Waves of Devotion

God’s Problem: The Story of Sri Chaitanya [1]

God has a problem.

And it is the same problem that we have.

What’s the problem?

He is not a devotee.

What is a devotee?

A devotee is one who loves God.

And love means to have a particular relationship with God.

Why is that our problem?

Because in this sense we are trying to become devotees.

But why is that a problem for God?

It’s a problem because God doesn’t have love of God.

How does God lack that?

Love of God is in the heart of His devotees, not in God’s. God is the object of such love (the beloved), not the abode of such love (the lover of God, the devotee).

And why is that such a problem?

It’s a problem because to love is higher than to be loved. God is supposed to be the Supreme Enjoyer, but He lacks the highest pleasure—to love God—and to lack love (as the giver) is a problem.

What does God do about that? Surely, He can make a solution.

Yes, that is the story of Sri Chaitanya. God becomes His own devotee to become complete in His experience of love. And not only does He become a devotee, but He becomes His highest devotee, Sri Radha, at the height of Her love, in Her deepest feelings of love—Her moments of separation from Krishna.

Happy Gaura-purnima (The appearance of Sri Chaitanya)!

[1] Originally published on March 21, 2016

I love branding and coining new words. This one’s about vaccination. I’ve discovered that some people are pro-vaccination, some militantly anti-vax, and some could go either way—a stance I call “bivaxual.” Because I have some position of authority as a teacher, people are asking my opinion. I guess I see myself as bivaxual. I see whether or not to take the vaccines in terms of risk analysis—whether the greater risk is in taking or not taking it—and therefore a decision based on age and health, and perhaps practicality—like whether it will be required for work, service, or travel. I see it, therefore, as a decision best left to the individual and his or her family. If someone asks my personal opinion according to their situation, however, I may give it. But meditating on this issue for the last week in relation to whether or not I should get myself vaccinated has brought other issues that I think in many ways rest at the core of the debate.

When I began to consider the vaccine for my personal health and to discuss the matter with various people, it became apparent how polarized people’s views of the world are, and that healthy public discourse is dying, even in spiritual movements. I see mostly fundamentalism and orthodoxy, which manifests as people hearing only the view with which they already agree and dismissing opposing views by attacking the authors of references cited in opposition to their opinion. When I brought forth information that I wanted to better understand to some anti-vax people, it was dismissed as the ideas of sheep following the mainstream media. When I brought legitimate questions about the authority of big pharma and the NIAID[1] to some pro-vaxers, it was dismissed as coming from right-wing conspiracists. Of course, there were those on both sides who welcomed the dialogue and helped me hone my conceptions, but that was rarer than I expected. The courage to enter discussions to test one’s own viewpoint with the sole objective of honing the truth, which is the emblem of first-class discourse, seems no longer the standard. This was not always the case.

There is an Indian philosophy called Nyāya, the school of logic, where a standard for quality discourse was promoted. That standard was called vāda, where those with a particular conviction are encouraged to put forth their best arguments, not to seek victory over other ideas, but to do so with detachment and aimed only at discovering the truth.

Unfortunately, the debate I see going on today in practically all spheres—and certainly in this life-and-death matter of vaccination—is not a search for truth, but a focus on justifying one’s own strongly held beliefs, which are often based on one’s attachments. Discussion has therefore degraded to the two lower standards of public discourse that the school of Nyāya sought to discourage: jalpa, seeking victory even by resorting to fallacies and distortions; and vitaṇḍā, or the attempt to simply destroy one’s opposition without even bothering to offer a reasonable alternative. Perhaps we have become even worse, since these days we too often refuse to engage in discourse with those who oppose us and instead justify censoring others’ views.

Whom can we trust? How can we make educated decisions? That’s a problem. It seems the authority of all institutions for information and knowledge, from the government (including its medical establishment) to academia to the media, have been proven to be compromised. I can only share what I do. I listen to all sides of any issue with an open mind, clear my consciousness as much possible through meditation, and pray to Krishna to reveal His will for me beyond my personal attachments.

