THE IDEAL OF A UNIVERSAL RELIGION

THE IDEAL OF A UNIVERSAL RELIGION
HOW IT MUST EMBRACE DIFFERENT TYPES OF MINDS AND METHODS
Wheresoever our senses reach, or whatsoever our minds imagine, we find
therein the action and reaction of two forces, the one counteracting the other and
causing the constant play of the mixed phenomena that we see around us, and of
those which we feel in our minds. In the external world, the action of these
opposite forces is expressing itself as attraction and repulsion, or as centripetal
and centrifugal forces; and in the internal, as love and hatred, good and evil. We
repel some things, we attract others. We are attracted by one, we are repelled by
another. Many times in our lives we find that without any reason whatsoever we
are, as it were, attracted towards certain persons; at other times, similarly, we
are repelled by others. This is patent to all, and the higher the field of action, the
more potent, the more remarkable, are the influences of these opposite forces.
Religion is the highest plane of human thought and life, and herein we find that
the workings of these two forces have been most marked. The intensest love
that humanity has ever known has come from religion, and the most diabolical
hatred that humanity has known has also come from religion. The noblest words
of peace that the world has ever heard have come from men on the religious
plane, and the bitterest denunciation that the world has ever known has been
uttered by religious men. The higher the object of any religion and the finer its
organisation, he more remarkable are its activities. No other human motive has
deluged the world with blood so much as religion; at the same time, nothing has
brought into existence so many hospitals and asylums for the poor; no other
human influence has taken such care, not only of humanity, but also of the
lowest of animals, as religion has done. Nothing makes us so cruel as religion,
and nothing makes us so tender as religion. This has been so in the past, and
will also, in all probability, be so in the future. Yet out of the midst of this din
and turmoil, this strife and struggle, this hatred and jealousy of religions and
sects, there have arisen, from time to time, potent voices, drowning all this noise
— making themselves heard from pole to pole, as it were — proclaiming peace
and harmony. Will it ever come?
Is it possible that there should ever reign unbroken harmony in this plane of mighty religious struggle. The world is exercised in the latter part of this
century by the question of harmony; in society, various plans are being
proposed, and attempts are made to carry them into practice; but we know how
difficult it is to do so. People find that it is almost impossible to mitigate the
fury of the struggle of life, to tone down the tremendous nervous tension that is
in man. Now, if it is so difficult to bring harmony and peace to the physical
plane of life — the external, gross, and outward side of it — then a thousand
times more difficult is it to bring peace and harmony to rule over the internal
nature of man. I would ask you for the time being to come out of the network of
words. We have all been hearing from childhood of such things as love, peace,
charity, equality, and universal brotherhood; but they have become to us mere
words without meaning, words which we repeat like parrots, and it has become
quite natural for us to do so. We cannot help it. Great souls, who first felt these
great ideas in their hearts, manufactured these words; and at that time many
understood their meaning. Later on, ignorant people have taken up those words
to play with them and made religion a mere play upon words, and not a thing to
be carried into practice. It becomes "my father's religion", "our nation's
religion", "our country's religion", and so forth. It becomes only a phase of
patriotism to profess any religion, and patriotism is always partial. To bring
harmony into religion must always be difficult. Yet we will consider this
problem of the harmony of religions.
We see that in every religion there are three parts — I mean in every great and
recognised religion. First, there is the philosophy which presents the whole
scope of that religion, setting forth its basic principles, the goal and the means
of reaching it. The second part is mythology, which is philosophy made
concrete. It consists of legends relating to the lives of men, or of supernatural
beings, and so forth. It is the abstractions of philosophy concretised in the more
or less imaginary lives of men and supernatural beings. The third part is the
ritual. This is still more concrete and is made up of forms and ceremonies,
various physical attitudes, flowers and incense, and many other things, that
appeal to the senses. In these consists the ritual. You will find that all
recognised religions have these three elements. Some lay more stress on one,
some on another. Let us now take into consideration the first part, philosophy. Is
there one universal philosophy? Not yet. Each religion brings out its own
doctrines and insists upon them as being the only true ones. And not only does it do that, but it thinks that he who does not believe in them must go to some
horrible place. Some will even draw the sword to compel others to believe as
