Waves of Devotion

On Criticism II[1]

What constitutes constructive criticism, and when do we overstep its line?

Before defining that line, it is first necessary to explain what criticism is, why it is so difficult to avoid, and why these are such critical questions to answer for one on the spiritual path.

Criticism, or being overly critical, occurs when the envy in our heart is expressed. That propensity is difficult to transcend as we are born into this world overcome with desire and hate (envy).[2] Criticism born of envy is therefore antithetical to the very foundation of yoga, or any spiritual path, which upholds ahiṁsā or non-violence. I like how that principle is expressed here:

“The shadow of resentment keeps our spiritual light from shining through, never allowing us to fully experience who we are.”[3]

The question now emerges: How do we reconcile that sentiment with the obvious need and duty to correct the mistakes of others and expose injustice? Those on the spiritual path can criticize when it is one’s duty to correct, when in position to achieve a constructive result, and if it is done with compassion, not hate.

For example, in the Bhagavad-gītā, the first words Śrī Krishna speaks to Arjuna are, “You are a pretender and a fool, for the wise man laments neither for the living nor the dead.”[4] Krishna is taking the role of a teacher who must correct his student to help him overcome ignorance and transcend the ego. Krishna’s criticism is the right action. It is His duty as a teacher. Most importantly, Krishna is criticizing Arjuna through genuine affection for His devotee and friend.

In other words, it is not enough to criticize another simply because of a mistake made. We must be vigilant that our criticism is not just an excuse to enjoy a sense of superiority, or that it is born from hate. Such mal-intent creates a cloud of ignorance that covers the soul. If we can be somewhat introspective, we will realize that our criticism of others usually indicates more about ourselves than it does about anyone else. At least that has been my own experience.

I once did an exercise called “A Complaint Free World.”[5] The exercise involves keeping a band on one’s wrist and moving it to the other wrist every time one criticizes another person. The exercise posits that if one can avoid criticism completely and keep the band on one wrist, without changing it for three weeks, then the habit of avoiding unnecessary criticism will be established. It was tough. Every time I wanted to criticize someone, I immediately became aware that not only was I engaging with a negative thought, but I could clearly recognize how often my desire was rarely a product of duty, but mostly to satisfy my ego and sense of superiority.

The role of the critic, however, has its proper function, for unless there are people who can point out and correct the faults of others, individual or societal development will be stunted. Ultimately, being critical is only effective for those who have the duty to point out another’s faults and, most importantly, the character and compassion to do so. William Penn said it best:

“They have a Right to censure, that have a Heart to help: The rest is Cruelty, not Justice.”

[1] On Criticism I was one of my early Monday Morning Greetings: https://wavesofdevotion.com/2016/10/10/on-criticism/

I also shortly wrote On Criticism II. I reviewed it for this article and substantially rewrote it here.

[2] This last sentence is paraphrased from Bhagavad-gītā 7.27.

[3] Reference unavailable for this anonymous quotation.

[4] Gītā 2.11

[5] https://web.archive.org/web/20201019071404/http://www.willbowen.com/complaintfree/

What I Learned from Bhakta Herman and the Prostitute[1]

You’re a monk. Are you really going to talk about a prostitute?

It’s there in the Uddhava-gīta in the Eleventh Canto of the Bhāgavatam where Śrī Krishna relates to Uddhava the description of the avadhūta brāhmaṇa’s twenty-eight gurus in nature. The prostitute’s experience of waiting all night for a suitor who never came was so frustrating that she renounced the world to exclusively take shelter of the Supreme Lord. From her the avadhūta brāhmaṇa learned that all material hope leads to misery.

Each of the twenty-eight gurus in nature, from the sun and the wind to the python and prostitute, taught different lessons. But each instance reaffirms a common point, that a detached and objective study of the world will reveal the same teachings as would a spiritual master, saintly people, or the scriptures.

I have had many experiences where I could see in the world what I learned from my teachers. One of the strongest came from observing a very humble devotee twenty-five years ago. His name was Bhakta Herman. Below is a substantially edited version of that encounter which was originally written when I met him.

Today I learned a very important lesson from Bhakta Herman.

As I was leaving the ISKCON temple in Vrindavan this morning an older brahmacāri came up to me to present a garland from some of the South African lady disciples of Partha-Sarathi Prabhu who were standing nearby. I was intrigued by this brahmacāri, who introduced himself as Bhakta Herman.

