In extreme versions of the idea, it is said that the devotion to guru is even greater than the devotion to God

If these truths have been told to a high-minded man,
who feels the highest devotion for God,
and for his Guru as for God,
Then they will shine forth, shine forth indeed.
Svetasvatara Upanishad VI.23

(In extreme versions of the idea, it is said that the devotion to guru is even greater than the devotion to God.)

At first sight, it seems a rhetorical flourish of a personality cult, not meant to be looked at closely.  Obviously a guru is limited in form, whereas the Lord is cosmic, a form which includes everything, not excepting the tiny human forms of the guru and his disciple.  So, what sense could be made of it? – it would be self-contradictory even emotionally.

However, it is meant to be an auxiliary training method, and not to represent a declaration of final truth.  It is not saying that the guru is in fact greater than the Lord who includes the guru-form and everything else as well; it says only that the devotion to the guru is felt with as much, or more intensity by that disciple, at that time.

There are three points to be looked at:

(1) the present basic experience of a given disciple;

(2)  special temporary experiences he may have from the particular practices he is doing;

(3)  the ‘set’ of the tradition he is in.

(1)  When the overwhelming conviction of a disciple is in fact this-worldly, in spite of aspirations to something higher, then he has to rely on the holy texts as interpreted by his teacher.  The holy texts are generalities, and to point to their application to individual cases is a job of the teacher.  For this pupil, God is invisible and silent; he is totally reliant on the sight and voice of the teacher.  So, it is natural that he should feel a more intense devotion and reverence towards one present than to one beyond the horizon, or beyond the solar system, or beyond the universe altogether.

The teacher can present the eternal ancient truths, which are clear in all ages, along with examples from his particular age, which may not be understandable in other ages.   For instance, the holy tradition teaches that the feelings can be cultivated, and if necessary completely changed or even reversed.  Some disciples doubt it.  ‘Let’s take a simple example,’ they argue.  ‘Suppose I don’t like some taste. say garlic.  No amount of thinking or talking or trying is going to make me like it.  I can force myself to eat it, but I can’t force myself to like it.’  The teacher can today reply:  ‘But you, and millions of others, do that very thing.  You smoke, don’t you?  Not very much, it is true; but I have noticed that you get a bit restless if you cannot have your cigarette after the evening meal.  Well, think back to when you took your first cigarette.  Did you like it?’  ‘No,’ admits the pupil, ‘as a matter of fact I was sick, like most people with their first one. But I kept trying to like them, so as not to be laughed at.  And finally, I did get a bit addicted, as you have seen.’  ‘You had best give it up, if you are serious about yoga,’ says the teacher, ‘but remember the lesson.  You were able to reverse your natural aversion – not just suppress it, but reverse it.’

The modern example from tobacco would have had no meaning in Upanisadic times, but the teacher then would have given a current example, which in turn might not mean anything today.

Such everyday instances make a point vividly, but have no more depth than that.  For these and other reasons they are in general not preserved in the texts, but left to be passed on orally.   The teachers did not wish the holy texts to contain the least trace of commonplaceness, what to say of vulgarity.

The classical yogic teacher does not work miracles: in Sankara’s words, he is not a Mayavin – one who bewilders pupils with wonders.  It is true that with his association, sometimes unsuspected potentialities who themselves, both in humans and in nature, but as Sankara again says, all such effects are from the Lord.

The teacher in his actions gives a living picture of universal consciousness manifesting in a limited field, under restrictions.  His actions show a love for even objects which are supposed to be insentient:  he does not bang doors, grip the pen fiercely, stab at the paper, or write in violent jerks.  He does not fight tools or machines:  Dr. Shastri remarked that he saw a mahatma cleaning a pen as if it were the finger of a child.  He is never surprised.  He does not repeat any action mechanically – even when the action is a habitual one, there is something new in it. A musician is reminded of some passages in Beethoven where there is apparent repetition, but in fact the scoring is subtly different, so that there is a freshness in it. This is one element in the special charm of a true teacher’s behaviour – with familiarity it becomes more attractive, never stale.

The enlightened one’s sayings and actions are not derivative.  Some imitators learn a great many things from obscure books, and then bring out passages from them in the hope that people will think them original.  But it is soon realized that this tree never gives fruit, and what seems to be its fruit has in fact been taken from elsewhere and then tied on to the branches. Furthermore, as the stocks become exhausted, such speakers become endlessly repetitive.