they do. This is not through wickedness, but through a particular disease of the
human brain called fanaticism. They are very sincere, these fanatics, the most
sincere of human beings; but they are quite as irresponsible as other lunatics in
the world. This disease of fanaticism is one of the most dangerous of all
diseases. All the wickedness of human nature is roused by it. Anger is stirred
up, nerves are strung high, and human beings become like tigers.
Is there any mythological similarity, is there any mythological harmony, any
universal mythology accepted by all religions? Certainly not. All religions have
their own mythology, only each of them says, "My stories are not mere myths."
Let us try to understand the question by illustration. I simply mean to illustrate,
I do not mean criticism of any religion. The Christian believes that God took the
shape of a dove and came down to earth; to him this is history, and not
mythology. The Hindu believes that God is manifested in the cow. Christians
say that to believe so is mere mythology, and not history, that it is superstition.
The Jews think that if an image be made in the form of a box, or a chest, with an
angel on either side, then it may be placed in the Holy of Holies; it is sacred to
Jehovah; but if the image be made in the form of a beautiful man or woman,
they say, "This is a horrible idol; break it down! " This is our unity in
mythology! If a man stands up and says, "My prophet did such and such a
wonderful thing", others will say, "That is only superstition", but at the same
time they say that their own prophet did still more wonderful things, which they
hold to be historical. Nobody in the world, as far as I have seen, is able to make
out the fine distinction between history and mythology, as it exists in the brains
of these persons. All such stories, to whatever religion they may belong, are
really mythological, mixed up occasionally, it may be with, a little history.
Next come the rituals. One sect has one particular form of ritual and thinks that
that is holy, while the rituals of another sect are simply arrant superstition. If
one sect worships a peculiar sort of symbol, another sect says, "Oh, it is
horrible!" Take, for instance, a general form of symbol. The phallus symbol is
certainly a sexual symbol, but gradually that aspect of it has been forgotten, and
it stands now as a symbol of the Creator. Those nations which have this as their
symbol never think of it as the phallus; it is just a symbol, and there it ends. But a man from another race or creed sees in it nothing but the phallus, and begins
to condemn it; yet at the same time he may be doing something which to the so-
called phallic worshippers appears most horrible. Let me take two points for
illustration, the phallus symbol and the sacrament of the Christians. To the
Christians the phallus is horrible, and to the Hindus the Christian sacrament is
horrible. They say that the Christian sacrament, the killing of a man and the
eating of his flesh and the drinking of his blood to get the good qualities of that
man, is cannibalism. This is what some of the savage tribes do; if a man is
brave, they kill him and eat his heart, because they think that it will give them
the qualities of courage and bravery possessed by that man. Even such a devout
Christian as Sir John Lubbock admits this and says that the origin of this
Christian symbol is in this savage idea. The Christians, of course, do not admit
this view of its origin; and what it may imply never comes to their mind. It
stands for holy things, and that is all they want to know. So even in rituals there
is no universal symbol, which can command general recognition and
acceptance. Where then is any universality? How is it possible then to have a
universal form of religion? That, however, already exists. And let us see what it
is.
We all hear about universal brotherhood, and how societies stand up especially
to preach this. I remember an old story. In India, taking wine is considered very
bad. There were two brothers who wished, one night, to drink wine secretly; and
their uncle, who was a very orthodox man was sleeping in a room quite close to
theirs. So, before they began to drink, they said to each other, "We must be very
silent, or uncle will wake up." When they were drinking, they continued
repeating to each other "Silence! Uncle will wake up", each trying to shout the
other down. And, as the shouting increased, the uncle woke up, came into the
room, and discovered the whole thing. Now, we all shout like these drunken
men," Universal brotherhood! We are all equal, therefore let us make a sect." As
soon as you make a sect you protest against equality, and equality is no more.
Mohammedans talk of universal brotherhood, but what comes out of that in
reality? Why, anybody who is not a Mohammedan will not be admitted into the
brotherhood; he will more likely have his throat cut. Christians talk of universal
brotherhood; but anyone who is not a Christian must go to that place where he
will be eternally barbecued.
And so we go on in this world in our search after universal brotherhood and
equality. When you hear such talk in the world, I would ask you to be a little
reticent, to take care of yourselves, for, behind all this talk is often the intensest
