Our discussion touched on slokas 1, 3, 5, 10, 13-17, and 32 of the sixth chapter.  The first sloka begins, “He who does the task / Dictated by duty, / Caring for nothing / For fruit of the action, / He is a yogi, / A true sannyasin.”  These lines evoke the idea of detachment which, as Swami Tyagananda reminded us, does not mean a neglect of work, but, as the lines state, a detachment from the results of work.  Swami Tyagananda emphasized that the ideal of detachment does not mean that we should never be attached to anything.   For example, when working, we should be attached to the task at hand in the sense that the task has our full concentration, but when we have finished the task we should be able to detach our mind from that task and move on to the next.  Thus, we should strive to have control over our mind in both attachment and detachment.  This same idea reappears in slokas 10, 13-15 which describe a yogi’s meditation: “…He must exercise control over his mind and body.  He must free himself from the hopes and possessions of this world.  He should meditate on the Atman unceasingly.”

The fifth sloka of chapter 6 reads:

What is man’s will

And how shall he use it?

Let him put forth its power

To uncover the Atman

Not hide the Atman:

Man’s will is the only

Friend of the Atman:

His will is also

The Atman’s enemy.

Swami Tyagananda explained the apparent contradiction in this sloka by diagram.  He showed us that the state of the spiritual seeker could be represented by the relationships between the mind and body with each other and with the rest of the world and the divine spirit.  All of these relationships are fraught with tensions which keep us away from our ultimate goal of realizing the Self.  The will is our enemy (and Atman’s enemy) in the sense that it creates and perpetuates these tensions.  For example, it may be the will of the body that urges us to overeat, but this may be in tension with our mind’s desire to eat moderately.  In the same way that it may reinforce tensions, the will is also a source of strength which can help us to resolve our tensions and, in that way, the will is our friend.  It is only after we have resolved our tensions with the world around us and the tensions between our mind and body that we can more clearly see the divine spirit and make progress in that direction.  Thus, it is valuable to be reflective and to try to identify the various tensions in our lives so that we may have a chance to utilize our will as a friend to resolve these tensions.

During the discussion, we also discussed other ideas regarding meditation, love, and monastic life.  I encourage anyone else who attended this week’s reading group to add any thoughts they may have and to correct any points where I have misinterpreted Swami Tyagananda or the text of the Gita.

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The premise, like many games today, is that you get guns and kill your foes. Such games are colloquially called shooters, with an adjective prepended to describe the camera’s vantage point, such as first-person shooter, for when you “are” the in-game character, or third-person shooter, for when you are behind the in-game character and separate from her. The game creator’s choice of vantage point, a choice that is generally fixed within a given game, has a significant impact on the player’s experience.

Bioshock is a first-person shooter, so while playing, one identifies visually with the in-game character. This, together with the careful artistic design of the game, leads to an immersive experience that has one feeling like a part of the in-game world. Whether it’s the campy vending machines, the zombie-like inhabitants of an underwater city, or the collectible audio diaries of a tragic past, the different aspects of the environment entice the player more strongly than in other games, where the emphasis is simply on killing things instead of on emotional depth. In this way, the carefully crafted world of Bioshock achieves an unnerving level of realism.

This unnerving realism shocks most when the game forces the player to make a moral judgment. As an example — the example that inspired me to write this post — the Bioshock world is populated with endearing young girls called “Little Sisters,” whose function it is to collect useful genetic material called ADAM that the player desperately needs in order to survive. While these Little Sisters are actually no longer human, deformed into zombie-like collectors through some strange biological procedure, the procedure that transformed them is reversible, and the player can perform the reverse procedure on them in order to rescue them from their status as zombies and make them girls once again.

When one encounters a Little Sister, which one is forced to do in order to obtain ADAM and survive, one has to kill her mechanized guardian (amusingly called a “Big Daddy”), which prompts the Little Sister to start weeping over her lost companion. In this emotional scenario, with silence but for the sobs of the Little Sister, one is told that one has the choice to either harvest the Little Sister, giving one 160 ADAM but killing the creature, or rescue it, giving one only 80 ADAM but earning a voiced thank-you and look of gratitude from the resulting girl.

Logically, one wants to harvest all of the Little Sisters in order to maximize one’s ADAM. But something feels wrong about killing a child-like creature for one’s own satisfaction. Even though it’s sensible from the perspective of pure self-interest, there’s an aspect of our humanity that appeals to the player, asking the player to consider rescuing the Little Sister.

In my first encounter with a Little Sister, after sitting for a few minutes with the moral choice on display (picture), I decided to rescue it. While this did put me 80 ADAM short, which was frustrating for advancing in the game, I felt like I had done the right thing. Looking back though, that sounds silly. I might have done the right thing, but what does morality in a video game even mean? When the game presents the player with this phenomenally constructed moral quandary, it feels like more than just a game — but it’s still just a game. Why not just harvest all the Little Sisters? The arguments in favor of rescuing are weak — unlike in a Disney movie, the gratitude of the rescued girls doesn’t miraculously help the player defeat foes — yet I chose to rescue.

The Little Sister problem is interesting in itself, but it also raises the larger question of morality in the digital world. Many video games, movies, and television shows today celebrate violence to a ridiculous degree, making gruesome digital death commonplace, and yet a core principle of Hinduism is ahimsa, or non-violence. Is chainsawing your video game opponent to bloody chunks consistent with ahimsa because it’s just a game, or is there something wrong with it? On the one hand, it’s clearly inconsistent with ahimsa when it has clear influence on violent actions in the real world — for example, the killers at the Columbine High School massacre videotaped themselves paying homage to the popular violent video game Doom before the shootings (source). On the other hand, it seems justifiable in some way when it serves righteous warfare as described by Krishna in the Bhagavad-Gita — for example, the same violent video game Doom served as the basis for military simulations for soldiers in the United States military.

