Gita 03.02 – When scripture doesn’t fit into our mental framework, the framework needs change
vyāmiśreṇeva vākyena
buddhiṁ mohayasīva me
tad ekaṁ vada niścitya
yena śreyo ’ham āpnuyām
Word-for-word
vyāmiśreṇa — by equivocal; iva — certainly; vākyena — words; buddhim — intelligence; mohayasi — You are bewildering; iva — certainly; me — my; tat — therefore; ekam — only one; vada — please tell; niścitya — ascertaining; yena — by which; śreyaḥ — real benefit; aham — I; āpnuyām — may have.
Translation
My intelligence is bewildered by Your equivocal instructions. Therefore, please tell me decisively which will be most beneficial for me.
Explanation
Here, Arjuna continues his question and says:
“Vyāmiśreṇeva vākyena”—Krishna, your words are vyāmiśra, meaning mixed or contradictory. You seem to be speaking in two directions, and as a result, “buddhim mohayasi me”—my intelligence has become confused.
So Arjuna pleads:
“Tad ekaṁ vada niścitya”—Please tell me one clear path with certainty.
“Yena śreyo ’ham āpnuyām”—By which I can attain śreya, the ultimate good or long-term welfare. This desire for śreya has been expressed by Arjuna before—in Bhagavad Gītā 2.7, during his surrender to Krishna. He uses the word śreya, asking for what is truly good for him. Now again, in this verse, he seeks the same clarity: what should he do, certainly and decisively? Often, when we approach a subject with our own preconceptions, we tend to filter any new information through those existing beliefs. If the new ideas don’t fit into the mental framework—or the “conceptual cupboard”—we carry in our minds, we feel confused. This mental cupboard is like a physical one, with different racks, hangers, and compartments to organize various concepts. When something new comes along that doesn’t fit into any existing space, we don’t know where to place it. So, we either set it aside, ignore it, or reject it. Similarly, when we hear something unfamiliar or challenging, we instinctively try to place it within our existing understanding. If it doesn’t fit, and we can’t ignore or reject it, we’re forced to confront it—and that’s when confusion arises. Arjuna finds himself in a situation that reflects a common tendency of the human mind: we often filter out information that doesn’t fit into our existing mental framework. Our understanding usually moves from the familiar to the unfamiliar. When we encounter something new, we try to relate it to what we already know in order to make sense of it. For example, if we meet someone with facial features resembling those of people from India’s far east, such as Assam, we might assume that the person is from that region. In essence, we try to organize new information by fitting it into our mental “cupboard” of familiar references.
But what happens when something is so unfamiliar that it simply doesn’t fit into any of our existing mental categories? Then we are left uncertain, unsure of how to process or respond to it. One thinker once remarked that theories we like, we call facts; and facts we don’t like, we call theories. In other words, we tend to give prominence to ideas that fit neatly into our mental framework, even if they don’t entirely deserve that importance. Conversely, if something doesn’t fit, we often dismiss it as fictional or irrelevant.
Now, this mental framework—or “mental cupboard”—can be useful in many situations. It helps us make sense of the world efficiently. However, life sometimes throws us into situations where our usual framework breaks down. In such moments, nothing seems to make sense, and our familiar ways of understanding fall short.
At that point, we have two choices: we can either reject the new reality we’re facing, or we can undertake the difficult task of revising our mental framework. This means building a new way of thinking, which requires deep introspection, humility, willpower, and determination. Humility is essential—the humility to accept that I don’t know enough and, more importantly, that what I do know might actually be incorrect. It’s not easy to admit this, because our mental frameworks tend to become rigid over time. Changing them requires not just humility but also determination. Even when we try to shift our perspective, the old ways of thinking often resurface, making it difficult to absorb new ideas. Arjuna, for instance, had a clear mental framework with two distinct paths: karma (action) or jnana (renunciation). In his understanding, he either had to fight or renounce fighting altogether. But Krishna introduced a third concept—karma infused with jnana—that is, acting with the knowledge of the soul. This approach involves engaging in action, but doing so with wisdom, thereby avoiding bondage. This idea of renunciation in action did not fit into Arjuna’s existing mental cupboard. As a result, he became confused and asked Krishna, “Why are you speaking these mixed words?” In verses 2.37–38, Krishna clearly instructed Arjuna to fight, and this message of engaging in action continued when Krishna urged him to do his karma—his prescribed duty. For Arjuna, that naturally meant fighting in the war. However, when Arjuna asked about the characteristics of a Sthita-prajna (a person of steady wisdom) in verse 2.54, Krishna’s response—from verses 55 to 72—did not include any mention of fighting or even of performing karma directly. Instead, Krishna spoke about buddhi (intelligence), shanti (peace), and inner stability. In Arjuna’s existing mental framework, these qualities—buddhi and shanti—were associated with the path of jnana, or renunciation. For him, those who pursued jnana were the ones who cultivated such qualities, not warriors engaged in action. This deepened his confusion about what Krishna was truly advocating. On one level, Krishna is telling Arjuna to fight—to perform karma, which clearly involves action. On another level, Krishna is glorifying and extolling qualities like buddhi (intelligence) and shanti (peace), which, in Arjuna’s understanding, belong to the jnana marga, the path of knowledge and renunciation. Naturally, Arjuna is confused. He feels Krishna is speaking of two seemingly contradictory paths—karma and jnana. So he asks, “Why are you saying both things? Please tell me one clear course of action—what exactly should I do?” Krishna will soon clarify this in response, but the broader lesson here is important: when certain teachings or truths don’t fit into our existing mental framework, especially when they come from someone supremely wise and authoritative like Krishna, the solution is not to reject them or force them into our current understanding. Instead, we must be willing to expand or even transform our mental framework. This transformation—this revision of our “mental cupboard”—is essential for deeper understanding, spiritual growth, and ultimately, for attaining higher fulfillment in life.
Thank you.
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