quest

the glass that is placed before me contains water, is a fact. When I drink the water and it quenches my thirst, it becomes a value. Similarly, I know it as a fact that Paris is a big, cosmopolitan city, but when I go and experience living in the city, the fact will graduate to become a value. Thus, mere theoretical information constitutes a fact and a realization of the fact through practical experience constitutes a value.

Hiriyanna observes that one of the most distinguishing features of Indian philosophy is that, through out its long history, it has consistently given the foremost place to values. This is seen in the Upaniṣads too, as they speak of the final goal and the means to its attainment as the state of peace and joy, which signify the state of ‘being’ than of ‘knowing'. Thus, the goal of the Vedāntic pursuit is not merely to ‘know’ the ideal, but to ‘be’ the ideal. Indian philosophy may, on this account, be described as essentially a philosophy of values 

Hiriyanna writes incisively about the identification and implementation of the three eternal values – Beauty, Goodness, Truth – that serve as the practical means in achieving the ideal of mokṣa.The three values are defined below and their relation to the ideal is discussed.

 

• Beauty: The contemplation of a work of art leads to an attitude of mind which is impersonal. Man not only grows unselfish here, but also forgets himself completely; and in the supreme aesthetic moment, he is conscious of nothing but the object or the situation portrayed in the work of art in question. (It is in common experience that while watching a theatrical performance or reading poetry, we remark "I forgot myself. I did not know where I was and that so much of time elapsed". i.e., we 'forgot' our mind, body, space and time.) This self-forgetfulness results from the contemplative union of the subject with the object. This kind of pure and spontaneous aesthetic joy characterizes the realization of the ultimate ideal too. Thus, practice and contemplation of art give us a glimpse of the eternal Bliss. The glimpse of the ideal thus obtained, although fleeting and dependent on art as its external trigger, helps us gain confidence that the ideal is something that can be achieved. The experience of Bliss during suṣupti  (deep sleep) and the aesthetic joy derived from rasānanda (art experience) serve as empirical proofs for the existence of the ideal, thus, proving its practical value.

 

• Goodness: In its most usual sense, goodness can be taken as ‘moral good’ and can be roughly translated as ‘dharma’. It is signified by the golden rule that we should do unto others, as we would desire them to do unto us. When man realizes that he is a social being, with obligations to discharge towards others amidst whom he lives, he performs activities that suit his sva-dharma (intrinsic nature). The Dharma-śāstras and the smṛtis are concerned with the elaboration of this preliminary moral training intended for persons in lower stages of spiritual evolution.

 

• Truth: The pursuit of philosophic truth has direct reference to reality. Unlike the truths of the pure sciences, those of philosophy and kindred subjects of study necessarily influence life. A scientific fact such as the number of rings the planet Saturn has does not directly affect man’s life, but the philosophical truth, such as the truth concerning the survival of the self has a practical implication on his activities. Philosophy is not a game of speculation meant only to afford intellectual satisfaction by dispelling doubts, but a practical study which should issue in the right mode of life.

The pursuit of the good signifies altruistic service; that of the beautiful results in relief from the perpetual tension of life; and that of the true yields comprehensive knowledge which, by removing all doubt and uncertainty produces a stable conviction. No final ideal can exclude altruistic service or restful peace or a comprehensive knowledge of reality. Disinterestedness should be a constant and outstanding feature in the quest after perfection. With it, conscious effort must disappear in the case of goodness and moral action must become spontaneous and joyful - these are also the qualities of a person who has realized the ideal. The result of subordinating the good to mokṣa is to elevate the moral quality of actions above their subject-matter. Furthermore, no voluntary action is intelligible without some reference to the self . The restful peace resulting from the appreciation of beauty must not be provisional, but constant, which necessarily implies that it should be derived from the contemplation of the whole of reality and not merely a portion of it, or of an imaginative situation created by the artist.

