In this condition, how would we realise truth? Where comes the methodology to recover ourselves and place ourselves in that context of what reality is there, above these shadows, these three-dimensional solidities, externalities, objects, and the like. We cannot, usually, expect success in this attempt, because our attempts are mostly operations of the mind, and the mind is a friend of this very intruder, the space-time complex. Hence, the usual operations of the mind, the accustomed procedures of understanding, would not be of adequate utility in this regard. This is the reason why saints and sages speak of the need for the performance, the exercise of Tapas—self-control. An easy-go-lucky life is not the way of self-control. Many a time, control of the self, or restraint of the self, is wrongly interpreted and translated as ‘mortification’. Tapas is not that. Tapas is discipline. It is the regularisation of the movement of consciousness. It is the systematisation of the activity of consciousness. It is the streamlining of the movement of our own selves. Hence, it is to place ourselves in a precisely calculated position, wherefrom we can have the vision or the vista of our True Self.

Tapas has to be properly evaluated and understood. All spiritual exercise or spiritual discipline is Tapas. This Sanskrit word, Tapas, has many a connotation. One of them is that it is the process of energising our system through the heat of self-restraint. So, Tapas may also mean the energy-heat that we develop in our own selves through the introversion of the power of the will by redeeming it from involvement in the activity of externalisation in the world of perception.

It would not be easy to conceive the procedure of this self-control, much as we are accustomed to the normal way of thinking in terms of objects only. The withdrawal from the objects of sense that scriptures and religions speak of is a very subtle procedure. It is not a withdrawing from some place to another place. It is not even withdrawing oneself from some really existing meaning to another conceived meaning. It is not a withdrawal of our attention from really existing things in the world into abstractions of consciousness. It is a different thing altogether. There is a little bit of hint given to us in a verse of the Bhagavadgita, towards the end of the third chapter, where we are suggested that we should not take lightly this difficult task of self-control. It is a hard task and the problem behind it is made clear by this verse of the Bhagavadgita, when it mentions that the senses and the mind can be disciplined and restrained only in the light of the structure of the Highest Self. The visualisation of the pattern of the true nature of the Self would be a strong support in our adventure of self-control, because the senses are strong indeed. The strength of the senses is known to everybody. They are so powerful that they have succeeded in making us believe, one-hundred-percent, that the world of externality is the only reality. One can imagine what strength they have.

But the mind is superior to the senses, though, mostly, the mind acquiesces in whatever the senses convey to it, and does not bother to investigate into the reality of these sensory presentations. It merely takes the evidences of the senses, collects them into a synthesised picture and agrees as to the reality thereof. However, this is not the end of the whole matter. There is a ratiocinating faculty within us, a discriminative power, an understanding or a reason which can be applied and has to be applied even after the mind has synthesised and practically accepted the evidences of the senses.

This is the work of the philosopher, and here is what we call “manana”, reflection over the fact of experience after collecting evidence through various sources, by perception, by inference, by study, and the like.

But, the senses are turbulent. Control of the senses is like binding wind and thrusting it into a briefcase. You cannot succeed in this attempt. Wild is their impetuosity and loud is their roar and clamour in this world of longing. They will shout at the top of their voice and drown the little music of the soul, and the mind, mostly, does not bother; it does not want to take much of a pain. It is only a confirming feature in us of what the senses present. But the reason is going to be of assistance. Of course, the reason, too, does not bother much. Mostly, it is also an idle witness, a spectator, an onlooker of what the mind is saying and the senses are reporting. This acquiescing reason is what we call the lower reason, the investigative reason is what we call the higher reason. Even now we are exercising our reason in some way. When we work in this world, in any field of our occupation, we apply our reason, or understanding, no doubt, but it is the lower reason; lower because it works according to the judgement passed by the mind on the report of the senses. The investigative faculty does not always operate and we do not even feel the need to exercise that higher faculty. This necessity will arise only if we face insurmountable difficulties in life, so that nothing can satisfy us and we seem to be cornered from all sides. The investigative understanding, or the higher reason, will be able to proclaim the non-utilitarian character of experiences in this world in terms of the senses and the ordinary mental cognitions. What is the function of this higher reason? It is the ambassador of the Spirit. It is the voice of the higher reality within us. It is the light shed by the Atman, though it is not itself the Atman. It is to be considered as most proximate to the Atman, the Self, inasmuch as it is the integrating faculty in ourselves. The dissipating character of sense-activity is restrained by the higher reason which sees a unifying meaning behind even these distracting presentations of the senses. The world is entirely a field of scattered particulars. You do not see an inch of unity anywhere in anything in this world. Everything is different from everything else. But the sense of belonging, the feeling of cooperation, and the insight into the presence of some unifying factor in life, arises on account of the operation of the higher reason which reflects the ultimate unity of the pure Spirit. If that were not to be present and active, we would be like pieces thrown in different directions and there would not be anything to connect one piece with another piece. There would then be only discrete particulars without anything to cement them into an organic completeness, or a beautiful presentation. A very cryptic statement in the Bhagavadgita says that the support of the Atman is necessary in order that the senses may be subdued. We cannot abandon lower desires unless we gain something higher than what the lower desires promise. We cannot lose both the golden axe and the iron axe at the same time. We will not be happy about it. Initially, there is a feeling that the joys of life are abandoned in the act of self-control. This feeling of isolation from the delights of sense will be made good and compensated adequately by the larger delight of the grasp of something superior to the delights of the senses. This is what the Bhagavadgita means when it says that, finally, you will have to resort to some speck of the reflection of the Atman in order that you may subdue the senses. No one would be agreeable to become a total fool or yield to anyone thoroughly, root and branch, and even the senses would not agree to that; the senses will not permit themselves to be utter slaves of this procedure you are adopting, called self-control, but they yield provided a higher satisfaction is visualised by them. This higher satisfaction is the controlling power. The faith in God, or the vision of the presence of a higher being, would be the strength that we have to exercise in the subdual of the otherwise impossible sense-organs. The violence of the energies through the channels of sense can be diverted intelligently, but not checked with any unintelligent force.

