The only constant is change. It’s the most basic fact of human existence. Nothing lasts, nothing stays the same.

We feel it with each breath. From birth to the unknown moment of our passing, we ride a river of change. And yet, in spite of all evidence to the contrary, we exhaust ourselves in an endless search for solidity. We hunger for something that lasts, some idea or principle that rises above time and change. We hunger for certainty. That is a big problem.

It might even be THE problem.

Religions are often built around this heartache for certainty. In the face of sickness, loss and grief, a thousand dogmas with a thousand names have risen. Many profess that if only the faithful hold fast to the “rules,” the “precepts” or the “doctrine” then certainty can be obtained.

Fate and future can be fixed through promises of freedom from immediate suffering, divine favor or everlasting salvation. Scriptures are transformed into unwavering blueprints for an unchanging order. These documents must live beyond question lest the certainty they provide crumble. When human spiritual endeavor devolves into these white-knuckle forms of clinging they become monuments to the fear of change and uncertainty.

It would be symmetrical if I could point to science as the pure antidote to the rigid rejection of uncertainty. Science, in the purest forms of its expression as a practice, holds to no doctrine other than that the world might be known. In the ceaseless pursuit of its own questioning path, science asks us to allow for ceaseless change in our ideas, beliefs and opinions. It’s this aspect of science that I value more than any other.

But science does not exist alone as practice. It’s also a constellation of ideas that exist within culture and those ideas can gain value, in and of themselves, without connection to actual practice. In this way science becomes something more and less. For some people the idea of Science offers a trumped up certainty that yields its own false defense against the rootlessness that roots of our existence.

My co-blogger Marcelo Gleiser put it beautifully two weeks ago when he wrote, “what is pompous is to think that we can know all the answers. Or that it’s the job of science to find them.” When science as an idea is used to push away the tremulous reality of our lived existential uncertainty then it, too, is degraded. It becomes just another imaginary fixed point in a life without fixed points.

Of course it doesn’t have to be this way. The world’s history of spiritual endeavor contains many beautiful descriptions of authentic encounters with uncertainty. Ironically these often serve as gateways to the most compassionate experience of what can be called sacred in human life.

Buddhism’s First Noble Truth, which focuses specifically on the reality of change and suffering, serves as one example. In the Christian tradition works like the “Cloud of Unknowing,” a 14th century paean to the importance of experience over doctrine or dogma, serves as another. Dig around in most of the world’s great religious traditions and you find people finding their sense of grace by embracing uncertainty rather than trying to bury it in codified dogmas.

For science, embracing uncertainty means more than claiming “we don’t know now, but we will know in the future”. It means embracing the fuzzy boundaries of the very process of asking questions. It means embracing the frontiers of what explanations, for all their power, can do. It means understanding that a life of deepest inquiry requires all kinds of vehicles: from poetry to particle accelerators; from quiet reveries to abstract analysis.

Though I am an atheist, some of the wisest people I have met are those whose spiritual lives (some explicitly religious, some not) have forced them to continually confront uncertainty. This daily act has made them patient and forgiving, generous and inclusive. Likewise, the atheists I have met who most embody the ideals of free inquiry seem to best understand the limitations of every perspective, including their own. They encounter the ever shifting ground of their lives with humor, good will and compassion.

In the end, embracing uncertainty is to embrace a quality I have written about many times before: mystery. These lives we live, surrounded by beauty and horror, profound knowledge and pitiful ignorance, are a mystery to us all. To push that truth away with false certainty, falsely derived from either religion or reason, is to miss our most perfect truth.

We are, after all, just “such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep.”

This article originally appeared, here.

One of the most perplexing concepts in Buddhist philosophy is the doctrine of anatta, or ‘not-self’. Many have interpreted anatta to be a metaphysical assertion that there is no self, but I argue that this is mistaken. Rather, in line with Thanissaro Bhikkhu, I understand anatta as a practical strategy that has heuristic value in guiding one towards liberation. Furthermore, I propose that the acceptance of a subjective self can be consistent with and justified in Buddhism. This will be the focus of this essay.

Before I commence, I would like to issue a health warning. The ideas presented in this essay are in no way intended to be assertions of orthodoxy. I concede that they diverge from conventional attitudes, and so are likely to be considered controversial. My defence for this is that the Buddha discouraged reverence of dogma, and instead encouraged the gaining of insight through experience, enquiry, and reasoning, as evidenced by the following passage from the Kalama Sutta:Now, Kalamas, don’t go by reports, by legends, by traditions, by scripture, by logical conjecture, by inference, by analogies, by agreement through pondering views, by probability, or by the thought, ‘This contemplative is our teacher.’ When you know for yourselves that, ‘These qualities are skillful [sic]; these qualities are blameless; these qualities are praised by the wise; these qualities, when adopted and carried out, lead to welfare and to happiness’ — then you should enter and remain in them. (AN 3.65, trans. Thanissaro, 1994)As different people vary in their experiences, interests, and temperament, this empirical approach would lead to each person’s perspective of Buddhism being idiosyncratic. My own perspective is no exception. I therefore do not intend my perspective to be considered the authoritative view, but hope it can be forgiven as a personal interpretation, albeit one arrived at through the reflective approach encouraged by the Buddha.

To begin with, it is apparent, on exploration of the Pali Canon, that the Buddha never denies the existence of the self. To the contrary, he very clearly rejects annihilationism. In the Alagaddupama Sutta, he states:

Speaking in this way, teaching in this way, I have been erroneously, vainly, falsely, unfactually misrepresented by some brahmans and contemplatives [who say], ‘Gotama the contemplative is one who misleads. He declares the annihilation, destruction, extermination of the existing being.’ But as I am not that, as I do not say that, so I have been erroneously, vainly, falsely, unfactually misrepresented by those venerable brahmans and contemplatives [who say], ‘Gotama the contemplative is one who misleads. He declares the annihilation, destruction, extermination of the existing being.’ (MN 22, trans. Thanissaro, 2004)

Another passage can be found in the Yamaka Sutta, where some of the Buddha’s disciples advise Yamaka against annihilationism:Don’t say that, friend Yamaka. Don’t misrepresent the Blessed One. It’s not good to misrepresent the Blessed One, for the Blessed One would not say, ‘A monk with no more effluents, on the break-up of the body, is annihilated, perishes, and does not exist after death.’ (SN 22.85, trans. Thanissaro, 1997)A blanket denial of the self therefore has no basis in scripture, and directly contradicts the Buddha’s discouragement of annihilationist thought.

Interestingly, when confronted with direct questions about the metaphysics of the self, the Buddha often chose to maintain silence. A famous example is found in the Ananda Sutta:Having taken a seat to one side, Vacchagotta the wanderer said to the Master, ‘Now then, Venerable Gotama, is there a self?’ When this was said, the Master was silent. (SN 44.10, trans. Thanissaro, 2004)Edmond Holmes, in The Creed of Buddha (1908), interprets the Buddha’s maintenance of a dignified silence in response to Vacchagotta’s question as evidence of his acknowledgement of the existence of the self:

The words that are ascribed to him – words which may well have been his – suggest that some such thoughts as these were passing through his mind: “The Ego is real beyond all reality, but I cannot hope to make Vacchagotta understand this.” (p. 114)

Holmes suggests that if the Buddha did not believe in the self, he would have answered Vacchagotta’s question in the negative without hesitation, since “metaphysical atomism, like every other development of materialism, is very easy to explain” (p. 142). However, rather than directly answering Vacchagotta’s question in the affirmative, the Buddha remained silent. Holmes proposes that this is because the transcendental nature of the self would have been beyond the comprehension of Vacchagotta’s naïve mind at that stage in his spiritual development, and so Vacchagotta would have misunderstood the affirmative answer to his question. This in turn would have had a negative effect on his struggle for liberation.

Although Holmes’ theory is attractive, I argue that it makes quite an extravagant inference based on the Buddha’s silence. Quite simply, the Buddha may have remained silent because he did not find such metaphysical questions as conducive to Vacchagotta’s quest for liberation. This is evidenced by the fact that when asked by the Venerable Ananda about his silence regarding Vacchagotta’s question, the Buddha replied that Vacchagotta’s spiritual immaturity would have lead him to misinterpret any answer in a way that would bring him further attachment. This by itself is an adequate explanation for the Buddha’s silence, and there is no need to make any further inferences about the Buddha’s metaphysical views.

In addition to his rejection of annihilationism, some scholars have identified instances in the scriptures in which the Buddha appears to affirm the existence of a self. An example is Tony Page’s examination of theMahayana Mahaparinirvana Sutra, aptly entitled “Affirmation of Eternal Self in the Mahayana Mahaparinirvana Sutra” (2010). Consider the two following passages identified by Page:

The Self (atman) is reality (tattva), the Self is permanent (nitva), the Self is virtue (guna), the Self is eternal (sasvata), the Self is stable (dhruva), the Self is peace (siva).(Trans. Hodge, 2006)The True Self is the tathagata-dhatu [Buddha Principle, Buddha Element, Buddha Factor]. You should know that all beings do have it, but it is not apparent, since those beings are enveloped by immeasurable klesas [defects of mind, morality, and character] … (Trans. Hodge, 2005)

These passages appear to show the Buddha affirming the existence of the self in the metaphysical sense. Reminiscent of the Upanishads, he asserts that each and every being has a self which is real, eternal, and unconditioned.