What is my decision?  I will keep that personal. But, I can say that in coming to a decision I am happy that I was bivaxual, for, “He who knows only his own side of the case knows little of that.”―John Stuart Mill

[1] National Institute for Allergies and Infectious Diseases

One of the benefits of association with spiritually evolved souls is that sometimes their utterances in casual conversations are so profound that they can become a moral foundation for one’s life. About twenty-five years ago, I called Tamal Krishna Maharaja to ask for a small donation. A friend of ours and his wife were in dire straits, and I thought I should take up a small collection to help him. He quickly agreed to my request before I could give him the caveat, “Do you know what that person did?” When I did, however, he immediately responded, “Yes, but the fault is not the whole person. I love him!”

Like most of us, I can’t count the number of times people rubbed me the wrong way or even mistreated me. I also can’t count the number of times that that casual utterance, now imbedded within my moral compass, saved me from the degradation of resentment, especially when the person I was disturbed with was, by all accounts, a sincerely dedicated spiritual person.[1]

There are many examples of this principle of liberality in bhakti literature. One of the most prominent is the story of Kala Krishnadasa. Although he was trusted with the service of being Śrī Caitanya’s personal assistant during the Lord’s pilgrimage to South India, he was somehow allured by the beautiful women of the local Gypsy community. Śrī Caitanya, however, personally rescued him, but naturally relieved him of his service. Upon returning to Navadvipa, he took shelter of Lord Nityānanda. Not only did Nityānanda refuse to see Kala Krishnadasa only through the lens of his mistake, but recognizing his repentance, simplicity, and devotion Nityānanda immediately engaged him in very responsible service.

Whenever I think of this subject, I remember the story of an unmarried, elderly Indian businessman that I knew who retired to Vrindavan. He was kind and generous and substantially helped ISKCON. He even became close with Śrīla Prabhupāda. Some of the locals, however, caught him in some impropriety with a lady and maliciously broadcast it widely. I was struck, in contrast, with how compassionately his sādhu god-brothers from the Char Sampradāya dealt with him. They immediately came, and rather than harp on his faults and deal with him in a punitive way, they respected him for his otherwise notable career in devotion. With compassion, they invited him to live in their ashram where he could live in an environment more protected from his weaknesses for the rest of his life.

The successful practitioners of bhakti-yoga passionately embrace this vision of liberality out of fear of offense. A close friend of mine, who is adept in the practice of devotional meditation, often shares with me his personal spiritual practices. Before even picking up his beads to chant, he spends over an hour praying for the mercy of the great teachers in our lineage, including all the main associates of Śrī Caitanya and Śrī Krishna. He then proceeds to pray to over one hundred god-brothers and god-sisters, meditating on their unique qualities of service and devotion. What impressed me most was that he meditates on, in his own words, “Both those that are svapakṣa and vipakṣa,” or, in other words, those that are like-minded (sva-pakṣa) and share a similar mood with him, and those who hold a view opposing (vipakṣa) his more reclusive approach to devotion. His motive in meditating on even those with a mood seemingly opposed to his, he explained, was that he didn’t want to be obscured from recognizing their dedication to Krishna consciousness because focusing only on one’s differences with another devotee inevitably leads to vaiṣṇava-aparādha.

Not letting the faults of someone who worships Krishna with exclusive devotion obscure one’s vision of their devotion is such an important principle on the path of bhakti-yoga that in the Bhagavad-gītā (9.30) Krishna asks His devotees to embrace this principle to the extreme. He emphatically declares that even one who does something very bad, but who is generally a resolute devotee, can be seen as a sādhu or saintly person because of one’s core commitment to pure devotion.[2]

We live in the world of quarrel and confusion. If one is therefore not vigilant, even those who are dedicated spiritual practitioners can fall prey to vaiṣṇava-aparādha by allowing another’s mistakes, or even difference in viewpoint or personality, obscure their otherwise substantial devotional ideals. Beware: the fault is not the whole person!

[1] Of course, this doesn’t discount the many people I have disturbed. I also pray they can see beyond my frailties.

