance of the first verse of the Gita sets the stage for this fundamental dilemma. We shall return to this…

धृतराष्ट्र उवाच |
धर्मक्षेत्रे कुरुक्षेत्रे समवेता युयुत्सवः |
मामकाः पाण्डवाश्चैव किमकुर्वत सञ्जय ||1||

dhṛitarāśhtra uvācha
dharma-kṣhetre kuru-kṣhetre samavetā yuyutsavaḥ
māmakāḥ pāṇḍavāśhchaiva kimakurvata sañjaya

As a general rule, contemporary commentators on the Gita do not postulate the supremacy of Krishna; they do not grant him the status of God in the same way that the Quran or the Bible do for theirs. They view Krishna as a mere mythological —which is to say, fictional— figure, and the same applies to the author, Vyasa; any speculation on this matter renders the substance of this teaching utterly confused. Regarding the latter, Esnoul and Lacombe write in the notes of their translation of the Bhagavad-gita: "In fact, 'Vyasa' is but an epithet that must have been applied to many people."

According to the information provided by the Scriptures, Krishna appeared approximately three thousand years before Christ. It was during this period that he taught the Gita to Arjuna. Whom should we believe: Biardeau, Senart, Lacombe, and their ilk, who literally claim that this is a deliberate lie orchestrated by the Brahmins —and, in this instance, by Vyasa— because they were at daggers drawn with the Buddhists? Those same Buddhists who, however, are never mentioned in the Mahabharata. But for that very reason, it is said, there must be a conspiracy...

Historical reality, for its part, is that the Buddha was born much later. And the conclusion — as logical as it is literary — accords with the scriptural indications, which place the advent of Krishna well before the 6th century, at the turning point between the Kali-yuga and the previous era, the Dvapara-yuga.

There you have it: I warned you that diving into the Bhagavad-gita is no easy task. Right from the start, whether one is Muslim, Christian, Jewish, or atheist, there is a grimace, then a frontal blockade; misinformation and indifference are not far behind. As a general rule: the majority of people do not want to hear about Krishna or what he has to say. This is precisely what the first verse reveals, indirectly, in the form of a question from King Dhritarashtra. I say "indirectly" because if one knows the Mahabharata, one knows to what extent this king’s hypocrisy has become a defining trait of his character: he lives only through the desires of his son, who is possessed by the demon of power. This verse also situates, with precision, the geographical location where the battle takes place and grants its metaphysical and almost magical dimension an added objectivity; this reinforces the significance of these events, which simply cannot be reduced to pure fiction.

So, I resume. We have seen that the first thing that catches our attention when we discover this work is its title: The Song of the Blessed One. What is the next image that comes to mind?

I reflect
You reflect
He reflects

It is only natural that those who have decided to embark on this reading have, at the very least, looked into the subject. Often, the illustration adorning the book’s cover depicts Krishna and Arjuna on their chariot, in the middle of a battlefield...

The Bhagavad-gita, however, does not truly begin that way —with Krishna and Arjuna on their chariot— but rather with a scene in which the king of the Kaurava dynasty is consumed by anxiety. From its very opening, the Bhagavad-gita plunges us into the heart of the problem ravaging our societies: willful blindness. Men and women are not interested in the truth as it is, but rather as they want to hear and see it. This denial is apparent from the very first stanza: "Dhritarashtra uvacha." The old, blind king asks his advisor to inform him of the events unfolding on the battlefield of Kurukshetra: "dharma-kshetre kuru-kshetre." It is on this first verse that the Bhagavad-gita begins.

He is deeply concerned about the fate of his sons, who are about to fight Arjuna and his charioteer, Krishna; a situation which, given the context —the sacred and ancient site (dharma and Kuru, the ancestor who performed sacrifices on this ground)— bodes ill. The king is not only physically blind but spiritually so as well. Influenced by his eldest son, who seeks to seize power at any cost, he refuses to listen to reason —even though there was no lack of seasoned and loyal advisors. Krishna himself had visited his palace to warn him against his son’s actions and the imminence of this fratricidal war that would cause the deaths of millions of men. Ultimately, he chose to ignore Krishna’s warnings and continued to nurture his suicidal nepotism.

Five thousand years later, nothing has changed. The world is rushing toward its own ruin, and political leaders turn a blind eye to both the human condition and the environment, both of which are degrading before our very eyes, with terrible repercussions for humanity. Let me give you an example accessible to everyone: the concept of democracy. From its birth in Greece to the present day — or nearly so — it has always been a gruesome exploitation of the poor by an elite, generally relying on the enslavement of a large portion of the population. Yet, the elected officials of our modern societies, like the people themselves, proudly claim this political and historical ideal as their own.

In the United States, even today, a Black person can be legitimately killed simply because they cause fear, even when there was no aggression on their part. In Canada, at this very moment (2017), Indigenous women are calling for an official inquiry into the murders perpetrated against them for years, without a single case having been legally resolved. Out of indifference and racism. To say nothing of the "white" police officers who subject them to bullying and injustice. And yet, here we are in 2017, in one of the most democratic countries on the planet! And I am not even mentioning that other realm which is health —that omnipresent poison that we and our children breathe and eat every day, in the name of progress and science!

We left off with this king, Dhritarashtra, who is, in fact, Arjuna’s uncle. The author of the Mahabharata and, by extension, the Bhagavad-gita, Vyasa, is also the father of Dhritarashtra and his late brother Pandu — thus, he is Arjuna’s grandfather. Vyasa is both the composer of this epic work and a recurring actor within it, playing his own role. To return to the matter at hand, the king’s minister, Sanjaya, answers his questions by describing the evolving preparations on the field of Kurukshetra and the mindset of the combatants. Those familiar with the Mahabharata easily recognize these illustrious men: Bhishma, Drona, Ashvattama, Karna, Arjuna’s brothers, and so many others — characters who are absolutely fascinating, grandiose, and exceptional.