Those inclined to the Theravada school may question the authenticity of the Mahayana Mahaparinirvana Sutra and feel compelled to overlook it. However, as observed by Joaquin Perez-Remon in his controversial book Self and Non-Self in Early Buddhism (1980), the Pali Canon also contains passages in which the Buddha appears to speak about the self in a positive sense. Perez-Remon identifies the following passage from the Mahaparinibbana Sutta:

Therefore Ananda, stay as those who have the self as island, as those who have the self as refuge, as those who have no other refuge. (DN 16, trans. Perez-Remon, 1980)

According to Perez-Remon, this famous passage “appears to assert, implicitly at least, the reality of atta” (p. 20). He also identifies a similar passage in the Dhammapada:

Your own self is your master; who else could be? With yourself well controlled, you gain a master very hard to find. (Dhp. XII. 160, trans. Perez-Remon, 1980)

Again, in this passage, the Buddha appears to uphold the self as something of the greatest importance.It has been argued that when the Buddha speaks about the self in passages such as those presented above, he is merely doing so in a conventional sense in order to facilitate communication, rather than in a metaphysical sense. However, it is when one considers the implications of such a conventional interpretation on the spiritual meaning of the above passages that one is able to appreciate the force of Perez-Remon’s argument. Perez-Remon argues that if the self had been intended in a conventional sense, then the above passages would be suggesting that one should consider one’s impermanent and insubstantial configuration of khandhas as an island and refuge, a line of thought which seems unlikely to have been advocated by the Buddha.

Peter Harvey (1995) argues that despite its scholarship, a problem with Perez-Remon’s thesis is that it attributes to the self qualities such as faith, “which must be seen as part of the personality-factor of ‘constructing activities’” (p. 19). Although Harvey does not accept the idea of a substantial self, he rejects annihilationism, and speaks about a subjective existence in nibbana¹ which he terms ‘nibbanic discernment’. Along similar lines, Miri Albihari, in “Against No-Atman Theories of Anatta” (2002), argues that absolute annihilationism with respect to the self is incompatible with the doctrine of nibbana. To claim that there is nothing beyond the conditioned khandhas is to assume the unsavoury view that there is nothing left to experience, and that nibbana is complete annihilation. However, throughout the Pali Canon, the Buddha frequently describes the state of nibbana in positive terms, as shown by the following examples:

… the subtle, the very-hard-to-see,
the ageless, permanence, the undecaying,
the surface-less, non-objectification,
peace, the deathless,
the exquisite, bliss, solace,
the exhaustion of craving,
the wonderful, the marvelous,
the secure, security,
nibbana… (SN 43, trans. Thanissaro, 1999)There is, monks, an unborn — unbecome — unmade — unfabricated. If there were not that unborn — unbecome — unmade — unfabricated, there would not be the case that emancipation from the born — become — made — fabricated would be discerned. But precisely because there is an unborn — unbecome — unmade — unfabricated, emancipation from the born — become — made — fabricated is discerned. (Ud 8.3, trans. Thanissaro, 1994)

Although the above terms from the Asankhata Samyutta can be regarded in a metaphorical sense, they at the very least indicate that there is something it is like to experience nibbana, and that this experience is positive. This refutes the interpretation of nibbana as a state of nothingness, thus implying the existence of subjective experience beyond the khandhas.

The view that there is a subjective existence beyond the conditioned khandas that persists after their dissolution is shared by George Grimm, who writes in The Doctrine of the Buddha (1958):

For, though none of the elements constituting our personality nor a soul standing behind it can form our real essence, Still We Are, a fundamental fact which remains even in face of this result. (p. 132)

He then goes on to write:

On the contrary we leave the world, in leaving behind the only thing still belonging to it, our corpse, – everything else we long before threw at its feet – and thus we proceed “to the glory of our Self”, a word not used by the Buddha, but this, not because of its being false, but because, according to what in our previous pages we have been saying, it might give rise only too easily to misinterpretations, in consequence of its relation to personality. (p. 160)

Not only does Grimm assert the reality of subjective existence beyond the khandhas, but he associates it with the realisation of nibbana and our ultimate reality, echoing his earlier observation, “I am: that is the most certain axiom there is” (p. 112).What Grimm is emphasising is the fundamentality of subjective being to existence itself. From a metaphysical perspective, I propose that the denial of such subjective being is fallacious. My existence as a subjective being is a basic fact that is impossible for me to deny. As illustrated by Descartes’ famous maxim, “Je pense donc je suis”, one can doubt the reality of the external world on the grounds that it may be no more than an illusion, but one cannot possibly doubt one’s own existence as an experiencing being, because the fact that one doubts implies that one exists. Any claim that being is illusory is therefore meaningless rhetoric, for there still needs to be something to experience an illusion. Similarly, as noted by Christmas Humphreys (1962), in the struggle for liberation, “it is the Self which is striving to understand itself” (p. 85).

Of course, the Buddha taught that a living being is constituted of a combination of conditioned khandhas. In the Vajira Sutta, the nun Vajira states:

Just as when, with an assemblage of parts, there’s the word, chariot, even so when aggregates are present, there’s the convention of living being. (SN 5.10, trans. Thanissaro, 1998)

The khandhas are a group of physical and mental aggregates which are in a perpetual state of flux and none of which can be identified with a self. Similarly, Hume observed that whenever he tried to direct his attention inwards, he was able to observe only a bundle of perceptions but not the experiencer of these perceptions. However, I argue that Hume’s difficulty was due to an attempt to objectivate something which is fundamentally subjective. Of course, he could not experience his self, because it is his self that is experiencing. What is experiencing is not an object that can be observed, but the subject. It is the existence or blank screen in which the bundle of perceptions manifests, and without which they could not manifest. Kant was fully aware of Hume’s error, and in his Critique of Pure Reason (1781) observed that “there must be a condition which precedes all experience, and which makes experience itself possible” (A 107).

My perspective therefore is that I am, or my self is, my consciousness. I am not referring to the vinnana khandha, for which ‘discernment’ is a more suitable translation, but to the subjective existence or blank screen in which all of my experiences are realised. The fact that I exist is the necessary condition for everything that I experience to be realised. The matter of my body is always being lost and replaced, and my mental state is always changing. However, there must be an existence for these physical and mental phenomena to manifest, and for the state of nibbana to be realised after the dissolution of the khandhas.
Others, including Peter Harvey and Thanissaro Bhikkhu, have also advocated the existence of unconditioned consciousness in nibbana. They identify instances in the Pali Canon in which the Buddha asserts the existence of such consciousness, such as in the following passage from theBrahmanimantanika Sutta:

Consciousness without surface, endless, radiant all around… (MN 49, trans. Thanissaro, 2007)

As argued by Thanissaro Bhikkhu, this consciousness does not refer to the conditioned vinnana khandha, but to unconditioned existence beyond space and time. In this sense, it is eternal, as it is not conditioned by time. This supposes a dualism between conditioned phenomena and this unconditioned consiousness. Peter Harvey (1990) elegantly describes the process liberation as this consciousness becoming “’unsupported’ (apatitthita) and free of constructing activities, so that it is released, steadfast, content, undisturbed, and attains Nibbana” (p. 63).

Although Harvey accepts that it is consciousness that attains nibbana, does not refer to it as self. I can appreciate his hesitation, for the term ‘self’ can appear to denote a substantial object which one owns, and so the application of the term to anything is likely to encourage further attachment. Others, such as Thanissaro Bhikkhu, argue that the terms ‘self’ and ‘not-self’ do not apply to the unconditioned after the dissolution of the conditioned khandhas. Again, I can sympathise with this view, for if what is not self is no longer there, there would be no need to categorise anything by applying concepts such as ‘self’ and ‘not-self’.  However, I argue that this is partly an issue with semantics. By identifying consciousness with self, I am not attempting to objectivate it or attribute to it any concepts associated with conditioned phenomena, but acknowledging it as the subjective basis of existence. Indeed, there is no object which I can equate with ‘I’, for ‘I’ is only a subject.

A similar view is expressed by the Burmese scholar Shwe Zan Aung in “A Dialogue on Nibbana” (1918). Aung depicts a Socratic dialogue in which the protagonist Agga, a Buddhist monk, presents his perspective that nibbana is one’s fruitional consciousness, and defends the existence of individuals innibbana. He does so by qualifying that individuality refers to each consciousness being a different subjective reality, and not to the characteristics of any substantial soul or ego. Consciousnesses differ from each other not because of any tangible properties, but merely with respect to their subjective personalisation:

Agga. This grammatical distinction is due to your view of the mind as subject and of Nibbana as object. But the latter cannot be an object without a subject. The fact is that the subject and the object are merged in an intuition. This follows from Buddhaghosa’s dictum that Nibbana is the fruitional consciousness itself. Nibbana is not thought but lived. Else Nibbana would be merely lip-bliss.Sumana. Am I to understand you to say that individuals exist in Nibbana?Agga. It all depends upon what you mean by ‘individual’. If you mean a soul in the sense in which it is generally understood in the West, I would reply No, because the ego idea is but a concept. But if you use the word as a mere label for realities, I would say Yes. Sariputta was a distinct individual from Moggallana on this side of the veil. Why should not their continuations be individually distinct on the other side?Each lives his own Nibbana. (Paccattam veditabbo vinnuhi). But it does not follow that they draw a line of demarcation between meum and tuum on the other side any more than they do on this side.

To further support this idea, there are instances in the Pali Canon in which the Buddha makes positive statements about individual beings after they had attained nibbana:

That is Mara, the Evil One. He is searching for the consciousness of Vakkali the clansman: “Where is the consciousness of Vakkali the clansman established?” But, monks, it is through unestablished consciousness that Vakkali the clansman has become totally unbound. (SN 22.87, trans. Thanissaro, 2005)

The Buddha also makes a similar utterance about the clansman Godhika in the Godhika Sutta. These passages suggest the acknowledgement of the existence of individuals in nibbana, very much in the manner suggested by Shwe Zan Aung’s protagonist Agga.

What I have presented in this essay so far suggests that the interpretation of the doctrine of anatta as a metaphysical denial of the self is incorrect. Rather, I propose that a more correct interpretation of the doctrine is the view advocated by Thanissaro Bhikkhu. He writes in his essay “No-self or Not-self?” (1996):

In this sense, the anatta teaching is not a doctrine of no-self, but a not-self strategy for shedding suffering by letting go of its cause, leading to the highest, undying happiness.

