Keep your bows raised

photograph by the author

Ending a study program,  or finishing a major project or job,  often marks not just an ending, but the beginning of a new phase of decisions. During your studies or a job, many decisions are made for you: Where should I be on Monday at 9? What should I read? When is the next deadline? When do I need to finish my project?

And then, suddenly, it’s over. The structure disappears, and with it comes something else: freedom. Freedom to decide again.

But before we rush into that freedom, let’s pause for a moment: What is a decision actually?
A decision means having both the possibility and the necessity to choose between two or more alternatives that cannot be realized simultaneously. Each choice sets us on one path and closes off others. Every decision not only shapes our own lives but can also influence the lives of others around us.

In theory, that sounds empowering. In practice? Not so easy. You know that feeling when you’re faced with a big decision. Excitement rises — and then sooner or later, most often comes the Yes, but…. We start to feel doubt, hesitation, and inner resistance. Our mind starts to whisper: Are you sure? Isn’t that too risky? Maybe you should wait a bit longer? Shouldn’t someone else, someone more qualified, do this instead of me?

All of us have been through this process. And yet, especially in uncertain times, we need courageous decisions more than ever. This moment of hesitation before action reminded me of an ancient text: the Bhagavad Gita, a central scripture of Hinduism written more than 2,000 years ago. The Gita is basically a conversation between Arjuna, a warrior, and Krishna, a divine teacher in the form of his charioteer.

Arjuna stands on the battlefield of Kurukshetra. The air trembles with tension. Two armies face each other. It’s the decisive moment to act, but instead of shooting an arrow, Arjuna lowers his bow. Arjuna is torn. He knows that it is the right thing and his duty to fight against the others, even though it is his own family. And in his despair, he tells Krishna: I cannot fight. It feels wrong. I no longer know what is right.

That image, Arjuna lowering his bow, deciding not to act, is universal. We have all stood there, too. And in this regard, Krishna answers: Your hesitation is human. But if you turn away, others will pay the price.

Today we don’t stand on the plain fields. We are located at home, in classrooms, workshops, offices, analogue and digital spaces. Our battlefields look different: climate change, social inequality, political polarization, disinformation, and AI-generated slop that steals our time and attention. But in the same manner as Arjuna, we might say: I don’t even know where to start. This is too big for me. I am too small.

Let’s keep Krishna’s words in our minds when we are trying to opt out of a decision: My hesitation is human. But if I turn away, others will pay the price. Not acting is also a decision, but one that leaves the battlefields to others.

The Dutch author Rutger Bregman calls the duty to act, in his book with the same title, Moral Ambitions. He argues that we should use our skills not just for personal gain but to address the biggest challenges of our time. Too many brilliant minds, he says, end up in finance, consulting, or advertising, serving profit instead of progress.

You, my dear readers, have probably chosen a different path. That deserves respect. But Rutger Bregman also warns that empathy and symbolism alone aren’t enough.
Also, passivity and keeping everything shareable and Instagrammable might not get us any further. That would be like a modern Arjuna saying: I’m overwhelmed. Let the others fight. I’ll retreat to my cozy, familiar couch.

Let’s time-travel away from ancient India to Sarajevo in 1992. During the Balkan War, in Sarajevo, a mortar shell exploded in front of a bakery, killing 22 people waiting for bread.
The next day, musician Vedran Smajlovic appeared at the site, dressed in his black concert outfit, and he played Albinoni’s Adagio in G minor. He returned every day for 22 days: one day for each victim. He knew he couldn’t stop the war. But he also knew: This is my place and my time to act, to not leave the battlefield to violence.

So, please, dear readers, do not lower your bows. Keep up your duty to act. Yes, the world can look grim. But right here, right now, do not forget your courage and your creative strength. Act beyond symbolic gestures. Create real experiences and real encounters. Do not let digital slop paralyze you. Raise your bows, like Arjuna, and like Smajlovic, play your own cello on your own field of urgency. In the Bhagavad Gita, Arjuna ends the dialogue with Krishna by saying: My doubts have vanished. I will act.