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Mahāprabhu is the ultimate authority on devotional service. Not only is He Kṛṣṇa Himself, but He is Kṛṣṇa in the role of a perfect devotee. There cannot thus be any mistake in His presentation of devotional service. However, an attentive reader may notice what appears to be a contradiction in His teachings. In his instructions to Śrīla Rūpa Gosvāmī, He mentions:

brahmāṇḍa bhramite kona bhāgyavān jīva
guru-kṛṣṇa-prasāde pāya bhakti-latā-bīja
mālī hañā kare sei bīja āropaṇa
śravaṇa-kīrtana-jale karaye secana

“According to their karma, all living entities are wandering throughout the entire universe. Some of them are being elevated to the upper planetary systems, and some are going down into the lower planetary systems. Out of many millions of wandering living entities, one who is very fortunate gets an opportunity to associate with a bona fide spiritual master by the grace of Kṛṣṇa. By the mercy of both Kṛṣṇa and the spiritual master, such a person receives the seed of the creeper of devotional service.”

“When a person receives the seed of devotional service, he should take care of it by becoming a gardener and sowing the seed in his heart. If he waters the seed gradually by the process of śravaṇa and kīrtana [hearing and chanting], the seed will begin to sprout.”(CC Madhya 19.151-152)

These two verses give the idea that devotional service is inherited, or in other words, it is received from the spiritual master when he becomes satisfied with the disciple.

If we go just three chapters ahead, however, in the teachings to Sanātana Gosvāmī, He appears to contradict Himself by stating:

nitya-siddha kṛṣṇa-prema ‘sādhya’ kabhu naya
śravaṇādi-śuddha-citte karaye udaya

“Pure love for Kṛṣṇa is eternally established in the hearts of the living entities. It is not something to be gained from another source. When the heart is purified by hearing and chanting, this love naturally awakens.” (CC Madhya 22.107)

This verse gives the idea that devotional service is inherent in the soul. It is already there as part of one’s eternal nature. It has only to be awakened.

As in other points, it appears to be a contradiction only until we understand the underlying principle behind both statements.

Prabhupāda gives us the clue in his purport to text 22.109:

“This love is already there within the heart of everyone (nitya-siddha kṛṣṇa-prema). Spontaneous service is not artificial. One simply has to come to that platform by rendering devotional service according to the regulative principles. Thus one has to practice hearing and chanting and follow the other regulative principles by washing the temple, cleansing oneself, rising early in the morning, attending maṅgala-ārati and so on. If one does not come to the platform of spontaneous service in the beginning, he must adopt regulative service according to the instructions of the spiritual master. This regulative service is called vaidhī bhakti.”

The two verses describe two separate analogies, which describe two essential details about the soul:

a) Love of Godhead is already there within the heart of everyone.

b) It has to be awakened through the process of devotional service, practiced under the guidance of the spiritual master.

The first point describes the eternal constitutional position of the soul of love for Kṛṣṇa. This is the basis for the whole explanation of Kṛṣṇa consciousness by Prabhupāda. This love of Godhead is eternally there, but in contact with material illusion, it can be temporarily covered or forgotten.

Different analogies are given to explain this point, not only by Prabhupāda, but by other ācāryas. One is someone sleeping, becoming absorbed in the dream and forgetting himself; another is someone losing something and being later reunited with the precious object by the grace of a benefactor. If something is forgotten or even lost, it doesn’t stop being ours, but we need help to remember or find it. This is the point explained in CC Madhya 22.107: Pure love for Kṛṣṇa is eternally established in the hearts of the living entities. It is not something to be gained from another source.

Why then do we need a spiritual master? He is the benefactor that reunites us with the lost treasure. He is the one who awakens us from the depths of ignorance, and he is the one who unties us when we can’t do it by ourselves. This process of reawakening our Kṛṣṇa consciousness is described in CC Madhya 19.151-152, which gives the analogy of a creeper watered by hearing and chanting penetrating the coverings of the universe and resting at the Lotus feet of the Lord.

As in other spiritual topics, the two analogies describe different sides of the same question and have to be understood simultaneously. When we try to flatten it into a single, simplistic explanation, we misunderstand.

This specific verses also clarify a number of points about the practice of devotional service we may have doubts about.

One misconception is that we don’t need anyone to become perfect in Kṛṣṇa consciousness; we just need to chant alone. This is possible only for pure devotees who have already become free from material desires. Not everyone is like Haridāsa Thākura. Prabhupāda makes this point in his purport to text 19.152:

“To live with devotees or to live in a temple means to associate with the śravaṇa-kīrtana process. Sometimes neophyte devotees think that they can continue the śravaṇa-kīrtana process without worshiping the Deity, but the execution of such śravaṇa-kīrtana is meant for highly developed devotees like Haridāsa Ṭhākura, who engaged in the śravaṇa-kīrtana process without worshiping the Deity. However, one should not falsely imitate Haridāsa Ṭhākura and abandon Deity worship just to try to engage in śravaṇa-kīrtana. This is not possible for neophyte devotees.”

The final goal is the same for everyone: always remember Kṛṣṇa and never forget Him. But the recommended way to do that may be different at different stages. A pure devotee may simply sit and chant the whole day, like Haridāsa Ṭhākura, but a neophyte simply can’t. It’s not a matter of willpower. One may be able to chant attentively for one and a half hours, or maybe two hours. The strategy at this stage is thus to combine this chanting with other activities connected with Kṛṣṇa. Deity worship is one of these activities and can be an especially demanding one. If a devotee worships the Deity following all the regulations, he or she will automatically remember Kṛṣṇa constantly. The same can be attained with other services. However, if we reject it prematurely to imitate Haridāsa Ṭhākura, it will probably not work so well. Such imitation usually comes from pride, while regulated devotional service requires humility.

There are other points mentioned in the same purport about the relationship with the spiritual master.

We hear that only by the mercy of the spiritual master can one go back to Godhead and attain pure devotional service. Hearing this, one may think that this is something capricious, that the spiritual master looks at one’s face and decides if he will give us love of Godhead or not. Prabhupāda, however, explains that it is not so:

“Endowed with the mercy of the Supreme Personality of Godhead, the spiritual master distributes the mercy to those who are elevated and pious. Thus the spiritual master trains his disciples to render devotional service unto the Supreme Personality of Godhead. This is called guru-kṛpā.”

The spiritual master wants to give love of Godhead to everyone, but he has to observe eagerness and qualification. He has thus to observe his disciples, guide them, and wait until the disciples become sufficiently qualified to receive the gift. It all starts with one’s eagerness to practice the process and to purify oneself.

Another point is that the devotional seed of the bhakti-latā-bīja is received from the spiritual master. Prabhupāda mentions:

“If one is not fortunate enough to receive the bhakti-latā-bīja from the spiritual master, he instead cultivates such seeds as karma-bīja, jñāna-bīja, or political, social or philanthropic bījas. However, the bhakti-latā-bīja is different from these other bījas. The bhakti-latā-bīja can be received only through the mercy of the spiritual master. Therefore one has to satisfy the spiritual master to get the bhakti-latā-bīja (yasya prasādād bhagavat-prasādaḥ). The bhakti-latā-bīja is the origin of devotional service. Unless one satisfies the spiritual master, he gets the bīja, or root cause, of karma, jñāna and yoga without the benefit of devotional service. But one who is faithful to his spiritual master gets the bhakti-latā-bīja.”

The first point here is that the spiritual master does not give the other seeds that fructify in the form of material activities; they are received from other people we may associate with. Everyone goes in a certain direction in life according to nature and association. One may try to become rich, another may try to do philanthropy, another may become degraded, etc. Just as one becomes a businessman by associating with businessmen, or a drunkard by associating with drunkards, one becomes a pure devotee by associating with pure devotees.

The point made here is that if we are not honest in our dealings with the spiritual master and not sincere in our practice, this duplicitous attitude may not be sufficient to award us the bhakti-plant, and much less nourish it. We thus end up only with the material seeds that gradually sprout and fructify, pulling us back to material life.

This is a point many may misunderstand, thinking that it is something capricious, that the spiritual master gives or does not give the devotional seed based on external worship, donations, etc. Every disciple has the duty of seeing and treating the spiritual master with all honor as a representative of Kṛṣṇa, but what really satisfies the spiritual master is that one is eager to serve Kṛṣṇa. That’s the qualification to receive Kṛṣṇa-prema. When he sees that the disciple is eager to serve Kṛṣṇa, he becomes very happy and gives him the seed of devotional service. Without it, we will receive some other seed from someone else, and we will go in a different direction.

In this way, the seed of devotional service does not bring something originally absent from the soul. Rather, it awakens what has been forgotten and gives it a practical direction. The spiritual master reminds us of our real identity, and guides us so that our original love for Kṛṣṇa can gradually manifest. There is no contradiction between saying that love of Godhead is eternally present in the heart and saying that the seed of devotional service must be received from the spiritual master. One statement describes what the soul eternally is; the other describes how the conditioned soul returns to that eternal position. The treasure is already ours, but without the mercy of Kṛṣṇa and the spiritual master, we may never find it.

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In the Caitanya Caritāmṛta (Madhya 19.149), it is mentioned:

“Because a devotee of Lord Kṛṣṇa is desireless, he is peaceful. Fruitive workers desire material enjoyment, jñānīs desire liberation, and yogīs desire material opulence; therefore they are all lusty and cannot be peaceful.”

This verse calls our attention to a very important topic: the real path to happiness.

Many think of happiness in terms of money. They work hard, thinking that more money will bring them more happiness, but we see that not many actually become happy through this process. Not only is money difficult to come by, but even when one’s economic situation factually improves, there is still no guarantee of happiness.

One of the central problems is that no matter how much we have, we will always look around and see someone who has more. This explains why even billionaires don’t stop working. They continually try to get another billion, then another. A second factor is that having something does not mean it is ours eternally. Therefore, we are always in anxiety, thinking we may lose it. Even after securing money and other assets, we need to continue working as hard, if not more, to maintain it. This brings anxiety that also prevents us from being happy.

Then, there is a third problem: eventually we lose it. Nothing is eternal here. We may lose it during our lives or at death, but loss is guaranteed, and loss means suffering. Therefore, achieving a certain position in this world is more like a loan: we get something now, but it comes at the cost of suffering later.

The only way to become fully happy and peaceful is by giving up material desire, because this is what allows us to become fully happy on the spiritual platform.

On the spiritual platform, these three problems do not exist. First, anything that is obtained on the spiritual platform is ours forever. It is never lost. When Viṣnu blessed Dhruva with his own spiritual planet, Dhruvaloka, the passage clearly mentions that this planet is his forever, surviving even the final annihilation of the universe. In the spiritual platform, there is no separation; there is no degradation, and it is always better than we expected.

Understanding this point, the next question is: How to become desireless? How is this even possible?

The answer is that this is possible on the platform of Kṛṣṇa consciousness. As Prabhupāda explains in his purport to text 149:

“One who simply understands that throughout the entire universe Kṛṣṇa is the supreme enjoyer and beneficiary of all kinds of sacrifices, penances and austerities, which should be performed only to attain His devotional service, that Kṛṣṇa is the Supreme Being and thus the proprietor of all the material worlds, and that Kṛṣṇa is the only friend who can actually do good to all living entities (suhṛdaṁ sarvabhūtānām) — one who understands these three principles about Kṛṣṇa immediately becomes desireless (niṣkāma) and therefore peaceful.”

If one comes to this niṣkāma platform, one can live happily even here in the material world. If one comes to the platform of love for Kṛṣṇa, material things become stale, and one stops desiring them without a separate effort. A hungry person may dream about bread, but one who has a pizza finds dry bread unattractive.

Being free from desires, a pure devotee always remains in contact with Kṛṣṇa, and therefore, his stay in the material world is merely technical. We may say that he has a material body and lives with us, and this may be technically correct, but in practice he is already living in the spiritual world, away from the miseries we face here. He may be living with us, but his experience is radically different.

One question we can have at this point is that although it is relatively easy to understand that money in itself doesn’t bring happiness, it is much harder not to desire material happiness in the form of health, family, friends, etc. Not many would agree to live a solitary life of hardships, even if promised eternal happiness.

The point is that this is not necessary. We don’t need to reject our family or give up health; we just need to give up the idea that these are prerequisites for our happiness, because these things are also temporary, just as money or property. We may be attached to our family, but eventually our parents pass away, the children grow up, economic crises wipe out our savings, etc. Similarly, health inevitably goes away as we become older. Affection is natural, but if our happiness is connected with things remaining as they are, we will inevitably have to experience suffering.

What is the solution then? We need to learn to observe things without being attached, understanding that they are temporary. There is something to be learned, and there are goals to be achieved, but the situation in itself will pass, and there is no way to stop this process.

In the Gītā, Kṛṣṇa gives us a practical process to achieve that: cultivate our Kṛṣṇa consciousness while simultaneously performing our material duties. Contrary to what one may think at first, performing our duties does not make us more attached; it’s the opposite. Performing our duties, acting dutifully as a husband, wife, father, mother, etc., helps us to see family life and other situations in this world as a responsibility and not just as a form of enjoyment. A man may chase women in the street as long as he has the idea he can enjoy them freely, but when he is forced to think in terms of marriage and responsibility, the attitude immediately changes.

A useful comparison is a job because it invokes a similar detached mentality. We go to work every day, and we experience happiness and challenges there. We don’t deliberately try to avoid relationships with colleagues, and we build a whole story there. However, when retirement comes, we don’t lament. On the opposite, we welcome it, seeing it as an opportunity to finally do the things we were unable to do previously because the job was occupying so much of our time. Similarly, if we follow the formula of Kṛṣṇa consciousness combined with detached work Kṛṣṇa gives us in the Gītā, we can go through life cultivating a higher taste, and, when the time to go arrives, we will be able to see it with the same detached mentality, seeing it as an opportunity to finally serve Kṛṣṇa without obstructions.

We can develop a similar detached mentality in relation to health. We tend to think that health is a natural situation, something to be expected, and to have some pain or disease is unnatural, something that has to be solved. This is actually correct in the spiritual platform if we consider our original nature as souls. The soul is always healthy, happy, and blissful. The problem is that we try to apply the same expectancy to the material body, which has a different nature.

When we understand that pain, suffering, and anxiety are actually the nature of this world, we don’t become surprised when they come. We do what is reasonable to try to maintain the body and mind in a healthy condition so we can perform our activities, but we don’t become surprised when difficulties appear. We can thus face pain with a similar detached mentality: “I have pain. Yes, that is what having a material body means. That is how it is.”

The question then is not having pain or not, but whether something can be done or if this is simply the way it is. If that is the way it is, then we may just accept the condition and continue our lives, seeing that by our practice of Kṛṣṇa consciousness, we are gradually threading the path that will make us free from it.

If instead we become focused on the pain, we may end up living inside the doctor’s office, and we may end up experiencing much more suffering due to side effects of medications, repeated interventions, and constant anxiety.

A final question is why devotees have to experience material difficulties at all. Why can’t Kṛṣṇa just make everything easy for them? There are several complementary answers here. One is that difficulties are just the nature of this world, and they are thus unavoidable for anyone who comes here, just as heat is inseparable from a visit to the Sahara desert. Another point, however, is that Kṛṣṇa sees in the long term, and thus His arrangements have other priorities apart from mere immediate comfort. The point is not to make prison comfortable, but to get out of it.

For example, Citraketu was the king of the Vidyādhara planet. He was living in great opulence, with many beautiful women around him. Because he was a pure devotee, he remained pure even in this situation, using his time to always chant the holy names. The question is that, as a demigod, his life was extraordinarily long, and he would have to wait all this time before having an opportunity to go back home, back to Godhead. Kṛṣṇa, however, found a shortcut. He inspired Pārvatī to curse him to become a demon so he could quickly take a last birth as Vṛtrāsura, be killed by Indra, and then go back to Godhead.

Hearing the story, one may question how Kṛṣṇa could allow his devotee to be cursed and become a demon, but that was Kṛṣṇa’s arrangement to get him out of jail. Even as a demon, Citraketu remained perfectly Kṛṣṇa conscious, and when he was finally freed from his material body, he was ready to depart.

Similarly, Prabhupāda lost his business and lost all his money. Kṛṣṇa simply wanted him to do something much better, becoming the Ācārya of the Kṛṣṇa Consciousness movement instead of remaining with a family that was not seriously interested in Kṛṣṇa consciousness. This can give us the right perspective when we also have to face difficulties.

Read more:

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One of the problems of the material world, especially in contemporary society, is that people can’t be completely open with each other. Honest and good-natured people are frequently cheated, and thus even the best people have to learn to build their defenses to be able to live in society.

When we come to Kṛṣṇa Consciousness, we frequently lower our guard, thinking that all devotees are saints. Many indeed are, but unfortunately not all. Many materialistic people pose as devotees, and these can be quite dangerous. There are also devotees who are quite sincere but not yet at a level where they can break with their negative materialistic tendencies and thus can still be prone to cheating others.

In the introduction to the Śrī Īśopaniṣad, Śrila Prabhupāda explains that a conditioned soul has four defects: the tendency to commit mistakes, the propensity to be in illusion, imperfect senses and intelligence, and the propensity to cheat others. We are all trying to get rid of such defects, but unfortunately, they can follow us quite far in spiritual life.

