Waves of Devotion

I got a message from an Indian friend who visits Vrindavan. He is a good devotee, and I was therefore surprised by his letter. He had gone to an Āyurvedic doctor who was also a learned Māyāvādī scholar, and the doctor had said something that affected him. “It has poisoned my heart and affected my chanting,” my friend said. “What should I do?”

“What was the reason it affected you?” I asked. “Did hearing it hurt your heart because it negated the personality of God, or has the hearing created doubts in you about God being a person?”

“He started to explain something about the Lord’s departure in the Rāmāyaṇa and Bhāgavatam, how they died, but that Brahman was supreme,” my friend said. “He was very erudite, and suddenly I started to question if what I am doing is wrong.

“It seems to me now that my whole spiritual life is at stake. Yes, when I was a new bhakta in the ashram, I had that super-sensuous experience, sphūrti, but how did that prove that God is a person?

“I am embarrassed to write this, but I want to be honest. I don’t know why I was so affected.”

“Advaita Vedānta is not reasonable,” I wrote. “Their philosophy says that all distinction is illusion. But illusion must have a subject, someone in illusion. They can’t say the living entities are the basis of illusion, for according to their philosophy the living entities themselves are just an illusion. And illusion can’t be the basis of illusion.

“Their only recourse is to say that Brahman is the basis, or subject, of illusion. But if Brahman is the subject of illusion, then it is neither Brahman, the greatest, nor nondual. Such a philosophy has no solid foundation.”

“Do you read Śrīla Prabhupāda’s books?” I asked. “Here is a link to a post that I wrote that might help you—‘Is God a Person?’

https://wavesofdevotion.com/2016/06/27/is-god-a-person/”

His response:

“Deep, deep gratitude! No, I don’t read Śrīla Prabhupāda’s books regularly, but I think now I should. And also hear his lectures. Thank you! Thank you!”

My conclusion:

Advaita Vedānta: a philosophy that is just Illusion.

Radha-Bhāva and Prabhupāda[1]

This is not about Śrīla Prabhupāda’s eternal relationship with Krishna. I will leave that for other discussions. What I want to share with you is a realization I had recently in my reading of the last chapter of Śrī Caitanya-caritāmṛta by Kṛṣṇadāsa Kavirāja called The Śikṣāṣṭaka Prayers, a realization that highlights how Śrīla Prabhupāda gave us the most practical path in understanding our own relationship with Krishna.[2]

In that regard, I found particularly relevant the discussion of the last verse of the Śikṣāṣṭakam that describes the mood of Śrī Radha at that height of Her devotion:

“I know no one but Krishna as my Lord, and He shall remain so even if He handles me roughly by His embrace or makes me brokenhearted by not being present before me. He is completely free to do anything and everything, for He is always my worshipful Lord unconditionally.” (v. 8)

Before I continue with my thesis, it is important to understand the context in which this verse is recited. According to Kṛṣṇadāsa Kavirāja, this verse is a paraphrase by Śrī Caitanya of what Śrī Radha told Her friends after they advised Her to disregard Krishna. He had apparently spurned her. In other words, She loved Krishna so much that just the suggestion to ignore Krishna, even when seemingly justified, ignited the depths of Her unconditional love.[3] In Śrī Caitanya’s ensuing explanation of this verse to His most confidential associates Svarūpa Dāmodara and Rāmānanda Rāya, He further elaborates on how this concluding verse expresses the nature of Śrī Radha’s love at its height.

“I do not mind my personal distress. I only wish for the happiness of Krishna, for His happiness is the goal of my life. However, if He feels great happiness in giving me distress, that distress is the best of my happiness.”[4] (Cc. Antya-līlā 20.52)

Now back to my original inspiration. After reading the eighth verse of the Śikṣāṣṭakam and its explanation by Śrī Caitanya Himself, it struck me how this final verse not only expresses the mood of Śrī Radha at the height of her devotion but accentuates the basic foundation of bhakti in a manner very reminiscent of the way Śrīla Prabhupāda and his own spiritual master, Śrīla Bhaktisiddhanta, preached. This will be clearer when one recalls the history of their mission.

Without retreading a long and complex history, Śrīla Bhaktisiddhanta appeared at a time when the teachings of Śrī Caitanya had become very much degraded. The people who claimed to continue Śrī Caitanya’s lineage were mostly guided to higher and esoteric meditations in Krishna consciousness without the prerequisite foundational practices and rules of proper behavior. Śrīla Prabhupāda describes Śrīla Bhaktisiddhanta’s concern about this and how he called out those called prākṛta-sahajiyās who cheaply concentrated their meditation on Krishna’s intimate pastimes without the recommended step-by-step process to first purify their hearts.

“Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī Ṭhākura says that a devotee does not care about his own happiness and distress; he is simply interested in seeing that Krishna is happy, and for that purpose he engages in various activities […] Those who are materialistic, […] like the prākṛta-sahajiyās, regard their own happiness as the aim of life. Some of them aspire to enjoy themselves by sharing the happiness of Krishna. This is the mentality of fruitive workers who want to enjoy sense gratification by making a show of service to Krishna.” (Cc. Antya-līlā 20.52, purport)

Seeing this tendency, Śrīla Bhaktisiddhanta, and Śrīla Prabhupāda after him, stressed unconditional surrender to the spiritual master and stringently warned of entering realms of esoteric bhakti prematurely. As a result they were often criticized for not giving what Śrī Caitanya came to give, rāgānugā-bhakti, a practice based very much on meditating on Krishna’s pastimes and visualizing one’s own spiritual identity within them.

The last verse of the Śikṣāṣṭakam, however, implies clearly that what Śrīla Bhaktisiddhanta and Śrīla Prabhupāda stressed was not just for beginners, but also the essence of the highest attainment in Krishna consciousness, a practice that to achieve its fruition only needs to be ripened by the pure chanting of the name.

So that’s my realization today while reading the Caitanya-caritamrita – that if you want to awaken your eternal relationship with Krishna then faithfully follow the teachings of Śrīla Prabhupāda by unconditionally surrendering to Śrī Śrī Guru and Krishna in service of Śrī Caitanya’s saṅkīrtana mission. Certainly one who sincerely does this is embracing the essence of radha-bhāva as expressed in that ultimate verse:

“I know no one but Krishna as my Lord, and He shall remain so even if He handles me roughly by His embrace or makes me brokenhearted by not being present before me. He is completely free to do anything and everything, for He is always my worshipful Lord unconditionally.”

[1] In honor of Śrīla Prabhupāda’s Vyāsa-pūjā yesterday, a reprint from December 18, 2017.

[2] It is worthy to note here that the Śikṣāṣṭakam prayers are particularly significant because they are the only verses, eight in number, that Śrī Caitanya composed.

[3] Also significant is that this verse is the last verse of the Śikṣāṣṭakam and represents the fulfillment of the internal reason for Śrī Caitanya’s appearance, to experience the love of His topmost devotee at the height of Her love.

[4] Śrī Caitanya’s explanation of the Śikṣāṣṭakam comprises thirteen verses. I have chosen only one for the sake of the clarity and force of my post. That one captures the mood of them all.

In my daily studies of Bṛhad-bhāgavatāmṛta a question arose.

First, some background on the section I was reading:

Mahārāja Parīkṣit had just summarized the Bhāgavatam for Uttarā devī, his mother, which fulfilled the specific request she made of her son. He did it through an intriguing story in which Śrī Nārada searches for the topmost recipient of Krishna’s mercy. In order of their level of devotion, he visits the main exemplars of bhakti. His journey ends in Dvārakā where Śrī Krishna emphatically declares that the gopīs of Vrindavan are the topmost recipients of Śrī Krishna’s mercy. This journey, which is the crux of the first book of Bṛhad-bhāgavatāmṛta, parallels the Bhāgavatam in both its thematic development and conclusion. It thus expertly fulfills the mission Śrī Caitanya gave Śrī Sanātana for writing the book — to give the world the highest devotion exemplified by the residents of Vrindavan, as described in the Bhāgavatam.

I was surprised, therefore, that the book didn’t end there. Rather, Uttarā devī continued. She wanted to know about the place where the recipients of the highest devotion reside.

And that raised the question that intrigued me today.

If Śrī Caitanya’s mission has been so perfectly delineated through Śrī Nārada’s journey, what was the necessity of presenting a second part of the text with a completely new story in answer to Uttarā’s question, which is almost twice as long as part one?

This is what makes sense to me:

Sanātana Gosvāmī had a difficult mission which is described at the beginning of the Bṛhad-bhāgavatāmṛta as giving the parama-daśāntaṁ — “the last extreme of transcendental experience.”[1] And who was he to give it to? To all those who somehow have sincerely come to the path of bhakti and who need to develop the appropriate frame of reference so they can understand such an exalted subject. And that means almost every one of us!

Śrī Krishna’s dancing with the gopīs? The last extreme of transcendental experience? Who could honestly hear those subjects without projecting on them something mundane or fantastical?

Therefore, although Sanātana Gosvāmī had presented the parama-daśāntaṁ in such a comprehensive and intriguing way, he still wasn’t convinced that we could hear that truth without filtering it through our prejudicial material lens. In other words, due to the nature of the subject matter, he wanted to make sure we didn’t misunderstand it as something mundane. He thus presented the same subject again from a different angle to emphasize his point.

Instead of just pointing to the supremacy of vraja-bhakti via a journey through different levels of devotees leading to Braja, he points to the preeminence of vraja-bhakti by describing a journey through progressive levels of spiritual places leading to Braja.