Fairly quickly in this first chapter, we reach the moment when the military leaders blow with all their virile strength into their respective conch shells, each bearing a distinct name, announcing through this deafening tumult their desire to engage in battle without further delay.

Sanjaya says: "At that time, O King, seated on his chariot, whose banner bears the emblem of Hanuman, Arjuna, the son of Pandu, seized his bow, ready to let fly his arrows, his eyes fixed upon the sons of Dhritarashtra, then addressed Krishna: 'O Infallible One, please, drive my chariot between the two armies so that I may see who is on the lines, who desires to fight, and whom I must face in the course of the imminent battle. Let me see those who have come here to fight in the hope of pleasing the malevolent son of Dhritarashtra.'" (Verses 20 to 23)

From this point on, we will no longer hear the king speak, but only Sanjaya who, through his occasional interventions, reminds us that he is the narrator. He will eventually step back to allow only the dialogue between Krishna and Arjuna to be heard, at the center of the two immense armies. This image will dominate until the end of the book.

A Message of Love and Sharing

It is worth noting that the Bhagavad-gita is a Vaishnava text, and thus theistic and dualistic. Sharing in the spirit of the Mahabharata and its cosmogony, it portrays two categories of individuals: the good and the wicked. As you will have understood, the king and his son belong to the camp of the wicked, the demons (rākṣasīm āsurīm caiva, 9.12). It is true, however, that in the Age of Kali, labeling a brute as a "demon" is seen as incongruous and old-fashioned. A cruel and pitiless being can even become a hero. The case of Joseph Stalin is a compelling example. Just a few years ago, the Mayor of Moscow plastered the city walls with giant portraits of him. Be that as it may, this word — demon, rākṣasīm — has fallen into disuse. Yet this dialogue dates back five thousand years.

Since the Gita is addressed primarily to the devotees of Vishnu, to the Vaishnavas, and to the "innocents" — those who are favorably predisposed to its teaching — once the king and his hypocrisy are removed from the narrative, they can focus, without negative interference or distraction, on the essence of this teaching: the message of love and sharing instilled by Krishna throughout the chapters.

This strategy of isolating the dialogue — while the din of trampling horses and elephants, the clatter of weapons being adjusted, and the shouted orders for urgent communication rise into the air — is part of the author's artistic creation. Another "first" in the history of humanity. I said at the beginning of this thread that the Mahabharata is a work of art. In this sense, it is the first democratic creation. And I do not use hollow words, knowing what I have already written above regarding this political regime.

The Bhagavad-gita consists of taking the teachings of the Vedas and popularizing them — in the noble sense of the word — meaning making them accessible to everyone, while endowing them with added value despite the degradation generated by the influence of time. "Those who have taken refuge in me," Krishna says in the ninth chapter, "even if they be of lower birth, be they women, artisans, or even servants (shudras), reach the supreme goal." (9.32)

This is a revolution. Vyasa, by deciding to commit to writing texts that were previously transmitted orally — that is, through the sole reliance on memory, a feat which in itself surpasses our understanding — initiated a social revolution, an idea of democracy before its time. All of this is difficult to grasp for minds formatted by Western culture, but also for Hindu orthodoxy.

They prefer to believe that man evolves and grows, and that at the end of their belief stands the "Superman," God being dead.

I say this regarding the Hindus with full knowledge of the facts. Most often, they do not realize the insight their ancestors possessed, nor the vast treasures of every kind contained within the ancient Puranic texts. These Hindus have been shaped by the thought of their invaders, the British —especially among the educated classes, whose universities instilled in them the idea that their civilization was an import, and that the Aryans praised in the Scriptures actually came from the Caucasus, from Europe. It is much like Algeria under French colonization, where children were taught in school that their ancestors were the Gauls.

I have often met Indians who hesitated to speak of their culture and viewed Western tourists as intruders who disparaged their religions and traditions. But when I revealed a line of thought nourished by the epics and the Puranas, they would relax and show their joy. Rarely, they said, were foreigners capable of such cultural and spiritual empathy.

All of this brings to mind Gandhi, who discovered the Bhagavad-gita as an adult in England, even though his parents were Vaishnavas; or the testimony of Colonel Polier, copied by Georges Dumézil in the preface of a book dedicated to his writings, Colonel Polier’s Mahabharat and Bhagavat.* The latter wrote:

"The course of my research in this regard, leading me to details about the Hindus and the religion of these indigenous people of India, found me embarrassed by the number of points to examine and very astonished that after so long a stay in India — where I had lived more with the natives of the country than with Europeans — I knew so little, and so poorly, the depths of their primitive thought.

Nothing, however, is as common as this ignorance.

1. Because upon arriving in India, one brings ideas taken from the accounts of travelers who, with few exceptions, deserve little credit; for the reason that, most having had neither the time nor the will to make a deep study of this system, the little they have grasped is so muddled and mixed with truth and falsehood that one cannot find the thread.

2. Because educated Hindus, capable of properly explaining this prodigious chaos of mythology, are such rare beings that one is easily discouraged." [End of quote]

As for Dumézil, passionate as he was about mythology, he never felt the desire to travel to India. ■

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* Book published in 1809 by his cousin, based on the notes of Colonel Polier. Gallimard.