The idea that the cosmos corresponds with our psyche is of course and old one common to East and West. However this notion faded with the Copernican revolution and Decarte’s scientific method. While there is considerable evidence that the heavens do influence or mirror our psyche, it does not fit into a scientific world view where physical, verifiable evidence is the bottom line. Thus at one point astrology was abandoned by most thinkers of the West and the evidence of the subtle planetary influence it points to was ignored, even as Jung and others continued to heed astrology although not fully understanding it. 

The Bhagavata’s cosmology is an old one, one that did not even conform with leading secular thinkers understanding in India at the time that our sampradaya’s principle commentaries were written, what to speak of today’s thinkers. Today we know that the sun is fixed, not orbiting as it is described in the Bhagavata. And we have the math by which we have accomplished many things we have come to take for granted to prove it. So shall we throw out the Bhagavata’s cosmology? 

In one sense it is non essential. However, we do need a cosmology that corresponds with our world view, and that of modern science does not.  It does not in the sense that modern science does not recognize that the universe has a purpose or intelligence, evidenced in the least by the subtle influence the stars and planets have on our lives—the extent to which the microcosm of our psyche corresponds with the macrocosm of the heavens. The fact that the Bhagavata’s cosmology differs in details from modern science is not of much concern. It is its notion that the universe is without purpose and intelligence that is of concern. 

It is rational to conceive that the heavens have sway on earth and irrational to deny this. It is also less anthropocentric to think of the heavens in terms of deities and heavenly worlds within the mental realm than it is to think that reality is entirely subjective, or that it revolves around and is determined by each human individual, as postmodernism posits, leaving us with no objective, absolute reality. Indeed, is it not the height of human hubris of to conclude that the source of all meaning and purpose in the universe is centered in the human mind, which is therefore unique and in this sense superior to the entire cosmos? In this sense the postmodern mind is more anthropocentric than the premodern mind that the modern mind sought to distance itself from! We are revolving, not evolving.

I believe that if one’s poetic notion of gods and goddesses is also derivative of a world view that ontologically distinguishes consciousness from matter, giving preference to the former, that one’s position is strengthened. However, it is then weakened considerably if from this position one also maintains that the dated cosmology of the Bhagavata disproves the insight of Copernicus, etc. 

The heretical Copernican revolution that eventually took humanity from an erroneous earth-centered cosmology to a sun-centered cosmology and all that follows in its wake can, however, be superseded by a consciousness revolution—the idea that matter (sun and all) revolves around consciousness. In this consciousness revolution Sriman Mahaprabhu takes us to the consciousness of consciousness, wherein we find prema at the center.  Incidentally, he appeared within the same decade that Copernicus first realized the truth of a fixed-sun-centered universe. As the sun appears to move from east to west, may the eastern dawn of the influence of Mahaprabhu reach high noon in the west with the leading thinkers concluding that prema is the prayojana. 

Now if we are to take part in this revolution we will not only have to think deeply but more importantly teach by example. Thus it is our individual spiritual practice that is most important. Leaving aside the physical reality, we enter the realm of ritual and then the realm of bhajana. These worlds have their own cosmology, and it behooves one who desires to enter them to acquaint oneself with it. Therein we find gods and goddesses that might otherwise be thought of as archetypical influences, natural laws, etc. We enter the world of mind (psyche/cosmos) and then transcend it altogether, landing at the feet of the source of cosmic intelligence. Deep within his world there is also a sun and moon, etc. along with their gods and goddesses, although there is in one sense no need for them—no need in terms of tattva, but they are needed in terms of bhava. Indeed, how could there be rasa-lila in Goloka without the full moon? 

Something on the logic of form from Aesthetic Vedanta:

Setting sacred literature and the logic for adherence to its conclusions aside, is there any other logic that supports the notion of a concrete Absolute of unlimited form? While the highest form of divine revelation must be free from sectarianism and thus represent the greatest generality, it must also possess the greatest wealth of positive content. 