True inspiration is not predictable, any more than the wind.  He is sympathetic but not sentimental:  he encourages a sufferer to turn to the Lord in acceptance of what has happened, at the same time taking positive steps to improve matters.  He may quote Mohammed’s remark; ‘Trust in God, and tie the camel’s leg’.  No justification of fatalism under the guise of ‘karmic destiny’ is permitted. ‘Karma brings the event, say a fever, but it can be either treated and minimized, or neglected and thus maximised.’  Take a small everyday incident as a test case: karma brings a shower on walkers with umbrellas; one walker puts it up, another says, ‘If it is my karma to get wet, I shall get wet whatever I do’.  The latter does not put up his umbrella.  In practice, he often then complains at getting soaked.  (It sounds ridiculous in these terms, but people do often destroy themselves with a feeble:  ‘Whatever will be, will be.’)

If, however, there is no umbrella or shelter, a yogin accepts the situation, and with a bold positive attitude walks calmly through the rain, it is the will of the Lord, which means the will of his own highest Self:  as such, an experienced yogi even enjoys it.

BREAKING A PERSONALITY CULT

But if absolute reliance on the teacher is not allowed to develop, it can easily degenerate into a narrow personal attachment, where the guru becomes a sort of fetish. For instance, his finger-nail clippings may be preserved (and even sold) as lucky charms.  It is one task of the teacher to replace the personal attachment with an impersonal love of the cosmic Lord.  Emotions cannot normally be switched on and off like a tap, and the teacher often gives one of the divine forms, described in the Avatara scriptures.  Mere words will not easily alter deep habitual convictions, and the disciple is told to meditate on the great form, at first detail by detail.  He is shown how to repeat the holy name of the Avatara, and to visualize the incidents from one of the traditional lives.  The disciple is to feel himself present on the occasion.  If these things are done, there will be a vision, which will change the whole life.  It is not a subjective creation, or a sort of objectification of what had been imagined.  Accounts of such experiences agree that it is an overwhelming surprise, near enough to the traditional form to be recognized, but actually quite different from what had been expected. Dr. Shastri has something on the practice and the subsequent experiences, in his book The Heart of The Eastern Mystical Teaching: it should be noted that the vision of Rama is first subjective and then objective.

It may also be noted that the divine response is not necessarily in the form of a vision.

TEST FOR EXPERIENCES

It may be asked, how are such experiences to be distinguished from the visions of mental illness?  ‘By their fruits you will know them,’ answered Jesus.  He was not saying that people should follow the best propagandist; those who are instantly converted may be un-converted tomorrow by a different orator.  A fruit tree does not scheme to produce its fruits; they are natural to it.  ‘The good tree cannot put out bad fruit, and the bad tree cannot put out good fruit.’ mentally diseased mind reinforces itself and its delusions.  The true vision will change the whole life. The deep peace in the depths of the Self begins to calm the higher surface layers of them mind.  From that peace arise inspirations of what to do, with courage and energy to do it.  Although the visions pass, the memories become an energy-source, and the Lord appears in new forms as the practice progresses.

TRADITIONAL YOGA

A traditional guru teaches yoga.  The word has a variety of meanings in Sanskrit: one of them is ‘method’, and it is a way to calm, purify, and concentrate the mind so that it can penetrate to deeper levels of experience.  (Sometimes these are called ‘higher’; both words are used, as pointers.)  The disciple must not stick at reliance on the human form of the teacher; he has to become aware of the great forms which the Lord projects as incarnations and saints.  Dr. Shastri taught in the name of his own teacher, Shri Dada, whose life he described in detail.  The incidents of such lives form a concentration-field which can, and must, lead to a direct experience.  If the concentration is on Krishna, for instance, he will begin to have an inner vision of Krishna dancing; as this deepens, he will have flashes of awareness when he sees Krishna peeping out through the mask of the human teacher.  Dr. Shastri said that once he had a vision of Shri Krishna standing in a field, but as he came closer he saw that it was the form of Shri Dada, gathering flowers.  But after that, he sometimes saw Shri Krishna looking out in the direct glances of Shri Dada.

If a pupil begins to think service of the teacher, and the consequent relationship, as sufficient, he will be making a big mistake.  No true teacher will permit this sort of personality cult, which in the end frustrates itself.

Even the worldly personality cults become automatically self-destructive.  The courtiers round Stalin dared only to tell him news that would please him; they concealed unwelcome truths.  He did not heed the warnings from London and elsewhere that Hitler was preparing to invade the Soviet Union. His own advisers would not confirm them, though they knew the danger was real. Stalin continued with his purges of his best generals, leaving the Army ill-prepared to meet the attack when it came.

