has no botheration whatsoever as to the independent status of the object. Its status in
relation to one’s own self is what is taken into consideration, or into account. “What
does it mean to me?” is the question, and that is the only question; there is nothing
else. It means something very valuable to me because it can become an instrument to
cause in me an experience of pleasure, of which I have a memory now as having been
experienced earlier.
Thus, the mind feels that while pleasure is something desirable, it cannot be invoked
in itself directly without the aid of something outside. This is the bondage of the jiva:
its desires, wishes, or longings cannot be satisfied by themselves. They require the
instrumentation of something other than themselves. This causes a very serious
problem because the objects of sense are not really subsidiary to any cognising
individual. They have an independence of their own, as is well known, and so it
becomes a very hard task for a person to bring them under its jurisdiction. For this
purpose it has to work very hard, toil very much; and it employs various means of
subjugating the status of the object, which is independent, and makes it a satellite of
its own.
Every form of affection is a satellisation of the object. We try to bring the object
round ourselves and make it subsidiary to our purposes. Therefore, it is not true that
loves are unselfish. They are utterly selfish. The purpose is very clear. The clear
background of this activity is a cessation of a tense feeling that is created in the mind
on account of the unfulfilled wish of the mind. This peculiar predilection of the mind
towards desired objects is called raga, or desire, and the other side of this attitude is
called dvesha, or hatred. Where the one is, the other must be present because dislike,
or dvesha, is that negative side of the attitude of the mind in respect of those things
which are not contributory to the fulfilment of its desires. Objects or circumstances,
persons or things who are of an obstructing character in the direction of the
fulfilment of its desires become objects of hatred because they obstruct pleasure.
Therefore, the thing that one asks for is pleasure, nothing else. We do not want the
world; we do not want people; we do not want things; we do not want anything else.
What we ask for is a sensation of pleasure. This sensation has to be repeated
regularly because if it is not so repeated, there will be a gap between one experience
and another thereof, and the gap will be one of pain. Who wants pain? We have a
longing to have a perpetual motion, a flow of the experience of pleasure, which is not
possible under existing conditions because a perpetual contact of the mind with
pleasurable objects is not practicable, for various reasons. Either the mind does not
have the facilities to do that, or there are other reasons on account of which there
cannot be a perpetual contact of the mind with its desired object. There can be a
break, or a bereavement, or a separation. This is what is disliked, because there is a
desire to be perpetually immersed in pleasure. Why does this feeling arise? It arises
on account of the finite sense of individuality. The asmita is a local affirmation of
self—a complete boycotting of relationship with everything else and asserting a
superiority of oneself, which immediately creates the subtle feeling that this state of
affairs cannot continue for a long time, because the affirmation of individuality is
contrary to the nature of things.
The law of nature will not permit the affirmation of absolute isolatedness because in
nature everything is organically connected and, therefore, any sort of assertion of
independence on the part of any aspect of its structure would be dealt with in a