Lessons on the Upanishads: 1.Swami Krishnananda

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Thursday 06, Aug 2026, 06:50.
Lessons on the Upanishads: 1.Swami Krishnananda
Chapter 1: Introduction to the Upanishads:

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When we look at the world, we have what may be called a first view of things, and dissatisfaction with the first view of things is supposed to be the mother of all philosophical thinking. If we are satisfied with things, there is nothing more for us to search for in this world. Any kind of search, quest, enterprise, or desire to seek implies that we are not satisfied with the existing condition of things. And, we are quite aware that nobody in this world can be said to be totally satisfied with the prevailing conditions of things—neither in one's own self, nor in one's family, nor in the society outside, nor in anything, for the matter of that. There is always a tendency in the human mind to discover a lacuna in things: “It should not be like this. It should have been in some other way.” This is a distinction that we draw between the 'is' and the 'ought'. We may say “something is like this”; but instead, what we express is “something ought to have been like this” or “something ought to be like this”. The 'ought' is something that we are expecting in this world; the 'is' is what we are actually facing in this world. There is always this distinction, drawn in ourselves, between the 'is' and the 'ought'. We will not find any circumstance in life where we will not be searching for an 'ought' and be dissatisfied with what 'is'. This tendency in the mind—this peculiar predilection of the human psyche to search for what is not visible, perceptible, tangible or recognisable—is the seed sown for philosophical thinking.

Philosophy is the search for the higher values of life— not the values of the world as they are available to us. This world of perception is also filled with several values. We have social values, economic values, educational values, artistic and aesthetic values, and what not. None of these values can satisfy us for a long time. For a short period, everything seems to be fine; for a protracted period, nothing is fine. Everything looks stale, insipid, worn out and good for nothing after some time. We get fatigued and tired of things. We search for something else.

This 'else' that we bring into the picture of our consciousness is the urge of the philosophical impetus. There is a necessity felt within each person to search for and recognise something which is not clear to the mind as yet; still, it is something which summons with a force that is irresistible. The irresistibility of this call seems to be so very compulsive and compelling that it keeps us restless always. We will find that every one of us, all people anywhere, have a little restlessness in the mind. Neither we eat with satisfaction, nor we sleep with satisfaction, nor are we secure when we speak to people. There is always a difficulty in our adjustment with the conditions prevailing in society and with people, and even with nature itself.

This kind of adventure of the Spirit, we may say, was at the back of the ancients in India who are supposed to be the promulgators of the great Scriptures called the Vedas, especially what are known as the Veda Samhitas. The mantras, the poems or the large poetry of the Veda Samhitas are an exuberant outpouring of the spirit of man in respect of something which is not adequately recognisable to sense perception or even to mental cognition, but which summons the spirit of man somehow or the other.

We begin to feel there must be something above this world. This was what the great poets and the sages of the Vedas felt. Everything seems to be transitory, moving, and in a state of flux. There is change in nature, change in human history, change in our own mental and biological constitution, change in even the solar system, the astronomical setup of things. Everything is changing. The perception of change is something very important for us to consider. How do we know that things are changing, that things are moving or are transitory? There is a logical peculiarity, a significance and a subtlety at the back of this ability on our part to perceive change and transition in things. A thing that changes cannot perceive change by itself. Change cannot know change. Only that which does not change can know that there is change.

This is a very important point at the rock bottom of our thinking that we have to recognise. If everything is changing, who is it that is telling us that everything is changing? Are we also changing with the things that change? If that is the case, how do we come to know that all things are changing? Logical analysis of this peculiar analytical circumstance tells us that there is something in us which does not change; otherwise, we would not know that things are changing.

Now, if oneself—this person or that person—seems to be obliged to recognise something in one's own self that does not seem to be changing because one perceives change in general, we also have to be charitable enough to accept that everyone in the world has this something which does not change. I have something in me which does not change, and you also have something in you that does not change. If this is the case, it seems to be everywhere. It does not mean that this unchanging so-called thing is only in one person, as all persons have an equal prerogative to conclude that something unchanging seems to be there, speaking in a language which is not subject to connection with changeable objects.

The Veda Samhitas to which I have made reference—which are the outpourings of spiritual seekers, sages and masters of advanced religious thought and spiritual perfection—felt the presence everywhere of something that does not change. All things seem to be embedded with something that cannot change. This is due to a logical conclusion to which we are led—namely, that the perception of change would not be possible if everything, including oneself, including even the perceiver of change, also changes. Therefore, transitoriness implies a non-transitory background of things.

The whole universe of perception, the entire creation, may be said to be involved basically, at the root, in something which cannot be said to change. This is an adorable and most praiseworthy conclusion, and anything that is adorable is a worshipful something. These masters of the Vedas Samhitas, therefore, recognised a divinity in all things. There is a god behind every phenomenon, which is another way of saying there is an imperishable background behind every perishable phenomenon. The sun rises in the east, the sun sets in the west; clouds gather, pour rain and then go; seasons change; something comes, something goes; we are born, we become old and we also go. Everything is changing, everywhere, even in the vast universe of astronomical calculation.

But all this is only an indication, a pointer to an unrecognised fact of there being something which is an adorable background of the cosmos itself. And wonderfully, majestically and touchingly, we may say, these sages of the Veda Samhitas began to see a god everywhere. There is no 'ungod' in this world, because every phenomenon must be conditioned, or determined, by something which is not a phenomenon itself. Even the sun cannot rise and move, as it were, and the earth cannot rotate or revolve unless there is a motive force behind it. That motive force, the impetus for the rotation or revolution of the earth or the stellar system, cannot itself be revolving or rotating. So, there is a god behind the sunrise, behind the moonrise, behind the visibility of the stars, behind the seasons, behind even birth, death, aging and all transitions in human life.

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Continued

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