Pleasure and Pain

Pleasure and Pain

Let us pass again from that to another statement made by this

great teacher of Yoga: "Pentads are of two kinds, painful and

non-painful." Why did he not say: "painful and pleasant"? Because

he was an accurate thinker, a logical thinker, and he uses the

logical division that includes the whole universe of discourse, A

and Not-A, painful and non-painful. There has been much

controversy among psychologists as to a third kind --indifferent.

Some psychologists divide all feelings into three: painful,

pleasant and indifferent. Feelings cannot be divided merely into

pain and pleasure, there is a third class, called indifference,

which is neither painful nor pleasant. Other psychologists say

that indifference is merely pain or pleasure that is not marked

enough to be called the one or the other. Now this controversy

and tangle into which psychologists have fallen might be avoided

if the primary division of feelings were a logical division. A

and Not-A--that is the only true and logical division. Patanjali

is absolutely logical and right. In order to avoid the quicksand

into which the modern psychologists have fallen, he divides all

vrittis, modes of mind, into painful and nonpainful.

There is, however, a psychological reason why we should say

"pleasure and pain," although it is not a logical division. The

reason why there should be that classification is that the word

pleasure and the word pain express two fundamental states of

difference, not in the Self, but in the vehicles in which that

Self dwells. The Self, being by nature unlimited, is ever

pressing, so to say, against any boundaries which seek to limit

him. When these limitations give way a little before the constant

pressure of the Self, we feel "pleasure," and when they resist or

contract, we feel "pain". They are not states of the Self so much

as states of the vehicles, and states of certain changes in

consciousness. Pleasure and pain belong to the Self as a whole,

and not to any aspect of the Self separately taken. When pleasure

and pain are marked off as belonging only to the desire nature,

the objection arises: "Well, but in the exercise of the cognitive

faculty there is an intense pleasure. When you use the creative

faculty of the mind you are conscious of a profound joy in its

exercise, and yet that creative faculty can by no means be

classed with desire." The answer is: "Pleasure belongs to the

Self as a whole. Where the vehicles yield themselves to the Self,

and permit it to 'expand' as is its eternal nature, then what is

called pleasure is felt." It has been rightly said: "Pleasure is

a sense of moreness." Every time you feel pleasure, you will find

the word "moreness" covers the case. It will cover the lowest

condition of pleasure, the pleasure of eating. You are becoming

more by appropriating to yourself a part of the Not-Self, food.

You will find it true of the highest condition of bliss, union

with the Supreme. You become more by expanding yourself to His

infinity. When you have a phrase that can be applied to the

lowest and highest with which you are dealing, you may be fairly

sure it is all-inclusive, and that, therefore, "pleasure is

moreness" is a true statement. Similarly, pain is "lessness".

If you understand these things your philosophy of life will

become more practical, and you will be able to help more

effectively people who fall into evil ways. Take drink. The real

attraction of drinking lies in the fact that, in the first stages

of it, a more keen and vivid life is felt. That stage is

overstepped in the case of the man who gets drunk, and then the

attraction ceases. The attraction lies in the first stages, and

many people have experienced that, who would never dream of

becoming drunk. Watch people who are taking wine and see how much

more lively and talkative they become. There lies the attraction,

the danger.

The real attraction in most coarse forms of excess is that they

give an added sense of life, and you will never be able to redeem

a man from his excess unless you know why he does it.

Understanding the attractiveness of the first step, the increase

of life, then you will be able to put your finger on the point of

temptation, and meet that in your argument with him. So that this

sort of mental analysis is not only interesting, but practically

useful to every helper of mankind. The more you know, the greater

is your power to help.

The next question that arises is: "Why does he not divide all

feelings into pleasurable and not-pleasurable, rather than into

'painful and not-painful'?" A Westerner will not be at a loss to

answer that: "Oh, the Hindu is naturally so very pessimistic,

that he naturally ignores pleasure and speaks of painful and

not-painful. The universe is full of pain." But that would not be

a true answer. In the first place the Hindu is not pessimistic.

He is the most optimistic of men. He has not got one solitary

school of philosophy that does not put in its foreground that the

object of all philosophy is to put an end to pain. But he is

profoundly reasonable. He knows that we need not go about seeking

happiness. It is already ours, for it is the essence of our own

nature. Do not the Upanishads say: "The Self is bliss"? Happiness

exists perennially within you. It is your normal state. You have

not to seek it. You will necessarily be happy if you get rid of

the obstacles called pain, which are in the modes of mind.

Happiness is not a secondary thing, but pain is, and these

painful things are obstacles to be got rid of. When they are

stopped, you must be happy. Therefore Patanjali says: "The

vrittis are painful and non-painful." Pain is an excrescence. It

is a transitory thing. The Self, who is bliss, being the

all-permeating life of the universe, pain has no permanent place

in it. Such is the Hindu position, the most optimistic in the

world.