[2] Like many verses in Vaishnava literature the meaning goes deeper than a few sentences of explanation. What this verse does not support is bad character in the name of devotion. For a fuller explanation of this verse, I encourage you to read Śrīla Prabhupāda’s commentary and also the excellent commentaries on this verse from Bhurijana dasa in Surrender Unto Me and Swami B.V. Tripurari in Bhagavad Gita: Its Feeling and Philosophy. An excerpt from Śrīla Prabhupāda’s commentary: “On the other hand, one should not misunderstand that a devotee in transcendental devotional service can act in all kinds of abominable ways; this verse only refers to an accident due to the strong power of material connection.”

I was sent an article written by a renown Vrindavan Vaishnava scholar and friend of many years. I was being asked for a clarification as the article didn’t seem to conform to what we have been taught about the nature of the soul. I greatly respect the scholarship of the person who wrote the article, but I could not understand in relationship to bhakti-yoga the view he seemed to advocate on Vedantic and Yogic grounds: the soul has no thoughts or will of its own. I concluded his view must certainly be more nuanced than what was expressed in a simple question and answer, or I simply misunderstood what he was saying. I responded to the person who sent their inquiry by sending her an article that I wrote many years ago contesting what seems to have been expressed in the article about the ātma. I have included my article below, but first an excerpt from the article in contention:

Question: From where does viveka or the faculty to choose between wrong and right come? Does it come from the buddhi or ātma? 

Answer: It comes from buddhi.

Question: Does the soul have intrinsic mind, intelligence, and ego? 

Answer: No, it doesn’t.

Question: Does the soul act only as a source of consciousness (e.g. battery power for a car), while always needing the external mind, intelligence and ego? Is this true even in the spiritual world? 

Answer: Yes.

What I Don’t Understand About Yoga Philosophy

July 11, 2016

About fifteen years ago I got my first copy of the Yoga Sutras when I was staying at Professor Edwin Bryant’s house in Princeton. He has been a friend since the time we stayed in the same ashram in Vrindavan in the early ’80s. At the time of this visit, he hadn’t yet published his lauded translation and commentary of the Yoga Sutras, but when I chanced upon a rough copy of his unpublished manuscript in the living room and started to thumb through it, Professor Bryant gifted me a copy. Reading it, I was enthralled.

The Yoga Sutras is a compilation of short aphorisms summing up the school of yoga, the school of mental discipline, or psychology—one of the six schools of philosophy gleaned from the ancient Vedas. I learned and applied to my meditation many things from the Sutras about the philosophy and practice of mental discipline that were consistent with the teachings of my own path, the path of bhakti, which also falls into one of the six schools of Vedic philosophy, Vedanta. There was one point, however, that I just couldn’t make sense of.

The Yoga Sutras clearly professes—at least the way I read it—that thoughts rest solely in the material mind and that, though possessing consciousness, the pure spirit soul is thus devoid of all thoughts.

Here’s what I don’t understand: If all thoughts are only in the mind, then what is the use of shastra, whose purpose is to give us good ideas that inspire proper thoughts and impel us to liberation? Some of those thoughts are determination, thoughtfulness, inspiration, good likings, and avoidance of bad habits.

Now, here’s the point. It’s a bit subtle, so please listen. If all these positive changes happen in the mind, and the soul, being devoid of thought, is just a third party to them, then our liberation and bondage is just a matter between God, who is moving the world, and our unconscious mind. In other words, if the soul lacks agency, the ability to institute change upon something (and it is hard to make sense of our notion of personal agency without thought, since how can we institute any change upon something unless we have a goal to achieve, an understanding of how to achieve it, and the will to execute it?), then our liberation and bondage has nothing to do with us. We remain just a hapless third-party witness who can never appropriately say yes, I like this, or no, I don’t, which are the choices (or thoughts) that are the precursor to liberation. What, then, is the use of shastra if the change in our mind is at another’s whim and not ours, when even the decision to read shastra has nothing to do with us?

And how can thoughts be only in the mind? The mind is inert. Inert matter doesn’t think. If one says, however, that the mind is like the reel of a movie and the soul illuminates and experiences it, then still how can you say that thoughts are not also in the soul? How can there be experience without thought?

