Hindus: Their Religious Beliefs and Practices (The Library of Religious Beliefs and Practices)

by Julius Lipner

  But even Gandhi could depart from the theoretical demands of his position. It is well known that the Advaitic stance he embraced could distort the distinctive features of dearly held views of some of his interlocutors. For example, in his negotiations with Sikhs who were keen to affirm their separate identity as Sikhs in the political context of the day, Gandhi tended to assimilate their position to a Hindu one based ideologically on inclusivist considerations, thus implicitly denying Sikh distinctiveness where it mattered most to his interlocutors (see Singh in Coward 2003: Chapter 8). Nevertheless, for Gandhi, the pursuit of truth was at the same time a path to salvation, whose saving power, viz. inner peace, reconciliation, forgiveness, active benevolence towards all – manifest through the practice of ahiṃsā and satyāgraha –was experienceable during the journey of life itself. So he preferred to say, ‘Truth is God’, rather than ‘God is Truth’. All believe in truth, he said, but not all believe in God.9

  Because most Hindus have been instinctively trained by their tradition(s) to inject a dose of provisionality into their perception of the truth, Hindus have acquired a reputation for showing tolerance in the sphere of dogma and creed. To be sure, this ‘tolerance’ is often an expression of indifference or reluctance to sift for the truth, or of believing one thing and saying another in a misguided effort to please (Gandhi was hardly like that). Or again, among the Westernized or partially Westernized, this so-called tolerance is sometimes an undiscerning acceptance of some view attributed to a modern teacher or movement. For example, to Rāmakrishna, the nineteenth-century sage adverted to earlier in this book, is attributed the saying that there are as many paths to salvation as there are points of view (‘jata mat tata path’, runs the Bengali jingle), and many profess to sympathize with this dictum, although on closer scrutiny some of his present followers can be seen to advocate a quite definite path to salvation (it is officially in terms of the Advaitic stance that the Rāmakrishna Order seeks to make sense of all religious experience). Rāmakrishna himself was no philosopher, so that pronouncements he allegedly made should not be forced to suit a point of view (see Neevel in B.L. Smith 1976). All this notwithstanding, a genuine doctrinal tolerance, namely, a tolerance based on the view that one can learn from others and that one's religious stance is worth fighting for but not killing for, is noticeable throughout traditional Hinduism.

  The same Rāmānuja who inveighed against Advaita quotes the following smṛti-text with approval: ‘Sāṃkhya, Yoga, the Vedas, Pañcarātra, Pāśupata – these are sources for knowing the Spirit;they are not to be dismissed by [specious] reasons’.10 In other words, one must acknowledge that each of these sources gives true teaching about the Spirit (Ātman). But, Rāmānuja implies, this true teaching makes sense only within the framework of his own sampradāya or teaching tradition. He goes on to interpret the quotation as follows: ‘This means that one must incorporate only the essential teaching (svarūpamātram) that each lays down;it is not to be wholly rejected in the way the doctrines of the founders of the Jainas and Buddhists should be abandoned’;as another text says, he continues, everything must be made to bear, by way of scriptural exegesis and reasoning, on the Lord Nārāyaṇa as the ultimate Goal (niṣṭhā). It is on his terms, then, that Rāmānuja is prepared to be gracious to rival points of view. There were sticking points to his doctrinal tolerance. This is a common trait among Hindu teachers and thinkers to the present day.

  In formulating their standpoints, some modern Hindus have given the impression of a more wide-ranging doctrinal tolerance. Rādhākrishnan, for example, has sought to accommodate most of the major religious traditions in his world-view. But the assimilative – and not so open-ended – nature of his account soon becomes evident, for Rādhākrishnan grades religious experience in a hierarchy headed by Advaitic insights, scripturally most authoritatively expressed, he declares, in the classical Upaniṣads. The assumption here is that genuine religious experience finds its culmination only in Advaita or monism (see Lipner 1989a).