The doctrine of anatta, therefore, is not a metaphysical assertion, but a practical strategy that guides one to let go of attachment to conditioned phenomena and thus to achieve liberation.

This is view is supported by the way the term anatta is used in the Pali Canon. Consider the following passage from the Girimananda Sutta:

And what is the perception of not-self? There is the case where a monk — having gone to the wilderness, to the shade of a tree, or to an empty building — reflects thus: ‘The eye is not-self, forms are not-self; the ear is not-self, sounds are not-self; the nose is not-self, aromas are not-self; the tongue is not-self, flavors are not-self; the body is not-self, tactile sensations are not-self; the intellect is not-self, ideas are not-self.’ Thus he remains focused on not-selfness with regard to the six inner & outer sense media. This is called the perception of not-self. (AN 10.60, trans. Thanissaro)

Here, the term anatta is not used to deny the reality of the self, but to describe conditioned phenomena as not being the self. Therefore, the correct translation of anatta is not ‘no self’, but ‘not self’.

Indeed, it makes sense for the doctrine of anatta to be a practical strategy and not a metaphysical assertion. After all, it was not in the Buddha’s interests to teach metaphysics, but to help people to overcome suffering:

Both formerly and now, it is only stress that I describe, and the cessation of stress. (SN 22.86, trans. Thanissaro, 2004)

As a practical strategy, the doctrine of anatta teaches one to avoid falsely identifying oneself with conditioned phenomena, and thus to free oneself from attachment. It also helps one to overcome greed, for if even this body and this mind do not genuinely belong to me, how could I possibly justify being strongly attached to material possessions? Finally, I argue that it promotes respect and compassion for others, for the recognition of the insubstantiality of the material differences between people encourages one to respect others as being equal and to treat others as one would wish to be treated. When viewed in this light, one is able to appreciate what a wonderful teaching the doctrine of anatta is.

References

Thanissaro B (2002). “When You Know for Yourselves…” in The Karma of Questions. Metta Forest Monastery. 2002.

This essay originally appeared, here.

1. Pali for nirvana

Q. I was told that after Srila Prabhupada became ill he established in his temples the chanting of the Narasingha pranati (prayer to Lord Narasingha) because it is a very powerful mantra for the protection of the spiritual master. On the other hand certain devotees have told me that one should not chant this mantra because in their words, “It sends Radha and Krishna far away.” What then is the implication of Srila Prabhupada establishing such worship in his temples?

A. During my membership in Iskcon, Narasingha prayers were chanted after every arati ceremony, which in major temples were held six times daily. According to the book Prabhupada Lilamrta, our Srila Prabhupada established the chanting of the Narasingha pranati in May 1967, after he had what appeared to be a heart attack. Therein it is written:

“Devotees entered the front room of the apartment, and Prabhupada told them to chant Hare Krsna. Then he told them to pray to Krsna in his form of Narasinghadeva. [Satsvarupa said:] Swamiji said we should pray to Lord Narasingha and the prayer should be ‘My master has not finished his work.’ [Jadurani said:] He taught us the prayers to Lord Narasinghadeva. He said the words one by one, and I wrote them down. I called up the temples in San Francisco and Montreal and told them the prayer. Swamiji said, ‘You should pray to Krsna that, my spiritual master has not yet completed his work, so please let him finish.’”

The mantra Srila Prabhupada instituted in his society at that time is the Narasingha pranati that Mahaprabhu himself uttered in Puri Dhama along with a verse from Sri Jayadeva’s Dasa Avatara Stotram, which is found at the beginning of his book Gita Govinda, a very high rasa sastra. Apparently, Jayadeva was not worried about disturbing the divine couple when he prefaced his book with this stotram, a poem that under scrutiny speaks of “krsnas tu bhagavan svayam” while glorifying ten of Krishna’s avataras.

Neither was Sri Caitanya Mahaprabhu disturbed by the worship of Sri Narasinghadeva. In Caitanya-caritamrta it is written, “After seeing the Deity of Lord Narasingha in the temple, Sri Caitanya Mahaprabhu offered his respectful obeisances by falling flat. Then, in ecstatic love, he performed various dances, chanted, and offered prayers.” All glories to Narasinghadeva, who is the Lord of Prahlada Maharaja and, like a honeybee, is always engaged in beholding the lotus-like face of the goddess of fortune.”

In the Vrindavana lila, the inhabitants worship Narasingha, as well as Narayana and his other avataras, for the protection of Krishna. Sri Narahari is also prominent in Gaura lila, which is our approach to raga bhakti. There he is worshiped for the protection of Sri Krishna nama-sankirtana. As was done in Gaura lila, Srila Prabhupada worshiped him for the protection of his movement. With regard to the raga-marga, Thakura Bhaktivinoda offers the following prayers to Sri Narasinghadeva in his Navadvipa-bhava Taranga:

e dusta hrdaye kama adi ripu chaya
kutinati pratisthasa sathya sada raya
hrdaya-sodhana ara krsnera vasana
nrsimha-carane mora ei to’ kamana

Within my sinful heart the six enemies headed by lust perpetually reside, as well as duplicity, the desire for fame, plus sheer cunning. Residing at the lotus feet of Lord Narasingha, I pray that he will mercifully purify my heart and give me the desire to serve Lord Krishna.

kandiya nrsimha-pade magibo kakhana
nirapade navadvipe jugala-bhajana
bhaya bhaya paya yan’ra darsane se hari
prasanna hoibo kabe more daya kari

Weeping, I will beg at the lotus feet of Lord Narasingha for the benediction of worshipping Radha and Krishna in Navadvipa, perfectly safe and free from all difficulties. When will this Lord Hari, whose terrible form strikes fear into fear itself, ever become pleased and show me his mercy?

yadyapi bhisana murti dusta-jiva-prati
prahladadi krsna-bhakta-jane bhadra ati
kabe va prasanna ho’ye sa krpa-vacane
nirbhaya karibe ei mudha akincane

Even though Lord Narasingha is terrifying toward the sinful souls, he offers great auspiciousness unto the devotees of Lord Krishna headed by Prahlada Maharaja. When will he be pleased to speak words of compassion unto me, a worthless fool, and thereby make me fearless?

svacchande baiso he vatsa sri-gauranga-dhame
jugala-bhajana hau rati hau name
mama bhakta-krpa-bale vighna jabe dura
suddha citte bhajo radha-krsna-rasa-pura

He will say, “Dear child! Sit down freely and live happily here in Sri Gauranga dhama. May you nicely worship the divine couple, and may you develop loving attachment for their holy names. By the mercy of my devotees, all obstacles are cast far away. With a purified heart, just perform the worship of Radha and Krishna, for such worship overflows with sweet nectar.”

ei boli’ kabe mora mastaka-upara
sviya sri-carana harse dharibe isvara
amani jugala-preme sattvika vikare
dharaya lutibo ami sri-nrsimha-dvare

Saying this, will that Lord delightedly place his own divine lotus feet upon my head? I will experience sublime love for the divine couple, Radha-Krsna, and undergo the ecstatic transformations called sattvika. Falling on the ground, I will roll about at the door of Sri Narasingha’s temple.

Here at Audarya we worship a Narasingha sila with these prayers of Thakura Bhaktivinoda and we sing Jayadeva’s stotram on the appearance days of the various avataras mentioned therein. In his prayer, Bhaktivinoda Thakura shows us how to pray to attain eligibility for raganuga-bhakti. Having attained such eligibility—or better stated, jata-ruci raganuga-bhakti—the worship of Narahari Bhagavan will certainly diminish in the life of the raganuga-sadhaka as he or she focuses exclusively on his or her ista-devata. However, in perfection the worship of Sri Narasinghadeva may again surface in an effort to achieve something for one’s dearmost, Sri Krishna. In this case one would be praying to God to accomplish something for Krishna while unaware, due to the influence of yogamaya, that Krishna is svayam bhagavan. I also personally worship Narasinghadeva with a prayer to understand the meaning of Srimad-Bhagavatam, as he revealed its meaning to Sridhara Swami, whose commentary Mahaprabhu so praised. I first offered this prayer in Jaipura, where Sri Jiva Goswami’s Radha-Damodara are served along with a Deity of Narasinghadeva.

All considered, I do think it is important for devotees to cultivate a conceptual orientation to the worship of Narasinghadeva that is appropriate for serving Krishna in the mood of Vraja bhakti. Unfortunately, a good number of so-called devotees of Narasinghadeva are attracted to thoughts of personally “fighting with demons” and thus they worship him for wrong reasons. For Gaudiya Vaishnavas, the right reason to worship him is as Bhaktivinoda prays, “to beg at the lotus feet of Lord Narasingha for the benediction of worshipping Radha and Krishna in Navadvipa, perfectly safe and free from all difficulties.” The best example of worship of Narasinghadeva is Prahlada, who was so gentle. Those who actually understand this sad-aisvarya form of Bhagavan become gentle as well.

As for the idea that the worship of Narasingha chases Radha-Krsna far away, let me give you an example of the opposite occurring. It is well documented that on the occasion of Narasingha Caturdasi Gopala Bhatta Goswami was deeply and prayerfully contemplating the intensity of Prahlada’s bhakti and how it caused Sri Narasinghadeva to appear from a stone pillar. He contemplated this great wonder while wishing he had his own Deity of Krishna to offer seva-puja to and hoping that Mahaprabhu would soon fulfill his promise to visit him in Vrindavana. When he awoke, the deity of Radha-Ramana, who is considered to be nondifferent from Mahaprabhu, appeared from one of his saligrama stones. So in other words, when Gopala Bhatta Goswami contemplated Prahlad and Narasinghadeva, the result was not the disappearance of Radha and Krishna but rather their appearance.