Lowering our guard when we start our spiritual lives can allow us to advance by associating with pure Vaiṣnavas, if we have the good fortune of meeting them, but also puts us at risk of being exploited by so-called Vaiṣnavas. Unfortunately, we can see that sincere people often become burned after being cheated by people they trusted.

It would be good if our movement were a perfect society, composed of only perfect people, or if we could at least protect good-natured people from all bad elements, but unfortunately, we are not there yet. It is still a mixed bag. As a result, betrayal is something most of us face at some point in our spiritual lives.

Often we see spiritual life as an escape from all the difficulties of the world. This idea can help us in the beginning, but it has to be later balanced with the understanding that spiritual societies and movements also have problems. This can be noticed both in ISKCON and other Vaiṣnava groups. That’s a human trace that transcends spiritual institutions. It is thus not a critique, but a simple matter of observation. Progressing requires us to acknowledge these deficiencies and learn how to deal with them. Without this maturity, we may try to close our eyes and maintain an attitude of blind faith longer than we should, and then decide to go back to material life when the shortcomings become undeniable.

Another mistake in this phase is to try to correct everything that is wrong around us. While this tendency can be highly positive for one in a position of leadership, for most of us it is actually not so beneficial. Things are the way they are because we are dealing with conditioned souls who are prone to committing mistakes, being egotistical, etc. Without solving the main problem (bringing people to a transcendental platform), it’s not possible to solve these problems just by activism. To bring people to a transcendental platform, the first step is for us to reach such a platform. Therefore, counterintuitive as it may seem, the best way to solve the problems of society is to step back and focus on our practice. When we come to an advanced platform, we will finally be able to understand the problems and contribute to their solution. If nothing else, we will be able to solve our own problems by going back to Godhead, which is also not a bad outcome.

Here are a few points that can help to maintain balance in spiritual practice:

a) Simplicity does not mean naivety.

It is described that a devotee should be humble and meek. Simplicity is another quality that is emphasized. This, however, does not mean we should be naive and trust blindly anyone and everyone just because one wears a devotional dress.

b) Respect is different from trust.

We should respect all devotees, and in fact everyone. Kṛṣṇa lives in every body as Paramātmā, and every soul is His part and parcel. Everyone thus is worthy of respect. However, respect is different from trust, which is formed based on three C’s: character, conduct, consistency.

Everyone should be respected, but it does not mean we should automatically trust someone in important questions, and especially not automatically trust based on status, position, etc. Many are not trustworthy; others may be well-intentioned, but not have the necessary maturity, and so on.

c) Discrimination is part of spiritual advancement.

The Nectar of Instruction text five explains that we should deal with different devotees according to their level of advancement. We should mentally offer respects to everyone but should associate with devotees who are advanced in devotional service and whose hearts have been cleansed. In fact, such distinction is part of the transition from the neophyte to the intermediate stage, as mentioned in both NOI 5 and SB 11.2.46.

d) Material skill should not be confused with spiritual advancement.

Much of what we do externally is connected with material skills we may have and is not necessarily the product of spiritual advancement. The fact someone can speak eloquently, chant well, remember verses, etc., does not necessarily mean one is a pure devotee. One can thus be a great speaker or kirtaniya and remain irresponsible, emotionally immature, etc. These two things should not be seen as contradictory.

e) Forgiveness should not automatically restore trust.

We may forget someone who took money from us and did not pay it back, but this doesn’t mean we should trust again. We may forget someone who misused a position of authority, but this does not mean we should put him back there. Forgiveness frees us from carrying resentment; rebuilding trust is a different matter entirely. Again, trust should come from the three C’s: character, conduct, consistency.

f) Mercy is not negligence

Similarly, forgiving does not mean that an offender should become free from accountability. A person who misused a position of trust should not be put back there and given the chance of again harming others. Forgiving is an internal decision; it means we give up carrying resentment. It does not mean one should not be punished for what was done or not prevented from doing the same again in the future.

g) The scriptures can be used against us

Dishonest people may selectively use passages from the scriptures to manipulate or defend themselves, invoking surrender, humility, service, vaiṣṇava-aparādha, etc., when the real goal is to manipulate others and suppress legitimate questions. By properly understanding the scriptures, we can notice the difference. A genuine authority does not fear reasonable questions.

h) The other extreme

One problem is naivety: to blindly trust everyone and be hurt in the process. That’s what this article is about. Another issue, however, is cynicism: to go on the opposite extreme and start thinking all devotees are bad. This is what this article is meant to protect from.

i) Activism can also become a distraction.

This is an important counterbalancing point. One thing is to maintain accountability and protect others. However, there is another extreme: to criticize for the sake of criticizing or to start trying to correct everything and everyone. This can easily feed pride, anger, faultfinding, etc., destroying our spiritual practice. We should also keep this distinction in mind.

j) Painful experiences can produce maturity.

Finishing on a positive note, any experience can become ultimately positive if we can learn from it. Often, negative experiences can teach us to distinguish real sadhus from imitators and help us to grow more mature. We should always remember that counterfeits exist because the genuine article has value. Mundane people tend to try to pose as pure devotees exactly because genuine spiritual realization is valuable and commands respect. The fact that there are so many fakes around should help us to value the real.

Go deeper:

This is a publication for thoughtful readers who want to go deeper into Kṛṣṇa consciousness. I publish daily, trying to offer high-quality spiritual content, and all posts are available to free subscribers. If you wish, you can also choose a paid subscription to support this work.

You can also receive the updates on WhatsApp or Telegram.
If you would like to contribute further, you can find the donation links here.

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In the 6th canto of Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, we find the story of how Diti tried to manipulate her husband Kaśyapa Muni with the goal of killing Indra, whom she blamed for the death of her sons Hiranyākṣa and Hiraṇyakaśipu. By serving her husband on all his needs and artificially behaving in an attractive way, with exaggerated feminine movements and so on, she got him under control. When Kaśyapa Muni, feeling obliged, promised to give her a benediction, she immediately asked for a son who could kill Indra. On hearing such a request, he understood that he had been played upon and lamented:

“Alas, I have now become too attached to material enjoyment. Taking advantage of this, my mind has been attracted by the illusory energy of the Supreme Personality of Godhead in the form of a woman [my wife]. Therefore I am surely a wretched person who will glide down toward hell.
This woman, my wife, has adopted a means that follows her nature, and therefore she is not to be blamed. But I am a man. Therefore, all condemnation upon me! I am not at all conversant with what is good for me, since I could not control my senses.
A woman’s face is as attractive and beautiful as a blossoming lotus flower during autumn. Her words are very sweet, and they give pleasure to the ear, but if we study a woman’s heart, we can understand it to be extremely sharp, like the blade of a razor. In these circumstances, who could understand the dealings of a woman?
To satisfy their own interests, women deal with men as if the men were most dear to them, but no one is actually dear to them. Women are supposed to be very saintly, but for their own interests they can kill even their husbands, sons or brothers, or cause them to be killed by others.” (SB 6.18.40)

Both the verses and the purports of this passage contain some quite heavy words about the negative qualities of women. It’s said that women are self-interested by nature, that their natural instinct is to enjoy the material world, and so on. It’s also described that they can become real traps for men, by using their attractive features to seduce and use them for their own purposes, just like Diti did with Kaśyapa Muni.

Of course, the opposite could also be described, since men also exploit women and use them for their own devices. This is unfortunately the nature of this material world: people exploiting and being exploited by others.

In his purports, however, Śrila Prabhupāda gives a higher perspective. As in other passages of Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, this story is used to convey a higher message.

The point is that these negative feminine qualities, as well as similar qualities exhibited by men, are the result of our material conditioning. One way to minimize such negative qualities is through proper family life. When women are well-treated and properly protected by their husbands, fathers, and brothers, they can act in more positive ways. Similarly, when men are properly supported by their wives, mothers, and sisters, they can remain responsible and religious, and thus everyone wins. As Śrila Prabhupāda comments:

“A husband should be trained at the very beginning of his life. Kaumāra ācaret prājño dharmān bhāgavatān iha (Bhāg. 7.6.1). During the time of brahmacarya, or student life, a brahmacārī should be taught to be expert in bhāgavata-dharma, devotional service. Then when he marries, if his wife is faithful to her husband and follows him in such life, the relationship between husband and wife is very desirable. However, a relationship between husband and wife without spiritual consciousness but strictly for sense gratification is not at all good.” (SB 6.18.40)

Another way, however, is to cultivate genuine spiritual values, which is the real goal. All the ideals and regulations given in the scriptures serve just to help us gradually elevate ourselves to a pious platform, from where we may have a chance of ascending to a truly spiritual platform. As Śrila Prabhupāda mentions:

“Such natural instincts of a woman or a man are manifested only in the bodily conception of life. When either a man or a woman is advanced in spiritual consciousness, the bodily conception of life practically vanishes. We should see all women as spiritual units (ahaṁ brahmāsmi), whose only duty is to satisfy Kṛṣṇa. Then the influences of the different modes of material nature, which result from one’s possessing a material body, will not act. The Kṛṣṇa consciousness movement is so beneficial that it can very easily counteract the contamination of material nature, which results from one’s possessing a material body.” (SB 6.18.42)

That was the solution found by Kaśyapa Muni to honor his promise to his wife, but at the same time avoid having to kill Indra. He instructed her to perform the Puṁsavana ceremony, which consists of worshiping the Lord and following strict Vaiṣnava principles for one whole year. He blessed her, saying that if she would be able to perfectly follow the vow until the end, she would attain her desire and get a son capable of killing Indra. If, however, she would break the regulations at some point, her son would be a friend of Indra. In this way, he made sure she would try to follow all the rules very attentively.

In this way, Diti became an exemplary Vaiṣnavi, practicing all spiritual principles as well as the rules and regulations for almost a full year. Knowing that his life was at stake, Indra decided to remain closer to her and watch her very carefully under the pretext of serving his aunt.

Close to the end of the vow, Diti finally made a mistake by going to sleep without washing her mouth, hands, and feet after eating, and thus breaking the strict regulative principles of the vow. Indra took the opportunity to enter into her womb with the intention of kill:ng the baby. He cut the embryo into seven pieces, and then again cut each piece into smaller pieces. He was surprised, however, when each of the 49 parts became a complete baby, and all of them started to cry, speaking, “Dear Indra, we are the Maruts, your brothers. Why are you trying to kill us?”

Diti was never supposed to be able to complete her vow without a mistake, and therefore the soul who took shelter in the womb was a devotee who was destined to be an associate of Indra. When Indra cut the embryo, Kṛṣṇa protected His devotee, and thus instead of him being killed, new bodies were formed and occupied by other souls who were also devotees. By the end, Diti gave birth to 49 children who became associates of Indra, the Maruts.

Because Diti performed the vow, her consciousness became purified, and she abandoned her envious mentality towards Indra. That’s the practical result of spiritual advancement: one starts seeing all beings as parts and parcels of Kṛṣṇa and stops seeing friends and enemies. Indra in his turn was also purified by serving his devoted aunt, and in this way also forgot his negative feelings towards her. This led to an emotional reconciliation between them, narrated at the end of the chapter:

“O my mother, O best of all women, I am a fool. Kindly excuse me for whatever offenses I have committed. Your forty-nine sons have been born unhurt because of your devotional service. As an enemy, I cut them to pieces, but because of your great devotional service they did not die.
Śrī Śukadeva Gosvāmī continued: Diti was extremely satisfied by Indra’s good behavior. Then Indra offered his respects to his aunt with profuse obeisances, and with her permission he went away to the heavenly planets with his brothers the Maruts. (SB 6.18.76-77)

By the end, everyone gained. Not only did Indra escape being killed, but he gained 49 brothers who were very obedient to him. Diti, who was previously extremely bitter and unhappy for losing her two demoniac sons, not only got 49 very devoted sons but also got reconciled with her nephew. On top of that, she gained devotional service to Kṛṣṇa, which brought her more happiness than any material achievement could bring. Even her relationship with her husband improved.

Had she attained her initial goal of getting a son who would kill Indra, Kaśyapa Muni, as well as Diti herself would have been involved in the sinful activity. Being distressed by the loss of her son, Aditi would then surely retaliate, and the problems would just multiply, bringing misery to all involved. Because of her practice of devotional service, however, the story ended with a much happier outcome.

Yet another meaning is that devotional vows and activities are beneficial even if not successfully completed, different from fruitive activities that give results only when perfectly performed. Diti couldn’t complete her vow, breaking it on one of the last days, but still she got the benefit. On the other hand, just by mispronouncing one word in his fruitive sacrifice, Tvasta got the opposite result. This is the superexcellence of devotional service: since the benefits are bestowed by Kṛṣṇa, who can see our heart, just by sincerely trying, one is already sure to get the results.

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One of the most serious challenges in our movement, and, in my view, one of the main factors stagnating our progress, is that many of us accept Śrīla Prabhupāda ceremonially and institutionally, but not hermeneutically.

We offer obeisances to him when we go to the temple, accept him as the Founder-Ācārya, quote his books and letters, etc., but we don’t accept his conclusions as the main framework by which we should understand the scriptures and the works of previous ācāryas. In other words, we accept Prabhupāda as just one of many opinions we may take into account while interpreting the scriptures and the words of the previous ācāryas. Sometimes we may agree with what he says, and sometimes not.

There are many reasons for that. One of the most common is that many of us, consciously or unconsciously, classify Prabhupāda as a popularizer rather than as the governing ācārya through whom his followers receive the conclusions of the paramparā. In this case, we assume that he gave the basic conclusions for beginners, but that as we move to more advanced stages of Kṛṣṇa consciousness, we are supposed to “grow up” and search for more advanced philosophy elsewhere. We then go to different sadhus and babajis or even study by ourselves and accept any of these as a superior authority.

One may argue that although Prabhupāda displayed such a great empowerment, he is not physically present, and therefore one should find a sadhu who is personally present to receive instructions from him. Of course, the whole principle of paramparā is receiving personal guidance from living Vaiṣṇavas who can observe, instruct, and correct us. However, there is an important nuance here: the guru or mentor should help us understand and follow Śrīla Prabhupāda, instead of replacing his conclusions with those of another school. One should receive instructions from one of his disciples and grand-disciples, or from someone who faithfully represents him, and not from anyone and everyone.

There are many Vaiṣnavas and different schools, and we should surely respect everyone, but it doesn’t mean we should mix everything. When we become connected to a certain school, we should remain faithful to the conclusions of that particular school and not jump here and there. This is what makes us valuable as representatives of the paramparā.

One point that may be noticed in this direction is that although many sadhus offer superficial respect to Prabhupāda, very few actually take time to study his books. We repeatedly find that senior Vaiṣṇavas, including names consulted by prominent ISKCON devotees, have never systematically studied Śrīla Prabhupāda’s books. They may have skimmed one or two volumes, but nothing beyond that. Generally, they presume they understand everything based on knowing general Vaiṣnava philosophy from their own schools. The root cause of it is usually the same: they see Prabhupāda as a popularizer of Kṛṣṇa consciousness, who wrote books for beginners. Since they see themselves as already beyond this level, they don’t see value in them, and therefore don’t take the time to study. Since they don’t know, they cannot help anyone to better understand Prabhupāda’s teachings; they just replace them with the general teachings of the schools they are connected to. In other words, they don’t work as expanders, but as replacements.

If we go in the direction of drawing our own conclusions, then we often go in the direction of independent interpretation. We then start studying many books and start believing whatever we conclude from them. This path is attractive, because it appears to be more prestigious. One who says that Prabhupāda already gave the conclusion and he is just trying to explain it puts himself in a subordinate position, while another who claims to have studied Jīva Gosvāmī and found the real meaning of the text puts himself in the position of a higher authority, which is more comfortable for the ego. In this case, one is not merely serving Prabhupāda’s conclusions of the text; he places himself in the position of judging whether Prabhupāda was correct or not.

We can also observe that ego often plays a prominent role. Often we observe that certain personalities do not contradict Prabhupāda accidentally; they deliberately make it a point, so they can show how they know better. Such disagreements thus become a badge of sophistication, evidence that the so-called scholar has progressed beyond the supposedly elementary level of his books. Some even built careers around that.

The fault of this approach is that it contradicts the basic principle of paramparā: evaṁ paramparā-prāptam, imaṁ rājarṣayo viduḥ. Transcendental knowledge cannot be produced independently through grammatical analysis or academic research. It must descend through paramparā. Grammar is a good servant, but a bad guru. Grammar, as well as logic and academic research, should be used as tools to deepen our understanding, and not be mistaken as the process itself.

The material mind has no independent capacity for understanding the transcendental. The only way is to receive the correct conclusions from the paramparā, and then study the scriptures according to these conclusions. This develops sambandha, proper understanding, which leads to abhidheya, proper practice, which in turn leads to prayojana, the final goal. Without accepting this process, one just speculates using the material mind and goes nowhere.

Prabhupāda expands this topic in his introduction to the Bhagavad-gītā, which is, by the way, a text that condenses many of the essential conclusions. There he mentions:

“Vedic knowledge is not a question of research. Our research work is imperfect because we are researching things with imperfect senses. We have to accept perfect knowledge which comes down, as is stated in Bhagavad-gītā, by the paramparā disciplic succession. We have to receive knowledge from the proper source in disciplic succession beginning with the supreme spiritual master, the Lord Himself, and handed down to a succession of spiritual masters. Arjuna, the student who took lessons from Lord Śrī Kṛṣṇa, accepts everything that He says without contradicting Him. One is not allowed to accept one portion of Bhagavad-gītā and not another. No. We must accept Bhagavad-gītā without interpretation, without deletion and without our own whimsical participation in the matter. The Gītā should he taken as the most perfect presentation of Vedic knowledge. Vedic knowledge is received from transcendental sources, and the first words were spoken by the Lord Himself.”

