Waves of Devotion

You’re Wrong![1]

How we fight those words even when, well… we’re obviously wrong.

It was the early morning in Vṛndāvana during my japa meditation. As my concentration deepened, some mistakes that I made drifted into my consciousness. I could let those thoughts go, or at least I could have tried, but their nature was forcing me to confront them.

Then, before the pain of admission could pinch my ego, I heard a soothing internal voice: “It wasn’t your fault! It was circumstantial. The mistakes were exaggerated. And you have accepted responsibility. You’re so humble…”

Just as I was rationalizing my faults, however, I was hit by a more powerful and challenging message. That week in my daily sat-saṅga I had been teaching the story “The Deliverance of the Wives of the Brāhmaṇas” from the Tenth Canto of the Bhāgavatam. I had just lectured on the part where the learned, austere brāhmaṇas were awakened not only to their own offenses, but also to the realization of how paltry their spiritual attainment was compared to their simple wives. They condemned themselves in the harshest way:

“To hell with our being initiated priests, our vows of celibacy, and our extensive learning! To hell with our aristocratic background and our expertise in the ritual of sacrifice! These are all condemned because we are inimical to the transcendental Personality of Godhead.” (Bhāg.10.23.40)

What struck me in this story was the Sanskrit word used for remorse, which I gleaned to have the same root as tapa, which means “austerity” or “heat”. At least that’s how I read it. The story brought to my mind the point that embracing our faults is an austerity, a practice that burns our false ego – that cherished conception of being better than others, of being the controller and enjoyer.

So, that day, as I was watching the process of rationalization co-opting any sense of remorse, I thought of this pastime and was inspired to stop rationalizing and let the acknowledgement of my blunders burn the false ego, that insidious desire to be the controller. Internally I screamed, but at the same time the holy name became more and more the focus of my consciousness as I embraced the humble position.

“You’re wrong!” Oh, how we hate those words, but at the same time how good they can be for us if we accept them properly. We have studied the teachings the Gītā so many times, and we abhor the self-centered. Why then should it be so difficult to hear these words, even for one fairly advanced on the path?

We have come to this world to seek our pleasure from enjoyment, not service. We thus seek power in the form of wealth, education, beauty, position, and so on to conform the world to our desires and a sense of superiority. As admitting our mistakes even to one other person, or just to ourselves, means a diminishment of status or a loss of power, we fight that conception tooth and nail, even if it belies our core values, and it is unbecoming to our spiritual life.

It is counter intuitive, but all glories to “I’m wrong!”

[1] This is a reprint, originally posted on September 26, 2016.

The Culture of Faith[1]

Have you ever heard of the “Sherborn Gathering”? Over twenty years ago I started a yearly academic conference with young devotees who were newly transitioning out of the brahmacari ashram,[2] and who sought to make their career in academia. It was hosted every summer in a mansion owned by one of the participant’s parents in Sherborn, Massachusetts, just outside of Boston. My purpose for organizing the conference was to provide these young devotees with peer comradery, as well as senior guidance. In that regard, Jayadvaita Swami, Śrīla Prabhupāda’s main English editor, and Pradyumna Prabhu, Śrīla Prabhupāda’s main Sanskrit editor, also attended.

I think the gatherings, which continued for ten years, were successful. The participants made life-long friendships, and most went on to achieve successful academic careers.[3] The tricky part for me as the convenor of the conference was to balance our devotional objectives with the rare occasion when one of the participants had chosen a presentation in his field of study, which may have been a critical exploration of one of the basic foundations of Krishna-consciousness. One such talk was an examination of Bhagavad-gītā As It Is based on writings in the field of scholarship that critically analyzed it.

Although I had doubts about the appropriateness of the presentation, I was happy with the conclusions reached after a vigorous discussion. Half the young scholars at the conference had previously attended the school I established in New Jersey to thoroughly study the basic Vaiṣṇava texts through Śrīla Prabhupāda’s books. They testified that as a result of that study their understanding of the Bhagavad-gītā was, in general, much deeper than those that they met in the university who had studied and taught it from other translations. The authenticity and effectiveness of Bhagavad-gītā As It Is stood as the natural conclusion of that session.

Although I was relieved, I still didn’t feel right about the presentation. I told Pradyumna about what had transpired and asked his opinion, as he had arrived late and missed that session. He offered a word of caution about how such presentations should proceed, by describing what he called the “culture of faith”. He gave many examples; One stood out. Contemporary Sanskrit scholars in the line of Madhvacarya sometimes find a mistake, I assumed not philosophical, made in a commentary by one of their revered acaryas written over 500 years ago. When they write about it, however, they never say the acarya is wrong. Instead they just write “rsi ucuh (the sagie said),” repeat what the acarya wrote, even if they believe it isn’t accurate, and then follow that with their version without passing judgment.