Worth noting here is that Srimad-Bhagavatam makes it very clear that Prahlada’s ista-devata was Krishna. In a Sanga entitled “Eagerness for Vraja Bhakti,” I cited references for this in reply to a question about his devotion. The point is that Narasinghadeva is a special manifestation of Krishna—Krishna appearing in a form suitable to the circumstances, the protection of Prahlada. Of course, Prahlada is a vaidhi-bhakta, so he worshiped Krishna in vaidhi-bhakti, not raganuga-bhakti.

It is also interesting to note that Srila Prabhupada told us to pray in one way in the beginning of his preaching and a different way as he neared the end of his preaching lila. In the beginning he asked us to petition Bhagavan Narasingha to protect his preaching—the message of Gaura, the order of Sri Radha’s handmaiden, Nayanamani (Sri Bhaktisiddhanta Saraswati Thakura). In the end he told us when we asked if we could pray for him to pray to Krishna thus: “My dear Lord Krishna, if you so desire, please save Srila Prabhupada.” Similarly, we find the worship of Narasingha Bhagavan in Sri Caitanya Mahaprabhu’s adi and madhya lilas, but it is for the most part absent in his antya-lila. His antya-lila is filled with the exclusive worship of Govinda in the bhava of Radha.

The following is another installment of our classroom series: Sri Upadesamrta, with Illuminations by Srila B. R. Sridhara Deva Goswami, published by Gosai Publishers, 2009. View past installments, here.

Text Four

dadati pratigrhnati
guhyam akhyati prcchati
bhunkte bhojayate caiva
sad-vidham priti-laksanam

Offering gifts and accepting gifts, revealing one’s mind in confidence and inquiring confidentially, accepting prasada and offering prasada – these are the six symptoms of love shared by devotees.

Illumination by B. R. Sridhara Deva Goswami

These are the six kinds of association with a sadhu. Higher association is only possible with a serving attitude, otherwise there is no sanga. Lower association means exploitation and enjoyment, but higher association can only be achieved through service. By proper association the quality of your service will increase. Sadhu-sanga and sadhu-seva is of the utmost importance. The Gaudiya Matha stresses the importance of sadhu-seva—serving the sadhu. Whatever you do by the command of the higher devotee will, through him, surely connect you with a higher conception of the Absolute. Whatever you do, do it with that connection from above and carry out his order.

Offering Gifts and Accepting Gifts

Dadati pratigrhnati—we shall come to present new things to the sadhus and try to live by the old remnants left by them. Giving something for the service of a sadhu and taking his prasadam—whatever he gives, we accept that. We can increase our attraction and love for a person in such a way by giving him raw items and by accepting his prasadam. To give items to be utilized by him, and whatever is necessary for ourselves. I won’t try to take anything new, but only that which has been rejected by the Vaishnava or guru, whether it is a garland, clothes, different decorations, or whatever. We shall try to live by the remnants of the Vaishnavas. We shall present new things to the sadhus, and we shall try to live by their remnants—tena tyaktena bhunjitha. Give and take. Give and take eternally, internally and externally, whatever my position. In taking we get a higher thing from him. Raw materials we supply, and we get remnants from him. In this way I can improve my position. If we accept the energy of worldly men then generally our minds will become polluted and impure. And if the mind is impure, then the remembrance of Krishna will not be very clear.

visayira anna khaile malina haya mana
malina mana haile nahe krsnera smarana

If one eats the food of a materialist, one’s mind becomes polluted. When the mind becomes polluted one cannot remember Krishna.¹

When I accept the elaborate energy of a materialist, then the poison of his mind comes with his energy, with his money and all these things. The energy comes carrying the mentality of the owner. To accept that means to digest that. But one who is able to digest it can utilize it. Visasya visam-ausadham: poison is medicine to poison. Poison can also be utilized as medicine. The divine agent can utilize poison as nectar, otherwise it will kill the person who is taking the energy of the materialist.

Only madhukari-bhiksa, collecting from a particular person, will take away his sin or virtue. Anything that comes with his energy is transmitted. We are feeding on him, exploiting him and that exploitation must have a reaction. Madhukara—just as bees collect every particle of honey from here and there. They do not care so much, they do not look to get any return for that—a small particle perhaps, it does not matter. If we collect our food in that way then there is no possibility of some reaction coming. Madhukari-bhiksa has been recommended for the tyagis. But we Gaudiya Matha people collect their energy as much as we can utilize. Our aim is a little different—we want to help them and we do not collect it for our personal purpose. It is for the general service of the Lord and his devotees. In an organic way we help them. We will use the energy from impure sources and, by hook or by crook, utilize that in the fire sacrifice that is lit in a grand way for the satisfaction of Krishna and his activity. What is that activity? The chanting of his name on a big scale. Sankirtana-yajna, a great sacrificial organic attempt has been accepted and we are to collect things for that. And because I am also rendering some service, as remuneration I may take something. For the purpose of service I am to maintain my health and I shall take only what is necessary. This is yukta-vairagya. We are not taking anything for our personal utilization so we do not feel any contamination. One will suffer if he collects another’s energy for his own selfish purpose, but if he can utilize the energy of someone for the service of Krishna in the congregational chanting of his name to purify the whole world, then there is no apprehension of being contaminated by that energy.

Whatever we receive we should think it is from our guru. I am eating the remnants of my Gurudeva. I am doing some service and as a servant I am entitled to take some remains. Tena tyaktena bhuñjitha ma grdhah kasya svid dhanam—we have no greed for others property, but it is all being utilized for their benefit in the sankirtana-yajna. And as a servant I have some duty to discharge, therefore I am to keep my body fit and for that purpose I am taking the avasesa (remnants).

tvayopabhukta-srag-gandha
vaso-’lankara-carcitah
ucchista-bhojino dasas
tava mayam jayema hi

By decorating ourselves with the garlands, scents, clothes and ornaments that you have already enjoyed, and by eating the remnants of your food, we, your servants, will certainly conquer your illusory potency.²

Uddhava says that there are ways of getting out of this mayika entanglement. “Only by honoring your remains can we conquer maya. I am grateful to you and none else in this world. I am your servant and must live on the remains after you have taken. Thereby, by this single attempt, we can conquer the whole world. There is no glamour for anything in this world for us.” That is the nature of the attempt of this organized preaching of the Gaudiya Matha. You can even accept a kingdom, but not for yourself but for God. And from whomever they take, he is benefited. With this angle of vision we will be individually responsible for our transaction with the outside parties.

When something is dedicated for the service of Krishna it is a conscious unit. Will a man allow his wife to serve another gentleman? Will she allow? Everything is meant for Krishna consciousness, and not for any other consciousness. Only for him. Everything here is exclusively meant for Krishna and no other god. We are not materialists. Everything is conscious and fresh. And no other spirit is allowed except to fully dedicate oneself to the Lord. Every flower born here is only to satisfy Krishna. Radharani will curse us if we try to utilize it for the service of others. They are all meant for this. They will curse us. Here in the temple also – trespassers may pluck flowers, for medicinal purposes they will take some things, but it pains my heart. They are all meant for the service of Krishna. For medical purposes some people may take a root or something. I ask them, “Go to Mahaprabhu, take his permission, then take it.” If it is necessary and it cannot be avoided then I tell them, “Go, you get his permission first.”

Once I heard at the Yogapitha, the appearance place of Mahaprabhu, there was one kadamba tree. At that time Prabhupada was coming out to go to Calcutta and one devotee said, “A new flower has come on the kadamba tree, it has not been given to Prabhupada.” He took a flower and ran towards the car of Prabhupada.
Prabhupada asked, “What is this?”
“A new flower from the Yogapitha temple tree.”
“A new flower?”
“We have come to show you, Prabhupada, and we shall give to Mahaprabhu.”
“Then go and show it to Mahaprabhu. Take his permission and then bring to me. I am going away now. If I was staying, you could put it in my hand and I could show him. But I am going away, now go and show him and then bring it to me. You have got to take his permission.”

That is prasada. Anugraha—dedicated. To show to him is to dedicate. Then we can take the prasada. He is our shelter. This is the key to our life—tena tyaktena. After offering to him, then you use it.

yajna-sistasinah santo
mucyante sarva-kilbisaih
bhunjate te tv agham papa
ye pacanty atma-karanat

Saintly persons are liberated from all types of sins by accepting the remnants of foodstuffs offered in sacrifice. However, those who cook for themselves eat only sin.³

Whenever you dedicate anything to your own self, you create sin. You create disharmony in the environment. But if you offer it to the center, Yajna—to Visnu, and then you use, harmony is maintained. Everything is created to serve Krishna—everything. You must dedicate anything and everything to him and then you can take the prasada remaining. Isavasyam idam sarvam: everywhere, everything is in the possession of the Supreme Entity, everything belongs to him. There should be no disturbance to the law and order. The law and order of the whole should be kept intact. You live here as a loyal subject. You all live as loyal subjects, not illegal—physically or even mentally. Thought, word and deed—you must be a loyal subject in this kingdom of the Lord. That is what is required from us. Then there is peace and harmony and no reaction. Otherwise there will be reaction and you will have to suffer for that.

