The digression continues. Last time, I wrote mostly about the social effects of the spiritual identity question. I made the point that the identity project is suffused with some social tension, even if it is undertaken for the highest spiritual reasons. And when the reasons are less sublime, it goes without saying that the results may even turn out to be harmful. Some of my writing betrayed the bias I entertained in my mind, that identity redefinition as commonly encountered, revolves around base social reasons rather than exalted spiritual ones. I want to acknowledge once again that I have been guilty of over-generalization.
In this regard, I have found Sister Premarupa’s account (among others) to be truly sincere and eye opening; it has shown me that many, here and elsewhere, are actuated by the noblest motives in these matters. I see now, that the tendency to spot and comment on the negative aspects of the world outside, has an analogue, a precursor within myself. There is negativity in my heart that I must examine and eliminate. So this discussion has given rise to a little homework assignment for me, a lesson for which I owe thanks. Negativity lurks like an iceberg waiting for the Titanic, a tenth exposed to view in the form of speech or action and nine-tenths hidden from view in the form of thought and intention.
Now for an examination of some of the spiritual ramifications. As I said before, I view the adoption of a spiritual name as one element in the identity project. In essence, I see it as serving the function of ritual ie. to represent the infinite in terms that are finite and accessible. In common with other rituals therefore, its value is a function of what the practitioner invests and what God/Guru/Amma adds out of Grace. The more one invests, the greater the principal, and larger the quantum of Guru's Grace that is invoked. Therefore it is not right to judge the worth of a ritual merely on the basis of appearance; what appears vapid externally could be packed with power internally, or conversely it could be puffed up to look a lot more impressive than it is actually worth.
It seems to me that what matters is not the particular practice one adopts or chooses not to adopt, but the investment one makes in the default practice For there is always a default practice, a default representation as long as one is bound by Maya (Cosmic Illusion). True Jnanis (savants, people who have attained self-realization) may operate from a default state of non-representation but the rest of us are prisoners of paradigm. I might mention, in passing, that my own propensity to take up new forms has historically been low, although it has probably gone up a notch in recent times. While it may be OK for me to derive comfort from my own inertia in this context, I would be in error if I were to look askance at the cross-cultural and/or ritual-intensive impulses of others.
Coming back to the identity project, in its deepest sense, it must necessarily be about identifying with the Divine. The ego is the main obstruction to a total identification with the Divine and there are only two ways to get around this. It is possible to merge with the Divine by either shrinking one's ego to nothingness or by expanding it to infinity. The former is the easier approach, suitable for most people, but a few spiritual giants have been known to do it the latter way.
Sri Girish Ghosh, a devotee of Sri Ramakrishna once described these contrasting styles, with reference to two other devotees. As Sri Girish Ghosh explains it, when Mahamaya (The Empress of Illusion) ensnared all beings in Her net of worldly existence, two beings managed to escape. One, Sri Nag Mahashay (a great householder devotee of Sri Ramakrishna) managed to make himself so small that he was able to swim out through the gaps in the net like a minnow. The other, the illustrious Swami Vivekananda, expanded himself so much that he broke through the net and swam free like a great whale.
Another way to look at the change of name issue is to view it as a manifestation of bhakti or devotion. Bhakti may manifest itself secondarily in many hues but the primary colours are three: White for Sattva, Red for Rajas and Black for Tamas. In other words, the particular expression of bhakti manifested by an individual depends upon the mix of primary gunas (qualities) in that individual. Sattva is usually regarded as being superior to Rajas, which in turn is regarded as being superior to Tamas, in the conventional conception.
However, Sri Ramakrishna explains how even the so-called ‘bad’ gunas can be turned to advantage. He points to the existence of three brands of bhakti - Sattvic, Rajasic and Tamasic. The Sattvic bhakta (devotee) is like the quiet man who meditates at night under his mosquito net. His devotion is unostentatious and recessed. The Rajasic devotee, in contrast, wears his devotion on his sleeve. This is the kind of devotee who relishes public participation and wears silk robes and huge rudrakshas (beads) around his neck. The Tamasic devotee's bhakti is marked by the attributes of violence and destruction. The Tamasic devotee is capable of going to extremes of rage, anger, violence and other negative emotions, in a bid to 'out' the hidden God. He may threaten to harm himself if God does not appear to him, or alternatively, he may vent his fury on the object of his devotion. Such devotion, though Tamasic, and inherently negative, nevertheless has the potential of catapulting the seeker towards God. Thus Tamasic devotion can be very powerful.
The lesson I take away from the above is that it does not greatly matter what mix of gunas a seeker has. Whatever be one's predominant guna, all that is necessary is to turn that guna towards God. A strong guna, even if negative, can be profitably deployed in the spiritual enterprise by directing it to God. It does not matter whether a devotee is quiet or flamboyant or prone to negative emotion, so long as the fire of devotion rages in his heart. Or, as the Chinese leader Deng Xiaoping said in a very different context, "It does not matter what colour the cat is, as long as it catches mice."
And now, I come to the end of this little intellectual (de)tour de farce (misspellings deliberate). In subsequent chapters I shall return to the comfort of chronology and linear narrative, though some might view that as the tyranny of time. To phrase it with less ellipsis and bombast, I shall tackle the question my daughter would ask me, if I were to tell her a story and she could comprehend enough to ask, "What happens next?" But it appears to be Amma's will that this child is a long, long way from ever being able to do that.
Om Amriteshwaryai Namah