And what about karma? If we are truly thoughtless, why should we suffer the reactions of our good and bad deeds? All action is preceded by thought, so how can we be truly responsible for our actions if we have no thoughts?

And suffering is also a thought. Don’t tell me it is all in the mind and I am not suffering. Of course, the cause of suffering is in the mind and I can ultimately transcend that, but how can one say that I am not feeling it now, that that feeling is someplace else, a place that is inert, the mind? Dead things don’t feel. In other words, I may or may not be in illusion about the cause of suffering, but it still hurts when I falsely identity with it. For example, I may dream of being eaten by a tiger and feel relieved when I awaken, but still was it, not I, the person awakened, who had the nightmare and was gripped with fear (a thought) due to illusion?

There is an argument against thought being in the soul, that the soul is eternal and things eternal must be changeless. Why? God has energies that create so many things, but by his inconceivable potency He is still changeless and eternal. And similarly, the soul can also have potency and be changeless, being a part of God. That seems to be the case.

I am not saying that Patanjali is wrong, but there must be something more to this. In this debate, I fall with Descartes:

“I think, therefore I am!”

Reflection One

“Devotion in the form of kirtan is unlimitedly merciful to those devoid of false prestige. Humility is natural in Kali Yuga, because even the most highly competent today lack the qualification to properly perform penance, yoga, Vedic study and sacrifice. Therefore, the people today who are naturally meek have a special dispensation to easily achieve the results derived from the more arduous practices of previous ages through the easy practice of sankirtan.”[1]

Reflection Two

Begin with a saṅkalpa, a vow, to not dwell on extraneous thoughts while meditating. Do that sincerely for some time, and Krishna will reciprocate by helping fix the mind on Him. Devotion will then naturally flow from the heart without bearing the weight of discipline.

Reflection Three

To one degree or another, the mind of one who has not perfected yoga will occasionally wander while meditating. For such a person, their advancement on the path of meditation will depend on what the mind wanders to. If we are constantly serving Krishna and hearing about Him, then the mind will go to thoughts about Krishna, which will inspire us to regain focus on His holy name. If we are wasting time on social media, it will wallow in the sea of material distraction and hate.

Reflection Four

The taste of chanting is mercy. Only a humble person can feel mercy. The world makes us humble so we can taste the holy name.

Reflection Five

For chanting to go deep, there must be some relationship with the holy name, which means to be ever conscious that we are dealing with a person. That relationship only develops by hearing about the person whose name we are chanting. The process of properly chanting the holy name therefore means not just chanting Krishna’s name, but regularly reading about His glories, including hearing His pastimes.

Reflection Six

It was certainly Krishna’s grace that I heard fairly clearly each and every syllable in the mantra. I then silently said thank you quickly after every mantra for the rest of the round. Gratitude invokes a humble mind and enables us to feel Krishna’s mercy. It helps create a consciousness where the holy name can shine. Thank you!

Reflection Seven

When we follow the dictates of our mind, our material identity is reinforced. However, if we can neglect those commands, our consciousness will flow towards the soul. Yoga begins with saying no to the mind’s chatter. Therefore, in mantra yoga, we must have a time and place for chanting, where, with determination, we can neglect the pushing of the restless mind to break our concentration.

Reflection Eight

It took practically all of my chanting today for the mind to be clear, and what did I see? I desperately need Krishna. Then real chanting began. I lamented, “Why can’t I begin that way?”

Reflection Nine

MVP (Most Valuable Post)

“If an assembly of sannyāsīs indulges in blasphemy, then that assembly is more sinful than an assembly of drunkards.” (Caitanya-bhāgavata, Madhya 9.42)

Comment: Devotion is very easy. What is difficult is avoiding gossiping and the criticism of others. If a Vaishnava saṅga carelessly allows that to pervade its assembly, that assembly will be ruined, even if following everything else strictly. Therefore, the key to chanting is to avoid gossiping and criticizing others. And that is, no doubt, the MVP.

[1] Paraphrased from Bhakti-sandarbha, Anucchedda 270.