Revealing One’s Mind and Inquiring Confidentially

Guhyam akhyati—I should reveal my innermost feelings to the sadhu, “From my innermost heart I feel these many particular things within myself. Are these feelings good or bad? And if bad, what is the remedy?” We shall place our inner heart before him so that he may examine us and proceed accordingly. Whatever the innermost feeling is, that should be divulged to a sadhu. I must reveal everything of my entire heart to him and also hear what is conceived within his heart. The private things within my heart must be disclosed, and I must acquire the private things within his heart. I shall inquire about the inner wealth within his heart. Prcchati means inquiry. We will ask his advice and put questions which are necessary for me at this stage. “What is the secret of your holy life? Please tell me and I shall try to follow that example in order to get out of my present circumstances. In your case how did you gain relief?” We shall try to collect the secrets for success in life from a sadhu.

tad viddhi pranipatena
pariprasnena sevaya
upadeksyanti te jnanam
jnaninas tattva-darsinah

Such knowledge should be achieved through submission, inquiry and service to those who are wise and have seen the Supreme Truth.⁴

Pariprasna. Honest, sincere inquiry is always allowed, but not with the tendency towards tarka, argument. Not with argument—all our efforts should be concentrated to understand in a positive line without leaving a state of doubt or suspicion. With all attention you shall try to understand, because it is coming from a higher source where I am not known.

Pariprasna will be the outcome of surrender. “I am hopeless, I can’t ascertain the truth, it is a dire necessity for me but I can’t help myself.” With this hankering and with no hope of any remedy, I shall most humbly try and start to inquire modestly. I shall try to know, “What is this? What is that? What is the meaning?” The mood should not be that, “I shall finish knowing about this matter.” That sort of attitude will not allow us to enter into the real domain. Nor should we inquire simly out of curiosity or a desire for philosophical mastership or anything of that kind. Its only necessity is for the satisfaction of the Lord. Reality is by itself and for itself. It must be for himself. For His interest this prasna (inquiry) is necessary. Inquiry should be made only to satisfy Krishna and the devotees of Krishna—for his cause, not for my cause if it is independent of his satisfaction.

Another most important thing is that it is also necessary for service. Service is the only important thing. “What is necessary? What will be necessary to render proper service?” – that sort of pariprasna is required. A dire necessity for service, for discharging my duty. I want to serve the cause, not to lord it over. If the spirit within is to lord it over, everything will be spoiled. It is not a plane of us being masters. It is not something that we can use according to our whim. We are putting ourselves into the fire—what I am, that will vanish and from within my higher, divine self will come out. What I am presently is a nasty thing, but what is within me, that is divine and noble. With this hope we shall go.

1. Cc. Antya 6.278
2. Bhag. 11.6.46
3. Gita 3.13
4. Gita 4.34

Reviewed by: Richard Coles

Both friends and foes of the Church of England might think that the title of this book, Religion for Atheists, is one we’ve already claimed. We set a low hurdle, it is said, which many sceptics clear with ease, and once over they seem to find the tentativeness of our enthusiasms, the Gwen John palette of our prayer, if not exactly congenial, then not unpleasant.Alain de Botton might belong to this group, were it not for this, in the first chapter: “Let us state that of course no religions are true in any God-given sense.” That he should reach his conclusion so confidently and so early on would, you’d think, spare him the effort of engaging seriously with religion and spare us the effort of reading the rest of the book. He does persevere, however, and so should we, for our efforts are rewarded. His prose is lovely: clear, gently persuasive, light of touch – he would have made a marvellous preacher – and the text is illustrated with helpful photographs suggesting, to paraphrase Emily Dickinson, that the truth is best told slant.

It is a great relief, also, to come across a book with the word “atheists” in the title that responds to the claims of religion and its adherents with something more than an attack of the vapours. Others, more hostile in intent, leave their readers with the impression that affiliation to a church is equivalent to, say, participating actively in the Spanish Inquisition. De Botton, in welcome contrast, concedes that religion might not only be benign but also offer things of value for all. In my little town, for example, if you are old and alone, church and chapel between them provide daily amusements, solidarity with one’s peers, contact with the young, practical support and help and a fathomless wealth of biscuits. Seven centuries ago, in this unremarkable part of the English Midlands, the town folk built a church so beautiful that it gave shape to their hopes of a life transcending this worldly weal and woe – a function that it continues to perform today.

De Botton suggests that these modest examples are derived from religious faith and commitment, powerful stuff, which on a wider scale have enabled liberal education to flourish, societies to cohere, and individuals to engage with one another in peculiarly rich and successful ways. He rather interestingly contrasts going out to eat in a restaurant with the Eucharist. The former gathers people in a convivial setting to eat together only for them to pretend that they are in fact alone, sitting there in isolating pools of light whispering to one another over their sea bass. The latter, originally a shared meal, turns strangers into brothers and sisters through the practice of what theologians call koinonia – communion through participation. This is not to say that De Botton is unmindful of the yawning chasm between what religious people hope to do and what they actually achieve, but he does think that there is credit in having a go.

For these, and other reasons, De Botton urges his readers not to ignore or scorn religion but to steal from it. We may no longer feel the need to profess extraordinary beliefs and circumcise our boy children but we could all use a revived sense of community, an enlivening of our sympathies, and a strengthening of our powers to enjoy or endure existence. He recommends, for example, the erection of temples to secular virtues, structures – like mosques or Stonehenge or St Mary the Virgin, Finedon – in which our values and aspirations are “solidified and celebrated”. That makes sense, and some illustrations are provided; but to me – and here is where we part company – they look like pavilions from a minor Baltic expo. Could a Temple of Reflection or Campanile of Perspective or Henge of Higgs Bosons ever do for us what Lincoln Cathedral or the Al-Azhar mosque did for our ancestors? I do not think so, because they do not have the same designs on us, body and soul. In these secular temples our deepest longings and fears may indeed be “mirrored and contextualised” but they are not redeemed.

I think I share a secular person’s sense of awe and wonder at a starlit sky or a subatomic particle behaving ambiguously; I too find deep consolation in the sublime indifference of nature – the one thing that makes me feel nostalgic for atheism – but Christianity does not offer consolation, it offers salvation. That is why people built cathedrals, and in other dispensations enormous mosques and complexes of temples: they sought, and seek, salvation, and for this God‑givenness seems to me essential.

This article originally appeared on The Observer.

Some terms come with a built-in halo. We use words like inclusive, liberation, empowerment, and diversity to characterize that which we aim to praise. For example, when a murderer gets off on a technicality, we say that he has been released rather than liberated. A club that welcomes membership from all who should be invited is inclusive, whereas one which denies membership to some who are entitled to it is exclusionary. Importantly, a club that has a highly restricted membership but does not deny membership to anyone who is entitled to it is not exclusionary, but exclusive. A club is exclusionary when it unjustifiably denies membership to some; it is exclusive when its membership is justifiably limited. In short, many terms do double-duty as both descriptive and evaluative. Or, to put the matter more precisely, some terms serve to describe how things stand from an evaluative perspective.

This is not news. However, it is worth noting that a lot can be gained from blurring the distinction between the descriptive and evaluative senses of such terms. For example, when one succeeds at describing an institution as exclusionary, one often thereby succeeds at placing an argumentative burden on those who support it. Now supporters of the institution in question must not only make their case in favor of the institution; they must also make an additional argument that it is not, in fact, exclusionary. Sometimes what looks like argumentative success is really just success at complicating the agenda of one’s opponents.

The point works in the other direction, too. When one successfully casts a policy as one which furthers diversity and empowers individuals, one has already made good progress towards justifying it. Very few oppose diversity and empowerment, and so a policy which is understood to embrace these values is to some extent ipso facto justified; those who support the policy in question simply need to announce that it serves diversity and empowerment. This is vindication by association.

The trouble with halo terms is that their power derives from their vagueness. As we have noted, everyone opposes exclusionary institutions and supports inclusive ones because everyone agrees that institutions should include all who should be included. And there’s the rub. There is far less agreement over the details concerning who is entitled to inclusion and why; in fact, on any issue of substance, there is great disagreement over these matters. Halo terms serve to distract away from the controversial details and towards the wholly endorsable but nearly vacuous verbal formulae: Include everyone who should be included! Permit the permissible! Do what’s right! These are not judgments so much as slogans parading as judgments.

In Philosophy, pluralism is a halo term, and it is put to use in a wide variety of contexts across a range of disciplinary sub-fields, including political philosophy, ethics, logic, metaphysics, and epistemology. But the term is used also in discussions about the nature of Philosophy itself. Sometimes, entire schools of thought are characterized as pluralistic, and others are dismissed for being “narrow” or otherwise non-pluralistic. In the arena of professional Philosophy, there is consequently a lot of jockeying for control over the term and its application. Much of this is somewhat embarrassing and rightly contested.

Naturally, trouble emerges when one tries to get a clear sense of what philosophical pluralism is. In a newly published book, Pluralism and Liberal Politics, one of us (Talisse) has tried to work through these complex issues. The term is often used to designate a commitment to a range of admirable traits, including open-mindedness and toleration. Sometimes it is also meant to convey an appreciation of diversity, or even the view that differences are good and should be encouraged. Self-identifying with the view seems, further, to correlate with other commitments, like taking underrepresented groups seriously, maintaining dialogue, and avoiding dogmatism about both the nature of Philosophy and the variety of value. Yet, in the end, all such conceptions of pluralism are vacuous. Here’s why. No conception of toleration or open-mindedness recommends those virtues across the board. Every conception of toleration identifies limits to what deserves toleration; and every conception of open-mindedness draws a distinction between possibilities that are worth being open to and those which are not. No advocate of toleration recommends that we tolerate real-world bands of armed fascists bent on world domination; no proponent of open-mindedness would suggest that we give closed-minded dogmatic bigotry a try. Every conception of toleration and open-mindedness identifies limits to what must be tolerated and seriously considered. But that is to say that on any conception of toleration and open-mindedness, there will be some views which are intolerable and unworthy of serious consideration.

Here again is the rub. Even the most dogmatic among us takes himself to be tolerant and open-minded; on his view, he tolerates everything that deserves toleration and openly considers all positions worthy of consideration. As it turns out, the dogmatist simply has far more circumscribed conceptions of what deserves toleration and serious consideration. So the disagreement between the dogmatist and others is not properly characterized a disagreement concerning the value of open-mindedness or toleration. The disagreement rather concerns the substantive matter of what the proper scope of toleration and open-mindedness is.