selfishness. "In the winter sometimes a thunder-cloud comes up; it roars and
roars, but it does not rain; but in the rainy season the clouds speak not, but
deluge the world with water." So those who are really workers, and really feel
at heart the universal brotherhood of man, do not talk much, do not make little
sects for universal brotherhood; but their acts, their movements, their whole life,
show out clearly that they in truth possess the feeling of brotherhood for
mankind, that they have love and sympathy for all. They do not speak, they do
and they live. This world is too full of blustering talk. We want a little more
earnest work, and less talk.
So far we see that it is hard to find any universal features in regard to religion,
and yet we know that they exist. We are all human beings, but are we all equal?
Certainly not. Who says we are equal? Only the lunatic. Are we all equal in our
brains, in our powers, in our bodies? One man is stronger than another, one man
has more brain power than another. If we are all equal, why is there this
inequality? Who made it? We. Because we have more or less powers, more or
less brain, more or less physical strength, it must make a difference between us.
Yet we know that the doctrine of equality appeals to our heart. We are all
human beings; but some are men, and some are women. Here is a black man,
there is a white man; but all are men, all belong to one humanity. Various are
our faces; I see no two alike, yet we are all human beings. Where is this one
humanity? I find a man or a woman, either dark or fair; and among all these
faces I know that there is an abstract humanity which is common to all. I may
not find it when I try to grasp it, to sense it, and to actualise it, yet I know for
certain that it is there. If I am sure of anything, it is of this humanity which is
common to us all. It is through this generalised entity that I see you as a man or
a woman. So it is with this universal religion, which runs through all the various
religions of the world in the form of God; it must and does exist through
eternity. "I am the thread that runs through all these pearls," and each pearl is a
religion or even a sect thereof. Such are the different pearls, and the Lord is the
thread that runs through all of them; only the majority of mankind are entirely unconscious of it.
Unity in variety is the plan of the universe. We are all men, and yet we are all
distinct from one another. As a part of humanity I am one with you, and as Mr.
So-and-so I am different from you. As a man you are separate from the woman;
as a human being you are one with the woman. As a man you are separate from
the animal, but as living beings, man, woman, animal, and plant are all one; and
as existence, you are one with the whole universe. That universal existence is
God, the ultimate Unity in the universe. In Him we are all one. At the same
time, in manifestation, these differences must always remain. In our work, in
our energies, as they are being manifested outside, these differences must
always remain. We find then that if by the idea of a universal religion it is meant
that one set of doctrines should be believed in by all mankind it is wholly
impossible. It can never be, there can never be a time when all faces will be the
same. Again, if we expect that there will be one universal mythology, that is
also impossible; it cannot be. Neither can there be one universal ritual. Such a
state of things can never come into existence; if it ever did, the world would be
destroyed, because variety is the first principle of life. What makes us formed
beings? Differentiation. Perfect balance would be our destruction. Suppose the
amount of heat in this room, the tendency of which is towards equal and perfect
diffusion, gets that kind of diffusion, then for all practical purposes that heat
will cease to be. What makes motion possible in this universe? Lost balance.
The unity of sameness can come only when this universe is destroyed, otherwise
such a thing is impossible. Not only so, it would be dangerous to have it. We
must not wish that all of us should think alike. There would then be no thought
to think. We should be all alike, as the Egyptian mummies in a museum,
looking at each other without a thought to think. It is this difference, this
differentiation, this losing of the balance between us, which is the very soul of
our progress, the soul of all our thought. This must always be.
What then do I mean by the ideal of a universal religion? I do not mean any one
universal philosophy, or any one universal mythology, or any one universal
ritual held alike by all; for I know that this world must go on working, wheel
within wheel, this intricate mass of machinery, most complex, most wonderful.
What can we do then? We can make it run smoothly, we can lessen the friction,
we can grease the wheels, as it were. How? By recognising the natural necessity
of variation. Just as we have recognised unity by our very nature, so We must learn that truth may be expressed in a hundred thousand ways, and that each of these ways is true as far as it goes. We
must learn that the same thing can be viewed from a hundred different
standpoints, and vet be the same thing. Take for instance the sun. Suppose a