What Pradyumna explained struck a chord with me. Over the years, I have contemplated its meaning. Faith is the mechanism in the mind that allows us to contemplate and apply truths beyond our limited frame of reference to expand our awareness. Without it, our understanding is basically limited to our present conditioned frame of reference. St. Anslem summed up the necessity for faith in traditions of knowledge and the teachers who represent them: “I believe so that I may understand.” As faith is the precursor to knowledge, a proper society therefore maintains a culture that strengthens the mechanism of faith for the purpose of supporting the general enlightenment of its citizens.

What better testimony to this than Sri Krishna promoting such faith in His teachings to Uddhava, where He describes the necessity for a student to respect the authority of their teacher as if it were God speaking?

“One should know the ācārya as Myself and never disrespect him in any way. One should not envy him, thinking him an ordinary man, for he is the representative of all the demigods.” (Bhag. 11.17 27)

What to do, however, if one cannot accept the authority of their teacher? It is unfortunate. Either one has the wrong teacher, or one is a poor student. There are legitimate safeguards in such traditional societies to protect the citizens from unqualified teachers and to encourage students to raise all their doubts until they are cleared. Unless, however, one has implicit faith in a proper spiritual authority, no matter how intelligent one is, the expansion of our consciousness will always be impeded. Without strong faith in someone more spiritually realized and learned than us, what mechanism do we have to advance in our understanding and overcome the illusion that covers us all in this world—the vision that there is no reality beyond our present perception and opinions?

Even in science, culture is defined as an environment that allows something to grow to its potential. Vaiṣṇava culture is meant help the soul mature to love of Godhead. One of its main constructs are the ways one behaves to facilitate learning, including dealing with elders and especially teachers. This culture of respect fortifies the aspect of the mind that engenders trust, which is essential when we are fortunate enough to find a teacher.

Back to our Sherborn Gathering. If I knew then what I know now, would I have done anything differently? At least I would have injected into the conversation a healthy discussion on the culture of respect. It is certainly an important consideration, for among other things, “Your faith can move mountains, and your doubt can create them.”[4]

[1] There are many deep issues to be resolved about the issue of faith, including the danger of blind following. They are beyond the scope of this paper to discuss, but I have addressed these issues in other articles.  https://wavesofdevotion.com/2018/07/16/the-marriage-of-faith-and-doubt/

[2] Celibate student life

[3] Among the participants in our original Sherborn Gathering who completed their PhD, we now have professors of Philosophy in Boston, the University of North Carolina, and University of Florida; a Sanskrit professor at Brown University; and the Program Director for the Yale School of Sacred Music.

[4] This is an anonymous quote. When we do find a proper teacher doubts may rise. That is welcome. According to Lord Kapiladeva that is one of the five aspects of intelligence. But that type of doubt is not doubting the authority of our teacher, which makes the relationship not highly functional, but doubting our understanding and raising questions to elicit further meaning. (Bhag. 3.26 30)

Waiting for God, Oh![1]

It was 1976. I was sitting in the temple room of the former Hare Krishna skyscraper on 55^th Street in Manhattan. Kirtanananda Swami, in good standing at the time, was giving class. He was known for being laconic, a kind of master of spiritual one-liners. At least what he said was powerful enough that it stirred my intellect. I remember it to this day:

“Waiting is the greatest surrender!”

Surrender means to accept that there is an authority, a truth, that is higher than our opinions and desires, and that we must make sacrifices to follow it.[2] I hear that expressed today, perhaps without deep understanding and in a seemingly gentler way, in the phrases “Let go!” or “Go with the flow.” In other words, stop resisting what you should do, and be in harmony with something greater than yourself. That’s called character. We struggle with character, with surrender, because we are here in this world with the expressed desire to be the central enjoyer, and thus lack faith that the universal will is higher than our own.

I am not sure waiting is the greatest surrender, but when I heard the phrase it struck a chord. I reflected on how difficult it is to wait for something that I felt was important that was beyond my control to quickly obtain. It struck a nerve, for the desire for self-centered enjoyment is embedded in the DNA of this world. Waiting thus takes surrender, because it’s a challenge to be happy with God’s will when one has absolutely no power to attain what one desires.

Obviously, these are “pandemic” thoughts. When Covid-19 first hit and everyone was quarantined, I marveled at God’s power. In one fell swoop, Krishna announced to everyone in the world, even the most powerful controllers, “Stay in your home!” And now, six months later, Krishna seems be saying the same thing in just a little bit of a different way: “Just wait!” Quite tough, especially when you are waiting for a ticket to Vrindavan.

Yes, waiting is a great surrender. It is one of the ways God tells us we are not the controller. The thoughtful, who finally hear and happily accept that message, even while waiting, certainly reap the fruits of spiritual surrender—the opening of the door to bhakti.