One may be tempted to cast the dogmatist as someone who employs an unduly narrow conception of what must be tolerated. And this may be correct so far as it goes. But, in the end, it does not go very far. Once again, every conception of the scope of toleration identifies limits to the tolerable. And for every conception of toleration, there is some other conception that charges the first with undue narrowness. To return to our original point, although our use of terms like toleration sometimes suggests that there is a simple, clean and purely descriptive way of separating out the tolerant from the intolerant, there is in the end no way of eschewing the substantive evaluative issues.

Accordingly, if pluralism is the philosophical position that recognizes differences within a given domain of philosophical inquiry and advocates toleration and open-mindedness across those differences, it is nearly vacuous. No one in Philosophy advocates intolerance and closed-mindedness; rather, philosophers differ over substantive questions concerning what kinds of differences can be plausibly seen as philosophical differences, as opposed to differences between Philosophy and something else, such as natural science or literary theory. Those who vie for the label in order to apply it to their own favored position or agenda within Philosophy are involved in political sloganeering, not meta-philosophical argument.

Yet there seems to be a paradox at the heart of the idea of pluralism as a political movement within Philosophy. Political movements must be set against an opponent. But philosophers who embrace the pluralist label present themselves as the champions of legitimate philosophical opposition, and welcoming of the full variety of philosophical difference. They are bound, then, to see their opposition as deriving from outside of Philosophy properly construed. For if they recognized the opposition between pluralists and non-pluralists as a dispute within Philosophy, they would have to embrace the legitimacy of both sides, and would have no basis for a political movement within the discipline. As it turns out, like everyone else, the self-described pluralists advocate for toleration of the tolerable, and inclusion of that which is entitled to inclusion. And it turns out that for the self-described pluralists, the category of the tolerable and to-be-included extends only as far those who see Philosophy in roughly the same way they see it.

This article originally appeared on 3 Quarks Daily.

I was recently asked if there is a form of secular meditation that I could recommend. Perhaps there is, but the reason behind this question is more interesting than the question itself. The question arises out of an understandable frustration with religion—its often dated and written-in-stone moral laws, its infighting, its lack of objectivity, and its metaphysics. But it also arises out of a sense that meditation has something to offer human society if it could be severed from its religious baggage.

However, traditional meditation itself tends to be light on religion. In classical India, meditation was an inquiry into the nature of consciousness by those who had already understood the essence of religious dogma and thus the underlying purpose behind religion’s moral codes. Meditation was to be embarked upon by those of not only good moral character (with a heart relatively free from desires/attachments), but also of the ability to distinguish between relative moral laws and their ontologically grounded principles. Thus meditation’s moral underpinning was one that positioned a contemplative to determine moral law with the ongoing application of reason relevant to time and circumstances. As a result, the mystic was not one burdened by religious law, nor was he or she immoral. The contemplative determined personal moral standards on the basis of accepting as moral that which proved favorable to meditation and rejecting as immoral that which did not. As an alternative, a purely secular morality is illusive at best. Proponents base such a morality on the belief that human life has inherent value, a stance that is no more empirically verifiable than one based upon a belief in God, as value itself lies beyond the purview of empiricism.

Meditation does not foster the kind of religious infighting that turns so many away from religion. While genuine meditative experience is varied, all such experience treads the common ground of ego effacement. It fosters a deep sense of unity with others giving rise to universal compassion. While practitioners experience nuanced differences that give rise to particular disciplines with distinct goals ranging from voidistic to theistic, the common ground of the interior experience is considerable, and all such inner experience also results in a largely unified response to the outer world, such as detachment from the temporal and compassion for all sentient beings. This unifying experience, unlike a strictly religious orientation, does not lend to the kind of infighting and even violence we see among the religious, behavior that is not conducive to the practice of meditation itself. Indeed, ahimsa, or nonviolence, is a cornerstone to the moral foundation of contemplative life. Meanwhile, secular life is no stranger to infighting, as one living being is food for another in the struggle for existence.

While both religion and mysticism are often considered entirely subjective experiences, meditation is at the same time an objective methodology, a science so to speak. It is an effort to understand the actual nature of consciousness as opposed to how one might like it to be. Thus it puts to rest the personal prejudices, emotional attachments, and partisanship that might cloud one’s inner perception of the sky of consciousness by obscuring objectivity. This is the same basic objectivity employed in any scientific undertaking. Sensual restraint and stilling of the mind assist one in turning inward to understand and experience consciousness. Of course, here I speak of a theory-driven objectivity, an effort to verify the postulate of the sacred texts as to the enduring nature of consciousness. However, we should not think that science is not also theory driven in its objectivity. Charles Darwin wrote, “How odd it is that anyone should not see that all observation [objectivity] must be for or against some view [theory] if it is to be of any service.” Even the process of observation within modern science is subject to subjective human bias. Aside from this bias, which can compromise objectivity in any undertaking, science itself has shown through quantum mechanics that the observer invariably influences that which is being observed. Thus Werner Heisenberg pointed out that science is no longer the study of nature itself, but rather the study of humanity’s “investigation of nature.” So if we are to look for a more comprehensive objectivity, we must look to something that transcends humanity’s inherent biases.

As for meditation’s metaphysics, what do they really say? While different traditions may have different metaphysical ideals, these ideals only create conflict when they have not been arrived at through the common foundational experience of meditation. Thus the idea of meditation is to rise above carnal drives—to control the mind and senses in a manner that appears superhuman, if not supernatural. Its ground is pure objectivity, which gives the necessary footing to climb the mountain of spiritually subjective experience. Such attainment is tantamount to a philosophical transcendence of death. It is an ego death to be sure. And if the material ego, or identification of self as Finnish, Indian, male or female, black or white, Lutheran, Hindu, and so on is slain on the altar of meditation, we have reasonable philosophical grounds to say that self has died, while life of a different kind altogether continues on. In the words of Thomas Merton, “To renounce the pleasure of one’s dearest illusions about oneself is to die more effectively than one could ever do by allowing oneself to be killed for a clearly conceived personal ideal.”

For that matter, it is really only the philosophical arguments based on scientific materialism, as opposed to the empirical science itself, that the secularist can use to counter the transcendental claims of meditation. Surely there are many such philosophies: physicalism, epi-phenomenalism, functionalism, etc., but there are also equally credible empirically based hypotheses for an enduring consciousness.¹ Still, there is ultimately no conclusive empirical evidence that supports the idea that consciousness either does or does not transcend biological death.²

So is there really a need for a secular form of meditation? Some may still desire one and attempt to strip meditation of its metaphysics for their purposes. But that raises the question as to whether such persons are actually practicing meditation at all. In the least, meditation is aimed at ego death, nothing less. Therefore one might argue that employing meditative techniques for something less than this is not meditation at all. And if ego death is objectively desirable, giving rise as it does to compassion and other universally supported qualities, why argue with the success arising out of a religious context? If a light form of religion has proven useful in helping to foster ego death and the deathless mystic experience, what is the need to discard them?

Talk of secular meditation is one thing, but we are still waiting for the first secular mystic to arrive, one who upon attaining ego death makes no metaphysical claims about the nature of the experience. Even though Zen Buddhism and Vipassana are sometimes thought to be forms of meditation that one can engage in without attaching any metaphysical beliefs to the process, there have been no Buddhists adepts to date who, upon attaining the Buddhist goal of enlightenment, have taught us that the ego death experience itself dies with biological death. Meanwhile, from the nonsecular quarters every adept to date has described his or her experience of enlightenment as one of transcending death as well as religion.

1. The work of physicist Henry Stapp is an excellent example of credible science. His quantum interactive dualism posits a causal, non-local consciousness that arguably survives biological death. His hypothesis is well explained in his books Mindful Universe: Quantum Mechanics and the Participating Observer and Quantum Interactive Dualism: An Alternative to Materialism.
2. It is worth mentioning that the research of Pin van Lommel documented in his book Consciousness Beyond Life: The Science of the Near-Death Experience offers considerable evidence that consciousness is non-local and that is has no biological makeup. For more than twenty years van Lommel systematically studied near-death experiences in a wide variety of hospital patients who survived a cardiac arrest. In 2001, he and his fellow researchers published his study on near-death experiences in the renowned medical journal The Lancet. The article caused an international sensation, as it was the first scientifically rigorous study of this phenomenon. His study was later published in Consciousness Beyond Life. To date there has been no credible refutation of the study’s conclusion: that consciousness is ontologically independent of the brain.