Here, “without interpretation” means rejecting whimsical interpretations imposed by the conditioned mind and receiving the text through the conclusions of the disciplic succession, accepting the teachings as a single unit rather than selectively dismissing parts that don’t suit our worldview. The idea is to fix ourselves through this knowledge, and not fix the knowledge itself through our imperfect intelligence. The very concept of paramparā is based on the idea that spiritual knowledge is perfect; there is nothing to be fixed, only to be properly understood.

Prabhupāda then elaborates on the question of conditioned souls possessing four defects that prevent them from delivering perfect knowledge. Transcendental knowledge cannot be produced here, nor can it be found through the imperfect work of the material intelligence. It has to be imported from the spiritual world, and received through Kṛṣṇa’s bona fide representative.

The purport to Bg 4.34 is even more direct: “Nor by independent study of books of knowledge can one progress in spiritual life. One has to approach a bona fide spiritual master to receive the knowledge.”

Another difficulty is that one muni disagrees with another. Devotees who adopt independent interpretation will therefore reach incompatible conclusions, producing fragmentation and disunity. The greater their influence becomes, the wider that disunity spreads.

Another factor is academic conditioning. Modern academia is structured around producing an independent contribution. This, of course, can be applied in spiritual life; there are many scriptures to translate and many books to explain, but it becomes misguided when it goes in the direction of creating new interpretations, supposedly correcting Prabhupāda or previous ācāryas, or challenging their conclusions. We can see this applied in many discussions around the “fall of the jīva,” Vedic cosmology, etc. Again, many have built their careers writing books or articles contradicting Prabhupāda’s conclusions instead of trying to understand them more deeply.

Another reason is that Prabhupāda’s simplicity is misunderstood. He often gives the final conclusion directly, without describing every philosophical step leading to it. He often compresses huge and extremely complicated philosophical conclusions in short sentences that are repeated throughout his books, such as “The soul is the eternal servant of Kṛṣṇa.” For followers who are surrendered, this is an extremely effective method, allowing one to quickly grasp and apply all the important philosophical conclusions without necessarily having to undergo a detailed philosophical study. One devotee may understand it on a deeper level than another, but because both share the same underlying conclusions, both can work together and move in the same direction without impediment.

The proper direction for one interested in advanced study is to start with these conclusions and try to understand the philosophical process that leads to them. This can be done by studying the works of the previous ācāryas through the lens of these conclusions. By following their arguments, we can examine the process that leads to the conclusions Prabhupāda gave in his books and thus deepen our understanding of them. In reality, what Prabhupāda gives in his books is not simplified, but compressed knowledge. He compresses 5,000 years of philosophical conclusions, starting with Vyāsadeva himself, into conclusions that are almost like aphorisms. They are effective even at a superficial level, but if we start studying, we see that they are much deeper than originally thought. If we follow the thread, we can go as deep as we want, without losing the way.

However, this proper process is often replaced by something else.

If we go directly to the Ṣaṭ-sandarbhas and other works of Jīva Gosvāmī and other ācāryas, we can find elaborate discussions on intricate topics, rich in heavy terminology. We may then become seduced by the technical complexity and conclude that Prabhupāda supplied only the elementary summary, while, in reality, one is just walking in circles around philosophical problems Prabhupāda already solved decades ago. The tragic part is that often one gets lost in this process and ends up reaching the wrong conclusions. After decades of heavy study, one may then be less coherent in terms of sambandha than a new bhakta who faithfully accepts the conclusions Śrīla Prabhupāda gives in his books.

Here we come to another, more structural concern: In ISKCON, we have courses for studying Prabhupāda’s principal books, such as the Gītā and Bhāgavatam, but we have not yet fully developed a discipline for studying other works. As a result, we study Prabhupāda’s books and generally accept the conclusions he gives there, but when it comes to studying the Ṣaṭ-sandarbhas and other works of the Gosvāmīs, the Upaniṣads, etc., the studies are largely conducted independently of these conclusions.

As a result, the research often leads to diverging conclusions, which in turn reinforce the root cause of the issue: the view that Śrīla Prabhupāda gave only the ABCD, and advanced knowledge has to be found elsewhere.

To avoid that, we need to develop a systematic framework for:

a) Identifying Prabhupāda’s conclusions on a given subject.
b) Identifying the scriptural and philosophical foundations of such conclusions.
c) Examining the related Sanskrit terms and grammar and how Prabhupāda interprets them.
d) Studying the works of previous ācāryas to see how they deal with the same subjects, and how their explanations lead to the conclusions Prabhupāda gave.
e) Distinguishing explanations and elaboration from passages that appear to contradict Prabhupāda’s conclusions, and then conducting the separate study necessary to harmonize them.
f) Learning to express the topics through Prabhupāda’s language, instead of creating a separate technical jargon.

A generation of scholars trained in a framework like this could finally end the cycle of speculation, confusion, and battles of quotes we are currently bogged down in.

That’s one of the reasons I started working on translations and commentaries based on Prabhupāda’s conclusions, trying to offer my personal contribution in the direction of such a framework, and also to try to make evident some of the philosophical discussions that sustain the conclusions Prabhupāda gives in his books. These commentaries are based on explaining the passages according to the way they are interpreted by previous ācāryas, elaborating on their arguments, and then explaining how they lead to the same conclusions Prabhupāda gives in other passages.

I have already published the first volume of my study of Baladeva Vidyābhūṣaṇa’s Govinda-bhāṣya and studies of three principal Upaniṣads. They are part of a much larger project to develop a hermeneutical framework for understanding the scriptures through the conclusions Śrīla Prabhupāda gives in his books. The aim is to recover the arguments that support those conclusions and to use them in determining the intended meaning of difficult Sanskrit passages, especially where the Sanskrit allows multiple possible readings. All these books are available in the My Books section.

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We will not find many people who intentionally want to suffer. In a normal state of mind, everyone wishes to be happy. Kṛṣṇa, however, questions, “How can there be any happiness without peace?” Peace is not a luxury; it is the very foundation for the happiness people seek.

How to find peace? In materialistic life, it is impossible, because on the material level, one’s life is always based on anxiety about obtaining what one wants and preserving what one has. Even if one somehow comes to a position of full sovereignty, one will still fear death.

However, perfect peace is possible on the spiritual platform when we surrender our activities to Kṛṣṇa. We can become peaceful right here, in this very life, and not only on an individual level, but collectively, as a community or society.

This universal peace formula is revealed by Kṛṣṇa in the last verse of the fifth chapter of the Gītā:

bhoktāraṁ yajña-tapasāṁ, sarva-loka-maheśvaram
suhṛdaṁ sarva-bhūtānāṁ, jñātvā māṁ śāntim ṛcchati

A person in full consciousness of Me, knowing Me to be the ultimate beneficiary of all sacrifices and austerities, the Supreme Lord of all planets and demigods, and the benefactor and well-wisher of all living entities, attains peace from the pangs of material miseries.

Prabhupāda comments:

The conditioned souls within the clutches of the illusory energy are all anxious to attain peace in the material world. But they do not know the formula for peace, which is explained in this part of the Bhagavad-gītā. The greatest peace formula is simply this: Lord Kṛṣṇa is the beneficiary in all human activities. Men should offer everything to the transcendental service of the Lord because He is the proprietor of all planets and the demigods thereon. No one is greater than He. He is greater than the greatest of the demigods, Lord Śiva and Lord Brahmā. In the Vedas (Śvetāśvatara Upaniṣad 6.7) the Supreme Lord is described as tam īśvarāṇāṁ paramaṁ maheśvaraṁ. Under the spell of illusion, living entities are trying to be lords of all they survey, but actually they are dominated by the material energy of the Lord. The Lord is the master of material nature, and the conditioned souls are under the stringent rules of material nature. Unless one understands these bare facts, it is not possible to achieve peace in the world either individually or collectively. This is the sense of Kṛṣṇa consciousness: Lord Kṛṣṇa is the supreme predominator, and all living entities, including the great demigods, are His subordinates. One can attain perfect peace only in complete Kṛṣṇa consciousness.

In the material world, people want peace, but they have no idea of how to achieve that. On the contrary, we see conflict at all levels. Even in the celestial planets, there is enmity, war, and the misery caused by them. Kṛṣṇa reveals three realizations that solve the problem.

a) bhoktāraṁ yajña-tapasām: Kṛṣṇa is the real beneficiary and enjoyer of all sacrifices and austerities. He is the root of all existence. We should not perform sacrifices or austerities for our own prestige or gain. Instead, all activities should be performed for the satisfaction of Kṛṣṇa. This eliminates artificial competition based on ego.

Since Kṛṣṇa is the ultimate beneficiary, everyone should work together for Him, instead of against each other. More than that, by working in this spirit, all our sacrifices will culminate in transcendental knowledge, as Kṛṣṇa declared in chapter four.

b) sarva-loka-maheśvaram: Kṛṣṇa is the supreme proprietor. He is the master of all planets and their controllers, greater than anyone. This realization defeats the illusory sense of ownership that is the root cause of all conflicts. A materialist thinks he is the lord of everything he sees, but in reality he is just a slave of his senses. When the proper conclusion is restored, we can finally see everything properly, just like when the sun appears to dispel the darkness of night. Conversely, when we refuse the service of Kṛṣṇa, we end up being enslaved by material nature.

c) suhṛdaṁ sarva-bhūtānām: Kṛṣṇa is the closest friend of all living entities, the well-wisher of all. Therefore, surrendering to Him is not our loss, but our welfare. This also explains how a pure devotee can be friendly to all living entities. Kṛṣṇa is the supreme friend, and a pure devotee is His representative.

These three realizations work together. If Kṛṣṇa were simply the proprietor, we would fear, or maybe envy, Him. If He were only the enjoyer, one could feel exploited. But because He is the supreme friend, surrendering to Him becomes natural.

We can see that other religious scriptures emphasize God as the ruler, master, or recipient of worship, but they neglect His aspect as the supreme friend. This leads to unbalanced philosophies that modern people tend to resist. People are told that they must obey God, but they are not given a sufficiently deep understanding of why surrender is their highest welfare. God is presented as an authority demanding obedience, not as the dearmost friend inviting the soul back into an eternal loving relationship.

When this incomplete presentation collides with modern education and individual freedom, people tend to reject it, but without encountering the complete philosophy of Kṛṣṇa consciousness, they often fall into crude materialism or atheism. Only the Bhagavad-gītā presents a deep and balanced view of the Absolute Truth, and has the potential of being a universal scripture. This is further elaborated in the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, which brings details about Kṛṣṇa’s qualities and activities, and the process of developing a personal relationship with Him.

Once Kṛṣṇa is accepted as the dearmost friend, the fact that He is the supreme proprietor and enjoyer becomes a distant secondary detail. That’s how Kṛṣṇa’s cowherd associates in Goloka Vṛndāvana see it. They understand that Kṛṣṇa is the Supreme Controller, the Supreme Personality of Godhead, but this knowledge is eclipsed by their love for Kṛṣṇa as a friend, son, or lover. At this stage, a devotee does not think that Kṛṣṇa owns everything; he simply thinks that “Kṛṣṇa is mine, and I am His.” Kṛṣṇa’s supremacy remains eternally true, but it is eclipsed by their pure love. They love Kṛṣṇa because of who He is, not because He is a powerful person or celebrity.

Kṛṣṇa then concludes the verse with jñātvā māṁ śāntim ṛcchati. One who fully understands these three facts becomes situated in full Kṛṣṇa consciousness and attains peace from the pangs of material miseries. This is a summary of the process of Kṛṣṇa consciousness that Kṛṣṇa deepens in chapters seven to twelve of the Gītā.

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Sometimes, when we hear about the faults of a devotee—that someone displayed some pride, misunderstood something, or was chastised or corrected—we conclude that this person was not a real devotee and should not be respected. We then often mock and condemn without considering the qualities or the good such a devotee may have done.

One central problem is that we often think only in absolute categories, which is the result of our own conditioning. Under the influence of the mode of passion, we tend to see everything black and white. Either someone is perfect or completely useless, or completely pure or completely fallen, saint or sinner. The fact, however, is that there are many levels between these extremes. If someone has eight hundred million dollars, he may not be considered a billionaire, but he is not poor either. Similarly, a devotee may not possess the absolute purity of Rūpa Gosvāmī and still be a very advanced devotee empowered to perform important service.

Vallabha Bhaṭṭa, also known as Vallabhācārya, was not an ordinary person. He was a great Vaiṣṇava scholar, a powerful preacher, the author of several important works, and the leader of a Vaiṣṇava sampradāya. At the same time, however, we may hear this famous passage:

“The next day when he came to the assembly of Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu, he sat down after offering obeisances to the Lord and said something with great pride. “In my commentary on Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam,” he said, “I have refuted the explanations of Śrīdhara Svāmī. I cannot accept his explanations. “Whatever Śrīdhara Svāmī reads he explains according to the circumstances. Therefore he is inconsistent in his explanations and cannot be accepted as an authority.”
Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu smilingly replied, “One who does not accept the svāmī [husband] as an authority I consider a prostitute.” After saying this, Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu became very grave. All the devotees present derived great satisfaction from hearing this statement.” (CC Antya 7.112-116)

Hearing it, we may forget about the other side. If we go to the 19th chapter of the Madhya-lila, we can read about his affectionate dealings with Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu:

“At that time, Śrī Vallabha Bhaṭṭa was staying at Āḍāila-grāma, and when he heard that Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu had arrived, he went to His place to see Him. Vallabha Bhaṭṭācārya offered Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu his obeisances, and the Lord embraced him. After that, they discussed topics about Kṛṣṇa for some time.
Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu felt great ecstatic love when they began discussing Kṛṣṇa, but the Lord checked His feelings because He felt shy before Vallabha Bhaṭṭa. Although the Lord restrained Himself externally, ecstatic love raged within. There was no checking that. Vallabha Bhaṭṭa was astonished to detect this.” (CC Madhya 19.61-64)

So, who is the real Vallabha Bhaṭṭa? The humble devotee with whom Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu had such affectionate dealings, or the proud scholar who criticized Śrīdhara Svāmī, the original commentator of Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam? Both, but the pride was a temporary covering, while the devotion is the eternal nature.

This shows that a mistake does not disqualify one from being a devotee. It may suggest one is not an eternally perfect nitya-siddha, but does not mean one is not in a high devotional platform or that one may not reach perfection later.

In fact, the same Antya-lila clarifies that Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu acted in this way to correct Vallabha Bhaṭṭa, exactly because he was such a dear devotee, who was entrusted to do a valuable service, bringing Kṛṣṇa consciousness to a huge public in Gujarat, Rajasthan, and the area around Gokula. A devotee who is empowered to perform such a service cannot be considered ordinary.

“By various hints and refutations, Lord Caitanya, the Supreme Personality of Godhead, corrected Vallabha Bhaṭṭa exactly as Kṛṣṇa had cut down the false pride of Indra.” (CC Antya 7.118)

Indra committed a mistake by attacking Govardhana, but Kṛṣṇa did not reject Him. Instead, he used his anger as an opportunity for displaying His pastime of lifting Govardhana Hill. By displaying His power, he gave Indra the opportunity to understand his mistake and become repentant. Indra was then reinstalled in his position and resumed his service in managing the rains.

Similarly, it is described that Vallabha Bhaṭṭa went through a similar process:

“Returning home that night, Vallabha Bhaṭṭa thought, “Previously, at Prayāga, Lord Caitanya was very kind to me. “He accepted my invitation with His other devotees, and He was kind to me. Why has He now changed so much here at Jagannātha Purī?
“Being very proud of my learning, I am thinking, ‘Let me become victorious.’ Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu, however, is trying to purify me by nullifying this false pride, for a characteristic of the Supreme Personality of Godhead is that He acts for everyone’s welfare.
“I am falsely proud, advertising myself as a learned scholar. Therefore Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu insults me just to favor me by cutting down this false pride. (CC Antya 7.120-123)

The next day, Vallabha Bhaṭṭa approached Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu again, lamenting his mistake, and was blessed by the Lord.

“Lord Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu said, “You are both a greatly learned scholar and a great devotee. Wherever there are two such attributes, there cannot be a mountain of false pride.
“You have dared criticize Śrīdhara Svāmī, and you have begun your own commentary on Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, not accepting his authority. That is your false pride.
“Śrīdhara Svāmī is the spiritual master of the entire world because by his mercy we can understand Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam. I therefore accept him as a spiritual master. “Whatever you might write due to false pride, trying to surpass Śrīdhara Svāmī, would carry a contrary purport. Therefore no one would pay attention to it.
“One who comments on Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam following in the footsteps of Śrīdhara Svāmī will be honored and accepted by everyone. “Put forth your explanation of Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam following in the footsteps of Śrīdhara Svāmī. Giving up your false pride, worship the Supreme Personality of Godhead, Kṛṣṇa.” (CC Antya 7.131-136)

The point is that Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu corrected Vallabha Bhaṭṭa exactly because he was a great devotee, not the opposite. He recognized Vallabha Bhaṭṭa as a great devotee and scholar, but also saw that his pride had to be corrected so that it would not obstruct his devotional progress and service.

He thus took away the pride, so the good qualities could shine. Vallabha Bhaṭṭa later became celebrated as the principal ācārya of the Vallabha-sampradāya, connected with the Rudra-sampradāya of Viṣṇu Svāmī.