He was in his early sixties, not much taller than five-feet tall, and somewhat disabled in both feet. Although he could walk without a cane, he shuffled his feet carefully like a person blistered on both feet after parikramā. His disability, however, was obviously permanent, either congenital, or due to serious accident or disease. His jaws were also constantly gnawing, either from pain or a nervous disorder. I couldn’t help noticing his strong Brooklyn accent, which also was slurred by a serious speech disorder. He therefore spoke in an almost childish and squeaky tone. I began a conversation with him and he revealed himself to be a humble and likeable devotee.

“Where are you from, prabhu?”

“I stay six munts of da year in Burkly, and six munts in Vrindavan.”

“What do you do?”

“I mop flawz and wash pots.”

His service was so menial that I felt embarrassed to have asked him about it. From the positive tone of his response, however, I could sense he wasn’t bothered at all by my question. I thus continued.

“Where were you born?”

“Coney Island in Brooklyn. Ya know where dhat iz?”

“Coney Island! Hey, I’m from Cropsey Avenue less than fifteen minutes away.”

“Yeah. Dats just ovah da bridge.” A rapport was developing.

I began to recall fond memories of almost forty years past, even before I was six years old, when my grandmother would occasionally take me there. Coney Island had one of the most prominent amusement parks in the world, but even as young child I could sense that Coney Island, like all old amusement parks, was a nice place to visit but was in the poorest of neighborhoods. I could therefore understand that Herman was from the humblest of backgrounds. I continued our pleasant exchange.

“How do you like Krishna consciousness, Herman?”

His face lit up. “I don’t know why, but I git such necktuh. Such necktuh comes. All of a suddin, necktuh!” With each “necktuh” his heart became lighter and his face became brighter.

I could see Bhakta Herman was experiencing something wonderful and that although his service was menial, it didn’t bother him at all. That encounter with him really made a strong impression on me.

Bhakta Herman had very few, if any, material assets, which seemed to make him very dependent on God. This enabled him to approach God with real feeling. He could thus feel great joy from the humblest service.

From observing Bhakta Herman I learned the relationship between bhakti and an absence of false prestige. And it was the exact same lesson that my divine master, Śrīla Prabhupāda, was lecturing on repeatedly. For example, he often spoke on Queen Kunti’s prayers.

“My Lord, Your Lordship can easily be approached but only by those who are materially exhausted. One who is on the path of [material progress], trying to improve himself with respectable parentage, great opulence, high education and bodily beauty, cannot approach You with sincere feeling.” (Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam 1.8.26)

Remembering Bhakta Herman also reaffirmed what I was studying just this morning in a commentary by Śrī Jīva describing the general principle learned from the avadhūta brāhmaṇa’s twenty-eight gurus in nature:

“…gurv-anusaraṇe pravartaka ity arthaḥ: the knowledge acquired by one’s own perception and intelligence leads one to appreciate the value of the representative of Lord Krishna.” (Bhāgavatam 11.7.20, purport)

And today my memory of observing Bhakta Herman certainly did.

And that’s what I learned from Bhakta Herman and the prostitute!

[1] This Monday Morning Greetings is not a reprint but is based on an article I wrote twenty-five years ago https://wavesofdevotion.com/2000/11/30/vrindaban-an-intelligent-person-expert/.

Bhakti, Bhakti Everywhere But Not a Drop to Drink[1]

The practice of bhakti is very simple, but very qualified people can find the path of bhakti challenging. Simple, but challenging. It’s a paradox. Let’s try to resolve it.

What does it mean that bhakti is simple?

It means anyone in any circumstance can take to bhakti. It has no material qualification. For example, you don’t even have to be born yet.

Not even born yet!

The Bhāgavatam was originally spoken in four verses. The last verse explains abhidheya-jñāna, the means to realize the absolute truth. One of the significant phrases in that verse, which is relevant to our discussion, is sarvatra sarvadā (anywhere and everywhere), which means that Krishna consciousness is universally applicable. The Bhaktivedanta purport to that verse focuses on offering example after example of how one can take up the path of bhakti in every conceivable material situation, even when one is unborn. Śrī Prahlāda heard the Bhāgavatam in the womb of his mother from Śrī Nārada and was born a great saint!

Back to our quandary. If bhakti is so universally applicable, why do so many, even those aristocratic, educated and even yogically disciplined, find the path of bhakti difficult to take up and execute?

Śrīla Prabhupāda explains the resolution:

“The process is simple, but the application is difficult.” (Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam 1.1.2, purport)

Simple? Who cannot bow down, chant Hare Krishna, hear the Lord’s glories or just see the deities? From the material perspective it is therefore simple.

Difficult? The most difficult thing to do is to apply ourselves to things we don’t like to do, even if they are simple tasks. We have come to this world to enjoy and control. Who truly wants to relinquish control and bow their head to God and his devotees in complete humility and supplication?