man standing on the earth looks at the sun when it rises in the morning; he sees
a big ball. Suppose he starts on a journey towards the sun and takes a camera
with him, taking photographs at every stage of his journey, until he reaches the
sun. The photographs of each stage will be seen to be different from those of the
other stages; in fact, when he gets back, he brings with him so many
photographs of so many different suns, as it would appear; and yet we know that
the same sun was photographed by the man at the different stages of his
progress. Even so is it with the Lord. Through high philosophy or low, through
the most exalted mythology or the grossest, through the most refined ritualism
or arrant fetishism, every sect, every soul, every nation, every religion,
consciously or unconsciously, is struggling upward, towards God; every vision
of truth that man has, is a vision of Him and of none else. Suppose we all go
with vessels in our hands to fetch water from a lake. One has a cup, another a
jar, another a bucket, and so forth, and we all fill our vessels. The water in each
case naturally takes the form of the vessel carried by each of us. He who
brought the cup has the water in the form of a cup; he who brought the jar — his
water is in the shape of a jar, and so forth; but, in every case, water, and nothing
but water, is in the vessel. So it is in the case of religion; our minds are like
these vessels, and each one of us is trying to arrive at the realisation of God.
God is like that water filling these different vessels, and in each vessel the
vision of God comes in the form of the vessel. Yet He is One. He is God in
every case. This is the only recognition of universality that we can get.
So far it is all right theoretically. But is there any way of practically working out
this harmony in religions? We find that this recognition that all the various
views of religion are true has been very very old. Hundreds of attempts have
been made in India, in Alexandria, in Europe, in China, in Japan, in Tibet, and
lastly in America, to formulate a harmonious religious creed, to make all
religions come together in love. They have all failed, because they did not adopt
any practical plan. Many have admitted that all the religions of the world are
right, but they show no practical way of bringing them together, so as to enable
each of them to maintain its own individuality in the conflux. That plan alone is
practical, which does not destroy the individuality of any man in religion and at the same time shows him a point of union with all others. But so far, all the
plans of religious harmony that have been tried, while proposing to take in all
the various views of religion, have, in practice, tried to bind them all down to a
few doctrines, and so have produced more new sects, fighting, struggling, and
pushing against each other.
I have also my little plan. I do not know whether it will work or not, and I want
to present it to you for discussion. What is my plan? In the first place I would
ask mankind to recognise this maxim, "Do not destroy". Iconoclastic reformers
do no good to the world. Break not, pull not anything down, but build. Help, if
you can; if you cannot, fold your hands and stand by and see things go on. Do
not injure, if you cannot render help. Say not a word against any man's
convictions so far as they are sincere. Secondly, take man where he stands, and
from there give him a lift. If it be true that God is the centre of all religions, and
that each of us is moving towards Him along one of these radii, then it is certain
that all of us must reach that centre. And at the centre, where all the radii meet,
all our differences will cease; but until we reach there, differences there must
be. All these radii converge to the same centre. One, according to his nature,
travels along one of these lines, and another, along another; and if we all push
onward along our own lines, we shall surely come to the centre, because, "All
roads lead to Rome". Each of us is naturally growing and developing according
to his own nature; each will in time come to know the highest truth for after all,
men must teach themselves. What can you and I do? Do you think you can
teach even a child? You cannot. The child teaches himself. Your duty is to
afford opportunities and to remove obstacles. A plant grows. Do you make the
plant grow? Your duty is to put a hedge round it and see that no animal eats up
the plant, and there your duty ends. The plant grows of itself. So it is in regard
to the spiritual growth of every man. None can teach you; none can make a
spiritual man of you. You have to teach yourself; your growth must come from
inside.
What can an external teacher do? He can remove the obstructions a little, and
there his duty ends. Therefore help, if you can; but do not destroy. Give up all
ideas that you can make men spiritual. It is impossible. There is no other teacher
to you than your own soul. Recognise this. What comes of it? In society we see
so many different natures. There are thousands and thousands of varieties of  minds and inclinations. A thorough generalisation of them is impossible, but for
our practical purpose it is sufficient to have them characterised into four classes.
First, there is the active man, the worker; he wants to work, and there is