The Russian mystic and philosopher Vladimir Solovyov has coined the phrase “positive universality” in his attempt to describe the Absolute. He conceives of positive universality in contradistinction to the absence of all determinate properties and distinctive features. He opines in concert with the Upanisads that in seeking a universal religion and ultimate spiritual reality, it is insufficient to merely do away with all distinctive features of the Absolute. This is so because in doing so we reach at best only the lowest common denominator of religion. We arrive at the minimum of religious content. Such an abstract form of religion under any name, he reasons, leads ultimately to nihilism and atheism. 

Solovyov would have us take a step forward. Acknowledging the general religious principle that constitutes our common religious ground, he asked his audience to go higher. “The richer, the more alive and concrete a religious form is, the higher it is. The perfect religion is not the one that is equally contained in all religions [the indifferent foundation of religion]; the perfect religion is one that possesses and contains within itself all religions [the complete religious synthesis].” This is the meaning of “Krsna,” in which all forms of love find transcendental expression. 

In devotion to Krsna, we do not encounter the fanaticism that holds to only one spiritual revelation, for Krsna includes all forms of the Godhead and thus all varieties of love of God. Nor do we encounter the abstract rationalism that evaporates the essence of religion into a fog of indeterminate concepts, fusing all religious forms into a formless, colorless, impotent generality or void. 

The Brahma-sutras of Vyasa are the first attempt in human history to develop a systematic theology derived from revelation (Upanisads). This early Eastern effort was followed in the West in relation to the Bible, most notably in Catholic scholasticism. It is a pity that the West has not paid more attention to this earlier effort. 

We have been discussing Vyasa’s sutras of late in an effort to substantiate Sri Caitanya’s scripturally backed (Garuda Purana) emphasis that the Srimad Bhagavatam is the natural commentary on the sutras. We have found no dearth of evidence in support of this conclusion.

As we discussed the tradition of commentary on the sutras that preceded Sri Caitanya’s emphasis as to the significance of the Bhagavata, we reached the obvious conclusion that the most well known commentary, that of Sankara, does not constitute sastra-yukti, or reasoning that supports the position of revelation. Sankara is thus more philosopher than a theologian.

While a philosopher is not bound to a particular tradition of religious thought or body of revelation, a theologian is. A theologian is no less competent to shed light on the nature of reality than is a philosopher. He or she is as much or more a free thinker. While a philosopher attempts to make light out of darkness, a theologian studies the nature of light. Of course the philosopher is free to examine revelation, but the two, philosopher and theologian, are separated by the light of faith, which in Bhaktivinoda’s mind is synonymous with experience and a product of a transrational exercise conducted in this or a previous life. 

In Gaudiya Vedanta faith also means faith in revelation, or that perfect knowing requires a perfect method, and in essence that method amounts to folding one’s hands in prayer. Our intellect is not a perfect instrument, especially when it is wedded to the senseless demand of our senses to quench their unquenchable thirst. Equipped with faulty instruments, what are left with to pursue perfect knowledge?

We have but our sincereity, our honesty, and honestly the universe is greater than ourselves. Exploiting the world for our small sense of human self in an effort to make the world fit within the world of our mind will only artificially expand our sense of self and blind us to the obvious. Exploitation causes the self to contract, and giving causes it to expand. This is the math. If you love someone they will tell you all of their secrets. In this context those secrets constitute revelation.

In what sense does Sankara not adhere to the tradition of revelation he identifies himself with? Sankara does claim to be a patron of revelation. Perhaps he is more of deviant theologian than a philosopher. At any rate, his idea that the form of Krsna is a limited expression of Brahman has no basis in revelation. Sri Caitanya characterizes Sankara’s imaginary commentary on Vyasa’s sutras thus: “Sankara more or less says that Vyasa was mistaken or crazy—vyasa-bhranta—therefore Sankara himself will give the proper understanding aside from what the sutras themselves say.” (Cc 1.7.121).  