The following is an installment of our classroom series:

Following Spiritual Practices Ordained by Scripture

There are innumerable practices of devotion. In Bhaktirasamrta-sindhu, Rupa Goswami has given sixty-four. Then again in Bhagavatam we find nine:

sravanam kirtanam visnoh
smaranam pada-sevanam
arcanam vandanam dasyam
sakhyam atma-nivedanam

Hearing about the Lord, chanting the Lord’s glories, remembering him, serving his lotus feet, worshipping his transcendental form, offering prayers to him, becoming his servant, considering him as one’s best friend, and surrendering everything to him. These nine processes are accepted as pure devotional service.¹

Sri Caitanya Mahaprabhu has again given five practices of devotion:

sadhu-sanga nama-kirtana, bhagavata-sravana
mathura-vasa sri-murtira sraddhaya sevana

The quintessential practices of devotion are association with the pure devotee, chanting the Holy Name, hearing the Srimad Bhagavatam, residing in Mathura-dhama, and faithfully worshiping the Deity.²

Of these five, Mahaprabhu has given nama-sankirtana (chanting the holy name) the highest position. Nama-sankirtana is considered best of all—designated as such by the acaryas. Our Guru Maharaja especially promoted kirtana, as indicated by sastra. But if other acaryas have shown preference for smarana in any instance, it is in the sense that kirtana may be performed within the material environment, whereas smarana is independent of any material consideration. From this point of view, smarana may be deemed ‘higher,’ but that is not accepted in a general way. It is a special opinion. But the serving attitude, sevonmukhata—that must be present in all types of bhakti. Otherwise it is all imitation and for millions of lives we may imitate without any success.

asadhu-sangete bhai nama nahi haya
namaksara bahiraya bate nama kabhu naya

O brother! You cannot chant the holy name in the association of non-devotees. The sounds of the holy name may come out of your mouth, but this will not really be the name.³

Yadi karibe krsna-nama sadhu-sanga kara—only with the help of the devotees, may we invite that ‘electric connection’—that may connect us with the higher place and if he is pleased to come down and connect with this body then this body can show bhakti. Otherwise it is all imitation! Imitation won’t take us to that plane. Sadhu-sanga—the dynamo is necessary to move the fan, to light the light bulb. Without sadhu-sanga we cannot connect with the higher level.

atah sri krsna-namadi
na bhaved grahyam indriyaih
sevonmukhe hi jihvadau
svayam eva sphuratyadah

The holy name, form, qualities, and pastimes of Sri Krishna are divine and transcendental. They cannot be experienced by material senses. The Lord manifests himself spontaneously on the tongue of a devotee who is eager to serve him.⁴

The universal necessity is to learn and acquire a serving attitude, and if that is applied to our bhajana, that will be of great help to us. Jihva means the tongue, and namadi means the nama, rupa, guna, and lila. On the tongue the Lord’s name will appear; within the eye, his form; within the mind, his qualities; and in the heart, his pastimes. All these will come down to you, and everything about you will connect with that Vaikuntha tattva. It is not just a question of increasing the quantity, but the quality must be present. To be real bhakti, sevonmukha and seva presuppose surrender, and all this presupposes sadhu-sanga. It all originates from the association of a sadhu. From the positive direction it can come to us, so we must be thankful to that positive source. The Lord is there, but his grace is coming through his agents. His agents should be welcomed and dealt with properly. Whatever we can collect with our energy we should devote towards sadhu and sastra. Sadhu and sastra are our two friends everywhere.

Renouncing Material Association

If the practice of a student of the Vaisnava school is to be limited to only one, then that is asat-sanga tyaga—to renounce bad association. That does not mean that the sadhu is also eliminated if he is found.

asat sanga tyaga – ei vaisnava acara
‘stri-sangi’ – eka asadhu krsnabhakta’ara

It is the policy of a Vaishnava to reject mundane association such as those who are overly attached to women and people averse to Krishna bhakti. ((Cc. Madhya 22.87))

There are two types of acara (practice). One is stri-sangi or yositasangi—those who are attached to sensual pleasure. Another is krsnabhakta, one who has no attraction for Krishna but is engaged in some other errand. We should be careful and follow the caution against these two—sense enjoyers and those that have no relation to Krishna. This is our only practice. They may be scholars or yogis, they may be so many things, but if they are not devotees of Krishna, their association should be eliminated. It is said that a man is known by his company. The test that is the criterion is whether he is hankering for the association of the good or for the material environment. Whichever way his taste progresses should be looked upon. What does he like? Does he have more and more affinity towards the sadhus and the sastra? Is the environment progressively increasing his taste for that particular thing? That will prove whether we are making progress or deteriorating. It can be known by the measurement of our external environment. Am I standing still? Am I going back? Internal satisfaction will also stand as a guarantee. I shall be my own witness from within, whether I am gaining or losing. My own understanding will stand as a guarantee.

bhaktih paresanubhavo viraktir
anyatra caisa trika eka-kalah
prapadyamanasya yathasnatah syus
tustih pustih ksud-apayo ‘nu-ghasam

Devotion, direct experience of the Supreme Lord, and detachment from other things—these three occur simultaneously for one who has taken shelter of the Lord in the same way that pleasure, nourishment, and relief from hunger come simultaneously and increasingly, with each bite, for a person engaged in eating.⁵

In Bhagavatam it is mentioned how we should measure our progress. A mundane example has been given—when we are hungry we take food and when we take food three things occur simultaneously, what are they? Tustih pustih ksud-apayo—when we are hungry we feel uneasiness, and with every morsel we take the uneasiness is removed. When we are hungry we feel weakness. With every morsel of food gradually the weakness is removed and ksud-apayo—when we are hungry we feel the pain and that also disappears step by step with every morsel. Similarly, when are we are progressing in our spiritual life towards the divine, we shall experience three things and we are to measure them carefully. What are they? Bhakti, paresanubhava, and virakti. Bhakti means a serving tendency and our attraction increases with acceleration. Paresanubhava means some sort of accurate conception of the subjective world, superseding my subject on the other side—at first our conception may be hazy but gradually it will become clearer. Virakti—we will withdraw from the environment and feel disgust with the stale experience of this world. The negative side loses its charm as the positive side gives us a peep into the world of the super-subjective. Bhaktih paresanubhavo viraktir—these three things must be there when we are making our journey.

Following in the Footsteps of Sadhus

The footsteps of the mahajanas (sadhus) are our only hope—mahajano yena gatah sa panthah. We have to depend on that only for our relief. Their footsteps are like so many lighthouses to guide us across the infinite ocean. A hope in the infinite. Vaikuntha means infinite, but sraddha contains within it good faith and good hope. Sraddha means surcharged with some good hope in the infinite. Vaikuntha is infinite, and sraddha is our only means to draw the attention of the infinite to us. The only way is sraddha, for by sraddha we can attract the infinite. There is nothing else. And when it gets a definite form through bhava, it becomes prema, divine love. Columbus floated his ships in the ocean and gradually he went to the Americas. He found land. Similarly, after crossing this universe we may find the spiritual cosmos, Vaikuntha, and sraddha is the light in the darkness. Only sraddha can guide us there. We are travelers in the infinite ocean. In the Bhagavatam are the footsteps of those great personages that have traveled on the way—the broad line chalked out by the footsteps of those that are going to the divine world. Only that should be our surest guide. All else may be eliminated because calculation is fallible and all justification comes from the absolute infinite. Any form of justification can come from anywhere, at anytime. We are floating in a boat in the infinite ocean. Anything may come to help or to hinder. Only our optimistic good faith can be our guide.

nr-deham adyam sulabham sudurlabham
plavam sukalpam guru-karna-dharam
mayanukulena nabhasvateritam
puman bhavabdhim na taret sa atma-ha

The human body can award all benefit in life, and is automatically obtained by the laws of nature, although it is a very rare achievement. This human body can be compared to a perfectly constructed boat having the guru as the captain and the instructions of the Lord as favorable winds impelling it on its course. Considering all these advantages, a human being who does not utilize his human life to cross the ocean of material existence should be considered the killer of his own soul.⁶

Guru-karna-dharam—the guru is the guide. In the infinite ocean I have boarded my small boat and the destination is uncertain and inconceivable to me. But it is conceivable to my gurudeva and I am moving with that sincere faith within.

Svayam samuttirya sudustaram dyuman
bhavarnavam bhimam adabhra-sauhrdah
bhavat-padambhoruha-navam atra te
nidhaya yatah sad-anugraho bhavan

O effulgent One! Your mercy towards Your devotees is unlimited! By your grace they take shelter of the boat of Your lotus feet and cross over the ocean of material existence, which is difficult to cross. These devotees in their turn are so kind towards the conditioned souls that they keep this boat of Your lotus feet in this material world for their redemption.⁷

It is a horrible ocean with so many waves and so many sharks, timingila, whales, and other things—full of danger. Bhavatpadambhoruha-navam atra te—their footsteps are our only hope. We are to depend on that. It is only for our relief that so many lighthouses, the footprints of the saints, are in the infinite ocean to guide us to that place.

The instructions of the mahajanas are always true, but their conduct may not always be useful to the beginner. Their instructions are always useful, but not always their practices. A mahajana may do something that may not be helpful for my stage. He has such great spiritual power that a little defect may not harm him in any way in his practice. An intelligent person will accept those practices that are backed by his words.

isvaranam vacah satyam
tathaivacaritam kvacit
tesam yat sva-vaco yuktam
buddhimams tat samacaret

The statements of great persons are always true, and the acts they perform are exemplary when consistent with those statements. Therefore one who is intelligent should carry out their instructions.⁸

Isvaranam vacah satyam—the leaders of the higher order, what they say, that is true—vacah satyam. But sometimes their conduct is not always the same—tathaivacaritam kvacit. Always try to follow their advice, but don’t try to imitate their conduct—caritam kvacit. An intelligent man will accept that conduct which is one and the same with their advice—buddhimams tat samacaret. When he has realized a higher state he may not be very ardent to follow the conduct of the lower stage. But when he comes to advise me, he will tell me what is necessary for my position. But he himself may not accept the same thing as his own conduct. He is above that. He has finished that class and he is reading in a higher class and when a student of that class comes he gives the lessons of his level, isvaranam vacah satyam. Because he knows that he is giving advice to a particular section he will always give advice in a proper line—tathaivacaritam kvacit. But their own practice is not always the same as their advice. They themselves may go to a higher position. There is no necessity of that sort of practice. And an intelligent man will accept that conduct which is always corroborated by his advice. We should not imitate but rather we should follow. Not anukarana (imitation) but anusarana. Anusarana means to follow in the footsteps. We must understand the difference. Anusarana means sincerity and anukarana is only for pratistha—without inner purity, only to imitate things outwardly, to get the glory of being a sadhu. Anusarana means sincere progress from the heart. Anukarana is artificial.

