Doesn't Life Have Any Purpose Beyond Going Back to God?

“Doesn’t Life Have Any Purpose Beyond Going Back to God?” The almost indignant directness of the question brought a smile to my face. The young man asking it was an Indian student in the UK who had recently been introduced to the teachings of the Bhagavad Gita. He explained, “I grew up in a family where we always believed in God and worshipped Him. I was taught that my talents were given to me by God for a purpose. I have loved studying science since childhood, and I received a full scholarship to pursue advanced studies in the UK. I strongly believed that the purpose of my life was to do pioneering medical research, discover cures for diseases, and thereby help people. “But from what I have gathered about the Gita’s teachings, it seems that life’s ultimate purpose is liberation from this world. Because this world is temporary and miserable, we shouldn’t aspire for anything here. That seems like a very demotivating and negative vision of life.” He continued, “I was also told that because this world is a place of distress, problems will always be there. Even if we find cures for diseases, people will ultimately die anyway. So what’s the use of such research? I find that attitude particularly discouraging.” I replied, “I appreciate your concern. In fact, I too initially understood the Gita as teaching that this world was simply a place to get out of so that we could go back to God. But as I have studied the Gita repeatedly over the years, my understanding has evolved.” “Can you explain how?” he asked. “Let’s consider the Gita’s statement in 8.15 that this world is a place of distress, in the broader context of the Gita. At the beginning, Arjuna is overwhelmed by distress and is in tears. By the end, however, he has regained his composure. If the Gita’s message were simply that this world is distressful and nothing can be done about it, how would that message have helped Arjuna?” “That’s interesting,” he said. “So how did the Gita help him?” “First, consider what caused Arjuna’s distress. He found the prospect of fighting against his relatives and teachers agonizing. He hoped that withdrawing from the war would spare him that pain. “But Krishna urged him to consider the larger consequences. If Arjuna withdrew, he might avoid the immediate agony of confronting his relatives on the battlefield, but those he was responsible for protecting could suffer even more under the rule of the Kauravas. “So the Gita’s message is: Don’t make decisions based solely on avoiding distress. Seek a bigger purpose, even if pursuing it involves some distress. “If we make avoiding pain our life’s purpose, then even the smallest pain can seem like far more than just a painful experience. It can seem like the defeat of our life’s purpose, even the failure of our entire life.” “But still,” he said, “isn’t describing the world as a place of distress rather pessimistic? I’ve heard the Sanskrit word duḥkhālayam compared with Himālaya. Just as the Himalayas are a place of snow, where cold is unavoidable, this world is a place where distress is unavoidable.” “That’s true,” I replied. “But let’s look a little deeper into the comparison. Is cold the only thing we can experience in the Himalayas?” As he considered my question, I continued, “There is so much more to experience: the magnificence of snow-clad mountains, the serenity of nature, the adventure of trekking, and, for the spiritually minded, the sanctity of sacred places. But to experience all this, we have to be ready to tolerate some cold.” He objected, “But we can avoid cold by wearing warm clothes.” “We can, and we should. But even with warm clothes, we’ll still experience some cold. And we’ll be ready to tolerate it because we have a purpose in going to the Himalayas that is bigger than merely avoiding cold.” “Okay,” he said. “But then what is that bigger purpose during our journey through this world? If it is simply to go back to God, my original question still remains: Does our life here have any other purpose?” “Yes, I’ll come to that,” I replied. “My point in exploring the Himalayas analogy was that the Gita’s description of this world is not pessimistic; it is realistic. Saying that distress is unavoidable here is no more pessimistic than saying that cold is unavoidable in the Himalayas. “And yes, the Gita teaches that our ultimate fulfillment lies beyond this world, in our relationship with God, where our deepest longings for lasting life, lasting love, and lasting joy can be fulfilled. But that doesn’t mean our life in this world has no other purpose.” A Purpose Beyond This World and a Purpose Within It “To understand how a purpose beyond this world can coexist with a purpose in this world, let’s consider another example associated with the Himalayas—this time, not a journey up the mountains, but the Ganga’s journey down from them toward the ocean. “The Ganga has a destination: the ocean. But while flowing toward it, the river also provides life-sustaining water to countless living beings along its course. Similarly, we can move toward God while using the abilities He has given us to contribute to the welfare of others. So our life has two simultaneous purposes: connection with God and contribution to the world in a mood of service to God.” “I’ve heard this metaphor of the river flowing toward the ocean,” he said. “But isn’t the point that the river eventually merges into the ocean?” “Not necessarily. The river-ocean metaphor is widely used and understood differently in different spiritual traditions. In the bhakti tradition, we understand it as expressing the continuous flow of our loving relationship with God. “If we consider the river as one continuous flow, we can appreciate how that flow does two things simultaneously: it moves toward the ocean while nourishing the land along the way. “Similarly, if we compare the river’s flow with the flow of our consciousness toward God, that same consciousness can do two things simultaneously: fulfill our spiritual aspiration beyond this world and fuel our contribution within this world.” After reflecting for a moment, he asked, “But if, as you said earlier, distress can never be eliminated from this world, why should we strive to improve it? What is the motivation?” “We may not be able to make this