That’s how Kṛṣṇa acts. As He mentions in the Gītā (9.22), “But those who always worship Me with exclusive devotion, meditating on My transcendental form—to them I carry what they lack, and I preserve what they have.”

In other words, He preserves the qualities the devotee already has, and helps him to achieve the qualities that are still lacking. Later, in text 16.1-3, He describes the 26 divine qualities qualities: Fearlessness; purification of one’s existence; cultivation of spiritual knowledge; charity; self-control; performance of sacrifice; study of the Vedas; austerity; simplicity; nonviolence; truthfulness; freedom from anger; renunciation; tranquility; aversion to faultfinding; compassion for all living entities; freedom from covetousness; gentleness; modesty; steady determination; vigor; forgiveness; fortitude; cleanliness; and freedom from envy and from the passion for honor.

When we see a devotee worshiping Kṛṣṇa, but lacking any of them, we should understand that he or she is going through this process, and the qualities that are missing are going to gradually be revealed, as Kṛṣṇa does his magic.

This particular point is also confirmed in Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam 5.18.12, when it is said that “All the demigods and their exalted qualities reside in one who has unalloyed devotion to the Supreme Personality of Godhead.”

In this way, when we hear that a devotee was chastised by Kṛṣṇa or by His representative, we should see it as a symbol of Kṛṣṇa’s mercy upon him, and not of disqualification. It should also be taken as a lesson, so we can also identify the same mistake in ourselves and gradually become free from it. Certainly, Vallabha Bhaṭṭa was not the only devotee in history to show a degree of pride.

As Kṛṣṇadāsa Kavirāja concludes at the end of the chapter:

“The Lord purified Vallabha Bhaṭṭa by cleansing him of the mud of false pride. By such activities the Lord also instructed others. Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu was actually always merciful within His heart, but He was sometimes externally negligent of His devotees. We should not be preoccupied with His external feature, however, for if we do so we shall be vanquished. The pastimes of Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu are very deep. Who can understand them? Only one who has firm, deep devotion to His lotus feet can understand these pastimes.” (CC Antya 7.167-169)

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We frequently speak about the voice inside our head, but if we pay attention, we will notice that it is not just one voice. Different impulses, arguments, and identities appear, often contradicting each other.

The alarm rings early in the morning. One voice may say: “I’m tired, I will sleep more.” But then, another voice may answer, “No, get up, you have to chant, you already skipped yesterday.” Then a third voice may protest, “What kind of devotee are you?” and so on.

Some voices may speak in the first person, others in the second person, or even in the third person. Some may sound highly emotional, like a child screaming; others rational, others moderated. Who are all these voices? Which one is the real me?

To answer this question, I need to first of all determine who I am. There are many voices inside the head because my current self has many layers.

In one study (Russell, 1993), patients under general anesthesia undergoing surgery were left capable of moving one hand. This was done by placing a tourniquet on the corresponding arm, reducing the blood flow, and thus preventing one of the components of the anesthesia, the muscle-paralyzing drug, from reaching it. During the surgery, Russell asked the patients to squeeze his hand if they could hear him and again if they were experiencing pain. Seventy-two percent responded during surgery, and many indicated that they experienced pain at some point. Although they appeared unconscious and almost none remembered the experience afterward, some awareness remained. Part of their consciousness was still awake and capable of feeling pain and responding to simple commands.

Another example. In a case report (Alang and Kelly, 2015), a woman with a serious intestinal infection received a fecal transplant from her overweight daughter to restore her gut flora. Before the transplant, her weight had been stable around 61 kg, but after receiving the new set of gut bacteria, her eating habits changed, and she started gaining weight. After 16 months, she was already obese at 77.1 kg, and after 36 months she was already 80.3 kg, which she was unable to reduce even with a supervised program. The new bacteria somehow altered her appetite, making her eat more without recognizing that part of this desire was being generated by the microorganisms in her gut.

With this, we can understand that our current self is composed of layers, and not all layers may be awakened at the same time. That’s exactly what we experience when we wake up. Our consciousness comes back in stages, and part of it may not wake up until later in the day. Many people describe that their intelligence doesn’t work well in the morning, for example, while for others it may be the opposite. Hunger comes and goes; memory also comes and goes, just as other forms of desire and bodily needs.

One passage that can help us understand how it works is the allegory of King Purañjana described in the Fourth Canto of Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam. After traveling for a long time (transmigrating through the 8.4 million forms of life), the king (the soul) finds an attractive city (the human body) and is allowed to rule it for 100 years. He meets an attractive woman (the intelligence), who becomes his queen; there is a minister (the mind) and many servants (the senses), each one with many wives (the objects of the senses). The city has many gates (the sensory organs) and a huge population (all the different cells and microbes who live there, each one with a separate soul).

Each of us is an individual soul who controls a body composed of innumerable other living entities. Each living cell is a separate being, and they coexist with many microbes and bacteria, who also have their functions and may have a say in the decisions of the king. In this context, it is not difficult to understand how the gut bacteria can have a say. They can produce chemicals that are interpreted by the body as hunger, making one eat more, just like a group of citizens may influence the decisions of the king by convincing a minister to support their views.

From the Bhagavad-gītā, we learn that our real self is the soul, who is independent of the body and, in fact, transmigrates from one body to another at death. The soul is transcendental, but covered by the false ego, we accept a material identity. The concept of “I” in terms of a material identity starts from the material ego. We are then covered by the material intelligence (our rational side) and the mind (the emotional side), which, in turn, is influenced by the input of the senses, which are, in turn, activated by the objects of the senses. We may see a cake, for example, which activates the appetite, which awakens desire in the mind. We have then a voice inside our heads telling us to eat. The intelligence then may reply that we are not hungry, or that it is not time to eat, or that we may gain weight; the mind may insist, and so on.

We, as the soul, are not another voice; we are the witness that is observing all these different voices interacting with each other and identifying with them. We then desire, choose, suffer, and enjoy even though, factually, we have nothing to do with the material body.

The mind expresses attraction and rejection: “I want this,” “I hate that,” “I am tired,” “I want to stay in bed.” These different desires of the mind can conflict with each other and appear as separate voices, while the intelligence considers consequences, makes plans, remembers duties and commitments, and argues based on that. Just as the mind, the intelligence also often goes in different directions simultaneously, reacting to the different desires of the mind, and also may appear as different voices. The ego then follows this cacophony and attaches the word “I” to them.

This “I,” however, is not me; it is just a temporary material identity created by the material ego. I may identify myself as a materialist, or as a yogī, as a householder, or as a renunciant, an illiterate, or a scholar, and this sense of identity may also pull me in different directions, serving as fuel for the arguments of the intelligence. This intelligence, however, is also not “I”; it is simply another artificial layer that works based on previous information, experiences, and bias, not very different from modern AI systems (which are just a synthetic imitation of intelligence). Just as an AI, the intelligence is not alive; it acts mechanically, as part of the material potency of the Lord. Just as the computational power of a datacenter is allocated to different AI sessions, we get a small fragment of the total cosmic intelligence to help us find our way in the material creation (Lord Kapila explains these points in the Third Canto of Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam).

In this way, even if one of the voices opposes the mind, telling us to control ourselves, it doesn’t necessarily mean it is spiritual. I may identify myself as a fakir, for example, and control my eating as part of this material identity. If I had some bad experience eating pineapples, the intelligence may protest when the mind says it wants to eat one, and so on.

Where does the soul appear in this maze? The soul is not another voice; the soul is the witness. The soul is the conscious person who hears the arguments and identifies with some of them. This is how bacteria can also introduce a voice into our internal discussion. They don’t directly speak, of course, but they can produce chemicals and other signals that are interpreted by the mind as hunger, discomfort, etc., triggering latent desires, just as the senses do. The mind then speaks, “I feel like eating,” and the false ego accepts this appetite as our own.

Beyond these three material voices is the guidance of Kṛṣṇa Himself as Paramātmā. Just as the soul, He is also a witness, but there are two crucial differences. The first is that the soul is the witness of a single body, while Paramātmā is the witness of all bodies. The second is that the soul falls under the spell of the false ego and thus starts to identify with the voices of the mind and intelligence, while the Supersoul always remains transcendental, always observing from a neutral position. The two are compared to two birds seated on the same tree. The soul is the bird who becomes attracted to the fruits of the tree and thus sometimes experiences sweetness and sometimes bitterness, while the Supersoul is the bird who simply observes.

The purpose of spiritual life is therefore not to make the kingdom silent. The senses have their function. The point is that a pure devotee does not identify with them. He sees hunger and cold as one seeing lights turning on in the instrument panel of a car. They are information, not identity. The pure devotee simply observes these inputs and decides what to do based on his priorities.

The problem is not even having a material body. Pure devotees also accept material bodies when they come to fulfill some mission in this world. The problem begins when the king forgets his identity and becomes controlled by his ministers, servants, citizens, and visitors.

In the Bhagavad-gītā, Kṛṣṇa explains that “The working senses are superior to dull matter; mind is higher than the senses; intelligence is still higher than the mind; and he [the soul] is even higher than the intelligence.” (Bg 3.42)

This gives us the hierarchy. The urges of the senses are very strong, but the mind is higher than the senses and can direct their actions. Similarly, the wanderings of the mind can be disciplined by the intelligence. Through the process of Kṛṣṇa consciousness, the hierarchy is gradually restored, and we come to understand that our current self is not our real self. Our real self exists outside the material experience, as an eternal servant of Kṛṣṇa. When the soul is not connected with Kṛṣṇa, one can be easily swayed by the movements of the mind and material intelligence, but when one is again connected with Kṛṣṇa, the hierarchy culminates in Him, who is greater than all. When the soul is connected with Kṛṣṇa, the functions of all the subordinates, the intelligence, mind, and senses, will also be automatically engaged in the context of our real, eternal identity. That’s what Prabhupāda calls Kṛṣṇa consciousness.

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In the Bhagavad-gītā, Kṛṣṇa mentions that “What is night for all beings is the time of awakening for the self-controlled; and the time of awakening for all beings is night for the introspective sage.”

This does not simply mean that a self-realized person lives in a different time zone; it indicates a complete change in activities and life priorities. A regular person is interested in improving his or her material condition, getting a better job, more money, new experiences, followers on Instagram, etc., while a self-realized person understands the futility of it and instead focuses his or her time on pursuing spiritual progress. This leads to significant changes in one’s practical actions and the way he or she perceives life. One will dismiss what others see as opportunities and instead spend time on what they perceive as eccentric or useless activities, such as chanting, going to the temple, studying scriptures, etc. The eating habits will change, the dress may change, and so on.

To the new devotee, these changes may feel natural and positive, and usually they are. Even by material standards, we can’t deny that avoiding meat, alcohol, promiscuous sex, etc. is a positive step. By practicing these sāttvic habits, combined with spiritual practice, we discover a new understanding of life and become enthusiastic about practicing it. We change, sometimes very quickly.

All of this, however, can be unsettling to family members, because familiarity is usually based on similarity. We remain close to people because they share similar values. When the values become too different, we feel that a dear person is slipping away. If it were just some distant friend, one would not take it very seriously, but when it is a son, a daughter, or another close family member, the change can be unsettling. One will then try to rationalize it in different ways, and the explanation that one’s son or daughter joined a cult may sound attractive.

Why? Because it avoids having to question one’s direction in life (and often his whole concept of identity). If I accept that my son or daughter changed so much because he or she found a better path in life, I then have to admit that my own path, which I have been pursuing for decades, is not the best. For most people, this is very difficult to admit. The cult explanation changes the blame. The problem is not me or my family, we are the victims. The reaction then frequently becomes, “Who are these people influencing my son?” “Has this religion become more important than the family?”

Other relatives may fear that the person will give away his money, abandon his studies or profession, move into a temple, give up his autonomy, start accepting everything a guru says without thinking, or cut off contact with everyone outside the group. Some of them may then get some of our books to read and take passages out of context to reinforce their fears.

How should we react to that?

Here it is important to understand how the material modes work. Regular people are mostly influenced by passion and ignorance. That’s what moves them in material life. If a person is predominantly influenced by goodness, he or she will not want to spend 48 hours per week in an office; therefore, as goodness increases, changes in one’s priorities and behavior will be visible. However, others will struggle to understand these changes, especially if they are too quick.

The influence of passion and ignorance also often makes relatives react in terms of fear, instead of knowledge. Our first reaction may then be to become defensive. We may think that they are ignorant, envious, etc., and also react negatively. The two negative reactions then compound, bringing escalation. It can quickly become a fratricidal war. Instead of reacting to fear with fear or to aggression with more aggression, it’s usually much more effective to defuse it with a mature reaction (goodness). The best answer to fear is kindness.

Here is where spiritual practice, even in the earlier stages, can be valuable. We can stop and consider the situation. There are surely situations in which family members can be envious of each other, but apart from such cases, people from our family usually wish us well. We can then understand that their reaction, even if misguided, does not come from genuine enmity, but from a misapplied sense of care.

The word “cult” is often used loosely to describe any unfamiliar group. A person may be called a cult member simply because he or she develops different habits and believes things outside the mainstream. Nowadays this problem is smaller than it was a few decades ago, because in most societies people have become culturally more flexible. We have vegans, far-right and far-left political groups, LGBT, etc., and often people go from one group to the other, changing radically in the process. Becoming a Vaiṣnava may be at first dismissed as just one of these changes. However, in societies that are still more closed, the reaction may still be very strong.

Here is a point to consider, however: unhealthy Vaiṣnava groups do exist. There are many places where I, even after practicing for 34 years, would be deeply concerned to see a close person joining. There are charismatic leaders who demand absolute obedience, groups that isolate followers and manipulate them emotionally, manipulate their finances, discourage questions, etc. These are places where Kṛṣṇa consciousness is heavily covered by the material faults and ambitions of the members, and where the spiritual path can take a darker turn. Therefore, often the family may not be completely irrational. The sweeping reaction may include some part that may be justified, and we may take this into consideration.

Here we come to a part of the process that can blunt much of this reaction and can also make our own spiritual experience more progressive. Contrary to popular belief, the scriptures do not recommend that anyone surrender blindly. We can observe that Kṛṣṇa tells Arjuna to “abandon all varieties of religion and just surrender unto Me” after explaining the whole Bhagavad-gītā to him. In chapter four, He tells us to approach a self-realized spiritual master as the essential part in the process of obtaining transcendental knowledge, but in other passages we learn that one is supposed to observe the spiritual master carefully for one year before becoming a disciple, not only to remove any doubt about his or her character but also to complete the internal process of removing doubt. If during this time we focus on learning and developing our chanting and meditation and gradually changing our habits, instead of just accepting external symbols and dress, we can develop a good spiritual foundation without shocking anyone.

This also helps in another direction: changes in behavior are better accepted when they are explained in a logical way. If we start lecturing our parents about them being demons for slaughtering cows when they question why we have become vegetarian, they will probably not take it very positively. If instead we just explain that it is healthier not to eat meat, and that this makes us feel more peaceful, etc., the reaction will probably be much better. Health and peace are values people can usually relate to. Similarly, when they question why we spend so much time chanting on beads, we can answer that this is a process of meditation we learned that helps a lot to focus the mind and avoid stress, which makes a huge difference in our daily routine, and so on. If we can explain in ways they can relate to, emphasizing positive changes, and these come together with positive changes in our behavior, this can not only defuse most of the tension but gradually make them positive about, or even interested in, Kṛṣṇa consciousness themselves.

A good exercise is to run a check periodically, asking ourselves:

Am I becoming more honest?
Am I becoming more patient with others?
Am I fulfilling my responsibilities better?
Am I learning to control my anger?
Am I becoming less selfish?
Or, conversely, am I becoming more proud, argumentative, and difficult to live with?

Honest answers to these questions can help us to identify many detours in our spiritual practice before they become unrecoverable.

Usually, people who are inclined to quickly adopt the process of Kṛṣṇa consciousness are the ones who were already practicing in previous lives. If that’s our case, we usually have a strong sense of suddenly finding the right path as soon as we come again into contact with it. This confirmation comes from Paramātmā inside the heart. This leads us to trust the process even before getting knowledge. Most people, however, adopt it very slowly, as they see that it brings answers to practical questions and positive changes. If we become visible evidence of it, chances are they will become gradually interested, or at least favorable.

Here is yet another point you may consider: Most of the negative effects we see in devotees who suddenly become too fanatical about Kṛṣṇa consciousness do not come from following the guidance of a genuine spiritual master but from fanatically surrendering to charismatic leaders who haven’t yet freed themselves from the influence of the material modes. This is then often compounded by our own unresolved emotional problems, need for identity, black-and-white thinking, desire to become prominent in a group, etc., creating a dangerous combination.

By developing our foundations first, we can skip this whole phase and go directly to the stage of finding a self-realized spiritual master, or at least an experienced mentor who can genuinely guide us in the right direction.

If you would like to go deeper, check out the book. Free for everyone:

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We can observe that many children of devotee parents are not very attracted to the practice of Kṛṣṇa consciousness. There are even many cases of children who completely reject the process, connecting it to negative experiences they faced as children or young adults. Here I try to share some common mistakes and how to avoid them. If you have a child or consider having one in the future, this can be an important read.