But how is knowing the place providing the same inspiration as knowing the people residing there?

A room is designed to facilitate the relationship one wants to enjoy there. For example, a living room aids intimacy and family life, and an office engenders authority and respect. In other words, there is an intrinsic relationship between how a room is set up and the relationships it fosters there. Knowing the place thus helps one understand the mood of the people who use it. This is especially true in the spiritual realm where the Lord’s abodes perfectly reflect the moods He shares there with His devotees.

And this answers our initial inquiry: why was there a necessity of presenting the story of Gopa-kumāra in the second book if the first book of Bṛhad-bhāgavatāmṛta has so expertly fulfilled the objective of Sanātana Gosvāmī?

Śrīla Sanātana Gosvāmī wanted to ensure his reader properly understands the parama-daśāntaṁ — “the last extreme of transcendental experience.” He thus takes the reader on a second journey with Gopa-kumāra through a gradation of spiritual abodes just to further fortify a clear understanding of the primacy of Śrī Vrindavan and the spontaneous mood of devotion found there.

A question arose today. I tried my best to answer it. What do you think? [2]

[1] parama-daśāntaṁ — “the last extreme of transcendental experience” is the Sanskrit and its word for word translation of the term found in BBT’s Bṛhad-bhāgavatāmṛta 1.1.1.

[2] There is another explanation of why the second book of Brhad Bhāgavatamrta is a perfect complement for the first book. The first book explains what the highest destination is (the siddhānta or philosophical conclusion), and the second book, through the journey of Gopa-kumāra and his chanting of the gopāla-manta, describes the method used to get there (the sadhana or spiritual practice).

It was the first ballet I ever attended.

I had no choice, actually. My gracious hosts in St. Petersburg thought I would love it. They had set a full schedule before I came, but somehow I didn’t notice they arranged an evening at the ballet. The tickets were not cheap and were non-refundable.

In other words, they gave me an offer I could not refuse.

We had the best seats in the house. We sat in the front row, the middle seats right over the orchestra pit, the conductor’s head bobbing and his hands flailing a few feet away.

I had no idea what was going on. How would I? My idea of culture growing up? Bruno Sammartino and Gorilla Monsoon![1]

I thought I would be bored out of my mind.

I was wrong. It started out slow, but by the time it all ended, during the four curtain calls, we also stood up applauding. I was surprised at my reaction. We really enjoyed it.

What happened? What did I get out of it?

I have studied the nāṭaka śastra, where drama theory is outlined. It’s the elaborate science of re-creating an overwhelming emotion found in the world so that a qualified audience experiences the same emotion, but in a cathartic or “spiritually” uplifting way.

Here at the Mariinsky Theater you have arguably the best ballet dancers in the world, a great orchestra, and probably one of the best conductors in the world. The audience seemed also quite qualified. They were therefore unified in relishing the ballet as if they were of a single mind. That’s a condition in rasa theory for the emotion portrayed to be relished at its height. Jagadish, who accompanied me, also hadn’t seen a ballet before, but we were able to appreciate the performance just enough as to not disturb the unified mind of the audience!

Bottom line, the performance was rasika. The ensemble and the person who directed it definitely knew the science of recreating an uplifting emotion through music and dance. I was swept away in the moment. At least, I enjoyed seeing in action what I studied in the nāṭaka śastra.

Also, I realized what I saw could be used as a tool to remember Śrī Krishna. Śrī Krishna is naṭa-vara, the most excellent dancer. How would I even conceive what that meant, if I didn’t see the best dancing that could be found in this world?

Excellence reminds one of God. I remember when I was preparing a seminar on apologetics, the rational defense of the existence of God, finding a supporting quote by the famous American conductor, Leonard Bernstein. He said that in classical composition every note is so right that it points to a divine order. I can’t find that quote now, but I found another quote by him where he describes the same idea:

“In the beginning was the Note, and the Note was with God; and whosoever can reach for that Note, reach high, and bring it back to us on earth, to our earthly ears—he is a composer, and to the extent of his reach, partakes of the divine.”

As I left the theater, I thought of the verse in Gītā where Śrī Krishna says He is the ability in all men. As these performers were the best at what they are doing, it was therefore not difficult to see their reach to God bringing a divine “note” back to earth for us to experience.

Would I go again? I want to. Should I? Maybe just to an opera where there are not so many beautiful, skimpy dressed ladies dancing. That is certainly a better place for a monk, but is that OK? If this sannyāsi (monk) goes to the opera next year perhaps you may even read the following Monday post:

The Barber of Seville and Sannyāsa Oparadha![2]

[1] I don’t have access here to get something from YouTube, but when very young, our culture was watching the Worldwide Wrestling Federation. These two names stand out in my memory.

[2] Oparadha is a play on the Sanskrit word aparādha (offense) and opera suggested by Jayanta, my editor.