It’s hard to tell — why did I choose to rescue the Little Sister? Is ahimsa consistent with violent video games and other cultural celebrations of violence? What are the moral consequences of saying that a video game is “just a game”? What do you think? What does ahimsa mean in the digital world?

PS: Perhaps if the Mahabharata had video games, Duryodhana would have been satisfied with the Pandavas and Kauravas logging in for an epic Team Slayer match in Halo 3 on Xbox Live and giving the kingdom to the victor…

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Why do I value the things I do?

Why do I value selflessness above selfishness? Why do I consider honesty more ethical than lying? Why do I struggle to achieve self-control instead of satisfying my immediate desires? Why do I admire sincerity more than acting skills?

What is it that prompts me to value moral development more than intellectual enhancement, and to value intellectual effort more than social aptitude?

In essence, how can I know that my value judgements are correctly placed?

There are several ways for me to justify my beliefs. Here are three:

1. Scripture: For those who like to see a scriptural basis for beliefs, Chapter 12 of the Bhagavad Gita outlines the qualities of the ideal devotee; Chapter 16 describes both divine and demonic qualities. For many, this itself might be reason enough for many to strive for such ideals.

2. Universality of the Ideal: For me, what has been a stronger reason to follow Sri Krishna’s suggestion is the universality of those beliefs –as I pointed out in a previous post, it seems like many of the world’s religions seem to project the same image of the ideal. The idea that so many religions, through so many different paths, have arrived at similar conclusions, is really comforting to me. And more than comforting, it serves (for me, at least) as a sign that there is some validity to these suggestions.

3. More recent figures — Sri Ramakrishna, Gandhiji, Mother Teresa — have practiced such ideals and the difference in their lives is apparent.

Ultimately, I think the question of whether these ideals are legitimate or not comes down to this: does practicing them make me better off? Do I feel stronger, do I feel happier, do I feel more confident, as a result of following these ideals?

I have found that struggling to put things into practice is sometimes painful — it is easy to stumble and fall, to get in over your head, to misinterpret and distort reality and fool yourself into thinking you are working towards your goal,  to fall prey to fear and lack of self-confidence, to let the feeling that you are the only one that cares about this stuff get to you — but the joy of actually practicing what you preach is immeasurable. The feeling of calm that you get when you know you are in control of your emotions and reactions, for me, is infinitely better than worriedly awaiting the stresses of life; the power you get from living in the moment and comforting someone who may not be able to return the time you’ve invested in them is uplifting…Small glimpses of what it would be like to constantly practice these ideals are what have kept me dedicated to continuously struggling to reach what I have chosen as the ideal.

At the same time, I understand why it is easy to question whether such struggle is worth the effort — most of us are at a stable equilibrium point before embarking on such journeys, so why bother changing that?  I’m not sure what made me willing to disturb that equilibrium and search for something better. And, what alarms me is that I’m not sure how exactly I chose what I’ve come to define as “better.” Somehow, these seemingly arbitrary values that I’ve picked (influenced by Hindu scripture, my culture, and the lives of those I admire) have become a huge part of me — and luckily, the occasional successes I achieve have shown me that perhaps my judgment wasn’t misplaced.

Still, the question remains — is there a more logical way to pick what we think of as ideal?

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So said Swami Vivekananda, according to the reminiscences of A. Srinivasa Pai.

This raises an interesting and often neglected aspect of spiritual development — physical exercise. Hinduism, like most other religions, seems sedentary — after all, if sitting for years on end meditating is the spiritual ideal, then exercise isn’t a high priority.

But a healthy body is important for the sound functioning of the mind, so it makes sense for exercise to be a part of spiritual development. Hinduism addresses this — it is unique among religions in including physical exercise as a part of itself, specifically as asana yoga, known to a Western audience as simply “yoga.” Through diet and the practice of various postures, yoga allows one to develop spiritually by developing physically.

Other forms of exercise, such as lifting weights, or playing soccer, seem equally valid. I often feel profound thoughts shortly after intense workouts, and find it easier to attain mental clarity.

What do you think? How important is physical exercise to spiritual development? Should it be a part of modern Hinduism?

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This oscillation is natural. But after you sense this pattern, you ask — is there a way out? How can we dodge life’s ups and downs?

Hinduism answers: detachment. The perfect devotee of God is even-minded in pain and pleasure, writes the Bhagavad-Gita, a constant in the oscillations of life. To attain that state of even-mindedness, one must practice yoga. This detachment is a crucial concept in modern Hinduism — Brittany and Sonali have written on it earlier.

But just because the books say it does not mean it is true — as with all scriptural principles, we must question it, burn it with the fires of our inquiry to test its strength. Is it worth sacrificing life’s joys to avoid the sorrows? Is it really better to be even-minded? If I am so detached from everything, will I become a dull, lifeless, boring being? Or will I find renewed strength with which to enjoy life?

For me, the greatest satisfaction is in productivity, in working effectively. I find that I am more productive when I am calm and devoid of emotion, than when I am excited or sullen. So for me, even-mindedness contributes to a more satisfying life. While it’s not the most thrilling dining-table conversation — “how even-minded were you today?” — I find that the excitement of adhering to a principle such as even-mindedness is unmatched.

In the rush of life, where we race to move forward, increase our station, it is easy to get caught in the cycle of ups and downs. So ask yourself — would detachment help you achieve greater satisfaction in life, or do you prefer the joys and sorrows? Even though the Bhagavad-Gita favors the detachment route, ignore the authority of scripture and answer this question for yourself — as long as you are aware of this cycle, it is fine to choose to be in it.

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