The first point is the challenge in itself. Raising a child nowadays, balancing time, economic pressures, cultural challenges, and so on, is already not easy. Parents who try to educate their children in Kṛṣṇa consciousness face even greater challenges, for on top of everything else, we have to reconcile our duties as parents with our spiritual practice and transmit spiritual values to the child in a positive way. All of this requires a great deal of maturity in spiritual practice, which we do not always have.

The first mistake is to think that a child is “ours.” Each child is an eternal soul who ultimately belongs to Kṛṣṇa. This soul passed through many lives in the past, and our role as parents is to help this soul understand his eternal relationship with Kṛṣṇa and escape the cycle of birth and death. The child is not a possession or an instrument of satisfaction of our ambitions and frustrations.

The second mistake is to become too lenient, allowing the child to do whatever they want, or, on the other extreme, to become too rigid. In the Gītā, Kṛṣṇa explains that we cannot practice yoga if we eat too much or too little or sleep too much or too little. Moderation is necessary in many aspects of spiritual practice, and children’s education is one of them.

Children need boundaries, guidance, education, and protection. The question is that all of this must be offered within a context of love and care. When there is love, a child can easily understand that these restrictions are for his or her good and accept them, but when love is absent, it becomes a system of repression that makes the child grow resenting the whole process. On the other hand, love without discipline can easily become neglect. We need to remain clear of both extremes.

Another mistake is to see married life and the education of children as “māyā”, something that is separated from our spiritual practice. This is a very mistaken idea that created serious problems in the past. It comes from a basic misunderstanding, the same mistake Arjuna was making at the beginning of the Gītā, wanting to leave the battlefield before the battle.

When we chant the mahā-mantra, we pray to Kṛṣṇa for an opportunity to be engaged in His service. Kṛṣṇa then sends us a child, a soul who is dear to Him, and whom He entrusts us to bring closer to Him, but we reject it, thinking we have more important things to do. This is similar to Arjuna wanting to leave the battlefield before the battle. The whole Bhagavad-gītā was spoken to correct this mistake.

Family responsibilities are not separate from devotional service. When Arundhati d.d. wrote to Śrīla Prabhupāda mentioning her difficulties in taking care of her child while at the same time serving as a pūjāri in the temple, Prabhupāda answered that “For you, child-worship is more important than deity-worship. If you cannot spend time with him, then stop the duties of pūjāri.”

Kṛṣṇa is absolute, and service to Kṛṣṇa is also absolute. Just as a book distributor or a cook is not less important than a pūjāri, educating a child is also not less important than worshiping a deity. The point is not in serving Kṛṣṇa in a particular way, but in learning to perform all our activities as an offering to Him. Again, this is the main message of the Bhagavad-gītā.

For a child, attention from the parents is a biological necessity, just like eating and sleeping. When a child is deprived of this, he or she may still look physically fine, but psychologically, he or she will be broken. Many children of devotees learn to see Kṛṣṇa consciousness as a competitor that takes their parents away from them. The problem is not devotional service itself but the artificial separation between service to Kṛṣṇa and care for one’s family.

Lord Ṛṣabhadeva teaches that one should not become a parent unless one can help one’s dependents become free from repeated birth and death. This may sound harsh at first, but it emphasizes the main point that we should take responsibility for giving our children a real opportunity to progress. This implies spending time with the child, observing, educating, giving affection, and so on. When we learn to do that in proper consciousness, this is something that brings us closer to Kṛṣṇa.

The next point is the difference between education and repression.

In the Gītā, we learn that beneficial activities are often distasteful in the beginning, while inauspicious activities are often very pleasant in the beginning. Eating fast food may feel good, but it brings suffering later in the form of many health problems. Spiritual practice, on the other hand, may be difficult in the beginning, but it brings lasting happiness in the long term.

Children should understand the value of honesty, cleanliness, self-control, compassion, responsibility, etc., and learn the dangers of different forms of intoxication, promiscuous sex, gambling, etc. They should learn the value of spiritual practice and spiritual knowledge. The question is how to transmit all of this.

Repression is about imposing a rule for the sake of the rule itself, just because we say so. The child then follows based on enforcement, out of fear. Education is different. It means to present a rule based on the principle of its value. “We do like this, because this is the right way.” A rule is presented as a higher law that everyone is supposed to follow, something I also personally follow.

For example, I cannot teach honesty to anyone if I’m dishonest myself. I can’t teach a child to not smoke if I smoke myself. Being a parent means being the embodiment of the values I’m trying to teach.

I remember a class in which Pṛthu Prabhu shared that once, while crossing the border, the customs inspector asked if they had any goods to declare. The father said they had none, and he, as a child, corrected him, saying that they got a big cheese. They got a fine. When they came home, his father slapped him. After that, he learned that he shouldn’t take very seriously when his father talked about honesty... That was a point that stayed with me.

Enforcement is based on producing a certain action, but it works only as long as we are looking. Education is meant to help a child to develop intelligence to make the right choices when we are not there. This is done by walking our talk, showing the child how to behave and what choices to make, not only by words but especially by example.

The next challenge is how to make a child interested in the spiritual process itself.

Devotional service is voluntary by nature. It means willingly offering something to Kṛṣṇa out of devotion. It can’t be imposed by coercion. If I force someone to serve Kṛṣṇa, this doesn’t really count as devotional service. It is just external action based on coercion. One may force a child to sit and chant japa, bow before the deities, attend programs, wear devotional clothing, or recite verses. However, without love for Kṛṣṇa, these are simply external actions. A child will not get a taste for any of these by being forced, and as soon as they grow up and start to have a choice, they will abandon the process.

Prabhupāda mentioned that leaders should not destroy the individual, spontaneous, and voluntary spirit of devotional service. A genuine leader creates an atmosphere of love and trust that inspires people to willingly offer their energy to Kṛṣṇa. An oppressive leader may keep people in line temporarily, but eventually they become discouraged and leave. The same principle applies even more strongly to children.

It is much more effective when we personally do everything and allow the child to gradually come to participate. Children are naturally attracted to imitating adults, and when this tendency is properly directed, it can become the most effective form of education. We can potentiate this further by emphasizing the joyful sides of spiritual practice first. We can organize the experiences in a way that the temple is seen as a place where the child feels welcomed, chanting as a source of happiness, festivals as a source of new friends, and so on. When a child gets a taste, it becomes easier to also teach the restrictions as foundations that support it. When both are combined, the child can get a higher taste.

Often, we see apparently well-behaved children become rebellious teenagers. Of course, this is a phase that brings many challenges, but it often just brings up things that were hidden. It may be just a reaction to resentment that accumulated during years of forced obedience. We then often worsen it by using toxic shame (”your are a disgrace,” “you didn’t learn anything,” “why dd I have you,” etc.)

This brings us to the last point for today, which is unconditional love. This is the factor that supports the positive and blunts most of the mistakes we may make.

Unconditional love does not mean approving everything. It does not conflict with the need for educating, etc. The main point is to use the relationship as a weapon. It means to not make the relationship dependent on a certain pattern of behavior, to not become emotionally distant when the child makes a mistake or does not act the way we want, and to make it clear we are there to help, not just to punish.

For a small child, this removes much of the anxiety by giving the idea that he or she will still be loved even after committing a mistake. This makes the child more open to telling the truth and sharing difficulties with the parents instead of falling into the pattern of lying and hiding. The parent becomes a trusted person, instead of just an institutional authority. This becomes even more important later, in the teenage years.

Most teenagers need time to evaluate things independently and understand their options in life. If the relationship remains intact, at this point, the positive impressions of childhood later reawaken, and this brings them back to spiritual practice, now as their own conscious choice. If the relationship is destroyed, however, the resentment toward the parents usually also affects their attitude towards the spiritual process itself.

To avoid that, we should not become attached to the image of having a perfect spiritual family. We should accept that there will always be difficulties and imperfections and that they are not a sign of defeat.

We should not make the external behavior of our children a source of personal prestige. This is a source of many mistakes, because it makes us react disproportionately to mistakes or non-compliance, seeing the behavior of the child as a threat to our public image. For a child, this is a very painful realization: the moment they understand that their parents don’t love them for what they are, but only in the measure they perform a certain role. It is much more productive when we stop trying to produce a child that can work as an extension of our ego and start seeing him or her as a soul that we can help to gradually come closer to Kṛṣṇa.

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We understand that we are not the body but the soul inside the body. From the soul comes consciousness, which permeates the body, just like the light of the sun permeates the whole universe. Consciousness is present in all living beings and is more or less visible according to the grade of the body. Even a plant has a certain degree of consciousness, and we can see this clearly when we make a time lapse of its growth and see how it moves and avoids obstacles and adapts to features of the environment. Plants also move; they just do so more slowly than us.

The presence of the soul is also the defining difference between a living being and an inanimate object. A computer can be very advanced, but it is still a machine. Even AI systems are just blocks of instructions run by these machines. Without a soul, even the most advanced computer system will never be conscious.

However, where does the soul go at night, when we enter deep sleep, when there is no consciousness at all? Does the soul leave the body? And if not, then how exactly can consciousness disappear? And how can we return each morning as the same person?

This question is answered in the Mandukya Upaniṣad. This is the shortest and one of the most mysterious Upaniṣads, dealing with details of the interaction of the soul and the body, the different states of consciousness we go through during our lives, and how we remain connected with the Supreme Lord, who is present inside our hearts as Paramātma in each of these states.

The Bhagavad-gītā explains that the soul is eternal and indestructible. The body passes through different phases—childhood, youth, old age, sleep, disease, death, etc.— but the soul continues to exist without a change through all these changes.

Consciousness is the natural symptom of the soul. However, the consciousness we ordinarily experience is filtered through the material body and mind. It is therefore possible for our external awareness to disappear even though the soul remains conscious by nature, just as the luminosity of a lamp disappears when we turn off the switch, even though the electricity is still available.

Another example is a man under anesthesia. He may have no awareness of what is happening around him, but he doesn’t cease to exist. When the effect of the anesthetic ends, his external awareness returns.

Deep sleep is somewhat similar. The soul remains present, but its connection with the external world through the senses and mind is temporarily suspended.

The Māṇḍūkya Upaniṣad describes three states that we regularly experience:

Wakefulness
Dreaming
Deep sleep

Beyond these three is a fourth state called turīya, or spiritual consciousness.

During wakefulness, we experience the external world through the physical body. We see through the eyes, hear through the ears, etc. Although the soul is the conscious observer, perception depends on a complex arrangement involving the senses, mind, and intelligence. For this complex system to function, we depend on the cooperation of many different demigods (the predominating deities of the senses and other functions we depend upon), all of this happening under the sanction of the Supreme Lord. When someone becomes blind, for example, this does not mean just that the eye was damaged, but that the potency to see was withdrawn due to some karmic arrangement.

During the dreaming state, our external senses stop functioning, but the mind remains active. We may not see or hear what is happening around us, but we may see people, places, and situations in our dreams without using our physical eyes. The dream world is therefore experienced not through the body but in a subtle form through the mind. The dream state is thus an intermediate state of consciousness, where we are not aware of the physical world but are aware of the movements of the subtle mind.

What about deep sleep?

In deep sleep, even this internal mental activity stops. We do not perceive the external world, nor do we see dreams. Our ordinary material identity temporarily ceases.

The Māṇḍūkya Upaniṣad describes deep sleep as a state in which a person desires no material object and sees no dream. The consciousness of the soul withdraws from both external perception and the mental world and rests within the region of the heart.

Kṛṣṇa explains in the Gītā that He is situated in everyone’s heart. From Him come remembrance, knowledge, and forgetfulness. He is the one who makes our material experience possible and, in this way, allows us to pursue our material goals. At the same time, however, He accompanies us through this journey, just as a friend accompanies the other.

The Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam explains that every soul has an eternal relationship with Kṛṣṇa that can’t ever be broken, just forgotten. Material life is exactly this state where we become absorbed in the material world and forget this eternal relationship. However, because our life in the material world is not our real existence, it cannot last. Therefore, our material experience has to be regularly interrupted, both at the end of each life and at the end of each day. What happens during these periods? We go back to Kṛṣṇa. At the end of each day, we stay with Kṛṣṇa, in His form as Paramātma, inside the heart, and after the destruction of the universe, we all join Maha-Viṣnu in His cosmic sleep. In reality, we never leave Him; we just think we have done so due to the material coverings. As soon as these coverings are eliminated, we are back with Him.

In ordinary life, we operate under the conception of the false ego, seeing ourselves as separate and independent from Kṛṣṇa. In deep sleep, however, the soul has no active perception of a separate material identity. This is a delicate point. It should not be understood in the sense that we become one. This situation may be compared to different objects in a completely dark room. The objects don’t merge together, but we lose our capacity to differentiate one from the other. Similarly, during deep sleep, the soul does not actually merge into the Lord, but the awareness by which we distinguish “I,” “my body,” “my family,” and “my problems” disappears.

The mind is also not destroyed during deep sleep; it simply becomes dormant. Just as a computer retains all information and software when it is turned off. Everything is there, but it is not operating. As soon as we wake up, however, the mind again becomes active, and we regain our awareness of the external world. This is why the same personality reappears upon awakening. A person may go to sleep thinking about money and immediately remember it upon waking up.

Unless we have a nightmare, we perceive sleep as a peaceful state. During regular life, we are constantly disturbed by the demands of the body, mind, family, society, etc. We experience heat and cold, pleasure and pain, expectation, disappointment, etc., and this continues even in dreams. In deep sleep, however, everything ceases. That’s a state where we experience rest and a form of peaceful, covered happiness.

From this, we can conclude that the material mind and ego are the source of material suffering, because when they become inactive, we experience bliss. In reality, bliss is the natural state of the soul; the false ego, mind, body, and senses are precisely the coverings that prevent us from experiencing it.

We come then to the fourth stage described in the Māṇḍūkya Upaniṣad, the state beyond waking, dreaming, and deep sleep: turīya.

Wakefulness, dreaming, and deep sleep are all temporary material conditions. We continually move from one to another, but none of them reveal our real identity.

When we are awake, we mistake the physical body for the self and become absorbed in the temporary physical world. In dreams, we identify with an ephemeral world created by the mind. In deep sleep, we forget both the external body and the dream identity, but we remain ignorant of our spiritual nature.

Turīya is different. It is an active state of purified consciousness. It is the awakening of the soul to his real identity, his eternal relationship with Kṛṣṇa.

Deep sleep means temporarily forgetting about our material conditioning. Impersonal liberation means to give up material conditioning without awakening to the spiritual reality. The fourth state, turīya, is different from both; that’s the state where we finally reconnect with our eternal spiritual identity. That’s the state where we finally fully wake up from the material covering.

Material life is compared to a dream because that’s a state where we forget who we are and become absorbed in a sequence of dreams in which we experience illusory situations. Impersonal liberation is compared to deep sleep, where we just forget everything and become dormant. From this deep sleep, however, one can at any moment fall back into the nightmare of material existence. Turīya is compared to the true awakened state, where we finally wake up to our eternal spiritual relationship with Kṛṣṇa, our eternal life of bliss together with Him.

This original consciousness is awakened through the process of bhakti, Kṛṣṇa consciousness, through the process of hearing about Kṛṣṇa, serving Him, associating with like-minded devotees, studying the Bhagavad-gītā and Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, and chanting His holy names, which, when done attentively and in a humble spirit, has the power of quickly awakening this dormant spiritual consciousness.

Hare Kṛṣṇa, Hare Kṛṣṇa,

Kṛṣṇa Kṛṣṇa, Hare Hare,

Hare Rāma, Hare Rāma,

Rāma Rāma, Hare Hare.

During ordinary sleep, we forget the material world for a few hours, have a short period of peace, but return to the challenges of day-to-day life unchanged. Through Kṛṣṇa consciousness, however, the heart is gradually purified, and we gradually awaken to the spiritual reality. When this process is finally concluded, we never return to the dream of material existence.

Therefore, the real question is not where we go during sleep, but how we can awaken this original spiritual consciousness.

I published a translation and commentary of the Mandukīya Upaniṣad, in case you want to go deeper. It is available for free here on the website, like my other books:

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For practically anything we want to learn, we need a teacher. Of course, we can learn many things just by watching videos on YouTube or reading books, but when we want to seriously study a subject, we go to a teacher. If one wants to become a physician, he goes to the university and study from teachers who are experienced physicians. One can learn a lot about health and medicine on YouTube, but to really become a physician himself, he needs to study at a university. Similarly, when we want to learn the spiritual science seriously, we need to find a teacher.

The secret is that we need a teacher who is connected to an authentic school. If one wants to study medicine, he will want to enroll in a respected university, and not just learn from some amateur who teaches from his imagination.

There are different categories of teachers. Some know just a little and can help us to start on the spiritual path. Others know more and can help us to a greater extent, and some are really self-realized and can help us all the way up to the stage of perfection. During life, we learn from many teachers. We start learning from our parents, then from teachers in school, and this process of learning continues all the way up to the end of our lives. The spiritual process is not different; it’s normal that we may have different teachers who can help us in different stages of our spiritual progress.

All the different authentic spiritual schools start from a common source: Kṛṣṇa, the Supreme Personality of Godhead. He is the one whom the Vedas describe as the Supreme Brahman, the immortal and unmanifest. In other words, this knowledge comes all the way from the spiritual side, outside this dark material universe. Being on the spiritual side, Kṛṣṇa knows perfectly how everything works and can share this knowledge with us. Over the centuries, this knowledge has been transmitted generation after generation in a process called paramparā, or disciplic succession. A disciple learns from his spiritual teacher and later shares the same knowledge with his own students, and thus the knowledge is preserved and distributed.