  Although Hindus have been noted for their traditional tolerance of doctrine and creed, they have not been perceived as equally tolerant when it comes to certain social practices. ‘Orthopraxy’ in some circumstances, viz. ‘doing the right thing/behaving in the accredited way’, seems more important than ‘orthodoxy’, viz. ‘believing the right doctrines’. We have indicated that this has often been the case with respect to the realities of caste (see Chapter 7). Here, not only the upper castes, who may be thought to have a vested interest in maintaining caste-hierarchy, but also the lower castes and even Untouchables, have sought often either to reinforce the hierarchical structure by resorting to Sanskritization, or to accept it in an attempt to maintain their own positions relative to those lower down the scale. With the rise of the Dalit movement and attempts at ‘Dalitization’, however, (see Chapter 7), that is, with the rise in present times of an ideology of counter-culture – counter to traditional Brahminic notions of superiority, that is – it remains to be seen how long the current mentality of caste-hierarchy will retain its present form.

  Orthopraxic intolerance is also manifest in the reluctance of many temple authorities to allow free access to temples, especially their inner precincts, not only to Untouchables but also to non-Hindus. This is done on the grounds that the offerings to the deities will be rendered impure by the mere physical presence of such persons. One still comes across signs in and about temples stating that non-Hindus are barred from proceeding further, or that only Hindus may enter. The fact that non-Hindus are thus barred from access – in spite of protestations that they are converts or sympathisers – is a clear sign that subliminally, at least, there is still a tendency among some Hindus to regard racial and cultural origin as a defining criterion for what it is to be a Hindu. No doubt there are other reasons for this attitude, e.g. residual memories of colonial lampooning of ‘the grotesque idols of the heathen’, the ‘much-maligned monsters’ (see Mitter 1977) encountered by uncomprehending and over-zealous colonial bureaucrats and missionaries. However, Hindu self-confidence, and Western sensibilities for that matter, have undergone considerable development since the Raj;perhaps it is time for religious Hinduism to slip the bonds of history in this matter. For there is no doubt that a great many ordinary Hindus – as opposed to ideologues and many temple authorities – readily welcome non-Hindus to participate in their religious festivals and other forms of worship.

  In trying to fathom the voice of personal experience in the Hindu's religious life, we have discussed a number of central ideas, including those of faith and reason, myth, truth and error, tolerance and intolerance. There is one final component of this voice that we must now consider: the significance of the guru or spiritual preceptor.

  Let us seek to discern the meaning of the term guru for our purposes. To begin with, consider the following extract taken from the Mahābhārata. The narrator is praising his God, whom he describes as:

  The primeval Person, sovereign ... the True ... Brāhmaṇ, the manifest and unmanifest, the Eternal, being and becoming, all-pervasive, yet beyond being and becoming, the Maker of high and low, the Ancient ... pure ... Hṛṣīkeśa, Hari, the Guru of that which moves and moves not.

  (1.1.20–2)

  At first sight, this seems a curious use of the term guru, but in fact it takes us to the heart of the matter. In Sanskrit, guru means ‘weighty’, ‘heavy’. Perhaps it is clearer now why, seemingly as the high point of this litany of praise, the Lord is described as the ‘Guru’ of all being. He is the mainstay, the unshakeable centre, the spiritual weight around which everything gravitates. To take up a popular meaning, the guru is an authoritative ‘heavy’ in one's life (in the positive sense of the word!). In traditional Sanskrit literature, the elders of one's community, including one's parents, are called ‘gurus’. When the text wishes to record approval of individuals who respect their elders, they are commended for their guru-śuśruṣā, viz. their attentiveness to their elders, to those to whom they owe a debt
of gratitude and service for their guidance, nurture and stabilizing influence.

  In Chapter 6 we mentioned the role of the guru as teacher and guide in the traditional context of brahmacarya or celibate studentship. We noted that the teacher is to be deferred to as the ‘spiritual father’ of the student(s) under his care. The student was supposed to respond with attentive service (śuśruṣā), not servility. In the Sanskritic tradition, one is never servile towards a parent, spiritual or otherwise. On the contrary, the parent–child relationship – especially the mother–son relationship – is one of tenderness, even of familiarity, notwithstanding the obligation to show respect and obedience to one's parents throughout life. A dominant image of this relationship, especially for Vaiṣṇavas, is expressed by the term vātsalya, which refers to the tender and protective love that the cow shows to her calf (vatsa). In fact, the guru may address the disciple by the endearment vatsa, ‘child’ (bācc(h)ā in some vernaculars).

