7 Questions Krishna Never Answered — And Why

श्रीभगवानुवाच — अशोच्यानन्वशोचस्त्वं प्रज्ञावादांश्च भाषसे।
गतासूनगतासूंश्च नानुशोचन्ति पण्डिताः॥
"You grieve for those who should not be grieved for, and yet speak words of wisdom. The wise do not mourn the living or the dead."
— Bhagavad Gita 2.11

This shloka begins Krishna's response to Arjuna on the battlefield of Kurukshetra. But interestingly, before Krishna begins to speak, Arjuna had already asked questions—some subtle, some profound, some even rebellious. Krishna answers many. But some, he never truly does.

Why would a divine avatar, the embodiment of wisdom, silence himself at certain moments?

Not because the questions were flawed, but because they were meant to remain unanswered. In silence, sometimes, lies a greater truth.

Here are 7 questions Krishna never fully answered — and why they were left open. Arjuna’s hesitation on the battlefield stemmed from a fundamental dilemma: “If dharma asks me to fight my own family, is dharma even worth it?”

Krishna never directly justifies violence. Instead, he pivots the conversation to action without attachment, the idea of karma yoga. He says to act according to one's role in the cosmic order without concern for outcomes—but he never truly answers: Can dharma be moral if it causes suffering?

Why Krishna didn’t answer:
Because dharma is not a universal constant—it is contextual, fluid, and sometimes paradoxical. If Krishna defined it rigidly, it would lose its situational wisdom. Dharma is not always about right versus wrong; it is about what is required of you in this moment, regardless of comfort.
In both the Mahabharata and the Gita, this question echoes repeatedly, directly and indirectly. Yudhishthira asks it. Draupadi screams it. Even Arjuna wonders why noble warriors must die.

Krishna speaks of karma, rebirth, cosmic justice, but he never outlines a timeline or gives a straightforward answer. The wicked seem to win often. The good often suffer in silence.

Why Krishna didn’t answer:
Because cosmic justice operates across lifetimes. To answer this in temporal terms would trivialize a law that transcends one life. The phala (fruit) of karma is not an invoice—it’s a cycle, and Krishna invites us to trust the unseen workings of that cycle, not demand immediate proof.
Arjuna was not just a warrior—he was a brother, student, friend, and leader. His identity crumbled when these roles conflicted. In his despair, a question rises: “If I walk away from this war, who am I?”

Krishna speaks of the Self—the indestructible ātman—but he never fully addresses how we reconcile the inner Self with the outer roles we must play.

Why Krishna didn’t answer:
Because the journey of self-discovery is not given, it is earned. Krishna offers the map—the ātman, the eternal observer—but not the destination. Identity must be peeled layer by layer. No divine shortcut is given, because true selfhood requires walking the path yourself. Throughout the Gita, Krishna encourages Arjuna to make a choice—but then says, “All beings follow their nature… the Lord resides in the hearts of all and directs their paths.”

This paradox—free will versus divine will—leads to a deep philosophical question: If Krishna is steering everything, what choice do we truly have?

Why Krishna didn’t answer:
Because both are simultaneously true. The Gita presents a non-dual perspective: while outcomes are bound by guna (qualities of nature), awareness allows transcendence. Free will is not in external acts, but in inner orientation. Krishna leaves this tension unresolved because it is meant to be meditated upon, not solved like a riddle. The existential cry of mankind echoes in Draupadi’s courtroom humiliation and Abhimanyu’s death. Krishna was there—yet silent. So the unspoken question looms: “If you are divine, why allow suffering?”

Krishna never issues a full moral justification for pain.

Why Krishna didn’t answer:
Because suffering is not always punishment—it is sometimes awakening. Pain breaks the ego. It opens the deeper inquiry. Krishna does not eliminate suffering because he does not interfere with the soul’s evolution. In the Gita, suffering is not cruelty—it is catalyst. But he leaves it to us to see it that way. In various parts of the Mahabharata, characters seek meaning: Why are we born? What is the point of living if everything ends in death?

Krishna never summarizes life in a single sentence. He speaks of self-realization, yoga, dharma, liberation, but does not declare a singular, unified purpose.

Why Krishna didn’t answer:
Because the purpose of life is not told—it is discovered. The Gita’s purpose is not to define life, but to transform the seeker. Purpose arises through living consciously, not through hearing divine lectures. Krishna invites us to rise above survival, pleasure, and ego—to seek, to experience, to know. When Krishna prepares to leave the world, his end is quiet, almost brutal. A hunter’s arrow—hardly a divine exit. Why would God die in such a way? Why would he not stay to guide humanity forever?

He never answers this. He just leaves.

Why Krishna didn’t answer:
Because attachment even to divinity is bondage. The avatar descends not to be worshipped eternally, but to awaken inner divinity in us. His departure is his final lesson—do not cling, not even to God. The truth he taught is meant to live within, not be dependent on his physical form.
In a text as profound as the Gita, what Krishna doesn’t say is just as important as what he does. The unanswered questions are not omissions—they are openings. They are invitations to think deeper, question harder, and surrender wiser.

Krishna’s silence teaches that truth is not given—it is revealed in the silence of inquiry.

So, when you find a question without an answer, don’t rush to fill the gap. Let it echo. Let it teach.

Because maybe, just maybe, that question is the beginning of your transformation.

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