The Inner Battle: The Real War of the Gita
When we first approach the Bhagavad Gita, we’re often drawn to the grand spectacle. The battlefield, the armies, the great warriors on the cusp of a world-altering conflict. It’s a story that seems to be about external struggle, about a righteous warrior, Arjuna, facing a crisis of conscience. But if we’re truly looking for wisdom, we must learn to read beyond the surface. From an Advaita perspective, and as the great teachers often remind us, the true battlefield isn’t Kurukshetra. It’s inside of us.
The real war is the one we fight every moment of every day, the one against our own conflicted mind. It’s the struggle between our inherent, whole Self and the tangled mess of attachments, desires, and identities we’ve collected.
Imagine playing a video game. You’re controlling a character on the screen, fighting enemies and collecting treasures. You’re completely invested in the character’s success, but you know that the character isn’t you. The real ‘you’ is the one sitting on the couch, holding the controller.
The Gita reminds us that the entire drama of life, with all its struggles and triumphs, is like that game. We are so invested in the character we're playing—our body, our mind, our ego—that we've forgotten the silent observer who is holding the controller, the one who is unaffected by victory or defeat.
The Problem of the Human Being: The “Religious Animal”
The human being is a “religious animal.” We seek something beyond ourselves, whether it’s in times of distress or in moments of awe. But what is this ‘something’? Most of us just want a divine hand to help us out of a jam. We’re interested in rituals, in prayers, in getting a good deal from the cosmos. We want to be a part of the grand spectacle without looking at the spectator, the ‘I’ that’s so desperately seeking.
This is the great tragedy of the human condition. We are born with a fundamental, spiritual need, but we try to fulfill it through external means. We create elaborate systems—rituals, gods, ethical codes—thinking they will give us what we want. They might, for a time, give us peace or a sense of purpose. But that peace is fleeting, and that purpose is still defined by the ego. True freedom doesn’t come from getting a good result from a ritual; it comes from realizing there is no separate “I” to receive the result. The search itself is the problem.
For instance, think of someone who is endlessly scrolling through social media, seeking validation through “likes” and comments. They are driven by a deep, almost spiritual need for connection and approval, but they are trying to satisfy it through a superficial, external means. Similarly, we might seek solace in elaborate religious ceremonies, hoping that a particular ritual will bring us closer to God.
The Gita's message is to skip the middleman. Instead of seeking fulfillment in the fleeting digital world or in external rituals, turn inward and realize that the very fulfillment you are seeking is your own nature.
The Confusion of Arjuna: Our Shared Dilemma
Arjuna’s plight is deeply relatable. He comes to the battlefield with a clear purpose, a dharma, or duty, to fight for justice. But when he sees his own family and friends on the other side, his conviction shatters. He’s overwhelmed by moha, or delusion, and śoka, sorrow. He says he’d rather live as a beggar than kill his kinsmen.
This is our story too. We start out with an idea of what we’re supposed to be and do in the world—a career, a relationship, a social identity. This is our self-assigned dharma. But then life hits us with a conflict. We see that what we believed was right might lead to suffering for people we care about. We are so attached to our roles—as a family member, a colleague, a friend—that we cannot see beyond them. We fall into the same trap as Arjuna. We confuse the external situation with our inner reality. Our sense of self is so deeply invested in the “me and mine” that we lose our ability to act with clarity and detachment.
Consider a CEO who has to make a decision to downsize their company to keep it afloat. In front of them are the employees—people they’ve known for years, people who have families and financial burdens. Their dharma as a business leader is to make a difficult choice for the greater good of the company, but their moha and śoka—their attachment and sorrow for the individuals—makes them want to throw it all away and avoid the conflict.
Krishna's response isn't to tell Arjuna to get over it. He goes to the root of the problem: Arjuna's sense of "I." Who is the "I" that is suffering? Who is the "I" that is confused? Krishna's entire discourse begins by dismantling this false identity. He explains that the Ātman, the Self, is neither the slayer nor the slain. The body is a temporary garment, a chariot for the Self. The true You is imperishable and eternal. You are not your relationships, your roles, or your feelings of compassion. You are the silent, unchanging witness. The moment Arjuna—and we—understand this, the drama of the battlefield loses its power.
