The Problem
Modern society strips away our humanity and dulls our sensitivity. People conform to societal templates, seeking validation through acceptance and approval. Genuine emotional connection has faded; the subtle shades of feelings are lost. What remains is a hollow happiness, deep depression, unchecked rage, and simmering anger and disgust.
This loss of depth in emotions reflects a deeper imbalance in the way we live. Workplaces emphasize constant positivity and happiness, an ideal even echoed in the Bhagavad Gita. Yet, what modern society promotes is not true equanimity—one born of deep wisdom and an acceptance of reality. Instead, this relentless pursuit of high energy and positivity is a form of numbness, a veil that discourages thought and introspection, replacing them with a desperate need for approval. The inability to pause is not a virtue—it is a disorder that demands healing, not an achievement to be glorified.
Desire, at the root of this imbalance, clouds judgment, compelling us to chase whatever society deems valuable in the moment, without pausing to question whether it aligns with our true needs or well-being. It entangles us in the social game, distancing us from our own humanity. In a world that prioritizes objects and experiences over people, human beings cease to matter—they become mere obstacles to be overcome in the pursuit of personal goals. Ambition, praised by society as a virtue, is merely desire in another form. An ambitious mind cannot truly love. It views everything through the lens of utility—seeing things as either serving its ambition or standing in its way.
The strongest argument against desirelessness is that, without desire, there would be nothing to strive for—leading to laziness, a lack of inspiration, and an absence of drive. But isn’t that already the case? People act, fuelled by desire, yet remain deeply unhappy, sensing that no craving can ever truly fulfil them.
Krishna’s core message in the Gita is to shift from desire-driven actions to purpose-driven action. Arjuna laments that he cannot enjoy a kingdom stained with the blood of his loved ones. Krishna reminds him that he is mistaken in thinking he is fighting this war to enjoy or earn a kingdom. This battle is merely a physical manifestation of the eternal spiritual struggle between Dharma and Adharma. Arjuna, too identified with himself, fails to see the larger picture—he is not the doer, nor is the outcome in his hands. It is Ishvara who orchestrates the great cosmic order. When aligned with Ishvara, Dharma prevails; when severed from Him, it falters. Krishna urges Arjuna to surrender his ego and align himself with Dharma and Ishvara’s will, not his personal desires or attachments. His duty is simply to fight on the side of Dharma—nothing beyond that. Whether he wins or loses is beyond his control. Actions must have purpose—one that provides momentum yet transcends personal ego. True purpose is not self-serving; it is directed toward others, toward the universe itself—something deep, eternal, and beyond the fleeting nature of action itself.
That’s why the Gita says, Yogah karmasu kaushalam—Yoga is skillfulness in action. To act in such a way that karma does not lead to suffering (which is its natural tendency) is Karma Yoga. Removing desire, pursuing a higher purpose such as following Dharma, pleasing Ishvara, and remaining equanimous in pleasure and pain—these are the means through which such skillfulness is achieved.
Karma Yoga is also cultivating the values of simplicity and humility. Every action must be simple and humble, and so must every moment of rest. A simple life is not necessarily one of renunciation or poverty—one can live simply even in a palace, just as one can have a life tangled in conflict and desires while dwelling in a hut. Simplicity is nothing but an uncluttered mind, free from desire, aversion, jealousy, greed, and ego. Humility is the quiet acceptance of whatever comes, the ability to respect others, and the willingness to learn from all of life’s experiences. The goal is to be simple and humble yet skilful.
In these aspects of Karma Yoga—simplicity, humility, skillfulness without ego, and desirelessness—Zen, Tao, and Vedanta find common ground. Their final conclusions may differ, but at this juncture, they converge. This suggests that acting without desire is not just a principle, but something truly profound. Let’s explore two principles of the Chinese Philosophy of Taoism , Yin-Yang and Wu-wei and see how it maps onto Karma Yoga of Vedanta.
Yin-Yang = Samatvam
Karma Yoga establishes the seeker in Sattva (balance) away from Rajas and Tamas. Rajas (activity) and Tamas (inactivity) are the opposites of each other, like the Yin and Yang of material nature. Sattva is what unites them, binding them into a harmonious whole. Living solely in Rajas or Tamas, or oscillating between the two, leads to an unbalanced life.
(Figure 1: Yin-Yang symbol on textured sand)
The symbolism of Yin and Yang represents not two opposing forces, but two complementary aspects of a unified whole. Yin is darkness, Yang is light—yet each contains the seed of the other, signifying their interdependence. The boundary between them is not a rigid, straight line but a flowing curve, emphasizing their dynamic nature and constant interplay. Balance is not always an equal division; sometimes, harmony is found in a proportion of 80-20 rather than 50-50, reflecting the ever-shifting equilibrium of existence. Action is Yang, rest is Yin. Order is Yang, chaos is Yin. Absolute authoritarianism is Yang, rigid structure without room for change. Unbridled liberalism is Yin, unstructured fluidity that can dissolve into stagnation. Yang is an uncontrollable growth. Yin is stagnation. Yang is uncontrolled capitalism. Yin is unbridled socialism.
Yang is masculine energy—assertive, active, and decisive. Yin is feminine energy—receptive, nurturing, and flowing. In justice, Yang manifests as retribution, a force that restores order through consequence. Yin expresses justice through compassion, seeking understanding and restoration rather than punishment. True justice, like all things, must find balance—firm yet fair, structured yet humane, neither blind aggression nor unchecked leniency, but a harmony between strength and mercy. Yang is modernity, Yin is tradition. Yang is Control, Yin is surrender. Yang is making things happen, Yin is letting things happen. Yang is Shiva, Yin is Shakti. Yang is the Chakra;Yin is the Shankha. Sun is Yang, Moon is Yin. Fire is Yang, water is Yin.