The ideal, thus, is not a mere combination of the three values but represents a creative synthesis of them, by which they are fused and welded into a new unity. The ideal not only includes the triad but transcends them. It is a state of absolute unselfishness and of spontaneous joy that manifests itself always. The three values are like the three legs of a tripod stand and the ideal stands on it. Thus, the three have equal significance and the ideal transcends them.

 

A note on the triad of values:

The triad ‘satyam, śivam, sundaram’ as  equivalents of truth, goodness and beauty was first coined by the Brahmo Samaj. The spirit of these three values as the defining characteristics of the ideal, is found in the Upaniṣads, as follows:

satyam - “satyaṃ jñānam anantaṃ brahma”  Taittiriyopaniṣad (2.1.1)

śivam – “śāntaṃ śivam advaitam” - Māṇḍūkyopaniṣad (mantra 7)

sundaram – “raso vai saḥ। rasaṃ hyevāyaṃ labdhvā ānandī bhavati”  Taittiriyopaniṣad (2.7.2).

The reference to ‘rasa’ is equivalent to the enjoyment derived from the contemplation of the beauty, i.e., sundaram. Śankarācārya defines rasa in a similar manner in his commentary on the above phrase of the Taittiriyopaniṣad , “raso nāma tṛptihetuḥ ānandakaro madhurāmlādiḥ prasiddho loke”, rasa is that which brings a sense of contentment and of joy, just like savouring sweet, sour and other tastes gives joy in our daily lives.

 According to the terms of the endowment, these Lectures should deal with 'the inner meaning of human history'. This description of their subject-matter implies that there is some ultimate purpose which man as such continually pursues, but that he does so unknowingly or, at all events, without a complete consciousness of it. It  is such a distinctive feature of man to pursue this purpose, we shall be able to determine it, at least in a general way, by inquiring wherein he most differs from the rest of sentient creation. The difference lies, as is commonly recognized, in the fact that he can become self-conscious or explicitly aware of his own identity. While other animals also lead a conscious life, they never know that they do so. In the words of one of our scriptures, 1 they live only from moment to moment, whereas man is aware of the past as well as the future. It is a great gift, because it enables him to review his thoughts, feelings, and actions as if they were apart from himself and pass judgment upon them. This capacity for self-criticism necessarily points to an awareness of a standard by which he judges; and "tie standard can be nothing short of absolute perfection, for the simple reason that the need for criticism will continue to be felt until an ideal, which is free from all imperfections and is therefore completely satisfying, is reached. In fact, man would not feel that he was imperfect if he had not within him such an ideal, latent though it may be. Whether he will ever attain it or whether, in thinking he will, he is only chasing a will-of 'the-wisp is a question . For the present it will suffice to note the existence in his mind of this ideal, urging him to strive for reaching a state in which he may rest with a feeling of contentment.

It is the presence within him of this ideal of perfection that makes man a spiritual being. Though all people are alike prompted by it, a loyal response to its promptings is by no

means easy, for man is also a natural being. That is, he is not only inspired by a consciousness of what he ought to be: he is also that, which tends to keep him bound to the pursuit of lower ends. This double nature results in an internal conflict between the flesh and the spirit or, as they are otherwise termed, the lower and the higher selves; and only some can, by overcoming it, respond whole-heartedly to the bidding of the higher self. It is to their thought and labor that human progress is entirely due. Since, however, the ideal is not explicitly known, even they can aim at it only tentatively; and the ends, which they actually pursue, may fall far short of it. My object in today's lecture is to find out whether we can define the ideal better, by considering the scope and nature of these tentative ends. I shall select for consideration what are called the eternal values, viz., Goodness, Beauty and Truth which are typical of such ends. They are now often regarded as standing for the ultimate ideal itself; but, I hope, it will become clear as I proceed that it is not correct to do so and that in pursuing mem, however praiseworthy the pursuit in itself may be, man k still groping about for  fine goal.