Waiting for God, oh,

He answered my loud demands,

“Wait like Her, longing.” [3]

[1] The title is a pun. I wonder how many people get it?

[2] We are conditioned to hear the word “surrender” in a negative way. I have previously written about this: https://wavesofdevotion.com/2016/02/29/is-surrender-a-bad-word/

[3] I got feedback that people liked the haiku at the end of the Monday Morning Greetings two weeks ago. I asked Jan, my poet friend, to write another one for this article.

Two months ago, I woke up with some stiffness in my left thigh that was quite debilitating. Within two days, I could no longer find a comfortable position to sleep at night and was forced to rest in a recliner chair. The stiffness began to shift to different parts of my body until I couldn’t even put on my socks or lift a t-shirt over my head without great difficulty. I was constantly cold and required two blankets and a sweatshirt at night even though it was the summer. My comprehensive blood work could not come up with the cause of my illness. As my condition had already persisted for six weeks, the doctor offered the option of steroids to relieve my discomfort, which I postponed to first seek an alternative. Fortunately, soon after my blood test, a devotee with a certification in Chinese Medicine called to offer a visit. The cause of my debilitation was immediately identified. I had textbook symptoms of B1 syndrome dampness. A protocol for recovering my health was recommended, including acupuncture, fresh ground Chinese herbs, and avoidance of the foods causing the disturbance. I was seventy per cent better after the first two acupuncture treatments. After a month, my condition is almost back to normal. My personal experience of the profound effect of an ancient medical system reminded me what Śrīla Prabhupāda often stressed—that the advancement of civilization based on modern scientific and technological improvement is a myth.

Certainly, there is no dearth of advanced material knowledge in ancient life traditions, such as medicine and architecture, to challenge the view that advancement in civilization is exclusive to the evolvement of modern society over time. What is even a stronger argument to debunk the view that progress in civilization is advancing over time is that the real template of what makes civilization advanced is its ability to elevate the consciousness of its citizens, and in that regard modern civilization has sorely failed. That the standard of advancement of civilization should primarily deal with the mind is just common sense. What value does a new gadget have, or anything for that matter, no matter how startling the wizardry, if it is not connected with the elevation of the mind? And what does Elon Musk and Silicon Valley contribute to that?

Śrīla Prabhupāda would often give a clear example to illustrate how advancement in technology is not commensurate in itself with the advancement of civilization. He defined animal life as eating, sleeping, mating, and defending and challenged how using a sophisticated car to pursue those goals is more advanced than the four legs of a dog moving for the same objectives.

I sometimes wonder if we modern yogis have a disconnect with what we read in the texts of our traditions about the advancement of civilization and how we live our lives. Have we gauged the environment that we have weaved around us and its effect on the upliftment of our minds? Have we been subtly conditioned to a false standard of happiness based on technology and in the process sacrificed a more evolved mode of living and thinking?  Do we even notice?

In 1980, when I returned to the USA to visit my parents after three years of living in India, my mother immediately took me to the supermarket to pick up a few things that suited my diet. I was taken aback when the price of the items we purchased were marked and added immediately on the cash register just by touching them to the counter, an innovation introduced only after I had already left for India. I immediately blurted out, “Things have advanced so much!” I paused, then immediately corrected myself based on what I had been taught, “But the quality of life has not improved!” The cashier shook her head affirmatively, and even my mother could see the validity of what I said.

I sit here writing this in fairly good health in a world that is imbued with the marvels of technology and reflect how what I said forty years ago is more relevant today than ever before: “But the quality of life hasn’t improved!”

“You can best serve civilization by being against what usually passes for it.”
― Wendell Berry

(When asked what he thought of Western civilization): “I think it would be a good idea.”
― Mahatma Gandhi

“Civilization is a hopeless race to discover remedies for the evils it produces.”
― Rousseau

“The truest test of civilization is not the census, size of cities, or crops; but the kind of man the country turns out.”
― Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Progressive civilization is based on Brahminical culture,[1] God consciousness and protection of cows”[2][3]

―  A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami

[1] A society and its culture guided by people in sattva-guṇa (the mode of goodness) who are thus learned and well-behaved.

[2] Bhag. 1.19.3, Purport

[3] This is a bit unorthodox, but I need to include here a note from my previous Monday Morning Greetings. I saw the necessity to end my last piece about “regret” with a haiku. I received a lot of feedback that people liked it. I didn’t sufficiently make clear its origin, and I wanted to clarify that. After I wrote it, I sent it to my friend Jan Potemkin, who studied Asian Literature in graduate school and is a poet. He found that one essential component of the haiku needed to be enhanced ― that it must have more imagery. So, he rewrote it and sent it back.