But that’s what pure love or devotion means. It’s complete surrender to the needs and desire of the worthy object of your affection. It’s analogous to a mother’s care for her child. Caring for a child is a service so simple that any woman anywhere in the world, regardless of education or social status, can perform that task. It’s the most difficult sacrifice, however, for even the most materially qualified person, if she lacks a selfless and loving heart.

And bhakti is like that. It is so simple that anyone with humility and devotion can perform the practices of devotion. But it can be the greatest challenge for one who doesn’t have a heart of selflessness and service, even the most accomplished yogi or learned scholar.

So that’s the paradox, it’s so accessible, but such a challenge for the egocentric. For them:

Bhakti, bhakti everywhere, but not a drop to drink!

[1] A paradox is “a seemingly absurd or contradictory statement or proposition which when investigated may prove to be well-founded or true. Perhaps the most famous one is “water, water everywhere but not a drop to drink.” Seems contradictory, but with a little investigation we find out that the person making the statement is in the ocean. So the title is a parody on that paradox as a segue to explain how bhakti is very easy and accessible, but still one can miss it. By the way, the quotation is from Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, and the speaker is stranded in the middle of the ocean.

Usually, a few drops on the head and then quickly in and out. But the weather is so warm and the water so ambrosial. Ah! Wading in Rādhā-kuṇḍa. Suddenly a thought comes:

This is liquid rādhā-prema. Who am I to wade in her waters? I offer a prayer and then quickly get out. Another thought comes.

Have I become a sahajiyā?

The word sahajiyā comes from the root words saha (easy) and ja (born). Sahajiyā thus refers to one whose actions and emotions mimic advanced devotion. In other words, they are artificially or easily born, without the requisite qualification or sacrifice. Śrīla Bhaktisiddhānta, Śrīla Prabhupāda’s spiritual master, strongly condemned those who prematurely imitate advanced devotion (rāgānugā-bhakti). A tract he authored titled “Prākṛta-rasa Śata-dūṣaṇī” (One Hundred Condemnations of Material Rasa) best expresses his view. Two excerpts:

“If transcendental attachment has not yet developed within the heart, a devotee is never said to have attained the stage of ecstatic bhāva. The followers of spontaneous devotion (rāgānugas) never say that neophyte students of devotion (sādhakas) have experienced the awakening of bhāva.” (Prākṛta-rasa Śata-dūṣaṇī, Verse 8)

“Rūpānugās (followers of Rūpa) never eliminate the systematic path of bhakti. One should not climb a tree, grab the fruits and pull them off by force.” (Prākṛta-rasa-śata-dūṣaṇī, verse 57)

Naturally Śrīla Prabhupāda followed his spiritual master and condemned imitators. Here’s his view specifically concerning bathing in Rādhā-kuṇḍa:

“Has he taken order from Guru Maharaja that ‘I am going to jump over Rādhā-kuṇḍa’? … Why should he desire like that? … There is no harm, but they should understand what is Rādhā-kuṇḍa and how to deal with Rādhā-kuṇḍa. Raghunātha dāsa Gosvāmī showed how to live in Rādhā-kuṇḍa … He can take bath in the Rādhā-kuṇḍa. First of all, do this like Raghunātha dāsa Gosvāmī.” (August 16, 1976 — Room Conversation, Bombay)

But in his books, he said the opposite:

“Śrīla Rūpa Gosvāmī recommends that even if one cannot live permanently on the banks of Rādhā-kuṇḍa, he should at least take a bath in the lake as many times as possible. This is a most important item in the execution of devotional service. (Nectar of Instruction Verse 11, purport)

Which is it?

I bathe there. Am I following Śrīla Prabhupāda or not?

I try to follow both. I can neither neglect that it is the most important item in devotional service recommended by Śrīla Rupa Goswami endorsed in Śrīla Prabhupāda’s purports, nor neglect Śrīla Prabhupāda’s warning. It is the most sacred and important item of devotional service. We are not qualified to take advantage of it. I thus bathe in this mood:

Śrī Rādhā-kuṇḍa is liquid rādhā-prema and my body is beyond noxious. I have no qualification to touch her waters, but because Śrīla Rupa Goswami ordered us to bathe, only by his mercy, and in the most reverent mood, I humbly touch her waters.

Am I a sahajiyā?

Yes, if I wade carelessly in her waters with a sense of entitlement and enjoyment.

No, If I can enter with the humblest intent.

Different Vaiṣṇavas may reconcile those instructions in different ways. I respect that. But one thing is sure. Rādhā-kuṇḍa is the most exalted place in the universe and must be approached with the utmost humility. If we don’t, indeed we are sahajiyās!