Waves of Devotion

Last week I wrote about expediency, but it was beyond the scope of the entry to illustrate the concept with an example. I thought the example of how one responds to betrayal would be an excellent way to broach the subject of when dharma is brushed aside for the sake of an immediate advantage. There seems to be no deeper hurt and stronger impetus to strike back with vengeance than when someone one violates one’s trust. How to deal with being betrayed? I think the story of Vidura illustrates that best.

Vidura was renowned for his good counsel. When King Dhṛtarāṣṭra, his elder brother, called him, Vidura strongly advised him to instruct his son Duryodhana to return the legitimate share of the kingdom to his cousin Yudhiṣṭhira, which he had illegally usurped. He outlined in detail the ruin it would bring upon the King. Duryodhana overheard the conversation and immediately threatened his uncle:

“Who asked him to come here, the son of a kept mistress? He is so crooked that he spies in the interest of the enemy against those on whose support he has grown up. Toss him out of the palace immediately and leave him with only his breath.” (Bhāg. 3.1.15)

How painful! Not only was he thrown out of the palace in his twilight years without any possessions, a kingdom that he served so humbly and selflessly his whole life, but he was also deeply insulted. What was especially painful was that it was true. Although Vidura shared the same father with Dhṛtarāṣṭra, his mother was not the queen, but a maidservant. Vidura thus dropped his bow at the door and immediately left “being pierced by arrows through the ears and afflicted to the core of his heart” (Bhāg. 3.1.16). Yes indeed he was hurt, but how he dealt with his betrayal was exemplary.

The Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam describes his attitude: “He was not sorry, for he considered the acts of the external energy to be supreme” (Bhāg. 3.1.16). In other words, although Duryodhana betrayed him, he understood that nothing moves without the sanction of God. He thus saw the same energy that was moving Duryodhana to offense and destruction was giving him a greater opportunity to fully engage in devotional service.

The lesson from Vidura is clear. When betrayed, don’t just look at māyā as God’s energy entangling someone who is hurting you. See it also as His illuminating energy moving the world for your enlightenment. If you focus on māyā externally in terms of its illusory effect on your perpetrator, your bitterness and victimhood will only increase. If you see, however, that same māyā internally in terms of helping you grow, your bitterness will reduce and your consciousness will elevate. In his purport to this verse, Śrīla Prabhupāda describes how Vidura was able to properly observe the workings of God’s energy: “Māyā, the supreme energy of the Lord acted both internally and externally”.[1]

I was also reminded of Socrates in viewing betrayal in this way. After serving his country by virtue of his wisdom and example, the government turned on him. He was falsely accused and condemned to die. His only request was to address his judge and jury, the senate of Greece. He looked at them intently and delivered his message: “If you think you can harm me, you will not harm me, you will only harm yourself.” He thus saw his apparent betrayal in the same way as Vidura. Real harm is to be disconnected from the soul, so if you harm another for your advantage it is actually your ruin, but if you see it as God’s will it’s a blessing to bring you closer to Krishna.

“Every betrayal contains a perfect moment, a coin stamped heads and tails with salvation on the other side.” — Barbara Kingsolver, The Poisonwood Bible

[1] There are also specific philosophical terms for this phenomenon. When māyā works to further one’s devotion it is called yogamāyā, the internal potency, and when it moves to further one’s material entanglement it is called mahamāyā, the external potency.

It bothers me when people, knowingly or unknowingly, neglect or minimize what is right for what they see as convenient or practical. It is called expediency. Perhaps that bothers all of us, but I know it especially irks me.

People who manage under pressure seem particularly susceptible to minimizing or neglecting what is proper for what is seemingly practical, but all of us are challenged regularly with such choices, especially when the right choice is somewhat subtle. In such situations, only the thoughtful and saintly can consistently avoid the lure of seeking a material advantage, which risks their soul, in lieu of what is right.

Risk their soul? For each step forward in life we have a myriad of choices to make, some more crucial than others. The soul is consciousness that reaches its fulfillment in selflessness or devotion. Dharma is the science of making the choice that moves one towards a clearer conception of the self. All other choices, by the nature of being self-serving, only further obscure that vision. So yes, expediency is at the cost of the soul.