The Nature of Reality: Beyond Philosophy and Religion
The Gita is a profound philosophical treatise that uses a religious context to deliver a radical message. Most religions give us a God separate from us, a “functional god” who gives us what we want, intervenes in our lives, and judges our actions. This is all well and good, and it’s certainly a step up from living with no ethical code at all. But it’s not the ultimate reality. It’s part of Maya, the great power of illusion that makes the One appear as many.
The ultimate reality is Brahman, pure consciousness. This Brahman is nirguṇa, without attributes. It doesn’t act; it doesn’t create; it doesn’t judge. It just is. It’s the silent screen on which the entire movie of the universe plays out. All the gods we worship—Vishnu, Shiva, Brahma—are just manifestations in this absolute consciousness, just as different characters appear on the same screen. The Gita is about realizing this truth—that we are not the characters, but the screen itself. We are not a part of the universe; the universe is a projection in us.
Think of the ocean. It is one vast, undifferentiated body of water. But on the surface, countless waves rise and fall. Each wave seems to have its own identity—its own size, shape, and lifespan. It might seem like a unique entity, but it is never separate from the ocean. When the wave crashes, it doesn’t “die”; it simply returns to the ocean.
In this analogy, the ocean is Brahman, and the waves, with their fleeting forms and names, are Maya—the illusions of individual existence. All the gods and goddesses, all the creations and destructions, are just waves appearing in the infinite ocean of Consciousness.
The Two Paths: Action and Knowledge
There are two primary paths: karma yoga, the path of action, and sānkhya yoga, the path of knowledge. It’s easy to get confused and think these are two separate, competing ideologies. But they are not. They are two stages on the same journey.
Think of it like this: your have a dirty, smudged mirror. If you want to see your face clearly, you can’t just stare at the dirty mirror and hope it gets clean. You have to clean it first. Karma yoga is the process of cleaning the mirror. It’s about performing your duties—your niyata karma—with a sense of detachment. You do the work, you perform the actions, but you don’t cling to the result. You give up the desire for the fruit of your action. This isn’t about being a corporate employee who doesn’t want their paycheck. It’s about performing righteous actions without the ego’s usual attachment to gain or fame. This purifies the mind.
For example, imagine a doctor who treats patients. A person on the path of karma yoga performs their duty with excellence, but their motivation isn’t to get a promotion, a larger paycheck, or public recognition. Their action itself is the offering. They focus on the act of healing and service, not on the outcome. This selfless action gradually cleanses the mind of the impurities of ego and desire. Once the mind is purified, it is ready for the second stage: the path of knowledge. You can understand the great teachings of the Upanishads, like “That you are,” and the words won’t just be intellectual concepts; these words will now resonate with a purified heart. The mirror is now clean enough to reflect the truth.
This is the great promise of the Gita. It’s not asking us to become monks and renounce the world. It’s telling us to live in the world, to do our work, but to do it with an inner attitude of detachment. This is the yoga, the skillful means, that allows the unreal to gradually give way to the Real.
The Universal You: The Sthita-Prajña
Sthitaprajña, the person with a stable, unwavering intellect. This isn’t some mythical sage on a mountaintop. This is what you and I can become when we follow the path. The sthitaprajña’s mind is a tranquil mind, a mind that is no longer agitated by the dualities of life—pleasure and pain, praise and blame. The world still presents these things, but the wise person, the jñānī, looks at them as a witness.
Sthitaprajña‘s characteristics aren’t just a list of virtues; they are a direct manual for self-improvement. You want to be fearless? Stop identifying with your fears. You want to be serene? Stop attaching your happiness to external objects. The qualities that a realized person embodies are the very qualities a seeker must consciously cultivate.
