The Bhagavad Gītā Is Not Asking Us to Abandon Compassion

The Bhagavad Gītā is often reduced to a single, unsettling idea: the soul does not die, therefore we should not fear death.

I’ve always struggled with how casually this is sometimes used — particularly in spiritual discussions — as if it neatly resolves the messiness of real human suffering. Taken out of context, or held without care, it can slide into something that feels dangerously close to indifference.

For me, this isn’t theoretical. When you are supporting your child through severe mental health difficulties and suicide attempts, ideas about non-attachment, fate, and the immortality of the soul cannot remain abstract. The physical body matters. Intervention matters. Action matters.

And any interpretation of the Gītā that leans towards “accept what will be” quickly starts to feel ethically hollow.

The part of the Gītā I wrestle with most

In the early chapters, Krishna tells Arjuna that killing his family members in battle does not destroy their true self — the soul cannot be harmed. He also tells him that refusing to fight will lead to greater suffering, injustice, and the collapse of moral order.

This is often where people either recoil or lean in too comfortably.

Held badly, this teaching can sound like:

• bodies don’t matter

• suffering is illusory

• outcomes are already fixed

• action is irrelevant

But that reading doesn’t survive contact with the rest of the text. Because Krishna does not argue for numbness. He argues against avoidance.

Fatalism, determinism, and spiritual bypass

One of my concerns with how the Gītā is sometimes interpreted, is how easily it gets pulled into fatalism — the belief that events are already determined and our role is simply to accept them. This is often dressed up as wisdom or surrender. But the Gītā repeatedly undermines this stance.

If everything were predetermined, there would be no need for:

• moral struggle

• discernment

• dialogue

• or responsibility

The entire battlefield conversation only exists because Arjuna’s action matters. Krishna does not say: “This is fate. Step aside.” He says, in effect: “Your refusal to act is itself an action — and it has consequences.”

This is crucial.

The warning that inaction will lead to wider suffering is not a dismissal of compassion — it is a demand for it. Krishna is naming something uncomfortable: that doing nothing, when you have responsibility and capacity, can be as harmful as doing the wrong thing.

Non-attachment is not non-involvement

This is where I think the Gītā is most often misunderstood.

Non-attachment does not mean disengagement.
It does not mean emotional withdrawal.
It does not mean spiritualising pain until it disappears.

It means acting without collapsing under the weight of fear, guilt, or imagined futures.

In my own life, this distinction matters deeply. Acting to protect my child — advocating, intervening, escalating, refusing to look away — is not attachment in the sense Krishna warns against. It is responsibility. It is love expressed through action.

Non-attachment, for me, is not about caring less. It’s about not letting anticipatory grief or terror paralyse me into inaction.

Dharma is not a rule — it’s a truth you must live with

Another place I diverge from common readings is around dharma. Dharma is often treated as a prescribed duty: this is what a warrior does; therefore Arjuna must fight.

But the Gītā doesn’t actually function like a rulebook. Krishna doesn’t issue commands. He walks Arjuna through perception, consequence, fear, identity, and responsibility — and then gives the decision back to him. The text ends not with instruction, but with agency:

Reflect fully, and then act as you choose.

That matters. Dharma, as I understand it, is not about external correctness. It is about arriving at an action you can stand inside — fully — without self-betrayal.

That will look different for different people, in different lives, shaped by different experiences. And that’s where disagreement is not only inevitable, but appropriate.

Compassion is the non-negotiable thread

What anchors this entire discussion for me is compassion. Any action — even one taken with philosophical justification — that lacks compassion is not aligned with the spirit of the Gītā as I read it. Krishna repeatedly names humility, care for suffering, freedom from hatred, and the relinquishing of egoic righteousness.

So the question is never just what action do I take? It is always also: Where does this impulse to act in this way emerge from?

Finding truth in action, not certainty about outcomes

My current understanding is this:

I don’t use the Bhagavad Gītā to reassure myself that everything is already decided. I use it to help me find my truth in action. To act in a way that feels clean — stripped of external noise, fear-driven narratives, and other people’s certainty. To act with the best intention I can access in that moment. And then to have the strength to stand in that action without being endlessly swayed by doubt, judgement, or hindsight.

And crucially — to show myself compassion for whatever arises as a result. Because if I know I acted with care, clarity, and integrity, then even when the outcome is painful, I am not at war with myself.

Where I ultimately land

For me, the Bhagavad Gītā does not teach indifference, fatalism, or blind obedience.

It teaches engagement without collapse.
Action without cruelty.
Conviction without righteousness.

It invites us to act from our deepest truth — and to meet ourselves with compassion for the cost of doing so. And if your actions are rooted in compassion — toward others and toward yourself — I don’t believe you can go too far wrong.

Others may read the text differently, shaped by their own experiences. I respect that. This is simply how the Gītā speaks to me — when it is allowed to stay human.