It is no wonder, therefore, that this promotion of dharma and the concomitant warning against expediency rests at the root of classical Indian thought. In fact, one of the most famous moral guides in India is the Kauṭilya Sūtras (aphorisms) by Cāṇakya Paṇḍita, which was written specifically to temper the lure of expediency by promoting dharma, especially for those in positions of leadership. The first aphorism sets the tone for the book by highlighting the fruit of dharma, doing what is right in the face of expediency.

sukhasya mūlaṁ dharmaḥ

The root of happiness is dharma, righteousness.

If the Kauṭilya Sūtras is one of the most prominent moral guidebooks in classical Indian literature, the Bhagavad-gītā is the most prominent book of classical Indian thought in terms of applying spirituality in daily life. The same message that dharma, not expedience, leads to auspiciousness is also stressed there. That can especially be seen in the profound connection between its first and last verse, which is significant, as the first and last verse of a book are one of the important indications of a book’s theme according to classical hermeneutics. Here is something I wrote about in a previous Monday Morning Greetings:

“In the very first verse of the Gītā, King Dhṛtarāṣṭra inquires from Sañjaya, his mystical advisor, about the impending battle at Kurukṣetra between his sons and the sons of Pāṇḍu led by Arjuna:

‘Dhṛtarāṣṭra said: O Sañjaya, after assembling in the place of pilgrimage at Kurukṣetra, what did my sons and the sons of Pāṇḍu do, being desirous to fight?’

The commentators explain that Dhṛtarāṣṭra is concerned with how the holy place will influence the battle, but that he expected victory in this ugly fratricidal war because of the greater size of his son’s army.[1] The verse also forebodes victory for the sons of Pāṇḍu. The battlefield is a place of pilgrimage (dharma-kṣetra) and Krishna, who upholds and protects dharma (righteousness), is on their side.

The last verse of the Gītā states its conclusion and answers Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s initial inquiry definitively:

‘Wherever there is Krishna, the master of all mystics, and wherever there is Arjuna, the supreme archer, there will also certainly be opulence, victory, extraordinary power, and morality. That is my opinion.’

The connection seems obvious, although I have never seen it stated. The first verse is a view of the battle through the eyes of a materialist filled with anxiety about a situation he cannot control, calculating success based on one’s personal power rather than doing what’s right. In contrast the last verse, spoken by his advisor Sañjaya is a view of that same world through the eyes of a spiritualist, seeing success or victory not by expedience or material superiority, but by choosing righteousness or dharma. Dharma here is represented by the presence of Krishna, the master of all mystics, and His devotee Arjuna, the supreme archer.” (“The Talking Book”, Monday Morning Greetings 2017 #48)

So the Gītā also says, “Damn the Expedient!” I pray never again to fall prey to it.

“Cowardice asks: Is it safe? Expediency asks: Is it politic? But conscience asks: Is it right?” — William Morley Punshon

[1] Before the battle the sons of Dhṛtarāṣṭra were given the choice of either Krishna or Krishna’s armies. They chose Krishna’s armies which gave them even more confidence in their military superiority. It proved to have been an expedient choice.

What we are now has been determined by the decisions we made in the past, and if that is true, what we will be in the future will be determined by the decisions we make now. There is practically not a day that goes by when we don’t have some decisions that are crucial to our future well-being. How to make the right choice?

Intuition

God rests in our heart and directs us from within. The force of intuition is very powerful, and sometimes the message is so strong and undeniable that the right decision becomes clear. The voices of God, however, is not the only thing in our hearts. Our hearts are also filled with the voices of ambition and desire, so how do we distinguish that what we are hearing is the direction of God?

Consultation

The voice of God is manifest externally through the bona-fide teacher and also via consultation with qualified peers. It is easy to find out what to do if we have the courage to accept the authority of those who are learned and wise. We are not children, however. We can’t live our life day-to-day looking for someone to tell us what to do, nor is that resource always available. Furthermore, although the guidelines to make the right decision are available through our teacher, our individual frame of reference by which to apply those guidelines, which includes our psychological capability and our personal history, is not always fully privy to others. In that case, responsibility for our final decision becomes solely ours. If we are still confused in such cases, what to do?