i. Beauty To begin with the second of these three values, viz., beauty, and consider it in relation to art first. It is well known that the contemplation of a work of art leads to an attitude of mind which is quite impersonal. Man not only grows unselfish here, but also forgets himself completely; and in the supreme aesthetic moment, he is conscious of nothing but the object or the situation portrayed in the work of art in question. His attitude then resembles what the yogis term -samadhi, in which one loses oneself, as it were, in contemplative union with the object. As a consequence of this self-forgetfulness, man rises above all the cares arid anxieties of every day life and experiences a rare kind of satisfaction, such as characterizes, according to what I have stated, the realization of the ultimate ideal. Former, tins satisfaction, as commonly construed, is, like the final ideal, sought for its own sake and not as a means to anything else. All this is true; yet art experience cannot serve as that ideal, fox it has, at least, one great deficiency which renders it unfit to do so. The contemplative satisfaction which it signifies is

transient, because it lasts only as long as the art stimulus lasts; and the stimulus is bound to end, sooner or later, since it arises from an external and fictitious situation created by the artist. It is not suggested by this, that art experience will not leave its wholesome influence behind. All that is meant is that, whatever may be the nature and extent of that influence, the experience itself, With its distinctive features, disappears after a time. And no state that is transitory can obviously be regarded as the final goal of life, whatever its other excellences may be.

To turn now from art to nature: There is a view, put forward by some, that beauty has no meaning when applied to physical objects. What they mean by it is that whether a natural object is beautiful or not does not depend upon itself, but upon what we can make it mean. 'Nature is mute' says Croce, 'if man does not make her speak'. But we may, perhaps, dismiss that view for this reason among others, viz., that while, according to it, all external objects must stand on the same footing, some actually appear to us as more attractive and arresting than others. that fee is no absurdity in speeds of beauty  nature, I may point out that that beauty in its entirety — immanent, as the poets say, in everything 'from the creeping plant to sovereign man' — is beyond common human experience. Such of it as ordinarily comes into view may be the beauty of single objects like a smiling flower or of a natural scene lie a landscape radiant in the morning sun. In either case, it is but a fragment of nature that is presented; and we cannot lose sign of its boundaries at the time of appreciating it, as it necessarily appears in its cosmical context. It thus differs from a work of art which is a world by itself, and is so self-complete that it has been compared by some to a monad. In this respect, the beauty of nature, as it ordinarily reveals itself to us, hardly reaches the level of beauty in art which absorbs our entire attention. And so long as the appreciation of nature is piecemeal, the deficiency of transience pointed out above in the case of art 

parlence is also here, because the fragmentary spectacle cannot held before the mind for very long. Sooner or later it is succeeded by another, and the experience to which it gives rise may be altogether unaesthetic. There is also the possibility here of a beautiful spectacle in nature, because of its reality, changing its appeal £rafc''£b* aesthetic to the practical, even within the

me it is kept in sight. A person admiring the scenic beauty of a mountain may conceivably be diverted from it at any moment by the thought of some practical purpose, say, of making the place fit for a health or holiday resort. It may thus become the focus of a different kind of interest; but no such diversion of interest is conceivable in the case of art, because its object is unreal. t To a person contemplating the same mountain depicted in a picture, the idea of making it subserve a practical end does not occur at all. Thus the realisation of beauty in nature can no more be the final ideal than the realisation of beauty in art can.

That an exclusive devotion to the pursuit of beauty, whether in art or in nature, does not satisfy all the needs and aspirations of the human heart is, indeed, a theme which is familiar to readers of poetry. Tennyson's Palace of Art, for instance, is based upon it. In that poem, as is well known, the poet describes a gifted soul as building for itself a fine and spacious mansion amidst magnificent surroundings, but on the summit of a hill far away from the common people. After ornamenting it with artistic works of great beauty and splendour, it enters the happy abode saying to itself, 'All these are mine; and let the world have peace or wars, it is one to me.' This self-complacent attitude, no doubt, does not continue very long, because the soul, which has thus isolated itself from others, grows penitent of its pride and unsocial behaviour and, at last, steps down from its lofty mansion to join the common life and share its sorrows and its joys. But the poem makes it clear that there is nothmff in aesthetic experience itself to guarantee against a life of sellcentred satisfaction. The ideal of perfection, if it should answer to that description at all, cannot allow any side of human nature to be starved; and .it will not therefore be ever divorced foom sympathy for fellow beings.

