Thus, the cause behind the rise of a particular sensory impulse is firstly the presence
of an object outside, which is what the impulse seeks, and secondly, a susceptibility
of the mind itself towards the rise of such an impulse. The susceptibility may be due
to one’s not having allowed the impulse to come to the surface of consciousness for a
long time. For years and years, we have subjugated it with great power of will by
tapasya, by fasting and mortifications of various other types which have kept the
impulse under check. This pressing of the impulse down by the force of will for a
protracted period might have acted as one of the motive forces behind the impulse
finding an avenue of manifestation, because the more we suppress a desire, the
stronger it becomes and the greater is the force with which it arises when it finds
even the least chance that is given to it—just as, when we press a spring down hard,
the pressure with which it jumps back will be equal to the pressure with which we
have pushed it down.
The recession of the effect into the cause does not mean the pressing of the effect
towards the cause with the force of will. What the sutra tells us is that the effect
should not remain as an effect—it should become a part of the cause itself. It gets
transformed. But it will remain as an effect if the effort has merely thrust the effect
back into a bag and allowed it to remain as an effect for a long time. That would not
be a successful practice, because the purpose of the reverting of the effect towards the
cause, or in the direction of the cause, is to sublimate it to the extent possible—to
refine it and to make it ethereal, as far as possible. The grossness of it has to be
lessened so that its vehemence also is reduced. It is difficult to bring about this
transformation because, as I mentioned, all this implies an action contrary to the
satisfaction of a desire. Inasmuch as the whole world moves towards the fulfilment of
desire and seeks satisfaction and nothing short of it, any kind of effort contrary to it
is unthinkable. Nobody would work against one’s own satisfaction, but this seems to
be a peculiar condition of the mind where such an effort, such an action, is called for.
Therefore, it becomes very painful, and mostly unsuccessful.
Thus, when the effect is brought to the cause, what is expected of us is not merely a
psychological effort to trace the cause of the effect, but also to enliven it with a higher
reason, by which it would be possible for us to know the defect or the error that is
involved in the very manifestation of the desire. Why has the desire arisen? It is due
to an error of perception. Nobody would like to continue in a state of error. If we
merely exert to press the effect back to the cause by sheer force of will, that would not
be successful, because it will be tantamount to putting an end to the possibility of
satisfaction—a most painful procedure, indeed. But, if the cause is probed into a little
further in greater detail, we will realise that raga and dvesha have a deeper cause—
which is nescience, or avidya.
The pratiprasava, or the recession of the effect into the cause, means the tracing of
the ultimate cause of any experience—not merely a single cause, or one or two
causes. It will be realised that the ultimate cause is an erroneous movement of the
mind which has given rise to a wrong impression that it is taking a proper course.
Because of the habit of the mind since years and years, it may look like it is taking a
proper course of action; and even a wrong may look right when it has persisted for a
long time. If we go on lying about something completely, for years and years, it may
take the shape of a truth, though it is not. This is what has actually happened—an
erroneous course of action that has been initiated has put on the mask of a right
course of action, and that is why it is so insistent.