The wise person sees no difference between a scholar and a cow, a veg and a non-veg-eater. This isn’t a social statement about equality. It’s a statement of ultimate reality. The Self is the same everywhere. The form, the social status, the role—all of it is just a temporary projection of Maya. For example, a humanitarian aid worker might travel to a remote village to help people from a different culture. They don’t see the differences in language, dress, or religion; they see the fundamental human suffering and the shared consciousness that binds them all.
The sthitaprajña looks past the form and sees the Brahman that lies in all things.
The Real Enemy: The Nature of Desire
Arjuna’s final question is a crucial one for all of us: “What is it that impels a person to commit sinful acts, even against their will?” Krishna’s answer is simple and profound: it is kāma—desire. Desire is the real enemy. When desire is unfulfilled, it becomes krodha—anger. And these two forces, born of the rajo guṇa, are the eternal enemies of a seeker.
They sit in the fortress of our minds, our intellect, and our senses. They are the true outlaws. You can’t kill them with a bow and arrow. You can only dissolve them by seeing them for what they are: ephemeral, empty projections of the mind.
Think about a simple scenario: you’re trying to eat healthy, and you see a delicious dessert. The thought of that dessert is kāma, the desire to have it. You tell yourself, “No, I’m on a diet.” The desire is unfulfilled, and you feel a flash of frustration or anger—that’s krodha. These two forces can completely hijack your judgment and lead you to abandon your goal. They are subtle, powerful, and deeply rooted in our unconscious mind.
The path is clear. It's not a path of external war, but one of internal dismantling. It's about using the tools Krishna has given us—karma yoga, meditation, and, above all, the sword of knowledge—to cut through the knots of our own delusion. The battle is not with them; it is with our own minds, with our own desires. And the victory is not a kingdom, but a freedom that lasts forever.
Gita’s call is to turn inward, to stop fighting the world outside and to begin the real, and most important, battle for our own liberation.
Focus Points
- The Inner Battle: The Bhagavad Gita’s true message is not about an external war, but about the internal psychological struggle against one’s own mind, attachments, and desires.
- The Illusion of the Ego: The human suffering arises from a mistaken identity, or ego. It argues that we are not the roles we play (parent, CEO, etc.), but the silent, unchanging witness to life’s drama.
- Beyond Religion: The Gita is a profound philosophical text that transcends conventional religion. It distinguishes between a “functional god” who gives us what we want, and the ultimate, attribute-less reality of Brahman.
- Paths to Liberation: The two primary paths—the path of action (karma yoga) and the path of knowledge (sānkhya yoga)—are not competing but are progressive stages on the same journey of self-realization.
- The Nature of Desire: The kāma (desire) and krodha (anger) are the real internal enemies that must be conquered to achieve a state of inner peace.
Key Terms
- Dharma: Duty or righteous purpose. It’s the social or personal role we believe we must fulfill.
- Moha: Delusion, a state of mind where one is unable to see things as they truly are.
- Śoka: Sorrow or grief. It is the direct result of delusion and attachment.
- Ātman: The Self, or the eternal, imperishable essence of a person.
- Brahman: The ultimate reality; pure, formless, and attributeless consciousness.
- Nirguṇa: Without attributes or qualities. This term is used to describe Brahman.
- Maya: The power of illusion that makes the singular reality of Brahman appear as a world of multiple, separate forms.
- Karma Yoga: The path of action. It’s the practice of performing one’s duty with a sense of detachment, without clinging to the results.
- Sānkhya Yoga: The path of knowledge. It is the intellectual and contemplative approach to understanding the Self and reality.
- Niyata Karma: One’s assigned or ordained duty.
- Sthita-Prajña: A person of a stable and unwavering intellect. This term describes a wise or realized individual whose mind is tranquil and free from the agitation of life’s dualities.
- Jñānī: A wise or realized person, synonymous with sthitaprajña.
- Kāma: Desire, the root of all inner conflict and suffering.
- Krodha: Anger, which arises when desires are unfulfilled.
- Rajo guṇa: One of the three qualities of nature, associated with passion, action, and desire, which drives the internal conflict.