The Avatara of Ishvara too manifests to restore the balance between Dharma and Adharma, much like the interplay of Yin and Yang. When Adharma rises unchecked, tilting existence toward chaos and imbalance, Ishvara descends to reestablish equilibrium. Just as Yin and Yang are not absolute opposites but forces that sustain and regulate each other, Dharma and Adharma exist in a dynamic balance. The divine intervention ensures that neither extreme prevails indefinitely, guiding the universe back to harmony.
Rajas is Yang—movement, dynamism, and growth. Tamas is Yin—stillness, inertia, and rest. Sattva brings balance by including rest within action and action within rest, much like the Bhagavad Gita teaches. One who maintains balance in all aspects of life—food and leisure, work and rest, sleep and wakefulness—transcends suffering through Yoga. It is neither excess nor deprivation but measured harmony that leads to true peace.
Action must be balanced by rest, and order by adaptability, a wise life finds equilibrium between these forces. There is a widespread misconception that a Karma Yogi is a workaholic. A Karma Yogi embodies balance, knowing both when to act and when to refrain. His actions do not arise from desire but from wisdom. He stops when it is time to stop. The true master knows when to act and when to be still, when to exert force and when to yield. This is Yoga. Samatvam Yoga uchyate—Yoga is balance.
Wu-Wei = Kaushalam
In Taoism, to achieve the most with the least effort is Wu-wei. The key point is that it is least effort, not no effort. There are moments when great force is required, just as there are times when stillness is the right course. The true master discerns when to act, when to refrain, and how much effort is needed—neither overexerting nor underperforming.
Wu-wei aligns seamlessly with Nishkama Karma Yoga—acting without attachment, allowing life to unfold naturally. Just as Wu-wei emphasizes effortless action in harmony with the Dao, Nishkama Karma teaches action free from desire, flowing with the will of Ishvara. Life, when left unhindered, always unfolds in a perfect balance of Yin and Yang, of stillness and motion, form and emptiness. True mastery lies not in forceful control, but in surrendering to this inherent rhythm.
Drop by drop, water melts from the glacier, gathering into a vast river—wide, deep, and relentless—before merging with the ocean. The same single drop gives birth to both the flood and the tsunami. Likewise, the Yogi accumulates energy and wisdom slowly, patiently, until the time comes to unleash them in a great surge of action and knowledge. Sometimes, he flows effortlessly around obstacles, adapting with ease; at other times, he summons his stored power to uproot and remove them entirely. In stillness and in motion, he moves with purpose, always in harmony with the flow of existence.
The Taoist comparison of a true Karma Yogi to water is a profound one. Life is like water—it must flow unobstructed. Desire acts as a dam, halting the natural movement of life. When the illusion of desire shatters, the water surges forward with force, overwhelming everything in its path. The solution is not to build more dams, but to allow life to flow freely. Karma Yoga is about removing all obstructions to this flow. Even when obstacles arise, the way is to move around them, shaping them over time—not in an instant, but slowly, just as water carves intricate pathways through persistence and grace.This is skillfulness in action—Yogah karmasu kaushalam.
The Solution
The river flows with trust, knowing it will meet the ocean. It does not rush aimlessly but follows the natural contours of the land, moving where the terrain allows. Likewise, life will reach its destined ocean if it is allowed to flow freely, without resistance. Every other place along the way is merely a passing interruption, not the destination. A true master abides in Brahman, the unchanging reality that pervades both stillness and movement. He does not remain solely in Samadhi (meditation) nor gets caught in Vikshepa (worldly affairs). For him, there is no division between meditation and worldly activity—whether in silence or action, everything is Brahman. Neither lost in transcendence nor entangled in the world, he simply is, effortlessly established in the truth that all is one.
The modern mind understands control but not surrender. It looks down upon those who yield to life and let go of desire, mistaking surrender for weakness. Addicted to its own aggression, it moves from agitation to suffering, only to be driven into further agitation and suffering—a relentless cycle that continues for many throughout life. Yet, counterintuitive as it may seem, surrender and desirelessness are the only way out. True happiness requires little. Instead of ambition, relentless drive, wealth, and status, what must be cultivated are contentment, simplicity, humility, and compassion.
Krishna could have simply commanded Arjuna to trust him and fight, but instead, he imparted the essence of the entire Indian philosophical tradition. He taught Arjuna not just to be firm in duty, but also to remain soft in heart. Dharma is not blind adherence to rigid rules; it is the wisdom to discern when to be firm, how much, and with whom—just as it is the wisdom to know when to be gentle, to what extent, and with whom. Dharma is not found in mechanical obedience to written codes but in the quiet introspection that leads to balance and harmony in every action. Bhishma and Drona failed to embody this harmony, and thus, the Mahabharata unfolded as it did. Bhishma, bound by rigid Yang—unyielding duty and loyalty—upheld vows at the cost of righteousness. Drona, caught between attachment and obligation, lacked the Yin of compassion and discernment. Both upheld structure without fluidity, justice without balance, leading to inevitable destruction. True wisdom lies in knowing when to stand firm and when to yield, when to act with strength and when to embrace compassion—only then can harmony be preserved.
Ultimately, the balance of Yin and Yang, Rajas and Tamas, action and rest, structure and fluidity, is the foundation of wisdom. To live skilfully is to align with the natural rhythm of existence—not resisting or forcing but flowing in harmony with the eternal dance of Dharma.
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