  Thus the disciple may show deference to the guru, but a cringing servility is out of place. Indeed, one of the chief functions of the guru in the traditional guru–disciple relationship is to encourage the disciple to develop a discipline of critical questioning on spiritual matters. A famous work entitled Upadeśa Sāhasrī (‘Teachings a-Thousandfold’), ascribed to Śaṃkara, describes a conversation between the guru and his disciple in which the latter questions his teacher searchingly about ultimate realities in an Advaitic context.11 This dyadic framework of questioning and answering between disciple and teacher is found throughout Sanskritic Hinduism up to current times. A well-known modern example is the Bengali novelist and thinker, Bankim Chatterji's, Dharmatattva (‘The Essence of Dharma’), written in the closing decades of the nineteenth century, in which, through a conversation between guru and disciple – not lacking in humour on both sides – Bankim expatiates on his understanding of dharma in modern terms.12 The implication in such literature is that spiritual and intellectual growth takes place through searching inquiry at the ‘lotus feet’, as the saying goes, of the guru (the lotus is a symbol of wisdom). One must sit at the guru's lotus feet but not grovel before them.

  But gradually, as the teaching tradition developed, in the practice of too many, service turned to servility, a servility expected and a servility willingly rendered, so that today in Hinduism it seems that unquestioning obedience to the guru characterizes the guru–disciple relationship. A sense of mutual responsibility seems to be lacking: responsibility on the guru's part to train the disciple into spiritual independence, and a responsibility on the disciple's part to grow in this training. I believe that abandonment of responsibility in this way runs counter to best practice in the tradition of the guru–disciple relationship.

  But it need not be so, of course. A well-known example of a modern guru living up to his responsibility of encouraging critical spiritual inquiry is Rāmana Mahārshi (1879–1950). Venkataram Aiyar, as he was originally named, was a Tamil who at the age of 17 underwent a transforming experience in which his body seemed to die and fall away from his ‘true self’ or ‘I’ which he identified with the ultimate, deathless, universal Spirit residing within. The impact of this experience never left him. Soon after, he went to live the life of a renouncer on the sacred hill of Arunachala, near the town of Tiruvannamalai, in Tamilnadu state. In time, disciples gathered and an ashram was founded. Rāmana Mahārshi never claimed to be a philosopher, but his religious vision, expressed unsystematically by way of short writings and conversations with disciples and an endless stream of visitors, is strongly Advaitic in tone. At the heart of these exchanges lay a central question which the enquirer was required to pursue: ‘Who am I?’, that is, ‘Who or what is the real I?’ On the search for the answer depends the fulfillment of one's life.

  Here is an example of one such conversation (it took place on June 22nd, 1935):

  A youth of twenty asked how to realise the Self. He sat down in silence and waited more than an hour and then was about to leave. While doing so, he [Devotee] asked:

  D: How to realise Self?

  Mahārshi: Whose Self? Find out.

  D: Who am I?

  M: Find it yourself.

  D: I do not know.

  M: Think. Who is it that says ‘I do not know’? What is not known? In that statement,

  who is the ‘I’?

  D: Somebody in me.

  M: Who is the somebody? In whom?

  D: May be some power.

  M: Find it.

  D: How to realise Brāhmaṇ?

  M: Without knowing the Self why do you seek to know Brāhmaṇ?

  D: The [scriptures] say Brāhmaṇ pervades all and me too.

  M: Find the ‘I’ in me and then there will be time to think of Brāhmaṇ.

  D: Why was I born?

  M: Who was born? The answer is the same for all of your questions.

  D: Who am I then?

  M (smiling): Have you come to examine me and ask me? You must say who you are.

  ..........

  D: The body is composed of five elements. What are the elements?

  M: Without knowing the Self how do you aim at knowing the elements?