tremendous energy in his muscles and his nerves. His aim is to work — to build
hospitals, do charitable deeds, make streets, to plan and to organise. Then there
is the emotional man who loves the sublime and the beautiful to an excessive
degree. He loves to think of the beautiful, to enjoy the aesthetic side of nature,
and adore Love and the God of Love. He loves with his whole heart the great
souls of all times, the prophets of religions, and the Incarnations of God on
earth; he does not care whether reason can or cannot prove that Christ or
Buddha existed; he does not care for the exact date when the Sermon on the
Mount was preached, or for the exact moment of Krishna's birth; what he cares
for is their personalities, their lovable figures. Such is his ideal. This is the
nature of the lover, the emotional man. Then, there is the mystic whose mind
wants to analyse its own self, to understand the workings of the human mind,
what the forces are that are working inside, and how to know, manipulate, and
obtain control over them. This is the mystical mind. Then, there is the
philosopher who wants to weigh everything and use his intellect even beyond
the possibilities of all human philosophy.
Now a religion, to satisfy the largest proportion of mankind, must be able to
supply food for all these various types of minds; and where this capability is
wanting, the existing sects all become one-sided. Suppose you go to a sect
which preaches love and emotion. They sing and weep, and preach love. But as
soon as you say, "My friend, that is all right, but I want something stronger than
this — a little reason and philosophy; I want to understand things step by step
and more rationally", they say, "Get out"; and they not only ask you to get out
but would send you to the other place, if they could. The result is that that sect
can only help people of an emotional turn of mind. They not only do not help
others, but try to destroy them; and the most wicked part of the whole thing is
that they will not only not help others, but do not believe in their sincerity.
Again, there are philosophers who talk of the wisdom of India and the East and
use big psychological terms, fifty syllables long, but if an ordinary man like me
goes to them and says, "Can you tell me anything to make me spiritual?", the
first thing they would do would be to smile and say, "Oh, you are too far below
us in your reason. What can you understand about spirituality?" These are high up philosophers. They simply show you the door. Then there are the mystical
sects who speak all sorts of things about different planes of existence, different
states of mind, and what the power of the mind can do, and so on; and if you are
an ordinary man and say, "Show me anything good that I can do; I am not much
given to speculation; can you give me anything that will suit me?", they will
smile and say, "Listen to that fool; he knows nothing, his existence is for
nothing." And this is going on everywhere in the world. I would like to get
extreme exponents of all these different sects, and shut them up in a room, and
photograph their beautiful derisive smiles!
This is the existing condition of religion, the existing condition of things. What I
want to propagate is a religion that will be equally acceptable to all minds; it
must be equally philosophic, equally emotional, equally mystic, and equally
conducive to action. If professors from the colleges come, scientific men and
physicists, they will court reason. Let them have it as much as they want. There
will be a point beyond which they will think they cannot go, without breaking
with reason. They will say, "These ideas of God and salvation are superstitious,
guise them up! " I say, "Mr. Philosopher, this body of yours is a bigger
superstition. Give it up, don't go home to dinner or to your philosophic chair.
Give up the body, and if you cannot, cry quarter and sit down." For religion
must be able to show how to realise the philosophy that teaches us that this
world is one, that there is but one Existence in the universe. Similarly, if the
mystic comes, we must welcome him, be ready to give him the science of
mental analysis, and practically demonstrate it before him. And if emotional
people come, we must sit, laugh, and weep with them in the name of the Lord;
we must "drink the cup of love and become mad". If the energetic worker
comes, we must work with him, with all the energy that we have. And this
combination will be the ideal of the nearest approach to a universal religion.
Would to God that all men were so constituted that in their minds all these
elements of philosophy, mysticism, emotion, and of work were equally present
in full! That is the ideal, my ideal of a perfect man. Everyone who has only one
or two of these elements of character, I consider "one-sided''; and this world is
almost full of such "one-sided" men, with knowledge of that one road only in
which they move; and anything else is dangerous and horrible to them. To
become harmoniously balanced in all these four directions is my ideal of
religion. And this religion is attained by what we, in India, call Yoga — union.
To the worker, it is union between men and the whole of humanity; to the
mystic, between his lower and Higher Self; to the lover, union between himself