In spiritual groups, devoted disciples (as they think themselves) sometimes try to improve on what the teacher says or writes, or does, in order to save him from himself, so to speak.  They are not asked to do this, and the results are nearly always disastrous, arising as they do from a human judgement, often laced with egoism. With a curious inconsistency, when these same disciples are asked by the teacher to make suggestions or initiate programmes, they reverse their attitude into a show of humility:  ‘who am I to make suggestions?  It would be arrogant to push my ideas forward; I simply leave everything to the holy teacher.’

The essence of the inconsistent attitude is, to go against what the teacher wants; but by what is supposed to be a sort of super-devotion, a disciple’s overflowing impulse to serve, worship etc. etc. overrides the teacher’s directions.  It is expected that at the end he will recognize the greatness of the disciple’s attitude.  But it does not turn out like that. The teacher expects members of his group, (in Sanskrit, sangha) to make constructive plans and initiate undertakings for deepening and spreading the holy truth.  They are to be servants, not slaves who simply wait for orders, and then carry them out unthinkingly.  An important part of the training is, that pupils who have successfully initiated such things should submit them to the teacher, and be prepared to accept, with the same cheerful calm, an abrupt direction to cease, or an apparently fulsome praise for what has been done. It is a big step in penetrating deeper into the make-up of the mind.  The best actions are, at first, done with a mixed motive: goodwill, and the feeling ‘Look what I am doing!’ One teacher used to call it a spiritual age of about three years:.  it is natural, but we have to grow up.  Again, there is the temptation to remain under cover: I just do what I am told to do.  This too has an unacknowledged accompaniment: ‘Look how non-egoistic I am – haven’t thought of myself for months!’  The teacher can give a push or pull to this posture also.  There are many variations.  Students are making progress when they find them in themselves and not only in others.

They are expected to show some ingenuity.  One way of lessening the ‘Look at me! habit is to consult, and work in small groups.  The teacher may himself set up groups, but pupils still have to learn to work in them: not always trying to dominate, not trying to avoid responsibility, not falling into apathy:  ‘Perhaps we are not meant to succeed.’  Groups in a sangha which do not manage to improve will soon become moribund, and the life will pass elsewhere.

If, however a student can get some mastery over his reactions in this way, he will have got past two obstacles:  slavish dependence on a human form, and good l dependent service but polluted with ‘Look at me!’

THE TEACHER AND THE SELF

In the traditional yoga of the Upanisads and the Gita, the search for reality, first sought in the inspired personality of a teacher who has at least partially realized it in himself, is then directed by him towards the divine manifestations in the universe, culminating in an experience of one of the divine forms; finally, it is directed inward, to the Lord standing beyond the mind and the seed-bed of mental impressions.

This does not mean that in later stages, the earlier stages are discarded:  rather, they are completed.

When such an experience is had, the second phase of the relationship is coming to birth.  He is no longer completely dependent on the human form known through the senses.

It is essential that he realizes the teacher to be an instrument of the Lord, dedicated to helping (not forcing) humanity to act rightly, teaching humanity. and setting an example. When he sees this, it saves him from the dangers:  slavish dependence on one side, and secret – even unconscious – attempts to manipulate the relationship with the guru on the other side.  With those skilled at self-justification, the line isa fine one; ‘the path’ says the Katha Upanisad, ‘is like the edge of a razor.’

Classically, there are three ways of worshipping God

(1) God is worshipped as He.   The Lord’s Prayer – ‘Our Father’ is this kind of worship.  It rests on faith in the holy scriptures, on the authority of holy men, aided in some cases by inference.  There is no feeling, as yet, of direct face-to-face experience.

(2) The second form is to worship the Lord as Thou or in modern language, ‘You’.  ‘We praise you, Lord.’  This rests on an awareness of a response; until there is a response, the form of words may be used but they are hollow. The response is not merely a feeling of exaltation;  it is something that changes the whole life

(3) The third kind of worship is worship of the Lord as ‘I’, as the Self.  At first sight, it may seem to be impossible, or, rather, meaningless.  But the experience of the sages shows that when the Lord first stirs within the worshipper, there is still a remnant of feeling of separation, though the root conviction is now changing to identity.   Perhaps we can find examples in life.  Some dedicated athletes, and ballet dancers, do almost worship their bodies, though they still regard those bodies as themselves.