Sincerity

We often reject what is right even though the voice of God in the heart, or the voice of God through our teachers, is loud and clear. Simply put, we are naturally deaf to instructions we don’t like. Therefore, the most important thing in making the right decisions is the deep sincerity to want the truth whether we like it or not. Why would God not reveal the truth to a sincere soul who opens his heart to His will? That is often done through the voice of destiny.

Destiny as the language of God

God speaks to us in response to our heartfelt desire to make the right choices by moving the world around us to teach us lessons. What is the purpose of karma if not to convey a message from God? Sometimes, when we are not hearing His will, He speaks louder and louder and the challenges in our life become heavier and heavier. If what God is telling us still remains an enigma, as it often does, we can approach the Vaiṣṇavas, those who are fluent in the language of destiny. Advanced devotees can explain destiny, for they know the śāstra, which is, for all practical purposes, a dictionary of destiny. In other words, it explains what certain archetypal karmic situations mean, which learned and realized souls can apply to our life to help us understand the meaning of what is happening to us and how to respond practically.

Here is how it works

The topics I write are mostly things that I am thinking about at the time. So yes, I am presently on a quest for answers to a dilemma that has arisen. I first went into my heart to unconditionally seek God’s will. Although for years these questions have arisen on and off in my mind, by doing this God’s voice became unexpectedly clearer. To be certain of my choice, however, I have also opened my heart to the advice of respected well-wishers, in addition to carefully watching my destiny to see if there are any signs to confirm what I think is God’s direction.

An intelligent person moves thoughtfully in the world seeking God’s will, for dharma, the right decision, always leads to auspiciousness. How important to sincerely seek the will of God, for our decisions determine our future.

A friend once joked: “You’re so optimistic that you could be falling out of the Empire State Building and on the fiftieth floor say, ‘so far so good’.” I’m a hopeless optimist. We laughed, but it is no joke. A dose of pessimism, even pain in the heart, is essential for bhakti. I feel that more and more. Comes with age? Could I be advancing in spiritual life? Who knows? But my wall of unhinged optimism is cracking, and it’s sometimes heavy.

The pain of purification

One friend described being in a holy place like putting a mirror to your false ego. Devotion is like that. It cleans the heart and helps you see yourself, warts and all. When the mind is cluttered with desires it is often hard to notice our faults, like not noticing something out of place in a cluttered room. For a minute I see myself. How many lifetimes have I been parading as Pauṇḍraka?[1] Can I bear the truth of self-realization?

The pain of understanding God

To really believe in an Absolute Truth sets a standard for our life. How demanding it is to conform one’s living to something higher than one’s whims and attachments. I am reading that standard of truth. It is called the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam. I am informed page after page, “You are not up to the mark. Change!” Can I bear the truth of self-realization?

The pain of realization

I not only understand a truth; I see a truth — a realization. That realization is so clear. I kick myself. How did I miss it? I look back. How foolish to have lived in ignorance of such a simple truth. I should have known. And such realizations keep coming again and again. I am pained to have lived in foolishness, and it follows that I must be living in folly now. Can I bear the truth of self-realization?

The pain of regret

Bhakti begins with regretting a life lived egocentrically separate from God. That regret is called tapa, or remorse. It is the first step in spiritual commitment. Tapa also means heat. Remorse is heat because admission of fault painfully burns the lurking sense of ego that engines material life. No, I am not wrong! It is not my fault! It wasn’t a mistake! Am I man enough to resist such rationalization? Admit it; regret it. Let that acknowledgment burn our charade. Can I bear the truth of self-realization?

The pain of opening the heart

The essence of the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam is to chant the name of our beloved Lord without attachment or inhibition. Such simple-hearted sincerity is painful because the proud fears vulnerability and humility. Chanting means to open that heart fully and beg for the mercy of the holy name. Why the resistance? Can I bear the pain of self-realization?

The joy of pain

Crushing thoughts awaken humility, which is the foundation of devotional yearning and thus the greatest joy. That pain, however, has nothing to do with one’s psychology. It is the soul aching for connection to God and realizing our failure. It is the birth of devotion and joy, but can I bear the price of self-realization?

[1] A foolish king described in the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam who paraded around in the dress of Krishna and declared himself God but was later killed by Krishna.