Spiritual life, therefore, is something to be lived cautiously, like the work of an engineer who harnesses powerful flow of waters or constructs meticulously unsupported bridges across wide rivers. It is not a fool-hardy attempt but a wisely conceived mathematical and logical procedure. We have to understand, first of all, what it is that we are aiming at in order that things may be clear to us as far as the restraint of the senses is concerned. The difficulty would be with our own selves. What for is this self-restraint? What good will come out of it? We will speak thus to ourselves, though, by listening to the need to restrain oneself, we may be tentatively, though reluctantly, made to agree to this proposal. You know that anyone who is convinced against his will is of the same opinion still. So, if you can convince the senses against their will, they will naturally tell you, ‘Yes, we seem to be convinced, but;’ they will add a ‘but,’ and this ‘but’ is a dangerous clause that they will project due to a little difficulty they will feel in wholly accepting this advice.

“Do you want that we should totally ruin ourselves, lose ourselves, die in the name of what you call a discipline!” Who would like to dissolve oneself in total annihilation? Nothing can be more fearful than death, and if you are expecting the senses to die in order that something else may be achieved, it is better to know that nobody will be prepared to die for your satisfaction.

Now, this is not merely, a humorous story about the attitude of the senses, but a practical difficulty which one could feel even under the best of circumstance and the most cautious exercise of understanding. ‘After all, there is something,’ so the voice will speak. Did not Buddha hear this voice? He did hear. That situation, which the voice pointed out, would be the very same thing we too may visualise before ourselves, namely, the value we attach to things which the consciousness contacts, perceives, enjoys. The senses are eagerly waiting for this moment of weakness on the part of the mind and the understanding so that they may jump upon you from the ambush and catch you unawares. A starved sense is more violent than a satisfied one. Hence, like a river in spate that may break through anything if a little passage is given, the senses may break the whole personality into shreds and drown it in sorrow if proper care is not taken in this arduous adventure.

Unless a positive substance is under your hold, a negative withdrawal will not succeed. Hence, self-restraint which is the spotlight of spiritual practice is not negative in the sense of a withdrawal of one thing from another thing; it is rather a gaining of even the lower dimension in an entry into a wider realm of reality than the one in which we are at present.

Self-restraint is a gain, rather than a loss. It is to be possessed of larger values and meanings and satisfactions and delights than the ones we are now acquainted with in this world. So, the senses need not be awed at this suggestion of restraint. If you lose one dollar, the consequence of that loss would be the gaining of one million dollars, as in a lottery wherein you may lose one dollar because you purchased a ticket, but may gain one million. The gain of one million is a greater satisfaction than the sorrow caused by the loss of one. Actually, there is no loss of even one dollar. That, too, would be to say very little. It is all gain, positive, throughout.

In the process of self-restraint, nothing is lost. It is a complete gain; it is a move from the lesser reality to a higher reality. Self-restraint is of pre-eminent importance in spiritual life. The greater the extent of self-restraint, the more proximate is the Goal of Self-Realisation.