Once the renowned dramatist, Girish Chandra Ghosh made one drama about Caitanyadeva and wanted Bhaktivinoda Thakura to open the drama because Bhaktivinoda Thakura had a good name in the devotion to Caitanyadeva. But Bhaktivinoda Thakura hatefully dismissed him, “I am not going to give connection with this false thing.” Bhaktivinoda Thakura dismissed this awkward imitation, “I don’t want to come in touch with that.” Instead of trying to follow in Bhaktivinoda Thakura’s footsteps, he was making a show of his connection. It was imitation, so Bhaktivinoda Thakura avoided it. One prostitute, Vinodini, was selected to play the part of Caitanyadeva. Then Ramakrishna was chosen instead of Bhaktivinoda Thakura and he went to see the drama. That Vinodini began to cry, shedding tears while taking the name of Krishna and Ramakrishna was very much impressed with that, so much so that the next morning he went to see that Vinodini. He told that prostitute, “You are very fortunate, you are taking the name of Krishna and shedding tears. You have created such an impression in me, I feel very fortunate, so I have come to see you again.” And she was very ashamed, “No, no, no!” And Ramakrishna told her, “One that can rouse devotion in the hearts of so many by shedding tears and all these things when playing Caitanyadeva—she is not an ordinary person.” In this way Ramakrishna eulogized her. But we are not a party to that. We don’t recognize that. The Gaudiya Matha, the devotees of Prabhupada, they cannot accept such appreciation and such a false representation. It is all imitation, a sham, not real. It won’t help our real progress.

In a drama a man may take the role of Narada Goswami and chant, “Haribol! Haribol!” and tears may appear from his eyes, but it is simply artificial! It may be articulated cent percent to show these symptoms in the body and in the mind. One can learn the art without any touch of divinity. It is possible. Some people are naturally of that temperament; very easily they can shed tears, their temperament is such. And there are others who can learn the art of doing so. There are two classes of people who, without a slight touch of divinity, can show the public so many high sentiments. Without the least touch of suddha-sattva they can freely exhibit all these things to deceive people. Devotion does not mean only to shed tears and to shiver and to wear tilaka and tulasi and dance and chant – these are all external feats. We must not be misguided seeing these imitating aspects, these feats of devotion. We must try to save the ordinary people from the false exhibition of the higher Vaishnava’s character.

1. Bhag. 7.5.23
2. Cc. Madhya 22.128
3. Prema-vivarta 7.1-3
4. BRS 1.2.234
5. Bhag.11.2.42
6. Bhag. 11.20.17
7. Bhag. 10.2.31
8. Bhag. 10.33.31

Saints tell us that Rama and Krishna are the same person. Yet Ramacandra was the personification of perfect moral character and Krishna appeared to be a cheater in some respects. To understand this apparent contradiction, we must try to understand the meaning of lila, divine play. God can be moral or immoral in appearance, yet whatever he does is absolute good. Conversely, the moral realm is not absolute: an act that is immoral in one instance may be moral in another. Morality is the means to check the evil of exploitation arising from material attachment. If we have no such attachment, then we cannot act immorally. Such is the position of Krishna, and of Rama as well.

While Rama lila emphasizes morality, Krishna lila emphasizes the possibility of life beyond the reach of morality. It is important to be moral, but it is also important to know that moral life in and of itself is not the zenith of spiritual pursuit and that the apparent immorality of Krishna is something different altogether. Caitanya Mahaprabhu was a perfect sannyasi, moral to the nth degree, yet he meditated constantly on Krishna’s apparently immoral affairs with the Vraja gopis. In doing so, he himself was never involved in extramarital affairs. Indeed, he exhibited the morality of Rama, both as perfect householder and later as a perfect sannyasi.

Rama is a maryada purusa, a perfectly dharmic (moral) lover. He draws this from Balarama, who is the maryada purusa in Krishna’s life and is Krishna’s immediate expansion from whom all other expansions and avataras issue. Balarama is one of Krishna’s gurus. At the behest of Yasoda’s vatsalya bhakti, he makes an effort to see that Krishna behaves properly. Still, he does not interfere with Krishna’s parakiya rendezvous with Radha, which highlights the sacred, not inappropriate, nature of such meetings. But Balarama himself is not directly involved in Krishna’s parakiya rasa, and his lila with his gopis is a maryada-lila. In Prince Ramacandra we find this maryada to the extreme: he vowed to have only one wife—eka patni vrata—at a time when it was common for monarchs to have harems. Ramacandra embodies the entirety of Balarama’s maryada, while the other qualities of Balarama are not fully present in him.

Within this maryada is Rama’s love for his devotees and their love for him. Thus it is not ordinary maryada. Although this love is contained in a form of moral appropriateness, it burns brightly in rasananda (sacred aesthetic rapture) beneath the surface. Laksmana’s sakhya rasa with Rama is most touching. Even while the better part of Rama’s lila involves the search for Sita, it is Laksmana’s sakhya and more so Hanuman’s dasya that stand out. The supporting roles of Laksmana and especially Hanuman are most compelling, and Valmiki develops them beautifully. The entrance to Rama lila is in dasya bhakti, and thus for all spiritually practical purposes it is Hanuman who is the most important figure in Ramayana. This dasya bhakti, realized by the grace of Rama nama, is what we find in the heart of Valmiki Rsi.

Although the sacred aesthetic rapture between Rama and his bhaktas is the heart of Rama lila, such bhakti-rasa cannot be developed to its peak of spiritual eroticism within his lila. When Ramacandra passed through the Dandakaranya forest, the sages residing there in meditation desired to become his devotees in the emotion of transcendental eroticism. However, Ramacandra informed them that in this incarnation he was not able to fulfill their desire because he had taken a vow to have only one wife. He then told them that they could only attain this devotional status in relation to his appearance as Krishna.

As for sakhya, in Rama lila we find that the sakhya of Laksmana is not allowed to fully blossom because he is the younger brother of Rama and therefore lacks the equality that is central to sakhya rasa. The revered Krsnadasa Kaviraja therefore writes that Laksmana vowed never to take birth again as the younger brother. Consequently, as Balarama in Krishna lila he is the older brother of Ramanuja—Krishna. He is just enough older that he can assume the role of an elder at times, but the actual difference in age is negligible—so negligible that Balarama and Krishna are really equals in friendship, formalities aside. Indeed, despite the dasya and vatsalya aspects of Balarama’s love for Krishna, it is he who is Krishna’s best friend. He is the example, the very deity of brotherly love. Because he presides over vatsalya, sakhya, and dasya, we find a touch of parental love and that of a servant, but it is his sakhya that stands out. In Krishna lila he has full freedom—visrambha, pranaya—while as Laksmana in Rama lila he had to acquiesce to the sometimes unpalatable, dutiful commands of Ramacandra. Thus if our heart calls for sakhya or, more so, madhurya rasa, we must go to Krishna lila, and that through Sri Caitanya and Nityananda.

Rama lila draws us beyond Vaikuntha by speaking to us of the possibility of sakhya, vatsalya, and madhurya, even while it does not afford us those opportunities itself. In this way, it indirectly points to Krishna lila while directly offering the prospect of the dasya bhakti of Hanuman to the humanlike majesty of Rama. The realm of service to Rama is distinct from the Vaikuntha of Narayana, where the prospect is daysa bhakti to the majestic four-armed Godhead. There we find dasya and only the slightest hint of sakhya—gaurava-sakhya, friendship in awe and veneration—and no hint of proper friendship, parental, or romantic love. The hint of these possibilities comes in Rama lila, and in Sri Caitanya we find the dutifulness of Rama, even as Sri Caitanya is preoccupied with tasting and distributing the love of that great cheater, Gopijana-vallabha.

“Incentives have evolved over the decades to encourage some behaviors that are detrimental to good science,” says Ferric Fang, editor-in-chief of the journal Infection and Immunity, a publication of the American Society for Microbiology (ASM), who is speaking today at the meeting of the Committee of Science, Technology, and Law of the NAS along with Arturo Casadevall, editor-in-chief of mBio®, the ASM’s online, open-access journal.

In the past decade the number of retraction notices for scientific journals has increased more than 10-fold while the number of journals articles published has only increased by 44%. While retractions still represent a very small percentage of the total, the increase is still disturbing because it undermines society’s confidence in scientific results and on public policy decisions that are based on those results, says Casadevall. Some of the retractions are due to simple error but many are a result of misconduct including falsification of data and plagiarism.

More concerning, say the editors, is that this trend may be a symptom of a growing dysfunction in the biomedical sciences, one that needs to be addressed soon. At the heart of the problem is an economic incentive system fueling a hypercompetitive environment that is fostering poor scientific practices, including frank misconduct.

The root of the problem is a lack of sufficient resources to sustain the current enterprise. Too many researchers are competing for too little funding, creating a survival-of-the-fittest, winner-take-all environment where researchers increasingly feel pressure to publish, especially in high-prestige journals.

“The surest ticket to getting a grant or job is getting published in a high profile journal,” says Fang. “This is an unhealthy belief that can lead a scientist to engage in sensationalism and sometimes even dishonest behavior to salvage their career.”

Funding is just one aspect of a very complex problem Casadevall and Fang see growing in the biomedical sciences. In a series of editorials in the journal Infection and Immunity they describe their views in detail, arguing that science is not as healthy as it could be or as it needs to be to effectively address the challenges facing humanity in the 21^st century.

“Incentives in the current system place scientists under tremendous stress, discourage cooperation, encourage poor scientific practices and deter new talent from entering the field,” they write. “It is time for a discussion of how the scientific enterprise can be reformed to become more effective and robust.”

The answers, they write, must come not only from within the scientific community but from society as a whole that has helped create the current incentive structure that is fostering the dysfunction. In the editorials they outline a series of recommended reforms including methodological, cultural and structural changes.

“In the end, it is not the number of high-impact-factor papers, prizes or grant dollars that matters most, but the joys of discovery and the innumerable contributions both large and small that one makes through contact with other scientists,” they write. “Only science can provide solutions to many of the most urgent needs of contemporary society. A conversation on how to reform science should begin now.”

This article originally appeared on the American Society for Microbiology.