In the last page of his introduction to the Bhagavad-gītā, As It Is, Śrila Prabhupāda shares his own connection. He studied under Śrila Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī Thākura, the great teacher from the Gaudiya Vaiṣnava school. And he, in turn, studied under Śrila Gaurakiśora Dāsa Babaji, and so on.

The disciplic succession that Prabhupāda describes actually comes down since the beginning of the Universe, but the list has only 32 names because only the most prominent links are mentioned. The first name on the list is Kṛṣṇa. He originally taught this spiritual science to Brahmā, the first living being in this universe. Brahmā doesn’t have a material father or mother. He has a divine origin and is empowered with high intelligence and control over matter, so he can execute his arduous task of creating this universe. At the beginning of his life, Brahmā becomes confused after seeing only darkness everywhere, and thus he starts to practice meditation to find answers. When he becomes perfect in his meditation, he is able to see the spiritual side and receive spiritual knowledge from Kṛṣṇa Himself.

Brahmā, in turn, taught this knowledge to Nārada, one of the sons he created from his own mind. Nārada is a very powerful sage who possesses all mystical perfections and can travel all over the universe out of his own will. He does not have a gross physical body like us; therefore, he can travel all over the universe simply out of his desire, without the need for a spaceship. There are many races of higher beings in this universe, and Nārada has students among all of them. He takes the mission of transmitting this spiritual knowledge to representatives of each race, and if a line of succession is broken, he goes there again to repeat the same knowledge to a new teacher, starting a new line of spiritual succession.

Neither Brahmā nor Nārada is from this planet. In other words, if one is looking for extraterrestrial knowledge, this is the right place to look. People are obsessed with gray men in spaceships, but this is the real alien technology.

Nārada taught this spiritual science to Vyāsadeva more than 5,000 years ago. He is the first inhabitant of this planet who appears on the list. Vyāsadeva was a great sage who compiled the Vedas based on the knowledge he received from Nārada. Over the centuries, this knowledge was preserved and expanded by a succession of enlightened teachers, like Madhvācārya, Mādhavendra Purī, and Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu. Again, just the most prominent names are mentioned, since this succession extends over a period of more than 5.000 years.

Fast-forwarding to the modern age, we have Jagannātha Dāsa Babaji, Bhaktivinoda Thākura, Gaurakiśora Dāsa babaji, Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī Thākura, and finally A. C. Bhaktivedānta Swami Prabhupāda.

Similarly, Prabhupāda had many students, and many of them also became spiritual teachers. One of them is Śrila Bhakti Thirta Swami, who wrote many books and taught many influential persons, including members of the United Nations. He also had many students, amongst them Śrila Bhakti Dhira Dāmodara Swami, who travels the world explaining this spiritual science. I’m one of his students.

When we think about choosing a spiritual teacher, often we think about who we like to hear, who appears more intelligent, or who fits best whatever stereotype we may have of a guru. The two main points, however, are:

a) Is he or she connected to an authentic spiritual succession coming from Kṛṣṇa Himself?

b) Is he or she faithfully transmitting the knowledge received through it, carefully representing the succession of teachers, or is one teaching from his own mind?

Why is this important? Perfect spiritual knowledge cannot be invented through speculation. It must descend from the spiritual platform. The human mind can create scientific theories or books of fiction, but it has no power to correctly understand the spiritual reality. Transcendental knowledge comes from a perfect reality; therefore, there is nothing to be improved, the point is just to explain it. Changes simply break it, just as a guy with a hammer trying to improve a Ferrari.

As mentioned in the Taittirīya Upaniṣad, the relationship between teacher, student, knowledge, and instruction is the basis of genuine learning. The teacher carries the knowledge, the student receives it, and instruction connects them. A bona fide spiritual teacher does not create a new philosophy or interpret the scriptures according to his imagination. He presents the same essential conclusions that he received from his own spiritual teacher, adapting the explanation to the needs of the student without change.

Śrī Caitanya Mahāprabhu explains that one’s birth, social position, or external status is not important. Whether one is a scholar, a renunciant, a householder, a man or a woman, one can become a spiritual master if one genuinely understands the science of Kṛṣṇa.

Therefore, the main points to consider are:

a) Is he faithful to his own spiritual teacher and to the other ācāryas of the line he or she represents?

b) Is his personal behavior according to the teachings?

c) Does he direct people toward Kṛṣṇa, or toward himself?

d) Can he explain spiritual knowledge clearly and resolve doubts?

e) Is he willing and able to guide the disciple personally?

f) Does association with him increase our desire to chant, hear, serve, and improve our personal character?

Apart from the qualifications of the teacher, there is another side we should be attentive to: building our own qualifications. Even a qualified spiritual master will not be able to help a student who doesn’t have the qualities of a proper disciple. In fact, one is advised not to even accept such a student. As we practice the spiritual process, we work on our own qualifications, and gradually develop the purity for seeing beyond the superficiality and start seeing the purity.

As we associate with different teachers and other devotees whom we respect, we may naturally develop faith in some of them, and by observing which teachers they themselves respect, we gradually move in the right direction.

The right spiritual teacher is not the person who tells us what we want to hear. On the contrary, he is the one who can recognize our conditioning and help us to break free from it. The process is not always easy, but that’s exactly what we are asking for. The idea is that we understand we are not perfect, and we look for a person who can help us to advance.

Books and recorded lectures are always valuable, but they fit into a different niche, for they cannot always make us properly understand our particular situation, expose our blind spots, correct our misunderstandings, or correct us. This is possible only when there is a teacher observing and correcting us.

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As a body of literature, the Vedas are very difficult to understand, and many passages appear to contradict each other. Modern scholars interpret it as evidence that the Vedas are simply a collection of disconnected books written by different individuals over a few centuries, sharing a common culture. If we accept the explanation of the Vedas themselves, however, the answer is different. The Vedas address various topics from different points of view because different books are written for different classes of people. Therefore, somewhere Viṣnu is declared as the supreme and in another Śiva. Somewhere, fruitive sacrifices are recommended, and somewhere the cultivation of knowledge. Some passages recommend the performance of duties, and others the renunciation of the same duties, and so on.

These apparent conclusions, however, are not difficult to understand when we understand the goal behind them. Just to give you an example of how it can be simultaneously easy and difficult to understand passages from the Vedas:

At the beginning of chapter three of the Bhagavad-gītā, Arjuna is confused. Why is Kṛṣṇa telling him to fight in the war if He just mentioned in chapter two that intelligence is better than fruitive work?

Arjuna is more qualified than any of us. Still, he became confused when Kṛṣṇa explained to him.

The central point in Arjuna’s misunderstanding is that the word “buddhi” means “intelligence,” and the term “buddhi-yoga” mentioned several times by Kṛṣṇa in chapter two can thus be understood as the process of using our intelligence. If we take it in this way, the meaning of the verses of the whole second half of the second chapter becomes unclear. That’s how Arjuna understood it.

Let’s take 2.49, for example:

dūreṇa hy avaraṁ karma, buddhi-yogād dhanañ-jaya
buddhau śaraṇam anviccha, kṛpaṇāḥ phala-hetavaḥ

When we read the Bhagavad-gītā As It Is, we get everything explained. Prabhupāda follows the conclusions of the text and translates buddhi-yoga as devotional service, giving us the clear meaning. Thus, the translation for the verse is given as:

“O Dhanañjaya, keep all abominable activities far distant by devotional service, and in that consciousness surrender unto the Lord. Those who want to enjoy the fruits of their work are misers.”

The point in the verse is thus to avoid the fight but to renounce one’s selfish interests and fight in a spirit of renunciation, as an offering to Kṛṣṇa.

If, however, we take buddhi-yoga as simply the process of using our intelligence, the meaning of the verse changes completely. It becomes:

“O Dhanañjaya, using your intelligence, keep all abominable activities far distant. Take refuge in this intelligence. Those who want to enjoy the fruits of their work are misers.”

The term buddhi-yoga is central to the meaning of the verse, and thus, by misunderstanding this term, the entire meaning of the verse changes. Now, instead of fighting in devotional consciousness, the conclusion appears to be that he should use his deliberation to avoid the fight. This misunderstanding then cascades into the following verses, creating even more misunderstandings.

In 2.51, for example, when Kṛṣṇa mentions karma-jaṁ buddhi-yuktā hi, phalaṁ tyaktvā manīṣiṇaḥ, the correct meaning is:

“By thus engaging in devotional service to the Lord, great sages or devotees free themselves from the results of work in the material world.”

However, understanding buddhi as simply “intelligence,” the meaning becomes:

“By thus using their intelligence, great sages free themselves from the results of work in the material world.”

Kṛṣṇa uses the term buddhi-yoga eight times more until the end of the second chapter; therefore, if every time the term is misinterpreted, the misunderstandings multiply. One can thus end with the idea that instead of working for Kṛṣṇa, one should use one's intelligence to avoid fruitive work and thus become free from the sinful reactions. That’s how Arjuna understood it. However, remembering that in the first half of the second chapter, Kṛṣṇa insisted that he should fight, Arjuna becomes confused, not understanding how to reconcile these two apparently contradictory instructions. He starts the third chapter thus, asking why he should engage in karma (fighting in the battle) if buddhi (using his intelligence to avoid abominable activities) is described as superior.

We have passages like this all over the Vedas. It is practically impossible for anyone not to fall into such misunderstandings, and as one progresses in one's study, the mistakes compound and multiply. As a result, the more one studies, the less one understands. Often, scholars who have studied their whole lives are the most confused.

So, now that we understand the problem, what is the solution?

Kṛṣṇa gives us the process in the Gītā itself:

tad viddhi praṇipātena, paripraśnena sevayā
upadekṣyanti te jñānaṁ, jñāninas tattva-darśinaḥ

“Just try to learn the truth by approaching a spiritual master. Inquire from him submissively and render service unto him. The self-realized souls can impart knowledge unto you because they have seen the truth.”

This is very logical. In all fields of human knowledge, we need to learn from people who know. Not many will accept undergoing surgery under a self-taught surgeon. Somehow, when it comes to spiritual knowledge, the most complex field, everyone thinks that they can figure it out themselves, and that’s how we become confused. If we learn from someone who knows, we can understand.

Kṛṣṇa then reveals how this process leads us to understand the inner purpose of the Vedas:

yaj jñātvā na punar moham, evaṁ yāsyasi pāṇḍava
yena bhūtāny aśeṣāṇi, drakṣyasy ātmany atho mayi

“Having obtained real knowledge from a self-realized soul, you will never fall again into such illusion, for by this knowledge you will see that all living beings are but part of the Supreme, or, in other words, that they are Mine.”

The problem is that directly studying under a self-realized spiritual master is a luxury that not many of us have nowadays. Nowadays, it’s difficult to find even one devotee who has had the opportunity to study a few books directly under his spiritual master. In most cases, we are lucky if we have at all a channel where we can ask questions, even if occasionally or in written form.

That’s something that Śrila Prabhupāda could apparently foresee, because he created a system that precisely addresses this deficiency, writing books that contain all the correct conclusions from the scriptures in a format that is accessible to most people. His books can thus do much of the heavy lifting, giving us the correct framework to understand the Vedic scriptures.

The knowledge is thus widely available. The main challenge is that many don’t appreciate Prabhupāda’s books, preferring to read other, more vague commentaries. One reason for that, I believe, is that when we read Prabhupāda’s books, there is very little space for speculation and misunderstandings. The conclusions are stated in such a direct and clear way that it’s almost impossible to misunderstand. Yes, Kṛṣṇa is the Supreme Personality of Godhead (not Śiva, Durgā, or any other demigod). The ultimate goal of life is to attain love for Kṛṣṇa (it’s not achieving higher planets, merging into some impersonal light, or solving all one’s problems with the help of psychology), etc. Māyāvāda philosophy is nonsense, and many personalities whom common people usually respect were just spiritual con men who were misguiding people. The soul has an eternal relationship with Kṛṣṇa, and the goal of life is to reconnect with Him in this eternal relationship. The list goes on.

The difficulty many have is exactly that they can’t study Prabhupāda’s books without accepting such conclusions, and it is like that by design. One is forced to accept a submissive position and accept the conclusions Prabhupāda gives to study under him, the same process Kṛṣṇa prescribes in the Bhagavad-gītā. Some gladly accept this process and thus are able to continue studying his books and gradually understand Vaiṣnava philosophy, while others fail at some point and decide to go to other books that give them more space to interpret according to their personal convictions.

We can see that Prabhupāda understood well what he was doing. He didn’t want to become another popular Indian guru, giving a diluted and sweetened version of the philosophy that is palatable but ultimately useless, preferring to give the correct conclusions directly and focusing on quality followers instead of quantity. He understood that this was the way of training well-rounded devotees who understand the goal of life, instead of a sect of mental speculators.

In the Sat Sandarbhas, Śrila Jīva Gosvāmī explains how the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam is the essence of all Vedic scriptures, and that all the other Puranas and other books of the Vedas must be interpreted according to the conclusions of the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam if one wants to understand the truth. However, he also mentions that even the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam can be misunderstood if one doesn’t study the text under the correct philosophical conclusions. When we study Prabhupāda’s books, all these conclusions are very clear. It’s not possible to study the Kṛṣṇa Book without understanding that Kṛṣṇa is the Supreme Personality of Godhead, for example, but if one moves to other authors, it becomes easier to misunderstand.

In this way, the path for us is to first study deeply the books from Śrila Prabhupāda (at least getting a solid understanding of the Bhagavad-gītā, Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, Nectar of Devotion, Teachings of Lord Caitanya, etc.), getting thus a solid understanding of the conclusions of Vaiṣnava philosophy according to the original meaning of the texts, and only then gradually study other books.

The sources of the translations we study are also extremely important. When we speak about Vedic scriptures, there is no such thing as a direct translation. All translations are merged with the personal biases of the translator, and thus, choosing a translation is often a matter of choosing a person whom you trust. I generally try to stick with translations made by disciples of grand-disciples of Prabhupāda, who follow his conclusions, avoiding translations made by other scholars or from babajis who do not agree with his conclusions. Over time, I found that this is the most accurate method of finding good works. Just as a good professional is often recognized by the university where he studied, a good scholar can be recognized based on his fidelity to a bona fide school.

I personally appreciate the translations of Gopīparāṇadhana Prabhu very much, for example, because he is a devotee who has deeply studied the works of Śrila Prabhupāda and translated books following the conclusions he gives. He also translated quoted verses from the Bhāgavatam and other books according to the translations given by Prabhupāda, for example (different from other scholars, who frequently give translations that are substantially different in meaning). He is the author of the Brihad-bhagavatamrita published by the BBT, among a number of other books.

There are also a few very good works left by Godbrothers of Śrila Prabhupāda, like the translation of the Jaiva Dharma made by Śrila Bhakti Prajnana Kesava Maharaja, as well as many works by Śrila Sridhara Maharaja, for example.

Translations are, however, a playground for adults because there are all kinds of things floating around, and one has to be mature enough to select what is bona fide or not and to properly understand the books he or she is studying. Most of what we have around doesn’t properly express the message of the texts or doesn’t offer the right conclusions; therefore, spiritual teenagers can seriously hurt themselves by jumping here and there.

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We can practically observe that sometimes people who come from quite bad families or negative situations and grow up in degraded environments, where people eat meat, smoke, drink, have promiscuous relationships, etc., become extremely serious in spiritual practice, while others who come from pious families, or even families of devotees, are not so serious. Why is this so? We understand that the current birth is not the first, that we are born in a certain situation according to our previous actions and consciousness. Therefore, one who is serious about spiritual practice now is supposed to have been serious in the past, and vice versa. If one was serious in the past, how can we explain a lower birth?

In the Bhagavad-gītā, Kṛṣṇa states that yogis and devotees who fail to complete the spiritual path are born into pious or well-to-do families and thus have an opportunity to continue their spiritual practice. Śrila Prabhupāda, however, comments that this is not a guarantee of success, since birth in a pious family gives one a better opportunity in life, and one can misuse it to just enjoy one’s senses. There is also the danger of one adopting a pious life but doing just the minimum, instead of being serious in the spiritual path.

We can conclude, thus, that our current spiritual direction is influenced by three factors:

a) The level of our previous spiritual practice, which we continue in this life.

b) The environment and education we received in this life.

c) The choices we are making in this life, and how serious we decide to be.

Birth is determined according to a multitude of factors. For example, it is said that devotees who go to live in Vṛndāvana or other holy places and commit serious sins there often take birth as monkeys or pigs in the same places. Why? The point is that they combine some sincerity in the spiritual process with a tendency to degradation. They thus have the opportunity to take an animal birth for one life to act on these lower tendencies, and from there they either go back to Godhead for living in the holy place, or have another opportunity of a human birth.

Similarly, a devotee who combines both tendencies may have the opportunity of taking birth in a degraded situation and act on these lower instincts for some time, coming to understand the shortcomings of this kind of lifestyle, and later come in contact with devotees and restart his or her spiritual practice. This is always a danger, because a life of meat-eating, intoxication, and promiscuous sex creates many impressions in the mind that are difficult to overcome, but we create it ourselves as the result of previous choices. We cannot change what was done in the past, but we can decide which path we want for the future. If we are serious now, we will not have to face the same situation again in the future.

Nārada Muni himself describes in the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam that in his previous life he was the son of a maidservant, growing in poverty and without a father or an education. However, he had the opportunity of associating with pure devotees, and taking it seriously, he became liberated at the end of that life. This is one of the best examples of how association and determination can outweigh birth.