and the God of Love; and to the philosopher; it is the union of all existence.
This is what is meant by Yoga. This is a Sanskrit term, and these four divisions
of Yoga have in Sanskrit different names. The man who seeks after this kind of
union is called a Yogi. The worker is called the Karma-Yogi. He who seeks the
union through love is called the Bhakti-Yogi. He who seeks it through
mysticism is called the Râja-Yogi. And he who seeks it through philosophy is
called the Jnâna-Yogi So this word Yogi comprises them all.
Now first of all let me take up Râja-Yoga. What is this Raja-Yoga, this
controlling of the mind? In this country you are associating all sorts of
hobgoblins with the word Yoga, I am afraid. Therefore, I must start by telling
you that it has nothing to do with such things. No one of these Yogas gives up
reason, no one of them asks you to be hoodwinked, or to deliver your reason
into the hands of priests of any type whatsoever. No one of them asks that you
should give your allegiance to any superhuman messenger. Each one of them
tells you to cling to your reason to hold fast to it. We find in all beings three
sorts of instruments of knowledge. The first is instinct, which you find most
highly developed in animals; this is the lowest instrument of knowledge. What
is the second instrument of knowledge? Reasoning. You find that most highly
developed in man. Now in the first place, instinct is an inadequate instrument; to
animals, the sphere of action is very limited, and within that limit instinct acts.
When you come to man, you see it is largely developed into reason. The sphere
of action also has here become enlarged. Yet even reason is still very
insufficient. Reason can go only a little way and then it stops, it cannot go any
further; and if you try to push it, the result is helpless confusion, reason itself
becomes unreasonable. Logic becomes argument in a circle. Take, for instance,
the very basis of our perception, matter and force. What is matter? That which is
acted upon by force. And force? That which acts upon matter. You see the
complication, what the logicians call see-saw, one idea depending on the other,
and this again depending on that. You find a mighty barrier before reason,
beyond which reasoning cannot go; yet it always feels impatient to get into the
region of the Infinite beyond. This world, this universe which our senses feel, or
our mind thinks, is but one atom, so to say, of the Infinite, projected on to the
plane of consciousness; and within that narrow limit, defined by the network of  consciousness, works our reason, and not beyond. Therefore, there must be
some other instrument to take us beyond, and that instrument is called
inspiration. So instinct, reason, and inspiration are the three instruments of
knowledge. Instinct belongs to animals, reason to man, and inspiration to God-
men. But in all human beings are to be found, in a more or less developed
condition, the germs of all these three instruments of knowledge. To have these
mental instruments evolved, the germs must be there. And this must also be
remembered that one instrument is a development of the other, and therefore
does not contradict it. It is reason that develops into inspiration, and therefore
inspiration does not contradict reason, but fulfils it. Things which reason cannot
get at are brought to light by inspiration; and they do not contradict reason. The
old man does not contradict the child, but fulfils the child. Therefore you must
always bear in mind that the great danger lies in mistaking the lower form of
instrument to be the higher. Many times instinct is presented before the world as
inspiration, and then come all the spurious claims for the gift of prophecy. A
fool or a semi-lunatic thinks that the confusion going on in his brain is
inspiration, and he wants men to follow him. The most contradictory irrational
nonsense that has been preached in the world is simply the instinctive jargon of
confused lunatic brains trying to pass for the language of inspiration.
The first test of true teaching must be, that the teaching should not contradict
reason. And you may see that such is the basis of all these Yogas. We take the
Raja-Yoga, the psychological Yoga, the psychological way to union. It is a vast
subject, and I can only point out to you now the central idea of this Yoga. We
have but one method of acquiring knowledge. From the lowest man to the
highest Yogi, all have to use the same method; and that method is what is called
concentration. The chemist who works in his laboratory concentrates all the
powers of his mind, brings them into one focus, and throws them on the
elements; and the elements stand analysed, and thus his knowledge comes. The
astronomer has also concentrated the powers of his mind and brought them into
one focus; and he throws them on to objects through his telescope; and stars and
systems roll forward and give up their secrets to him. So it is in every case —
with the professor in his chair, the student with his book — with every man who
is working to know. You are hearing me, and if my words interest you, your
mind will become concentrated on them; and then suppose a clock strikes, you
will not hear it, on account of this concentration; and the more you are able to.