Sankara’s departure form sastra-yukti  appears first in his highly interpretive explanation of sutra 1.1.17. This sutra appears in a section in which Brahman is described as having qualities. It begins with the statement anandamayo ’bhyasat, “Brahman is joyful.” (Vs. 1.1.12) Sutra 1.1.13 states that Brahman is not made of joy (a creation), but rather possessed of an abundance of joy. Evidence for this is offered in 1.1.14, which states that since Brahman is designated elsewhere as the cause of joy (Taittiriya Upanisad 2.7) he must be full of joy. Sutra 1.1.15 states that the scripture of joy (Taittiriya Upanisad) also celebrates Brahman as being joyful. Following this sutra in 1.1.16, that which is Brahman and joyful is distinguished from the individual soul. The Brahman who is joyful is also described in the scripture as being the creator. Thus it is Brahman who is described as joyful and not the individual soul, for only Brahman is described as possessing the ability to create the world. Sutra 1.1.17 then states that the individual soul and Brahman are declared to be different, bheda-vyapadesac ca. Even Sankara himself admits that sutras 1.1.16-17 concern the difference between Brahman and the individual soul. However, Sankara adds his own comment, declaring that the difference only exists on a lower level of reality (vyavaharic), whereas in ultimate reality (paramarthic) this illusion of difference ceases to exist. However, nowhere in Vedanta-sutra is there any reference to Sankara’s two levels of reality and thus two levels of Brahman—a provisional manifestation of the Absolute (Krsna/the avatara/isvara) and an ultimate reality (unmanifest, indeterminate Brahman). 

Thus Sankara has attached his own doctrine to the sutras. In this doctrine he calls his provisional manifestation of Brahman “saguna Brahman,” Brahman with material adjuncts. The form of Krsna as saguna Brahman is thus considered a manifestation of Brahman constituted of the material quality of sattva that serves the purpose of helping individual souls realize the illusion of their individuality, at which time the form and person of the avatara is dispensed with as the enlightened realizes himself to be Brahman. 

According to Sankara, those not qualified to meditate on Brahman should worship his idea of saguna Brahman to gradually qualify themselves for meditation on the formless Brahman. This is no doubt a creative philosophy, but nonetheless a huge departure from revelation. 

Such a departure may not concern many today. However, those who are not bothered by it should be bothered by how it plays out into Sankara’s nonexistent world of our experience. Then again, perhaps we are at the liberty to pick and choose, but if we feel justified in doing so we would do ourselves a favor by writing all that we pick and choose down and then looking it over to see how comprehensive and coherent it is.

Sankara makes a fairly coherent argument. He was a good philosopher. However, he had a hard time wrapping his head around the all inclusive nature of Krsna’s form, as it is described in revelation. So too do many today. While in my previous post I briefly addressed the logic of how form facilitates rather than limits, I thought it worthwhile to address herein the scriptural inconsistency of the the popular idea (stemming from Sankara) of a limited form of God/Brahman. More on the logic of an unlimited form later. 

One of my students asked me to address a challenge from a Christian monk: “Christ represents a life of morality and sacrifice and Krsna represents a life of indulgence and immorality. Thus it should be obvious which of the two better represents the Divine.” 

A better question is how can we compare the perfect object of love with perfect love itself, other than in terms of how the two compliment one another? If there is a sacrificing aspect of the divine, there must also be a corresponding aspect of the Divine for whom the sacrifice is intended. For whom did Christ sacrifice? Only a vague conception of the Godhead gives rise the assertion that it is ourselves for whom Christ carried his cross. Yes, in theory the sinners of the world are the beneficiaries of Christ’s sacrifice, but it is God the father for whose pleasure Christ underwent the crucifixion, even when the father’s joy in this scenario lies in the salvation of sinners. Christ represents the intermediary between God and humanity, and his life aptly illustrates the fact that it is sacrifice by which we come to meet our maker. Thus in Christ the divine teaches us “the way” more than he does the goal. 

Krsna on the other hand has more to do with the goal. Krsna represents the receiving end of our sacrifice, for whose pleasure it is undertaken. Nothing vague here, but at first glance this may appear problematic. The specificity inherent in the Krsna conception of the Godhead may appear to be a limitation, a partial expression of an indeterminate Absolute, or to the average Christian, an attempt to put a face on God the father who is more accommodating when faceless. This, however, is not what Gaudiya Vaisnavas have in mind when in ecstasy they utter the two syllables “krs na.” In our estimation it is lack of philosophical determination that limits the Absolute by describing it as indeterminate. Indeed, the Gaudiyas envision a very Catholic Infinite, infinite beauty, infinite charm, and even infinite form. Krsna is the beatific vision and more.  

