Divine Fortune

 WEALTH IS MORE than money but the distrust of money translates into a distrust of wealth because wealth is un­derstood only in its material dimension in everyday parlance. The ethical debate about the pursuit of wealth and its equi­table distribution is perverted into a distrust of wealth creation, which is the biggest consequence of that pursuit. Wealth is seen as an end in itself and not the means it is. And then, there is a theo­logical judgment on money as evil despite the fact that such an interpretation is alien to much of practised and studied religion.

The reduction of wealth to financial and physical assets, both of transactional value, owes its origin to Greek rationalism. In his Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle sees money as an instrument of measurement. The Indic worldview knew wealth as much more, since the Sanskrit word Artha did not confine itself to quantitative terms. Artha, in fact, is one of the Chaturvarga or Purusarthas, a fundamental object of life along with Dharma, Kama, and Mok­sha. But just as Kama is the pursuit of all pleasure, primarily sen­sual, and not sexual pleasure alone, Artha is not merely material wealth. The good life is a balancing of these objectives, effecting an equilibrium among the Trivarga of Dharma, Kama and Artha. Artha is the means to, ultimately, Moksha, liberation or spiritual fulfilment. But while the pursuit of Moksha may not be for ev­eryone, that of Dharma, Kama and Artha is, with the last two be­ing essentially secular or material objectives. “Artha and dharma are sadhana (means) while kama and moksa are sadhya (ends). That is to say: through wealth one enjoys the pleasures of life, and through dharma one reaches moksa” (Arvind Sharma, ‘The Purusarthas: An Axiological Exploration of Hinduism’, 1999).

Even the Arthashastra does not stop with filling the state coffers although Kautilya prioritises Artha. “One view is that [the ruler] should enjoy kama or a life of sensual pleasures in such a way that thereby his dharma and artha are not affected adversely. According to another view, all three should be cared for in an equal measure. Finally, Kautilya’s own opinion is stated that the ruler should regard artha alone as supreme, since the other two are dependent on it.” (RP Kangle, The Kautilya Arthashastra, 1969) Despite this secular valorisation of Artha as supreme, it is still a means: Artha pulls the other Trivarga along or seeks their fulfilment. Thus, Artha is the engine of progress on the path of life but it works best when har­monised with the other objectives.

The ethical and spiritual distinction between Artha as self-indulgence and the service of the greater good is of Upanishadic origin. Regardless of the actual uses of money, a suspicion of wealth as evil would have surprised or even shocked a society not beholden to Manichean binaries. Indic civilisation would have little time for it. But that does not mean Artha became an end in itself or devoid of purpose. “Money is the visible sign of a universal force, and this force in its manifestation on earth works on the vital and physical planes and is indispensable to the full­ness of the outer life. In its origin and its true action it belongs to the Divine. But like other powers of the Divine it is delegated here and in the ignorance of the lower Nature can be usurped for the uses of the ego…” (Sri Aurobindo, The Mother, 1928).

No misconception has done Hindu dharma greater disser­vice than the calumny that it champions the other world at the expense of the here and now of our existence in matter and, by extension, our material wealth. Sri Aurobindo, like several Hindu philosophers, gives the lie to this but more eloquently than most: “The seekers or keepers of wealth are more often possessed rather than its possessors… For this reason most spiritual disciplines insist on a complete self-control, detachment and renunciation of all bondage to wealth and of all personal and egoistic desire for its possession. Some even put a ban on money and riches and pro­claim poverty and bareness of life as the only spiritual condition. But this is an error; it leaves the power in the hands of the hostile forces. To reconquer it for the Divine to whom it belongs and use it divinely for the divine life is the supramental way for the Sadhaka” (ibid, emphasis added).

Artha has a higher purpose but it is foolish to shun it as the source of earthly misery when it is key to ridding ourselves of that misery.

THE CHATURVARGA OF Dharma, Artha, Kama, and Moksha are transferred to the iconography of the four arms of the commonest form of Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth and beauty, worshipped on the occasion of Deep­avali although Lakshmi Puja has different dates in different parts of the subcontinent. The roots of Lakshmi, the consort of Vishnu, lie in the Rig Veda and her worship is millennia-old. As a manifestation of Mahashakti, Lakshmi is unborn and if she is Adi Shakti herself, she is the primordial energy of the universe. In that sense, Mahal­akshmi, like Mahasarasvati and Mahakali, is ultimately formless but chooses a form to show herself. According to the Rig Vedic suktam, her colour is golden and she is usually seated on a Lotus: “Her complex­ion is golden. Her image is golden. She wears gold and silver garlands. She is like a golden moon.” (trans Bibek Debroy)

 One of the best-known manifestations is Lakshmi of the eight forms, or Ashta Lakshmi: Aishvarya (prosperity), Soubhagya (fortune), Gaja Lakshmi (seen with elephants), Dhairya (patience or fortitude), Dhana (wealth), Dh­anya (grains), Vijaya (victory) and Rajya Lak­shmi (kingship). Her many forms span the whole spectrum of ideas of wealth. However, just as she is the goddess of not just wealth but also of beauty, it implies wealth and beauty are connected. In other words, a pleasant life needs her presence. Just as the Purusarthas need to be in equilibrium, in perfect harmony, so is Lak­shmi the symbol of harmony. Yet she is fickle, as evidenced in her being called Chanchala. She changes her mind quickly and the slightest af­front can displease her. If she abandons a house­hold, she is immediately replaced by Alakshmi, her elder sister, conceived not just as her foil but a hostile and ever-present shadow, the obverse attached to her own self.

