Whoever does the work to be done without resort to its fruits, he is the Sannyasin and the Yogin. (VI.1)

The doctrine of detachment—that one should not look to the fruits of one's labors—without much exaggeration, may be said to be the central tenet of Indian philosophy (so central, in fact, that the American poet T.S. Eliot, in Four Quartets, puts the following words into Krishna's mouth: “And do not think of the fruit of action”).

Now let's imagine that a big-shot CEO took Krishna's advice to heart. This would mean that a Bill Gates or a Carly Fiorina would selflessly develop and promote the company's products without any desire whatsoever to reap the profits generated by these products. Of course, this kind of scenario is wildly implausible. More fundamentally, however, it reflects the fact that any CEO who wholeheartedly practiced the doctrine of detachment would be a disastrous business leader. If a CEO is not motivated by some degree of self-interest—if she does not ask, “how can I profit from my business?”—then she should not be heading a company in the first place.

In The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success, however, Chopra wants to have his cake and eat it, too: “Anything you want can be acquired through detachment, because detachment is based on the unquestioning belief in the power of your true Self.” If Chopra is right, the very effort to detach ourselves from the fruits of our labors will (somehow) multiply these very fruits. Chopra's dubious logic, however, urgently begs the question, why should these multiplied fruits matter to those who are supposedly detached from them in the first place? His invocation of such nebulous concepts as the “true Self” is merely a stealthy attempt to divert the reader away from the obvious contradictions inherent in his all-too-easy advice.

He who is satisfied with whatever gain comes to him, who has passed beyond the dualities, is jealous of none, is equal in failure and success, he is not bound even when he acts. (IV.22)

An entrepreneur who is “satisfied with whatever gain comes to him” would not survive very long in the cutthroat world of business (even if, in so doing, she gains knowledge of her “true Self”). The reason is not hard to find. To borrow the philosopher Gilbert Ryle's apt phrase, it is a category mistake to import the terms and concepts of Indian spirituality into the utterly distinct sphere of capitalism. One must admit that it is precisely the entrepreneur's job not to be “equal in failure and success” but to react promptly in order to combat failure at all costs. The underlying values of capitalism are not just vaguely incompatible with those of Indian spirituality but emphatically contradict these values.

So what, if anything, is the moral of this story? I am certainly not urging us to be saints, but let's not delude ourselves into thinking that behaving like a capitalist will set us on the path to saintly detachment. The effort to “justify” business practice via Indian spirituality only serves to undermine both the spirit of Indian philosophy and the underpinnings of capitalism. Ultimately, the seductive appeal of works like Chopra's must be balanced with the curious irony that the very self-help books which never cease to extol the virtues of “detachment” generate untold profits for their author. There is no question that the grand preacher of detachment is heartily—and, no doubt, undetachedly—relishing the material fruits of his literary labors.