Let us pause for a moment to ask: "Why should there be pain at

all if the Self is bliss?" Just because the nature of the Self is

bliss. It would be impossible to make the Self turn outward, come

into manifestation, if only streams of bliss flowed in on him. He

would have remained unconscious of the streams. To the infinity

of bliss nothing could be added. If you had a stream of water

flowing unimpeded in its course, pouring more water into it would

cause no ruffling, the stream would go on heedless of the

addition. But put an obstacle in the way, so that the free flow

is checked, and the stream will struggle and fume against the

obstacle, and make every endeavour to sweep it away. That which

is contrary to it, that which will check its current's smooth

flow, that alone will cause effort. That is the first function of

pain. It is the only thing that can rouse the Self. It is the

only thing that can awaken his attention. When that peaceful,

happy, dreaming, inturned Self finds the surge of pain beating

against him, he awakens: "What is this, contrary to my nature,

antagonistic and repulsive, what is this?" It arouses him to the

fact of a surrounding universe, an outer world. Hence in

psychology, in yoga, always basing itself on the ultimate

analysis of the fact of nature, pain is the thing that asserts

itself as the most important factor in Self-realisation; that

which is other than the Self will best spur the Self into

activity. Therefore we find our commentator, when dealing with

pain, declares that the karmic receptacle the causal body, that

in which all the seeds of karma are gathered Up, has for its

builder all painful experiences; and along that line of thought

we come to the great generalisation: the first function of pain

in the universe is to arouse the Self to turn himself to the

outer world, to evoke his aspect of activity.

The next function of pain is the organisation of the vehicles.

Pain makes the man exert himself, and by that exertion the matter

of his vehicles gradually becomes organised. If you want to

develop and organise your muscles, you make efforts, you exercise

them, and thus more life flows into them and they become strong.

Pain is necessary that the Self may force his vehicles into

making efforts which develop and organise them. Thus pain not

only awakens awareness, it also organises the vehicles.

It has a third function also. Pain purifies. We try to get rid of

that which causes us pain. It is contrary to our nature, and we

endeavour to throw it away. All that is against the blissful

nature of the Self is shaken by pain out of the vehicles; slowly

they become purified by suffering, and in that way become ready

for the handling of the Self.

It has a fourth function. Pain teaches. All the best lessons of

life come from pain rather than from joy. When one is becoming

old, as I am and I look on the long life behind me, a life of

storm and stress, of difficulties and efforts, I see something of

the great lessons pain can teach. Out of my life story could

efface without regret everything that it has had of joy and

happiness, but not one pain would I let go, for pain is the

teacher of wisdom.

It has a fifth function. Pain gives power. Edward Carpenter said,

in his splendid poem of "Time and Satan," after he had described

the wrestlings and the overthrows: 'Every pain that I suffered in

one body became a power which I wielded in the next." Power is

pain transmuted.

Hence the wise man, knowing these things, does not shrink from

pain; it means purification, wisdom, power.

It is true that a man may suffer so much pain that for this

incarnation he may be numbed by it, rendered wholly or partially

useless. Especially is this the case when the pain has deluged in

childhood. But even then, he shall reap his harvest of good

later. By his past, he may have rendered present pain inevitable,

but none the less can he turn it into a golden opportunity by

knowing and utilising its functions.

You may say: "What use then of pleasure, if pain is so splendid a

thing?" From pleasure comes illumination. Pleasure enables the

Self to manifest. In pleasure all the vehicles of the Self are

made harrnonious; they all vibrate together; the vibrations are

rhythmical, not jangled as they are in pain, and those rhythmical

vibrations permit that expansion of the Self of which I spoke,

and thus lead up to illumination, the knowledge of the Self. And

if that be true, as it is true, you will see that pleasure plays

an immense part in nature, being of the nature of the Self,

belonging to him. When it harmonises the vehicles of the Self

from outside, it enables the Self more readily to manifest

himself through the lower selves within us. Hence happiness is a

condition of illumination. That is the explanation of the value

of the rapture of the mystic; it is an intense joy. A tremendous

wave of bliss, born of love triumphant, sweeps over the whole of

his being, and when that great wave of bliss sweeps over him, it

harmonises the whole of his vehicles, subtle and gross alike, and

the glory of the Self is made manifest and he sees the face of

his God. Then comes the wonderful illumination, which for the

time makes him unconscious of all the lower worlds. It is because

for a moment the Self is realising himself as divine, that it is

possible for him to see that divinity which is cognate to

himself. So you should not fear joy any more than you fear pain,

as some unwise people do, dwarfed by a mistaken religionism. That

foolish thought which you often find in an ignorant religion,

that pleasure is rather to be dreaded, as though God grudged joy

to His children, is one of the nightmares born of ignorance and

terror. The Father of life is bliss. He who is joy cannot grudge

Himself to His children, and every reflection of joy in the world

is a reflection of the Divine Life, and a manifestation of the

Self in the midst of matter. Hence pleasure has its function as

well as pain and that also is welcome to the wise, for he

understands and utilises it. You can easily see how along this

line pleasure and pain become equally welcome. Identified with

neither, the wise man takes either as it comes, knowing its

purpose. When we understand the places of joy and of pain, then

both lose their power to bind or to upset us. If pain comes, we

take it and utilise it. If joy comes, we take it and utilise it.

So we may pass through life, welcoming both pleasure and pain,

content whichever may come to us, and not wishing for that which

is for the moment absent. We use both as means to a desired end;

and thus we may rise to a higher indifference than that of the

stoic, to the true vairagya; both pleasure and pain are

transcended, and the Self remains, who is bliss.