I have dwelt at some length on the inadequacy of the value of beauty to serve as the final ideal. Similar defects characterise the other two values also; but it will suffice to refer to them only briefly now, as I shall deal with them again later in this lecture.

2. Goodness This term, as is well known, is extremely ambiguous. But it is enough for our immediate purpose to take it in its mo

usual sense of the moral good and understand by it, in particular, what is signified by the golden rule, viz., that we should do to others, as we would desire them to do to us. 1 Man's belief in the need for such altruistic activity arises direcdy from his selfconscious nature, for he thereby becomes aware not only of his own self but also of others as having selves like his own and as subject to the same feelings of pain and pleasure as he is. That is to say, man realises through it that he is a social being, with obligations to discharge towards others amidst whom he lives. Biit when we remember that he, as a natural being, has also lower motives to contend with, we see that the pursuit of the good requires strenuous and continued effort; and so long as there is need for conscious effort, it is clear that the ideal is not reached. The moral good cannot therefore represent the final goal of life, until sell-love is wholly overcome and altruistic service becomes the effortless expression of a permanent attitude of mind. Long training in social morality may establish in us habits of right conduct, and moral activity may thereby become a second nature with us. But such ixaining, by its very nature, is adjusted to a general standard; and, while it may ordinarily fee adequate to guide us aright in situations that more or less cmform to that standard, it cannot be trusted to do so always. ffer there are sure to arise new situations in life, or there may •odde&fy present itself a conflict of duties, when it may fail us. Such situations will give rise to a tension of mind which cannot, unless moral success is a matter of pure chance, be got over till we are able to perceive for ourselves the kind of action which they demand of us. This perception presupposes common social morality, as its indispensable basis; but it also needs, over and above it, as I shall try to point out, a knowledge, or more strictly an intuitive understanding, of the ultimate truth about reality. In other words, goodness as a value depends for its complete realisation on another member of the trinity, viz., truth, and cannot therefore by itself stand for the highest ideal.

3. Truth

Hie deficiency of art experience, viz., that it is transient, because of 'Its dependence upon a situation created by the artist. is not found in the case of philosophic truth, for it has direct reference to reality. Nor does it suffer from the other drawback of fragmentariness characterising our sense of beauty in nature, for such truth is all-comprehensive, its object being the whole of existence. Any satisfaction, which its discovery may have for man, should therefore be quite stable. Further, the pursuit, as in the case of art and morality, is also marked by unselfishness, for truth, in its pure and undefiled form, is not likely to be attained if it is not sought for its own sake. Its purpose is to satisfy disinterested curiosity, and the intrusion of any personal interest like gain or glory is sure to vitiate, the result that may be reached.

But, all the same, this value also has its limitation for, as now commonly conceived, it is speculative and signifies a purely theoretical understanding of reality. Such a conception rails to take account of the bearing which philosophy, unless we exclude from it the consideration of the nature of man and his place in the universe, has on his life. Bradley, for instance, states that philosophy 'seeks to gain possession of Reality but only in an ideal form'. 1 Another modern thinker writes that 'its mission terminates in the quest rather than any actions that may follow it'. 3 This bearing upon life, as implied in the latter quotation, is not, indeed, denied now; but, as being of a practical character, it is generally regarded as the concern of religion and not of philosophy. Here, it seems, we have an unwarranted extension to philosophy of a feature found in the pure, as distinguished from the applied, sciences. What I want to point out is that, unlike the truths of the pure sciences, those of philosophy  kindred subjects of study necessarily influence life. Indeed,  cannot be prevented from doing so, when once they have satisfied our reason and won our acceptance. A person may learn that the plaet Saturn has a certain number of rings encircling it That is knowing a scientific fact, and the knowledge may have no direct relation to his everyday mode of living. But the same cannot be said, for example, of the truth about lie survival of the self. It is sure to influence life—in one way if a person believes in it, and in quite a different way if he does not.