concentrate your mind, the better you will understand me; and the more I
concentrate my love and powers, the better I shall be able to give expression to
what I want to convey to you. The more this power of concentration, the more
knowledge is acquired, because this is the one and only method of acquiring
knowledge. Even the lowest shoeblack, if he gives more concentration, will
black shoes better; the cook with concentration will cook a meal all the better.
In making money, or in worshipping God, or in doing anything, the stronger the
power of concentration, the better will that thing be done. This is the one call,
the one knock, which opens the gates of nature, and lets out floods of light.
This, the power of concentration, is the only key to the treasure-house of
knowledge. The system of Raja-Yoga deals almost exclusively with this. In the
present state of our body we are so much distracted, and the mind is frittering
away its energies upon a hundred sorts of things. As soon as I try to calm my
thoughts and concentrate my mind upon any one object of knowledge,
thousands of undesired impulses rush into the brain, thousands of thoughts rush
into the mind and disturb it. How to check it and bring the mind under control is
the whole subject of study in Raja-Yoga.
Now take Karma-Yoga, the attainment of God through work. It is evident that in
society there are many persons who seem to be born for some sort of activity or
other, whose minds cannot be concentrated on the plane of thought alone, and
who have but one idea, concretised in work, visible and tangible. There must be
a science for this kind of life too. Each one of us is engaged in some work, but
the majority of us fritter away the greater portion of our energies, because we do
not know the secret of work. Karma-Yoga explains this secret and teaches
where and how to work, how to employ to the greatest advantage the largest
part of our energies in the work that is before us. But with this secret we must
take into consideration the great objection against work, namely that it causes
pain. All misery and pain come from attachment. I want to do work, I want to
do good to a human being; and it is ninety to one that that human being whom I
have helped will prove ungrateful and go against me; and the result to me is
pain. Such things deter mankind from working; and it spoils a good portion of
the work and energy of mankind, this fear of pain and misery. Karma-Yoga
teaches us how to work for work's sake, unattached, without caring who is
helped, and what for. The Karma-Yogi works because it is his nature, because
he feels that it is good for him to do so, and he has no object beyond that. His position in this world is that of a giver, and he never cares to receive anything.
He knows that he is giving, and does not ask for anything in return and,
therefore, he eludes the grasp of misery. The grasp of pain, whenever it comes,
is the result of the reaction of "attachment".
There is then the Bhakti-Yoga for the man of emotional nature, the lover. He
wants to love God, he relies upon and uses all sorts of rituals, flowers, incense,
beautiful buildings, forms and all such things. Do you mean to say they are
wrong? One fact I must tell you. It is good for you to remember, in this country
especially, that the world's great spiritual giants have all been produced only by
those religious sects which have been in possession of very rich mythology and
ritual. All sects that have attempted to worship God without any form or
ceremony have crushed without mercy everything that is beautiful and sublime
in religion. Their religion is a fanaticism at best, a dry thing. The history of the
world is a standing witness to this fact. Therefore do not decry these rituals and
mythologies. Let people have them; let those who so desire have them. Do not
exhibit that unworthy derisive smile, and say, "They are fools; let them have it."
Not so; the greatest men I have seen in my life, the most wonderfully developed
in spirituality, have all come through the discipline of these rituals. I do not hold
myself worthy to sit at their feet, and for me to criticise them! How do I know
how these ideas act upon the human minds which of them I am to accept and
which to reject? We are apt to criticise everything in the world: without
sufficient warrant. Let people have all the mythology they want, with its
beautiful inspirations; for you must always bear in mind that emotional natures
do not care for abstract definitions of the truth. God to them is something
tangible, the only thing that is real; they feel, hear, and see Him, and love Him.
Let them have their God. Your rationalist seems to them to be like the fool who,
when he saw a beautiful statue, wanted to break it to find out of what material it
was made. Bhakti-Yoga: teaches them how to love, without any ulterior
motives, loving God and loving the good because it is good to do so, not for
going to heaven, nor to get children, wealth, or anything else. It teaches them
that love itself is the highest recompense of love --- that God Himself is love. It
teaches them to pay all kinds of tribute to God as the Creator, the Omnipresent,
Omniscient, Almighty Ruler, the Father and the Mother. The highest phrase that
can express Him, the highest idea that the human mind can conceive of Him, is
that He is the God of Love. Wherever there is love, it is He. "Wherever there is any love, it is He, the Lord is present there." Where the husband kisses the wife,
He is there in the kiss; where the mother kisses the child, He is there in the kiss;
where friends clasp hands, He, the Lord, is present as the God of Love. When a
great man loves and wishes to help mankind, He is there giving freely His
bounty out of His love to mankind. Wherever the heart expands, He is there
manifested. This is what the Bhakti-Yoga teaches.
We lastly come to the Jnana-Yogi, the philosopher, the thinker, he who wants to
go beyond the visible. He is the man who is not satisfied with the little things of
this world. His idea is to go beyond the daily routine of eating, drinking, and so
on; not even the teaching of thousands of books will satisfy him. Not even all
the sciences will satisfy him; at the best, they only bring this little world before
him. What else will give him satisfaction? Not even myriads of systems of
worlds will satisfy him; they are to him but a drop in the ocean of existence. His
soul wants to go beyond all that into the very heart of being, by seeing Reality
as It is; by realising It, by being It, by becoming one with that Universal Being.
That is the philosopher. To say that God is the Father or the Mother, the Creator
of this universe, its Protector and Guide, is to him quite inadequate to express
Him. To him, God is the life of his life, the soul of his soul. God is his own Self.
Nothing else remains which is other than God. All the mortal parts of him
become pounded by the weighty strokes of philosophy and are brushed away.
What at last truly remains is God Himself.
Upon the same tree there are two birds, one on the top, the other below. The one
on the top is calm, silent, and majestic, immersed in his own glory; the one on
the lower branches, eating sweet and bitter fruits by turns, hopping from branch
to branch, is becoming happy and miserable by turns. After a time the lower
bird eats an exceptionally bitter fruit and gets disgustful and looks up and sees
the other bird, that wondrous one of golden plumage, who eats neither sweet nor
bitter fruit, who is neither happy nor miserable, but calm, Self-centred, and sees
nothing beyond his Self. The lower bird longs for this condition but soon forgets
it, and again begins to eat the fruits. In a little while, he eats another
exceptionally bitter fruit, which makes him feel miserable, and he again looks
up, and tries to get nearer to the upper bird. Once more he forgets and after a
time he looks up, and so on he goes again and again, until he comes very near to
the beautiful bird and sees the reflection of light from his plumage playing  around his own body, and he feels a change and seems to melt away; still nearer
he comes, and everything about him melts away, and at last he understands this
wonderful change. The lower bird was, as it were, only the substantial-looking
shadow, the reflection of the higher; he himself was in essence the upper bird all the time. This eating of fruits, sweet and bitter, this lower, little bird, weeping and happy by turns, was a vain chimera, a dream: all along, the real bird was there above, calm and silent, glorious and majestic, beyond grief, beyond sorrow.