So, in the third way called aham-graha (literally grasping the ‘I’), though there is identity of Lord and the essence of what was a separate individuality, something else may remain for a time, though known to be illusory.  There may remain for a short time in the surviving body-mind complex memory-traces of separation.  Re-asserting their unreality, as a fringe of aham-graha ‘worship’.

THE CLASSICAL FRAMEWORK

The path begins with a vague feeling that this life is not all there is, a shadowy awareness of something transcendent. Without that, there would be no reason to enter on yoga.  It is true that there have been, and still are, systems of physical and mental manipulations aiming at purely worldly ends. But the effects are temporary and limited, and necessitating very restricted life-style.  (This last requirement is often ignored by Western enthusiasts.)     Even the limited successes are surrounded with frustration.  There are those, as Dr. Shastri remarked, who acquire an ability to read the thoughts of others, but then find they cannot increase their range. Sankara comments ironically that man has enough difficulty controlling his own thought, without polluting it with the distracted thoughts of others.  The Gita brands such practices as open pursuit of pleasure and power, which degrades the higher faculties of man.  They are not accounted as yoga at all by the great traditions.  In the book, The Heart of The Eastern Mystical Teaching, there is an account of the tragic end of one such expert.

In the classical yoga, then, the pupil has already an obscure impulse to worship something beyond the limited circles of what he can at present experience, or infer, or hear about.

It is felt to be inaccessible, and he begins to search for some way to it.  He is not necessarily looking for a teacher; in fact, he often feels that he does not want to lose his independence by following someone else, who may after all turn out to be a fraud.

Continuing to search, he will have some experience, greater or smaller according to the intensity of search and the basic set of the lifestyle.  If this leads him to a teacher, he can enter a path; otherwise, it remains as a memory of something which often cannot be repeated.

The doctrine is, that sustained search will lead to a teacher, and finally to a teacher who can be accepted.  In practice, this means, a teacher who can be trusted.  There is now a ‘You’ with whom a relationship can be established.  Before that, there was only a vague ‘What?’  In the Yoga tradition, that ‘What’ becomes ‘He’, the Lord of creation, the controller and friend of the universe.

Classically, devotion to God is analysed into three forms:  devotion to God as ‘He’, devotion to God as ‘You’, and devotion to God as ‘I’.

But, as pointed out at the beginning, devotion to God as ‘He’ can sometimes seem fragile, for instance when there is a need for forgiveness.  For a good time, it may be difficult to feel that some bad failure has been forgiven by a cosmic ‘He’, even though the special forms of compassion like Mary or Kuanyin.  But a confession to a teacher, along with some positive act of reparation, can give instant relief.  So that for those fortunate enough to have been able to accept a teacher, the worship of God as ‘He’ is accompanied by reverence for him as ‘You’ in the teacher.  But he must not become attached to the mask; Dr. Shastri always taught in the name of his own teacher, Shri Dada, and warned his pupils again and again not to regard his own form with exaggerated reverence.  He used to say:  ‘I am a fellow student; do not try to set me up on high.’

In the West, where belief in God is now mostly not much more than a vague hope, a teacher has to be especially careful.

The danger is not only exaggerated personal reverence of followers, but that he may himself become intoxicated by it.  As an example, from India at the turn of the century: a leading member of the Brahmo Samaj reform movement in Hinduism became the object of overmuch respect.  He finally broke away, and founded a movement of his own called the Deva Samaj.  He himself became honoured as the ‘deva-guru’ = or divine teacher.  They worshipped God under his direction, and he published literature on this doctrine.  But after a time, he became convinced that there was no God other than a man who had expanded his own divinity to the full.  The literature was withdrawn, and he now wrote without mentioning God.  He was himself accorded semi-divine honours.  This remarkable man, whose name was Agnihotri, died in 1927.  After that, the Deva Samaj withered.

This little history illustrates the danger of falling away into a personality cult, against which Dr. Shastri took many precautions and gave many warnings.

He taught in the name of his own teacher, Shri Dada, who had died at the beginning of the century. Pupils were told that he could still be met, subjectively and later objectively, by meditation on him.  He quoted sutra II.44 of the Yoga-Sutra-s of Patanjali: From self-study (study of holy texts, and repetition of OM) communion with the divinity of his devotion.  It should be noted that this sutra is quoted to the same effect by S’ankara in his great Brahma-sutra commentary.  In this way the distinctions between God and guru gradually dissolve themselves.

© Trevor Leggett