world perfect, but we can certainly make many things better,” I replied. “And those improvements can make it easier for people to live meaningfully and pursue their spiritual growth without being overwhelmed by suffering. “Let’s return to the Himalayan climbing metaphor. Suppose we provide warm shelters along the way for climbers. We don’t believe those shelters will eliminate the cold, nor do we tell travelers that the shelters are their ultimate destination. Yet that doesn’t diminish the value of those shelters, for they can make the journey much easier. “Similarly, suppose we strive to improve conditions in this world. We don’t believe such improvements will eliminate all suffering, nor do we present them as life’s ultimate purpose. Yet that doesn’t diminish their value, for they can make people’s journey through life easier.” He nodded. “Consider Arjuna,” I continued. “Krishna didn’t tell Arjuna to abandon his abilities simply because this world was temporary and distressful. Arjuna had worked hard to become an expert archer, and Krishna called upon him to use that expertise in service.” “Actually,” he said, “while growing up, I thought of Arjuna’s archery skills and his single-pointedness in learning archery as a model for my research.” “That’s a good example,” I replied. “Arjuna didn’t neglect the gifts he had been given. He developed them and used them fully. Yet his ultimate identity and fulfillment didn’t depend on retaining those abilities forever. Toward the end of his life, when his archery prowess deserted him, as described in the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, he recognized that his role in this world was concluding and turned his attention more fully toward the divine. “Similarly, you can pursue your scientific studies wholeheartedly, recognizing your abilities as gifts from God and using them to help others. Your research can help reduce suffering that might otherwise consume people’s attention and make it harder for them to pursue their spiritual growth.” I concluded, “Coming back to your original question, does life have a purpose beyond going back to God? I wouldn’t say beyond; I would say along with. While going back to God, we can also be giving back to God by using our God-given abilities in service to others.” “Going back to God and giving back to God—that’s quite striking,” he said. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. The Gita’s teaching isn’t as simple as I thought it was.” I smiled. “Even after studying the Gita for three decades, I keep discovering newer depths within it. My best wishes and prayers for your life’s journey guided by the Gita.” He thanked me and departed. Arjuna’s Arrows and the Doctor’s Medicines Later, as I reflected on our conversation, I thought about how my own understanding of connection and contribution had evolved. During my first decade as a monk, I lived a largely sequestered life, focusing primarily on my sādhana, my personal spiritual practices. I thought of my sevā, or service, mainly as inspiring others to practice sādhana. Over time, I had become somewhat deadened to human suffering because I saw it as an inescapable feature of material existence. Though I vigorously sought people’s ultimate spiritual welfare, I gave too little thought to how their journey through this world could and should be made less distressful. Toward the end of my first decade as a monk, I became seriously ill with advanced tuberculosis and was admitted to a hospital run by devotees in Mumbai. There, I experienced the care and attention with which the doctors treated patients. Their aspiration to ultimately go beyond this world didn’t make them indifferent to people’s suffering in this world. They saw caring for patients as part of their sevā, their service to God. I particularly remember a remark made by one doctor while I was receiving intravenous medication. “Krishna is working through the medicines,” he said. That simple statement got me thinking. Just as Arjuna had shot his arrows in Krishna’s service to protect the world from those who threatened it, these doctors were sending medicines into my body to destroy the germs that threatened it. I had known that Arjuna’s arrows were instruments of service to Krishna. But here were doctors helping me see medicines in a similar way. For them, relieving bodily suffering was not separate from service to Krishna; it was an expression of service to Krishna. The doctors helped me appreciate something I had previously overlooked. Seeking a spiritual destination beyond this world need not mean focusing only on relieving suffering at the spiritual level. Helping people find relief from suffering in this world could also be a meaningful part of serving God. As I reflected on the young researcher’s question, I appreciated how Krishna had given me experiences, such as my encounter with that devoted doctor, that had gradually broadened my understanding of the Gita’s teachings. A rueful smile came over my face as I wondered how I might have answered the same question more than two decades earlier. That younger version of me might well have self-righteously declared, “The very fact that you think life needs any purpose other than going back to God shows that you are in illusion.” Oh, the follies of youth! How presumptuously I might have declared that he was in illusion, without even considering the possibility that I myself might have been in illusion! With that humbling thought, I offered a prayer: My dear Lord, please help me see and seek Your presence and purpose both in this world and beyond it. Let me never become so caught up in this world that I forget You are the ultimate source of all relief—that all who offer relief, including me, are serving as Your instruments, knowingly or unknowingly. Let me never become so intent on turning away from the world in the name of focusing on You that my heart becomes deadened to the human suffering I can and should alleviate. Help me navigate the delicate balance between connection and contribution, and help me help others navigate that balance too. *** 08.15 After attaining Me, the great souls, who are yogīs in devotion, never return to this temporary world, which is full of miseries, because they have attained the highest perfection. 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