On the other hand, a good birth is capital, not realization. It means one did something good in the past, but it, again, brings a choice. One can choose to go in the current direction of piety, or look around and decide to imitate others in drinking, smoking, etc. It is just like taking birth in a rich family may determine how large one’s inheritance will be, but if one is not wise in using the money, one may just squander it and end up in poverty.

Yet another point is that nowadays the distinction between “degraded” and “favorable” families is not always clear-cut, because almost all families are degraded in one way or another. Even families of devotees are not always the best environment, because people bring bad habits from their previous backgrounds. The practical example of the parents is usually much more influential than their instructions. Families of devotees where the parents don’t have good personal habits or act in hypocritical ways, and especially families where the children are neglected or mistreated, can have a very negative influence over them. It is not uncommon to see devotees have quite toxic relationships with their spouses, immature attitudes toward family life, irresponsibility, etc., and this all affects the choice of the soul who takes birth there. The birth in such a family may end up being a worse position than birth in an ordinary family, and knowing this, Kṛṣṇa may send a soul accordingly. There is a difference between “devotee” in the sense of someone who genuinely develops the qualities of a Vaiṣnava and “devotee” in the sense of a religious designation.

Nowadays, often, a “good birth” is simply a place where we can have normal, affectionate parents and not suffer from serious trauma and neglect as we grow up, creating the foundation for later coming into contact with Kṛṣṇa consciousness and resuming our spiritual practice without serious hurdles.

We can observe that most of the early disciples of Śrīla Prabhupāda, who assisted him in his movement where born in middle-class families, who, although degraded in the sense of meat-eating and other regular bad habits, gave them basic emotional foundations and a good education by material standards, facilities that they used later in their service.

My personal understanding was that there was a particular time when Kṛṣṇa sent many great souls to ordinary (or maybe not so ordinary) families in the West so they could act as sleeping agents to quick-start our movement. They took their births and lived seemingly degraded lives until they met Śrila Prabhupāda and resumed their previous spiritual practice. It’s well known that Śrila Prabhupāda once commented that a number of his early disciples were brāhmanas, who were sent by his Guru Maharaja to assist him in spreading his mission.

In general, following what Kṛṣṇa mentions in the Gītā, there are usually three possibilities: One can take birth in a degraded family, one can take birth in a well-to-do or pious family (or in a family of neophyte devotees), or one can take birth in a family of pure devotees. From the three, birth in a degraded family is usually the one that offers more impediments and more risks, because trauma, abuse, addiction, etc., leave marks that can be difficult to overcome. One may not receive an education and thus have difficulty in understanding the philosophy of Kṛṣṇa consciousness, one may live in a financial situation too desperate to have the peace of mind to practice the spiritual process, and so on.

Birth in a pious family offers better possibilities. Surely, there is the risk of one becoming complacent and misusing the opportunity, but one who is serious, however, will have far fewer difficulties in progressing. Birth in a well-to-do family also removes part of the struggle, since one will at least have a stable financial situation, and thus fewer obstacles to start practicing later.

Finally, there is the possibility of taking birth in a family of pure devotees, and this is obviously the best opportunity. As Śrila Prabhupāda wrote (Bg 6.42): “By the grace of the Lord, there are still families that foster transcendentalists generation after generation. It is certainly very fortunate to take birth in such families. Fortunately, both our spiritual master, Om Visnupada Śrī Srimad Bhaktisiddhanta Sarasvati Gosvami Maharaja, and our humble self, had the opportunity to take birth in such families, by the grace of the Lord, and both of us were trained in the devotional service of the Lord from the very beginning of our lives. Later on we met by the order of the transcendental system.”

The point is that we always have free will. Kṛṣṇa always tries to help everyone to progress in the spiritual path (even ordinary people receive the opportunity of meeting devotees now and then; what to say about souls who have been practicing spiritual life in their previous lives), but still, it’s up to us to take the opportunity or not and accept the consequences of our choices. Kṛṣṇa does his part in giving us opportunities and trying to inspire us from inside the heart, but it’s up to us to decide where we want to go.

Every day we have the choice of living in Kṛṣṇa Consciousness or in material consciousness. Over time, the choices compound, and by the end of our lives, the resulting consciousness will carry us to our next body, where we will have to face the final result of our choices. We are already in the last of the four ages. If we don’t become serious now, we may end up not going to a good place, regardless of our current birth.

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In Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam (9.21.25), Śrila Prabhupāda gives some interesting details about the life of Śukadeva Goswami.

Both Vyāsadeva and Śukadeva are far from being ordinary persons. Vyāsadeva is an incarnation of Kṛṣṇa. In CC Adi. 2.97 Prabhupāda mentions that Vyāsadeva is a prābhava expansion of Kṛṣṇa, which means he is Kṛṣṇa Himself, but in a different form.

Vyāsadeva comes to restore Vedic knowledge when it’s almost lost at the end of Dvāpara Yuga. By that time, the eternal path of the Vedas had degenerated into separate philosophies that were mainly atheistic. Vyāsadeva appeared to divide and thus preserve the original Vedas, but to give their conclusion in the form of the Vedānta-sūtra and the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam.

Śukadeva Goswami, in turn, is considered to be an incarnation of the parrot of Śrīmatī Rādhārāṇī, who came especially to speak the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, illuminating thus the otherwise inauspicious age of Kali. Being such an exalted soul, Śukadeva had a very profound understanding of spiritual relationships and was thus elected as the speaker of the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, even though both Vyāsadeva and his spiritual master, Nārada Muni, were present at the assembly.

1- Vyāsadeva performed austerities before begetting him:

The first interesting fact is that even a great personality like Vyāsadeva didn’t get a pure son like Śukadeva Goswami automatically. Both he and his wife practiced austerities for many years before Śukadeva Goswami came as their son. There are other similar cases, like Vasudeva and Devakī practicing austerities as Sutapā and Pṛśni with the goal of obtaining Kṛṣṇa as their son. Although great personalities like Vasudeva and Vyāsadeva are already perfect, they still give us the example of how the practice of authorized austerities as part of our spiritual practice is a way to get a spiritually inclined child.

2- He was a brahmavādī before hearing the Bhāgavatam:

The second fact was that Śukadeva Goswami played the role of a brahmavādī while inside the womb, showing fear of the material energy and thus refusing to come out. In total, he stayed inside the womb for 12 years, coming out only when Kṛṣṇa Himself reassured him that he would not be captured by Māyā. Even then, he immediately ran away from home, taking shelter in the forest as a renunciant. With great difficulty, Vyāsadeva was able to bring him back for a short period to listen to the Bhāgavata Purana, which Śukadeva later expanded in the form of the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, which he spoke to Maharaja Parīkṣit. In SB 1.19.26, it is mentioned that Śukadeva appeared like a sixteen-year-old youth when he approached Mahārāja Parīkṣit. That refers to his physical appearance and may also be interpreted as the chronological age; it does not directly refer to the duration of the pregnancy.

Why was he a brahmavādī? To make the point that Kṛṣṇa is completely transcendental and attracts even pure transcendentalists who are fixed in the Brahman platform. If Kṛṣṇa had a material form, as argued by Māyāvādis, liberated souls would not be attracted in hearing about Him.

This point is emphasized in the famous ātmārāmāś verse by Sūta Gosvāmī. Śukadeva Gosvāmī took the role of the embodiment of it:

ātmārāmāś ca munayo
nirgranthā apy urukrame
kurvanty ahaitukīṁ bhaktim
ittham-bhūta-guṇo hariḥ

“Sūta Gosvāmī said: All different varieties of ātmārāmas [those who take pleasure in the ātmā, or spirit self], especially those established on the path of self-realization, though freed from all kinds of material bondage, desire to render unalloyed devotional service unto the Personality of Godhead. This means that the Lord possesses transcendental qualities and therefore can attract everyone, including liberated souls.”

3- The Bhāgavatam was compiled in two stages:

The third fact is that Vyāsadeva actually wrote the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam two times, the first as the original Bhāgavata Purana, which he compiled before the Mahabharata as one of the eighteen Puranas. This is confirmed on SB 1.4.19-20, where it is mentioned:

“He saw that the sacrifices mentioned in the Vedas were means by which the people’s occupations could be purified. And to simplify the process he divided the one Veda into four, in order to expand them among men. The four divisions of the original sources of knowledge [the Vedas] were made separately. But the historical facts and authentic stories mentioned in the Purāṇas are called the fifth Veda.”

As described in the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, after compiling all the Vedas, including the original Bhāgavata Purana, Vyāsadeva was still dissatisfied, which led to the appearance of Nārada Muni, who ordered him to write a new book, directly describing the pastimes of the Lord and pure devotional service. This led to the appearance of the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam we have today, as explained by Śrila Baladeva Vidyābhūṣaṇa in his comment to the Tattva Sandarbha.

I used to think Vyāsadeva had waited until the Bhāgavatam was spoken by Suta Goswami before finally writing it in palm leaves, but it seems more probable that he wrote the whole Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, exactly in the way it would be later spoken by Suta Goswami to the sages of Naimiṣāraṇya immediately after his meeting with Nārada Muni. This is possible because Vyāsadeva has a vision of the past, present, and future, and thus he could see events that would happen later. When we keep in mind that Vyāsadeva is an expansion of Kṛṣṇa, this possibility doesn’t sound very surprising.

4- Śukadeva Goswami expanded himself into two forms:

Another interesting fact is that after hearing the Bhāgavata Purana from Vyāsadeva, Śukadeva Goswami expanded himself, with the original Śukadeva Goswami remaining as a lifelong brahmacārī, later narrating the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam to Pariksit Maharaja, and the expansion returning home to stay with his father. This expansion of Śukadeva later entered family life and had a daughter.

Here is what Śrila Prabhupāda mentions in his purport on SB 9.21.25:

“Śukadeva Gosvāmī, the son of Vyāsadeva, is described in great detail in the Brahma-vaivarta Purāṇa. There it is said that Vyāsadeva maintained the daughter of Jābāli as his wife and that after they performed penances together for many years, he placed his seed in her womb. The child remained in the womb of his mother for twelve years, and when the father asked the son to come out, the son replied that he would not come out unless he were completely liberated from the influence of māyā. Vyāsadeva then assured the child that he would not be influenced by māyā, but the child did not believe his father, for the father was still attached to his wife and children. Vyāsadeva then went to Dvārakā and informed the Personality of Godhead about his problem, and the Personality of Godhead, at Vyāsadeva’s request, went to Vyāsadeva’s cottage, where He assured the child in the womb that he would not be influenced by māyā. Thus assured, the child came out, but he immediately went away as a parivrājakācārya. When the father, very much aggrieved, began to follow his saintly boy, Śukadeva Gosvāmī, the boy created a duplicate Śukadeva, who later entered family life. Therefore, the śuka-kanyā, or daughter of Śukadeva, mentioned in this verse is the daughter of the duplicate or imitation Śukadeva. The original Śukadeva was a lifelong brahmacārī.”

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When Śrila Prabhupada started the first temple in New York, he used prasāda as a tactical weapon to attract his first disciples, telling them to eat as much as possible. Of course, they very gladly followed the instruction, and many of them gained quite a few pounds. After some time, Śrila Prabhupada started explaining that from now on, they should restrict their eating. Some immediately protested. Śrila Prabhupada jabbed, "Oh, when I said to eat more, you didn't protest!"

When we are starting our spiritual lives, the priority is to get free of bad habits, like eating meat, eating food cooked by non-devotees, using intoxicants, and so on. In this first phase, eating a lot of prasāda can be very useful, since when one is filled with nice prasāda up to the neck, he will naturally not have the desire to eat other things. Prasāda is also an excellent way to attract people. Many of us are "prasāda bhaktas", who started our devotional practice attracted by prasāda.

Prasāda was and is still used to make new devotees, and it is usually quite effective. However, as Śrila Prabhupada emphasizes in many passages, once we reach a certain level in spiritual life, we are supposed to start controlling our senses, and at this stage, it becomes important to start eating less.

The benefit of prasāda is not in the quantity but in our attitude when honoring it. A small piece of prasāda honored with the proper respect can be more powerful than several kilos of the same prasāda eaten with an enjoying mentality. We can also benefit from prasāda by distributing it to others, not just by eating it ourselves.

While prasāda is always powerful, an improper consciousness can quite effectively deprive us of the benefit.

In the Nectar of Instruction, it is mentioned that "A sober person who can tolerate the urge to speak, the mind’s demands, the actions of anger and the urges of the tongue, belly, and genitals is qualified to make disciples all over the world." Śrila Prabhupada explains that to control the stomach and the genitals, one has to first learn to control the tongue. Considering the volume of problems that a lack of sexual control can cause in our lives, this sounds like a useful instruction.

In the second verse of the Nectar of Instruction, the word atyāhāra has two meanings: eating more than necessary and accumulating more resources than required. These two factors are the two sides of a greater problem: a broader acquisitive mentality of the conditioned soul. The conditioned mind wants more food, more possessions, more money, and more recognition than we actually need, and the more we accumulate, the more we become entangled in the web of material complexities.

Śrila Bhaktisiddhānta Sarasvatī Thākura used to be very concerned about his disciples who were gaining weight, concluding that if one is gaining weight, it means one is not advancing in spiritual life. When we start gaining weight, it usually means we are succumbing to the mentality of enjoying the world instead of keeping the mind in the careful and sober mentality that is necessary for serious spiritual practice.

There are, of course, many variations. Some tend to be thinner and others larger, but we can compare with ourselves. When our weight stabilizes or starts gradually reducing, this is usually a good signal, but when it continues to increase, it probably means there may be something we can improve.

In modern medicine, it's calculated that an adult male needs about 2500 calories per day to sustain his metabolism, while an adult woman needs a little less, at about 2000 calories. Here we come across two problems. The first problem is that most of us actually eat much more than 2000 or 2500 calories. We may not notice it, but when we start calculating exactly how many calories we are eating over the day, the sum may be much higher. The second problem is that these numbers can be misleading. Different people will have different requirements, according to the size of the body, activities, and so on. The body can adjust the amount of energy it uses quite efficiently according to how much we eat. When we eat more, the body spends more energy, and when we eat less, it starts to work in a more efficient way. A person who is not doing strong physical activity (like most of us) may be able to live quite well with far less than 2500 calories per day.

There are many places in the world where people live on meager diets, sometimes down to 1000 calories or so. These are not emaciated people in desolate countries, but people like you and me, who have productive lives, raise their children, and so on.

The main point about eating is not just in the number of calories but in obtaining the proper nutrients from the food. When one has a diet rich in quality foods, like vegetables, fruits, and good-quality milk products, one may eat quite little and still get all the nutrients one's body needs.

Eating less can bring several health benefits and improve our mental clarity considerably. It happens that digesting food uses a lot of energy. When we eat too much, the body has to use a significant amount of energy to digest the food and convert the excess into fat. It doesn't stop there, since this fat needs to be maintained and carried around. Each cell of fat in our body demands nutrients, oxygen, and other resources that need to be carried by the body. The extra fat taxes the whole body. The result is that we end up having much less energy and disposition than we would have otherwise. In other words, we operate below our true potential.

It's also scientifically proven that overconsumption of fats and sugar can have a noticeable impact on brain activity. Too much fat depresses brain activity, making us sluggish, as if living inside a constant mental fog, and while sugar can create a temporary burst of energy, it also makes us feel sluggish after the burst passes.

Considering that our intelligence is the tool we have to control our minds, understand the scriptures, and go somewhere in our human existence, our choices on this subject can have a profound impact on how far we go in spiritual life. At some point, we may have to choose between overindulging in "prasāda" and going back to Godhead.

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How do we feel when others wrong us? When someone takes our money, neglects or humiliates us, or even when we are victims of violence? The mixture of emotions can be complex. We can feel pain, anger, impotency, outrage, fear, or even guilt, and in many cases, these feelings can persist for many years. Often, we may carry them with us until the end of life. If we look around, we can see many who are consumed by these feelings. If we look inside, we may find a number of painful episodes of our lives that we may still struggle with.

One side of it is to notify the proper authorities of what happened so the perpetrators may not continue to roam free doing the same to others. That’s another thing. What I’m speaking about here is how to deal with the internal conflict, the pain we carry inside, and continue to victimize us, often even after many years have passed and the perpetrators have already died. How to heal that?

Kṛṣṇa emphasizes in the Gītā that we should learn to tolerate reverses and unpleasant situations just as we tolerate summer and winter, understanding that they are unavoidable:

“O son of Kuntī, the nonpermanent appearance of happiness and distress, and their disappearance in due course, are like the appearance and disappearance of winter and summer seasons. They arise from sense perception, O scion of Bharata, and one must learn to tolerate them without being disturbed. O best among men [Arjuna], the person who is not disturbed by happiness and distress and is steady in both is certainly eligible for liberation.” (Bg 2.14-15)

Arjuna mentions (Bg 2.8) that his grief was drying up his senses. That is a very relatable description of emotional pain. Kṛṣṇa does not say we should pretend it does not hurt. However, He teaches us that pain is temporary and must be tolerated with sobriety, just as we tolerate the changing seasons. Summer and winter come and go, but we do not abandon our life’s purpose because of them. Similarly, we face many painful episodes, but we should not allow them to permanently steal our attention.