  The young man sat awhile and left with permission. The Master remarked later: ‘All right. It will work’.

  (Venkataraman 1957 (vol.1):71–2)13

  Now we may ask, how does one come by a guru? This can happen in various ways. Often, the guru is ‘inherited’, that is, the person who acts as spiritual adviser to one's parents or family members automatically becomes one's own guide. Or if the sect to which one belongs has fixed procedures for appointing its spiritual guide, one may not have a choice in the matter. For example, in various denominations of the Swaminarayan movement mentioned earlier, the spiritual leader, who also functions as a spiritual guide, is appointed by fixed, in some cases, hereditary, arrangements. Nevertheless, it is also possible for individuals in the movement to choose a personal guru from among a community of ascetics (see Williams 2001: esp. Chapters 2–4).

  When the choice is predetermined, it may not be easy to develop a deep personal relationship with one's guru. In many traditions there is a guru-paraṃparā, i.e. an official line of succession of preceptors. Some of these lines of succession stretch back – or are claimed to do so – for hundreds of years. It is often claimed that a particular guru-paraṃparā originates in some way with the Supreme Being or some representative (usually, but not always, in the distant past). This invests the teachings and institutional framework of the sect with inalienable authority, of course, although on occasion it is alleged by breakaway groups that this authority has been abused or the teachings distorted beyond redemption by the parent body. Such fragmentation is always occurring in one tradition or other.

  But on a more informal basis, sometimes the guru just arrives at the right time. Cometh the hour, cometh the guru. The guru seeks one out. There are many such stories by grateful disciples. It is reported that this is what happened in the case of the sage Rāmakrishna during his own spiritual development. It is interesting to note, in this regard, that an individual may have more than one guru during the course of their growth in religious understanding. Thus Rāmakrishna, the records say, had more than one guru, including a woman ascetic. The gurus who had the greatest influence on him sought him out at the appropriate time, instructed him, and then went on their way. So one's spiritual preceptor can be a woman, and one may have more than one spiritual preceptor in the course of time. There are numerous high-profile cases of women gurus in modern times.

  Though claims about the antiquity and/or divine origin of the guru's teaching tradition can greatly enhance the guru's authority among his or her followers, the ultimate basis of this authority is generally understood to be the guru's own spiritual experience. The guru is to be listened to because the guru is ‘heavy’ with spiritual wisdom. As such, if we may transpose metaphors, the guru, overwhelmed by compassionate concern (karuṇā, dayā) gives birth, like a midwife, to illumining
experience in the disciple. The guru is often likened to a lamp that dispels the darkness of spiritual ignorance or of confusion regarding life's decisions or of the gloom of depression. Or the guru is described as the one who rouses the disciple from the sleep of spiritual confusion or unknowing. Or again, he or she is like the bee, gathering the honey of liberating knowledge from the flowers of scriptural utterance or sacred lore and feeding it to the disciple. In short, the guru is a sort of wake-up artist, awakening us to our spiritual birthright of true self-awareness and compassion.

  The guru enables the disciple to swim across the dangerous waters of life's river (saṃsāra) to the haven of the ‘further shore’ of spiritual liberation. And it is the genius of the guru that he or she can communicate inner peace and wisdom to the disciple in a way appropriate to the disciple's particular needs and circumstances. Ideally then, the guru has a uniquely personal relationship with each disciple based on trust. Often, the sign of this bond is the distinctive mantra the guru imparts to the disciple, which the disciple alone uses as a unique spiritual key to unlock, through regular recitation of the mantra and reflection on the guru's teaching, the inner world of psychological freedom and spiritual liberation.

  Because of this personal relationship, one person's guru may be another person's impostor. Trust in the guru is often so great that the guru's voice is regarded by the disciple as the voice of God. Indeed, the guru may be openly revered as the divine presence in bodily form. When this happens, (i) universal claims may be made about the guru's person and teachings such that the preceptor may be called a/the Jagad-guru (‘World-Guru’) or Sad-guru (the ‘True Guru’)14; and (ii) various dangers arise, not least the prospect of the disciple abandoning personal responsibility to the guru.