Waves of Devotion

I hope most of you read my last post “My Association with the Gambino Crime Family”.[1]

When I grew up in Brooklyn, my brother’s best friend until they were ten years old was Dominick Montiglio whom we recently found grew up to be a hitman for the Gambino crime family. We were shocked that such an apparently normal child became so corrupted. The post tried to briefly explain the reasons why.

In this post I wish to expound on one of those reasons that I didn’t have time to elaborately discuss the last time, and I will call it “the banality of evil.” I will then discuss its practical application to some of the behavioral problems that plague religious institutions.

The term “the banality of evil” was first coined by Hannah Arendt in her book, Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil (1963). She was a political philosopher who was hired by The New Yorker magazine to cover the trial of Adolf Eichmann, a Nazi bureaucrat heavily involved in organizing the deportation of Jews during the Holocaust. She listened to his testimony and cross examination. She was surprised by what she saw.

Arendt saw that Eichmann appeared less like a monster and more like a conformist following rules and pursuing career advancement. It should be by no means understood that she meant the Holocaust was ordinary or insignificant. Her arguments based on her perceptions, however, were quite unexpected, especially considering the extremely strong feelings about Eichmann at the time, and especially in the place he was being tried.

Her conclusion: Great evil can be committed by ordinary people because of thoughtlessness rather than deep hatred or sadism. They unfortunately just fall prey to bureaucratic systems that encourage people to stop thinking critically. This phenomenon is what Arendt called “the banality of evil.”

It is not difficult to see how religious institutions, which stress obedience to authority, are susceptible to this same dynamic. This is especially so when its authority is necessary to fulfill its role in maintaining the continuity of its teachings and culture into the future.

Certainly, obedience is a moral virtue. But if one is not vigilant, one’s ability to think critically and to make independent moral decisions can atrophy when faith and deference are strongly stressed.

For example, in the mid 70s there was an unfortunate case in ISKCON. There were legitimate concerns about a temple president who was a very prominent leader. He fell victim to financial irregularities and deviations from established standards. The deviations were so gross that it should have been obvious. Yet, many or even most devotees continued to accept his authority and supported his decisions. It wasn’t that these devotees were corrupt or weak in devotion. It is just that individuals often stop thinking critically when operating within powerful hierarchies.

It doesn’t have to be that way, however. There were devotees that refused to succumb to this dynamic and they exposed the corruption. Śrīla Prabhupāda praised them.[2]

Bureaucrats must especially be careful in a spiritual institution. Their pursuit of structure and procedure, in service of the organization’s mission — which is often spiritual and noble — can desensitize them to the human impact of policies and decisions. Worst of all, harm can be perpetrated upon their members when corporate procedures mindlessly transcend the ethical and spiritual principles that the mission was founded upon.

Obedience and faith are so important in the operation of an institution, but also in the cultivation of spiritual life. Faith is the precursor of knowledge and surrender to guru is foundational in spiritual life. How in such a milieu can one avoid “the banality of evil” especially in the modern age where too often spiritual leaders are plagued with weakness and even corruption?

While faith is essential in spiritual life, in the name of obedience one should not overlook that the śāstra equally declares that a devotee must be thoughtful. [3] In other words, one’s doubts must be respectfully raised and satisfied, especially when one’s conscience is challenged.

An institution must never discourage respectful dissent, or it will pressure members into suppressing ethical concerns.

I somehow recently learned about the life of crime led by my elder brother’s childhood friend Dominick. There was little indication when we knew him that he would turn out to be a hitman for the Mafia. Hannah Arendt’s concept of “the banality of evil” explains a lot. It also explains a lot of unhealthy situations within religious institutions and leaves us with an important message. Religious societies must be vigilant to educate their members to think critically and exercise moral judgment.

[1] https://wavesofdevotion.com/2026/06/22/what-i-learned-from-my-association-with-the-gambino-crime-family/

[2] https://prabhupadabooks.com/letters/bombay/november/28/1974/gopala_krsna

[3] https://wavesofdevotion.com/2018/07/16/the-marriage-of-faith-and-doubt/

You can’t make this up!

I was checking out a documentary called The Lynchpin of Bensonhurst.[1] It’s a long story why, but I was brought up in that neighborhood. It was the story of Dominick Santamaria aka Dominick Montiglio, an important member of the Gambino crime family who was brought up by his uncle Nino Gaggi. Nino was arguably the most notorious capo of the Gambino family.

I only needed to check out something in the first few minutes, but something caught my eye and that impelled me to explore further.

As the map displayed in the documentary zoomed in on his birthplace, first you see New York City, then the borough of Brooklyn, and finally Bensonhurst, my neighborhood. The arrow on the screen then zeroed in on a video scan of the block Dominick grew up with its three-family attached brick houses. Suddenly, I then saw my house just two doors down from where Dominick Montiglio lived!

