The Bhagavad Gita is book #17 from The Literary Project.

“He who in action sees inaction and action in inaction–he is wise among men, he is a yogin, and he has accomplished all his work.” Ch4, 18

When I make a conscience decision to take a certain action, it is with the expectation that the action will cause a certain outcome. If I choose to sit down to study a new language several times a week, I expect that I will eventually reach some form of literacy in that language. If I choose to diligently accomplish my work at the office, I expect that my expertise in my field will increase over time. If I choose to help a friend through a trying time, I expect that our friendship will be deepened and they will be there for me in my time of need.

Likewise, if I make a conscience decision to refrain from taking action, it is with the expectation that the inaction will result in a certain outcome. If I choose not to smoke cigarettes, I expect not to ever have lung cancer. If I choose not to engage much on social media or watch much TV, I expect to have substantial free time for other things.

But life doesn’t always work out as we expect. Language learning is difficult, and months go by without any discernible progress. That friend I help ignores my phone calls and only reaches out whenever they need something. There are people who get lung cancer despite never having touched a cigarette in their life.

It seems that we have much less control over life than we like to admit. Sometimes we run up against our own limits, despite being told, “you can do anything you put your mind to”: maybe language learning is something we’re fundamentally bad at; maybe we have bad, genetic luck of the draw and come down with disease despite our best health efforts. Other times we run up against our inability to influence others’ behavior: management continuously overlooks our achievements; it turns out that friend is kind of an asshole.

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The Bhagavad Gita is a story about a warrior named Arjuna, who is about to go into battle against many of his own kin. A fratricidal war has erupted between brothers and cousins due to a usurpation of the clan’s throne. As Arjuna prepares to charge onto the battlefield, he hesitates because he sees beloved friends, teachers, cousins, uncles, and other kinsmen on the opposite side. We learn that his charioteer is Krsna, a human embodiment of Visnu, the Hindu all-pervading god from whom the entire universe originates, the existence of which he preserves. Upon Arjuna’s hesitancy, Krsna engages in dialogue with him to reveal the nature of the universe’s material and spiritual workings, and it is this dialogue that comprises the entirety of The Bhagavad Gita (“Song of God”).

The Gita is a complex work of literature studied deeply by both scholars and laypersons. Its lessons are many, but I’d like to hone in on one: letting go of expected outcomes while engaging in dutiful action.

Krsna exhorts Arjuna to fight, because he is of the warrior caste and therefore his dharma–his duty–is to enter the war and fight for glory. Following one’s dharma–engaging in dutiful action–is in line with proper social order. Not to do so would be to abdicate his responsibility. (I should probably add here that Krsna is not heartless in the face of death. He goes on to explain to Arjuna that killing their bodies is not really death for them–that they will be reborn.)

Krsna explains that Arjuna must carry out his dharma while abandoning attachment to the results of dutiful action.

“To action alone hast thou a right and never at all to its fruit; let not the fruits of action be thy motive; neither let there be in thee any attachment to inaction.” Ch2, 47

This is what the text refers to as ‘Renunciation,’ and one should be careful to renounce only the fruit of work, not the work itself:

“Verily the renunciation of any duty that ought to be done is not right…” Ch18, 7

This brings me back to my own desire to exercise agency and affect the world around me. I should own my responsibilities and do what I think is right. I am free to take (or not take) certain action within the limits of those responsibilities. But, if I were to follow the Gita, I need to learn to accept that there is more that’s out of my control than is in my control. Once I have placed my dominoes in line, I must accept the manner in which they fall. Whether I had meant for them to fall a different way is irrelevant.

“…without attachment, perform always the work that has to be done…” Ch3, 19

This is, of course, easier said than done. Attachment, and resistance, is part of being human:

“All beings are born deluded, O Arjuna, overcome by the dualities which arise from wish and hate…” Ch7, 27

And, oh wow, do I have dualities. I am a person who desires both order, and control over that order. I also can’t stand when things deviate from said order. For example, if I’ve committed to going to see a movie with friends, I am not happy if, an hour before the appointed time, everyone suddenly decides they’d rather go to a comedy show. Because that’s halfway across town, and what about parking, and wouldn’t we have needed tickets in advance, and, and…? I even get annoyed when a work meeting is cancelled at the last minute, even if I was dreading it! Because I’ve planned my day around it and, dammit, I would have started on this other task twenty minutes ago if I knew I could’ve stuck with it without a meeting on the horizon. Sigh. So, I find I am skeptical of Renunciation. Dare I say it? I resist the idea. It’s fundamentally human to care how things turn out, because that is what drives actions in the first place.

But while expectations are a motivating force, what is suffering except shattered expectations, except that feeling of things not going at all the way we wanted, the way we planned? Renunciation is a method out of suffering, so while I resist it, I’m still interested. Is there a middle ground? Is it possible to reduce my attachment and resistance to outcomes, not to zero, but enough to feel less disappointed when things don’t turn out the way I wanted? Enough so that when things do turn out the way I’d hoped, those times will be made meaningful by the contrast I’ll hold in my mind of how easily it could’ve been otherwise?

I’ll try to find this middle ground. I doubt I can renounce the duality in my feelings of wishing or hating for certain outcomes, but maybe I can find that middle ground and achieve more inner peace by practicing over and over again to accept what is, not despite my feelings, but in the face of them; by accepting my dual-based feelings, as well as outcomes; by remaining consciously aware of emotions, of observing them, rather than being carried away by them.

In other words, a meditation practice…yet another lesson touched on in the Gita. Because all of its lessons are interrelated, of course. I used to have a meditation practice, but I gave it up (no particular reason: life, busyness) despite feeling its positive impact. I should look to meditation again as a means of achieving more “evenness of mind.” With steadiness, renunciation becomes more possible. But, if I’ve learned anything, I should likewise apply the concept of renunciation to the results of my meditation practice.

I’ll do what I can, and let go of the rest.