Just as Lakshmi has many forms, her worship is not uniform either. A fundamental difference is that while Deepavali invokes Lakshmi on amavasya or the new moon, other Lakshmi pujas, particularly in eastern India and Bengal, worship the goddess on purnima or full moon, called Lakshmi Purnima, a week after Durga Puja. “This is known as Kojagari Lakshmi Puja. Lakshmi will come and knock at the door, asking ‘Who is awake?’…If householders are asleep, she will ignore the house and go away, her Chanchala attribute.” (Debroy, Open, ‘Thank Goddess’, November 20, 2023).

Lakshmi is close to the human heart, accessible and attainable. “[T]here is no aspect of the Divine Shakti more attractive to the heart of embodied beings. Maheshwari can appear too calm and great and distant for the littleness of earthly nature to approach or contain her, Mahakali too swift and formidable for its weakness to bear; but all turn with joy and longing to Mahalakshmi.” (Sri Aurobindo, ibid) Lakshmi is the goddess who comes calling and resides among us. The health of home and hearth emanate from her. The material well-being of the household naturally follows from her power. But she abhors disorder: “Where love and beauty are not or are reluctant to be born, she does not come.” (ibid)

In anthropological terms, Lakshmi puja is timed for the au­tumn harvest. Health and wealth depended on the harvest and a good harvest meant all-round prosperity. King and subjects could all be happy and there would be money to spare for raj dharma. As then, so now: the accusation of forsaking the world for something outside it, compulsory renunciation of life as its own end, is unfair to Indic thought, culture and civilisation. Hinduism has always been pragmatic and it understood, above all, what mattered for life on earth. The everyday Lakshmi ensures the comforts of life to pursue a cosmic understanding of Mahalakshmi. There is noth­ing to reject or regret, except misfortune.

Judaism, like Hinduism, has no innate hostility to wealth. And in that it differed from pre-Hellenic Greece and Early Christianity. The material wealth of the Hebraic people was seen as providen­tial sanction, meaning the Jewish people stood well in the eyes of God. Instead of glorifying poverty, the Old Testament (OT) com­manded the rich to do good by the poor; for instance, an employer was expected to pay due wages and not exploit his employees.

The suspicion of wealth and denunciation of money charac­terised much of the Apostolic Age of the Church. Roman Catholic doctrine would retain these injunctions of Early Christianity in a mitigated form. Manichean dualism saw material life as corrup­tion. Christianity’s embrace of poverty can be retraced to the Syn­optic Gospels. Mathew and Mark, for instance, talk about Jesus telling his disciples to keep their eye fixed on heavenly tressures. He also warns that the rich cannot enter the kingdom of God. This finds a moderation in Paul whose pastoral epistles (First Timothy, KJV) say: “For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows,” meaning there is no sin in possessing wealth but one must not fall in love with money.

Catholicism would enforce the vow of poverty on its priesthood and counsel the same for its adherents. Passing through Thomas Aquinas, Lutheranism would essentially retain this paired denunci­ation and renunciation. Christian views on wealth and the history of wealth creation would undergo a paradigm shift with the con­solidation of Calvinism in the European continent and Puritanism in the British Isles. Puritanism and Calvinism, with their emphasis on hard work, social charity and personal frugality revolutionised the economy of northern Europe and built America. With their austere view of life and stark proclamations about sin and hell, they not only scared people into being good but reinterpreted doctrine to declare the pursuit of wealth as the duty of the faithful. Like Juda­ism, wealth in this life was seen as a sign of divine benediction and the mark of the Elect.

In his The Protestant Work Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism (1905), Max Weber attributed the rise of capitalism to Calvinism, showing how wealth followed where Calvinism went and how Protestant northern Europe got steadily richer while the Catholic south stagnated and remained impoverished, lagging far behind in industrialisation and modern trade. The Protestant work ethic was karmayoga at its best.

Adam Smith’s The Wealth of Nations (1776) switched the mea­sure of wealth from the royal treasury to national income. A so­ciety needs wealth to sustain itself, consolidate its achievements and improve its conditions of living. Wealth is essential for its survival. A society, arguably, survives historically as long as it has surplus income to extract to afford itself institutions, law and order, governance, defence, religious and spiritual quests as well as cultural creativity.

The problem is that while there may be no such thing as excess wealth, there are such things as waste and exploitation, where the extraction of the surplus is unproductive or the resources are depleted. That is why a political economy needs to restructure itself. Means of wealth creation need to be reinvented. Otherwise, the advice of the Greeks would have been good enough: stick to the golden mean, do nothing in excess.

It all comes back to the equilibrium: the perfect balancing of the objectives of life. Lakshmi is harmony, the lines of beauty are precise, order is conducive to prosperity. There is a story about how a king had put up many lights, turning night into day, but the goddess chose to cross the threshold of the old woman’s hut whose one light in the darkness made a difference. It could not be missed, nor was it blinding.