When my older brother watched the documentary, he was shocked. Dominick was his best friend until our family left the neighborhood when my brother was ten. Dominick never showed signs of psychotic or sociopathic behavior. He and my brother never did anything remotely violent or anti-social. In fact, they loved each other as best friends.

To give a little more context to this post without going into much detail, I will just mention one thing about Dominick’s life from that documentary. It highlights a little why my brother, a “never hurt a fly” kind of guy, was shocked so much.

As Nino Gaggi was the surrogate father of Dominick after his father left, eventually Dominick became closely involved in nearly all facets of his uncle’s criminal activities. Three times a week while he was on mob business for his uncle’s loan-sharking business, he visited and hung out at the Gemini Lounge. The lounge was the center of what has come to be known infamously as the “Murder Machine,”[2] a social club for arguably the deadliest hitmen in the history of organized crime.

One thing struck me strongly about Dominick’s story. Certain influential factors are essential to socialize members of society towards a particular objective.

Unfortunately, in Dominick’s family, the goal was perverse. Dark factors therefore worked to transform our childhood friend, a basically good-natured and seemingly stable young boy, into a person who acquiesced to evil.

It highlighted for me, of course, the importance of these influences when used properly in transforming a society or an institution into a spiritual one.

Two factors highlighted in the film stuck out — the power of tradition and the influence of association. I will just focus on the first. In the future I may cover the other.

When a child is born into a society with a strong tradition of certain values, he is very likely to follow them. Dominick comments:

“My family goes back centuries in Sicily and they were always criminals. I knew no matter what, I was going to get sucked into that life. I did the music thing, I went to college, but I always knew in my heart if I didn’t do the family thing, I was letting them down.”

From the film here is just one striking example of the influence of his family tradition on him:

“When I was eight or nine, I was very popular with the other students and the teacher. I was made class president, so I proudly told that to my uncle. When he asked what that means, I explained that my main duty was to write the names on the black board of anyone who was disrupting the class, or especially harming others.

“‘Oh, a snitch,’ he replied. ‘We don’t do that!’ Sadly, the next day I had to tell the teacher that my family said I couldn’t be class president.”

My thought: Unless the Krishna consciousness movement develops a tradition that inculcates its values through generations, we seriously risk failing to maintain Śrīla Prabhupāda’s legacy. Even newer members require such an established and firm tradition to help them remain steady on our path.

We were shocked when we found out about Dominick’s life. But even in the documentary you could strongly see the spark of humanity in him that got covered over.[3]

So, in a sense that’s what I learned from my association with the Gambino crime family!

[1] The Lynchpin of Bensonhurst — https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TRK86DqJfA8

[2] Murder Machine: A True Story of Murder, Madness, and the Mafia — https://www.amazon.com/Murder-Machine-Story-Madness-Mafia-ebook/dp/B01BOEIOK8

[3] If this was a long treatise I would have loved to have analyzed Dominick along the lines of what Hannah Arendt described in her book Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil. The “banality of evil” does not mean evil is trivial. Rather, it means that horrific crimes can arise from thoughtlessness, conformity, obedience, and the abandonment of personal judgment within powerful systems and institutions. I think such points also serve as a caution to spiritual institutions.

During my Deity sevā this morning, along with the bhoga offering, I wanted to offer something more. I began to mentally offer a feast. So, I naturally imagined offering the best things out of devotion. Then a thought came:

If I didn’t enjoy or wasn’t attached to certain foods, then how could I value them? And if I didn’t highly value them, then how could I offer them with devotion?

Attachment and devotion side by side? Isn’t complete non-attachment one of the pillars of spiritual life?

Not in bhakti-yoga, according to the Bhāgavatam. Rather it is the faithful soul who is “neither disgusted with nor very much attached to material life” who can achieve perfection on the path of devotion. (A paraphrase of Bhāgavatam 11.20.8)

It’s easy to understand how one not excessively attached to material life achieves perfection on the path of devotion, but how do we understand how one not disgusted with material life moves forward?

As bhakti requires a heart capable of attachment, it is thus not favorable to overly cultivate detachment (to become disgusted with material life) as a goal. Rather it makes more sense to redirect and purify our attachment so that we can become fully attached to Krishna.

Cultivating attachment to Krishna therefore means awakening and intensifying the emotions of a soft heart easily moved to affection, longing, gratitude, compassion and loving exchanges. As these qualities can be weakened by the emotional hardness that comes from excessive renunciation (the path of jñāna), focusing on such detachment is thus not favorable on the path of devotion.

Let’s return to the initial inspiration for this text. We shouldn’t cultivate being disgusted with material life because we can offer those things we like with the most devotion. I will end this post with a relevant story that I think hits the point home.