The specificity of the Krsna conception of Godhead is hardly a limitation. With regard to the way of sacrifice leading to love such specificity enhances our capacity to love or to sacrifice for the pleasure of the Godhead. The details concerning the Godhead found in the Krsna conception are compelling. Knowing them, what will one not do to secure his pleasure? Conversely, the more vague our conception of the Absolute is—the less positive content we know about the Godehead—the more we are limited in our effort to love God or the world around us. We are left with merely abandoning false love, the exploitation that poses as love in this world. There is not doubt love in refraining from taking, but there is little giving in such an approach. We may give to those in need, but as important and glorious as such noble acts are, they appear paramount only as long as our conception of the Absolute remains vague or faceless. As as much the Godhead takes shape we gain acquaintance with the world beyond the moral realm. At the same time, because living the moral life with compassion for others is conducive to the culture of the internal meditative love of God that grants entrance to the world beyond time and space, good and bad, etc., one pursuing it does not lack impetus to live ethically and compassionately in this world. Indeed, devotion to Krsna may provide more impetus for right livelihood than that derived from a vague conception of the Absolute or a faceless Godhead. 

How then does the specificity of the the Krsna conception of Godhead limit one? Furthermore under scrutiny it is apparent that revelation, in speaking about the form, attributes, and pastimes of Krsna, is talking about an infinity of form and the rest. In the tenth chapter of the Bhagavad-gita Krsna speaks of the splendor of the world as being representative of his person. Hearing this one is to imagine just what kind of person he is. How is it that the world is within his form? This is the question that Arjuna ponders and to which Krsna answers by manifesting a mystic vision of the unverse within himself. Reality is a person—Krsna

The Christ conception represents “the way” in the sense that the way is sacrifice, out of which love arises. The Krsna conception represents that for which we not only should but must sacrifice, compelled by the Godhead’s irresistible attributes, etc. depicted therein. At the same time, within the Krsna conception we find Sri Krsna Caitanya, the sacrificing half of the equation of love, Krsna endowed with Radha’s love for himself. In this manifestation of the Krsna conception we also find “the way” personified. Sri Krsna Caitanya did not die on the cross, but he did forego the love of Visnupriya, a love that was arguably more painful to renounce than enduring the pain of crucifixion. Bearing the cross of prema in seperation, Krsna comes to us as Sri Krsna Caitanya, a barefoot mendicant dressed only in loin cloth, homeless and enduring hardship. Not only is his sacrifice unbearable for those who understand it, the measure of his gift of prema given to the world is so great that it makes salvation seem insignificant in comparison. 

Careful study of Sri Jiva Goswami’s Sat-sandarbha reveals that he was fully aware of the arguments of both Sankara and Ramanuja but not entirely satisfied with their explanations as to why consciousness is the ultimate undeniable reality (in the case of Sankara), and why the objective world and jiva souls are also real (in the case of Ramanuja), even while accepting both of their insights. Sri Jiva Goswami sensed that there was something essential in consciousness that had not been addressed by these acaryas that offered more compelling insight and further confirmed their realizations. After all, the reasoning cited by Sankara and Ramanuja in support of their positions on these points does not tell us much about the nature of consciousness in terms of its positive content.

Sankara tells us that reality is consciousness because it is that which cannot be denied, for denial itself requires consciousness. Sankara posits a purely subjective reality that denies the objective world, for all material manifestations can be denied in the sense that they do not endure.

Thus he denies the objective world. Ramanuja, however, insists that consciousness requires an object that it is conscious of for it to have any real meaning. It also requires a conscious entity. Whatever is revealed by consciousness or within consciousness is real. Thus Ramanuja acknowledges that reality is a unity of consciousness that includes the world and the jiva souls, which he considers attributes of Brahman (the substance).