The upper bird is God, the Lord of this universe; and the lower bird is the human soul, eating the sweet and bitter fruits of this world.
Now and then comes a heavy blow to the soul. For a time, he stops the eating and goes towards the unknown God, and a flood of light comes.

He thinks that this world is a vain show.
Yet again the senses drag hint down, and he begins as before to eat the sweet and bitter fruits of the world.
Again an exceptionally hard blow comes.
His heart becomes open again to divine light; thus gradually he approaches God, and as he gets nearer and nearer, he finds his old self melting away.
When he has come near enough, he sees that he is no other than God, and he exclaims,

"He whom I have described to you as the Life of this universe, as present in the atom, and in suns and moons — He is the basis of our own life, the Soul of our soul. Nay, thou art That."

This is what this Jnana-Yoga teaches.

It tells man that he is essentially divine. It shows to mankind the real unity of being, and that each one of us is the Lord God Himself, manifested on earth.

All of us, from the lowest worm that crawls under our feet to the highest beings to whom we look up with wonder and awe — all are manifestations of the same Lord.

Lastly, it is imperative that all these various Yogas should be carried out in, practice; mere theories about them will not do any good.

First we have to hear about them, then we have to think about them.

We have to reason the thoughts out, impress them on our minds, and we have to meditate on them, realise them, until at last they become our whole life.

No longer will religion remain a bundle of ideas or theories, nor an intellectual assent; it will enter into our very self.

By means of intellectual assent we may today subscribe to many foolish things, and change our minds altogether tomorrow. But true religion never changes.

Religion is realisation; not talk, nor doctrine, nor theories, however beautiful they may be.

It is being and becoming, not hearing or acknowledging; it is the whole soul becoming changed into what it believes.

That is religion.