When he was still in this world, Haridāsa Śāstrī was arguably the most learned Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava scholar in Vrindavan. That was a little more than a decade ago. Some devotees who left ISKCON, seemingly considering themselves Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava traditionalists, asked him a pointed question to support their position: “Can we offer pizza to Krishna?” I am not sure they got the answer they were expecting.

“Whatever you like best, you can offer with the most devotion!”[1]

[1] It is important to note that although one in bhakti is not excessively averse to material life, one is not excessively attached either. Balanced detachment (yukta-vairāgya), gives scope to keep things, including our attachments, that can be used in Krishna’s service. It doesn’t give one a license to live lavishly and abandon the simple life of a spiritualist. Nor does it minimize the importance of seriously cultivating non-attachment even while using one’s material nature and proclivities in Krishna’s service.

Our Decisions Determine Our Fate[1]

What we are now has been determined by the decisions we made in the past. If that is true, what we will be in the future will be determined by the decisions we make now. It’s so crucial we make the right choices. But how to do it?

Intuition

God rests in our heart and directs us from within. The force of intuition is very powerful, and sometimes the message is so undeniable that the right decision becomes clear. The voice of God, however, is not the only thing in our hearts. Our hearts are also filled with the voices of ambition and desire. How should we distinguish between these to make sure we are hearing God in the heart?

Consultation

The voice or direction of God is manifest externally through the bona fide teachers. 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 day-to-day life looking for someone to tell us what to do, nor is that resource always available. Moreover, even if a guide is there to provide counsel, many decisions are still best left to us. Everyone has a complex personal history and psychological capacity which is not known by others. In that case, responsibility for our final decision becomes solely ours. But if we are still confused in such cases, what to do?

Sincerity

We often reject what is right even though the correct decision has in many ways been made clear. Simply put, we are naturally deaf to instructions we don’t like. Therefore, the most important factor in making correct decisions is the sincere wish 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? He has many ways to respond to our sincere quest for the truth whether it is direction from within the heart, from others, or from the events around us.

Destiny as the language of God

One way God speaks to us is 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, repeatedly intensifying the challenges around us until we finally hear His voice.

If what God is telling us remains an enigma, as it often does, we can approach the learned brahmaṇas, who are fluent in the language of destiny. Such devotees know the śāstra, which is the dictionary to read the language of destiny. Such learned souls can therefore help us understand the meaning of what is happening to us and how to respond practically.

Here is how it sometimes works

I will use a personal example. I am presently trying to resolve a personal dilemma that has plagued me for years. I first went into my heart to sincerely seek God’s will. I made a firm promise to accept it. Somehow the answer came. To be certain of my choice, however, I opened my heart to the advice of respected well-wishers. I also carefully watched my destiny for signs to confirm my decision. I made a firm decision convinced it was the right one.

Dharma (the right decision) always leads to auspiciousness. How important it is to sincerely seek the will of God, for our decisions determine our future!

[1] This is based on an article I wrote on June 19, 2019, that I have largely rewritten.

“Any Questions?” Śrīla Prabhupāda had just finished the morning class and looked out at his audience in the large temple room in the ISKCON Dallas Radha Kalachandji Mandir. It was July 1974 and I had joined ISKCON there just weeks earlier. I sat in awe of my master.

After a long moment of silence, 6’6” Jñānagamya stood up and inquired, “How can we repay you?” Śrīla Prabhupāda’s sober three-word response has remained etched in my consciousness ever since: “Just remain obliged!”

Ingratitude stunts devotion. Like a spoiled child who never feels the love of its parents no matter how generous they are, a devotee who is proud and feels entitled can never feel the mercy of God.

On the other hand, the humble devotee who can feel God’s mercy easily feels the awakening of devotion for Krishna. In other words, without feeling such love from God, how can one deeply feel love for God?

This is also the message of arguably the most important verse in Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇavism, verse three of the Śikṣāṣṭakam. The humble can feel grateful for God’s mercy. Inspired by feeling His mercy one chants his name incessantly in devotion.

“Just remain obliged!” Such an important message. Without that deep sense of gratitude what hope is there for ever developing devotion? And without developing devotion how can we ever repay him?

Thus, let us count the gifts he has given us:

“I bow down to the beautiful lotus feet of my spiritual master, by whose causeless mercy I have obtained the supreme holy name, the divine mantra, the service of the son of Śacīmātā [Lord Caitanya], the association of Śrīla Svarūpa Dāmodara, Rūpa Gosvāmī, and his older brother Sanātana Gosvāmī, the supreme abode of Mathurā, the blissful abode of Vṛndāvana, the divine Rādhā-kuṇḍa and Govardhana Hill, and the desire within my heart for the loving service of Śrī Rādhika and Mādhava [Krishna] in Vṛndāvana.” Śrīla Raghunātha dāsa Gosvāmī’s Śrī Mukta-carita (4)

Just remain obliged!