While Sri Jiva Goswami does not deny these explanations, he takes what he considered the best from both in his quest for something more compelling about the essence of consciousness. In the course of pursuing his own investigation into the nature of being, Sri Jiva found himself inspired to find out exactly what the fundamental nature of consciousness is. For an answer that corroborated and clarified his insight he turned to Svetasvatara Upanisad 6.8: parasya saktir vividhaiva sruyate. In a word it is “sakti,” and it is upon this one word that his entire worldview hangs.

Jiva Goswami’s doctrine of acintya-bhedabheda is based on the idea that in order for something to exist it must have power. “Being exists,” is a tautology that we all nonetheless voice and accept. The power by which being exists and expresses itself is one with it and different from it at the same time.

Reality is both static and dynamic at once (one and different). It is static in the sense that it is still. It has no purpose to fulfill, no necessity, and thus no need to move. However, it is at the same time dynamic and thus moving. It is dynamic in the sense that in its fullness it expresses itself. It expresses itself not in search of fulfillment, but rather in celebration of its fullness. It has a necessity not because it is incomplete, but rather one born of its fullness. Thus its dynamism is a necessary fact of its static nature.

In Sri Jiva Goswami’s vision, the Absolute is a unity of love, which is stillness and motion at once. One in search of love never rests until love is found, yet once finding love, that very love sets one in a motion of its own. The Absolute moves and it does not move, it is near and far at the same time, tad dure tad vantike (Isopanisad 5). It is nondual consciousness, and in Sri Jiva’s realization the consciousness of this consciousness is love. It exists for no purpose inasmuch as love knows no reason. There is no reason to the rhyme of the world. Reality exists for the joy of itself, and it is out of joy–out of love–that the One becomes many and the world issues forth–lokavat tu lila kaivalyam. Because it is about joy (ananda), it not only exists (sat) but is also cognitive (cit)–sat cit ananda. From this, the reality of the jivas and the world follows. They constitute the intermediate and secondary powers of the absolute, respectively.

Thus in the vision of Jiva Goswami, understanding the positive content of Brahman/consciousness lies in knowing Brahman to be a unity of love between itself and its power. This he feels tells us more about consciousness than merely stating that it exists because it cannot be denied, or that it must include an object that it is conscious of for it to have any meaning. In the opinion of Sri Jiva, the idea that Brahman is a unity of love between itself and its power that causes it to express itself in lila or divine play offers us more compelling insight as to why it exists in the first place as well as why it includes within itself the world and the jivas.

Whatever exists must do or cause something. Brahman exists because it is a unity of love, in love with itself. It includes the world and the jivas because they constitute expressions of this love, and the two, Brahman and its power by which it expresses itself, are one and different simultaneously, just as a person and his power are both one with and different from him at the same time.

If the Absolute’s power is only different from it, this would compromise the nonduality of the Absolute. If its power is only nondifferent from it, what need is there to call it anything such as “power,” and in this way distinguish it? Sri Jiva Goswami answers that because it is impossible to conceive (acintya) of the power of the absolute as different from it, we call the Absolute one (abheda), and because it is equally impossible to conceive of the power of the Absolute as identical with it we call it different (bheda). Brahman is its power and is not its power. The two are thus interpenetrable and not entirely distinct, as are attributes from their substance despite their inseparability.

Brahman is neither absolutely one with nor absolutely different from its saktis. Were Brahman absolutely one with the world and the jivas, their faults would be those of Brahman. Were Brahman absolutely different from the jivas and the world, this would constitute dualism contradicting the scriptural account of Brahman’s nonduality. As Sri Jiva explains with logic and scriptural support the simultaneous identity and difference of Brahman and its saktis, he stresses that knowing that both identity and difference coexist in the same object does not tell us how they do so. Logical thinking precludes their simultaneous presence in the same object. The inconceivability of the relation between the bheda and abheda of Brahman is evident from the contradiction it involves.

Thus the acintya of the Gaudiyas is not an illogical notion seeking to do away with logical discourse on the nature of being. It is central to an angle of vision—Gaudiya Vedanta—in which, arguably, something interesting if not more about the Absolute is revealed than that which we learn from other forms of Vedanta, such as those of Sankara and Ramanuja.