Next, Kṛṣṇa makes another delicate point:

“That which pervades the entire body you should know to be indestructible. No one is able to destroy that imperishable soul. The material body of the indestructible, immeasurable and eternal living entity is sure to come to an end; therefore, fight, O descendant of Bharata. Neither he who thinks the living entity the slayer nor he who thinks it slain is in knowledge, for the self slays not nor is slain.” (Bg 2.17-19)

The pain is real. To say it doesn’t exist would be Māyāvāda. However, it is important to define where it exists. The pain exists on the mental and emotional level. Kṛṣṇa, however, calls our attention to the fact that our real identity goes beyond that. We are the eternal soul, the eternal servant of Kṛṣṇa, who existed before the creation of the body and mind and who continues to exist eternally, beyond these coverings.

If I identify with the mind, the pain is there, and it can be very intense. However, once we hear about the difference between body and soul and start working on applying this knowledge and converting it into practical realization, pain and fear become easier to manage.

The central difference resides in our perception of a situation as temporary and permanent. Losing our seat on a plane is uncomfortable, but it is much less serious than losing our house, because the seat is perceived as something temporary that we keep only until the end of the flight, while our house is seen as something permanent. However, is it true? If our life in this world is impermanent, how can the house be permanent? We use it only for a few years; therefore, it is not much different from the plane seat in a sense.

Once we understand the temporality of life in this world and our real identity beyond that, as the traveler who boarded this life to reach a certain destination, we can see things from a different perspective.

Spiritual knowledge does not erase the pain instantly. It should not be used as a bypass to ignore the grief. That’s a mistake many of us make. What it does is give us a place to stand beyond the pain. If I think that I am this wounded mind, this damaged destiny, this humiliation, then the trauma becomes my identity. The trauma becomes what I am, and from there, it will follow me wherever I go.

Kṛṣṇa, however, calls us back from it. The self is deeper than the body and mind. The soul was not created by the traumatic event, and the soul cannot be destroyed by it. The body may be wounded, the mind may be damaged, the bank account may be emptied, but I’m not this body, I’m not this mind, and I’m not this bank account. All of these are part of this world, and they will remain in this world after I go. The people who are attached to them may remain, but I am free from all of it. I am the soul, eternal, pure, and always connected with Kṛṣṇa. This is the correct way to use spiritual practice and spiritual knowledge, not as a bypass, but as a practical process to reinforce this transcendental identity.

In the Bible, we find the passage where Christ teaches his disciples to show the other cheek when struck, instead of striking back. This may appear naive at first, but the meeting of Parīkṣit and Dharma in the First Canto of the Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam adds a deeper explanation to it.

Dharma, in the form of a bull, is beaten by Kali. When Parīkṣit asks who caused his suffering, Dharma refuses to single him out as the single culprit. This is not because Kali is innocent, but because Dharma sees the full picture.

People who wrong us are at the same time culprits and instruments of karma. As culprits, they should be punished, just as Parīkṣit, in the role of the king, is prepared to do. At the same time, however, the story teaches us that the desire for revenge keeps us bound to the karmic cycle. This is the point about forgiving. It does not mean they should continue walking free, but we should leave the punishment to be administered by the qualified authorities (king, state, karma, etc.) and move away from it.

If we become attached to seeing them being punished for what was done to us, not only will we have to carry the emotional load with us, but we will have to be there. In many situations, enemies become husband and wife or father and son. This is certainly a very effective way to cause pain to someone who wronged us, but we have to see if that’s what we want.

The way to get out of the cycle is to move away and focus on our spiritual development. These people may stay here with the results of their actions and reap whatever they are sowing. We don’t need to stay with them.

This is a delicate point, but understanding it properly can save us from many painful mistakes. A mature devotee privately thinks that, somehow, by the laws of karma, this suffering has come to him. Instead of developing hatred, he takes shelter in Kṛṣṇa and moves forward. On the other hand, when he sees another person being harmed, he shows compassion to the victim and deals with the culprits according to duty. He is not philosophically indifferent. Similarly, when we are wronged, we should notify proper authorities to protect others, but we should not personally carry hatred or let the pain become our identity.

An even higher realization of these points is given later by Queen Kuntī in her famous prayers:

“My dear Kṛṣṇa, Your Lordship has protected us from a poisoned cake, from a great fire, from cannibals, from the vicious assembly, from sufferings during our exile in the forest and from the battle where great generals fought. And now You have saved us from the weapon of Aśvatthāmā. I wish that all those calamities would happen again and again so that we could see You again and again, for seeing You means that we will no longer see repeated births and deaths.” (SB 1.8.24-25)

All these episodes that Kuntī had to face alone, when she was already separated from her husband, having to navigate a dangerous and hostile environment while protecting her children, were surely distressing and painful. However, later on she sees that Kṛṣṇa was the one protecting her from even great harm and realizes that all of it had brought her closer to Him.

We should not pray like that unless we are prepared to face serious difficulties in the same spirit, but her prayers give us the higher understanding that can help us to deal with our grief. Instead of allowing it to consume us, it can become an engine that helps us to come closer to Kṛṣṇa.

Leaving trauma behind is not easy. It is not a single, heroic moment in which we destroy all our material conditioning. It is a slow, painful process in which we have to dismantle it layer by layer. We need sincere friends who can hear us without judgment. We need regulated chanting, study, service, and association with advanced devotees who are applying these principles in their practical lives; we may even need professional help. The main point, however, is that our spiritual practice is the foundation that supports us in all of it and also the path for the higher realization we are trying to achieve.

We also should keep in mind that trauma is composed of two levels of pain. The first is the pain caused by the offender. The second is the pain of replaying what happened again and again in the mind and associating with it. The first goes away with time; the second does not. The offender may have harmed us once, but the uncontrolled mind keeps repeating the scene thousands of times. We don’t have control over the actions of the offender, and we cannot change the past, but we can stop the mind from repeating it endlessly, and we can prevent the ego from making it our identity.

The person who harmed us may remain with the reactions to his actions; we do not need to remain with him. We are going to Kṛṣṇa.

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There is a very famous passage of the Upaniṣads, the verse nityo nityānām, which appears both in the Kaṭha Upaniṣad (2.2.13) and Śvetāśvatara Upaniṣad (6.13). This is an extremely popular verse of the Upanisads in all academic and philosophical circles:

nityo nityānām cetanaś cetanānām
eko bahūnām yo vidadhāti kāmān
tam ātma-stham ye ’nupaśyanti dhīrās
teṣām śāntiḥ śāśvatī netareṣām

This is also a verse that Prabhupāda would quote frequently. The meaning, however, is much more intricate than it may appear at first, revealing the nature of the soul, the nature of the Lord, the relationship between the two, and the importance of transcendental knowledge.

What does it mean?

The verse starts with the word “nityo,” describing an eternal being who is the creator of everything. Everything we can see around us in this material world is temporary, with a beginning and an end. However, this temporary manifestation originates from this eternal being. The word “nityo” describes a single, masculine subject. It can be translated as “the eternal one.” This eternal is a person and not just an object. But who is He?

The next word, nityānām, reveals that this eternal one is not alone. He exists together with many other eternals. Nityānām is in the genitive plural. There is one supreme eternal, who is the principal, and many other subordinate eternals. These subordinate eternals are us, the jīvas, who share the same eternal nature as the Supreme Lord but are subordinate to Him.

The next word, cetanaś, is in the nominative singular. It indicates that this supreme eternal is conscious (cit). He is conscious and full of knowledge. The word cetanānām (in the genitive plural) indicates that all the other eternals, the jīvas, share this same conscious nature with the supreme eternal.

The word “kāmān” in the second line indicates that all these jīvas possess many desires. However, they alone are not capable of acting on these desires. Eko bahūnām yo vidadhāti: the one supreme eternal provides for all the subordinate eternals. In this way, Kṛṣṇa is defined as the possessor of all the potencies and opulences, the maintainer of everyone, and the support of everything. Everyone else is dependent on Him.

Because we have material desires, the Lord supplies us with material bodies so we can try to satisfy these desires. These bodies are, however, different from us in nature, just like a car is different from the human being driving it. A person can drive a car, but can’t become a car. A person enters the car and becomes the driver of the car, and when his driving activities are concluded, he may leave the car and continue with his life. Similarly, the soul assumes a material body and uses this body to perform activities, as the controller of the body, but it is incorrect to identify the soul with the body, just as it is incorrect to call a man driving a Mercedes “Mr. Mercedes” or a lady driving a blue car “Mrs. Blue.”

The soul is, however, not alone inside the body. Tam ātma-stham: this supreme eternal (tam) enters the body together with the soul. He is present everywhere as Paramātmā, and all souls are eternally connected with Him, inside or outside the body. Both the soul and the Lord are present inside the heart, just like two birds residing in a tree, but they are not the same. The soul is absorbed in enjoying the fruits of the tree, some perceived as sweet and others as bitter, while the Lord simply observes, as a neutral witness. He sanctions and enables the activities of the soul, yet He is not responsible for the results.

As long as we are absorbed in the body and the material activities connected with it, we remain in anxiety, hankering for material things we are attracted to and desperately trying to hold onto whatever we have, trying to find some kind of stable situation amid the transience of this world. However, when we become sober and wise, we can perceive the Lord inside our hearts and become again connected with our original, spiritual nature; we attain eternal peace (anupaśyanti dhīrās, teṣām śāntiḥ). This eternal peace is, however, not available to others who fail to do so (na itareṣām).

This verse is connected with Bhagavad-gītā 2.12, which explains this eternal nature of the soul as different from the body:

na tv evāhaṁ jātu nāsaṁ
na tvaṁ neme janādhipāḥ
na caiva na bhaviṣyāmaḥ
sarve vayam ataḥ param

“Never was there a time when I did not exist, nor you, nor all these kings; nor in the future shall any of us cease to be.”

Kṛṣṇa starts by explaining to Arjuna that the soul is eternal: there is no beginning for the soul, and consequently, there is no end. The soul is simply eternal, ever-existing, just like the Lord. This idea is conveyed in a very beautiful form. He starts by declaring, na tv evāham jātu nāsam.

The words “na tv evā” form a peculiar construction. In some verses of the Vedas, ideas are intentionally emphasized or repeated so as to not leave any doubt. One similar example is the verse “harer nāma harer nāma, harer nāmaiva kevalam, kalau nāsty eva nāsty eva nāsty eva gatir anyathā”, where the words “harer nāma” and “nāsty eva” are repeated to emphasize that there is indeed no other way to achieve perfection in the age we live in apart from chanting the holy names. The word “na” means not, or never. The word “tu” ordinarily means “however”, but in this case is used to emphasize the idea, while “eva” means “certainly” or “indeed”. In this way, “na tv evā” could be translated as “never, indeed never, certainly never”, excluding any possibility of doubt.

What is this idea that is negated so strongly? Aham jātu nāsam: For Me, Kṛṣṇa (aham), there was never (jātu) a time of nonexistence (na āsam). In other words, there was never a time when Kṛṣṇa did not exist. The second line, na tvam neme janādhipāḥ, extends the same idea to Arjuna (tvam) and all the kings and soldiers assembled on the battlefield (janādhipāḥ). Just as Kṛṣṇa has no beginning, being eternally existent, all of them are equally eternal and ever-existent.

There is no creation for any of them, and consequently, there will be no end. The words “na ca eva” in the third line again strongly negate an idea. It means, literally, “not, never, certainly not”. What is this second idea that is also so strongly negated? Na bhaviṣyāmaḥ, sarve vayam ataḥ param: There will never be a time when we will cease to exist.

As we can see, this verse follows the same logic as the verse nityo nityānām cetanaś cetanānām. Different from material things, which have a beginning, pass through many changes, and eventually come to an end, the soul is eternal, having no beginning or end, and passing through no transformation.

The body is temporary: it has a beginning and an end. Between these two stages, there are many other stages, like boyhood, adulthood, old age, etc., and all these stages are transitory and temporary. The eternal inside the body, however, the soul, does not change, remaining always the same. Because the soul has no beginning and undergoes no change, there is also no death for the soul. We are thus eternal beings temporarily living in temporary bodies.

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It may not be very pleasant to hear, but most of our existence in this material world is lived in the animal species, where we simply fight for survival, trying to satisfy the basic needs of the body. There are also demigods and demons who enjoy elevated standards of material enjoyment, but if we calculate statistically, including all forms of life, we can see that souls living in animal, plant, and microbial species are the crushing majority. Only very rarely do we have the opportunity of taking a human birth.

Every human body offers the same basic choice: sense gratification or self-realization. In the Fourth Canto of Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam, we have the allegory of Purañjana, who, although living as a relatively pious king, used only the facilities for sense gratification and fruitive activities. Thus, as time passed, he became more and more illusioned, forgetting his real self. The more we surrender ourselves to sense gratification, the more we become entangled in illusion, material suffering, and agitation, and the more our opportunity for self-realization closes.

As we become old, our consciousness gradually narrows to whatever thoughts and activities we prioritize in life. When we are young, we are very flexible, we are willing to try new things, accept new ideas, and even completely change the direction of our lives. As we become older, however, we become very resistant to any change. A materialist will thus become a progressively more stubborn materialist, and a devotee will gradually become more focused on his or her practice, becoming progressively less interested in other things.

In the allegory, Purañjana is the soul, and the queen is an amalgamation of the material mind and intelligence. Śrīmad-Bhāgavatam mentions that, engaged in material thoughts and fruitive action, he came completely under the control of the mind and was thus cheated, simply working to satisfy its whims.

What can we get from there? The material intelligence can work properly only when purified by spiritual knowledge. Otherwise, it just creates unlimited plans for enjoying matter, and we end up becoming helplessly entangled in them, just like Purañjana.

It all starts with association with devotees who are mature in their spiritual practice. From them, we get spiritual knowledge, which we can apply to our practical lives. One part of it is to properly engage ourselves, so the mind and intelligence are moved from matter to Kṛṣṇa. The next step is to engage the people around us, so they don’t keep pulling us back to materialistic life.

Taking to spiritual intelligence means following the precepts of the scriptures and the instructions of the spiritual master. By doing so, we become gradually purified, awakening our original spiritual nature.

This process was followed perfectly by Ambarīṣa Mahārāja, as Prabhupāda describes:

“In the life of Mahārāja Ambarīṣa, we find that the great Mahārāja first engaged his mind on the lotus feet of Kṛṣṇa. In this way his intelligence became purified. Mahārāja Ambarīṣa also used his other senses in the service of the Lord. He engaged his eyes in seeing the Deity in the temple nicely decorated with flowers. He engaged his sense of smell by smelling the flowers, and he engaged his legs by walking to the temple. His hands were engaged in cleansing the temple, and his ears were engaged in hearing about Kṛṣṇa. His tongue was engaged in two ways: in speaking about Kṛṣṇa and in tasting prasāda offered to the Deity.”

In his purport to SB 4.25.25, Prabhupāda makes another important point: every living entity has the freedom to be attracted by material nature or to stand as a hero and resist that attraction. Purañjana surrendered to the first option, becoming attracted to an easy life of sense gratification. In this way, he lost the opportunity of human life and was cheated in all his endeavors.

That’s the existential choice we are offered in the human form of life. We can use our intelligence to try to enjoy life, working to shape the environment around us in ways that fit our ambitions, or we may choose to purify our intelligence by hearing spiritual knowledge and using it to solve the real problems of life, finding a solution to our material captivity. These two paths lead us in opposite directions, but both start with apparently small daily choices.

The Vedas call our attention to the difference between śreyas and preyas. Śreyas refers to truly beneficial activities that bring us ultimate benefit, while preyas refer to activities that bring some immediate gratification, but undermine our progress in the long run.

Imagine you have 30 minutes free. You may use this break to study a few verses of the Bhagavad-gītā, for example, or you may spend the time watching reels. Watching a few funny videos may sound more pleasing at first (preyas), but if we repeat this same choice many times, we may end up wasting a huge chunk of our lives on an activity that is contrary to our real interests.

Purañjana thought he was exercising his freedom, but by repeatedly following the mind and material intelligence, he gradually lost it. He became unable to act independently, following the movements of his agitated mind and intelligence like a pet animal. This is the final result of material illusion: one who desires to become the master of the world ends up becoming the helpless servant of his selfish desires.

Ambarīṣa Mahārāja followed the opposite path. He did not leave his mind and senses without engagement. He fixed his mind on the thought of Kṛṣṇa and engaged all his senses in devotional activities. Because the mind was given a higher object of meditation, the intelligence became purified, and the senses stopped being enemies. The same instruments that bind us to material life can therefore become instruments of liberation.

Our future consciousness is being formed now. Every activity, conversation, etc., strengthens a particular direction within us. As the years pass, that direction becomes more deeply established, and at death we naturally remember what we have spent our lives meditating upon.

Kṛṣṇa explains in the Bhagavad-gītā that whatever state of being one remembers when leaving the body, that state one attains. Our final remembrance is, therefore, not generally accidental; it is shaped by the thoughts, desires, and attachments we have cultivated throughout life.

The question is, therefore, what kind of consciousness we are practicing every day. Are we training the mind and intelligence to remember Kṛṣṇa, or are we allowing them to train us to serve the senses? Purañjana and Ambarīṣa show the two alternatives. One path gradually takes away our freedom, while the other gradually revives our original spiritual nature.

The takeaway from today is that our destiny is not formed only by a few dramatic decisions at specific points in our lives. It is mainly formed by the apparently insignificant choices we repeat every day.

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Today, you can make a resolution that may change the course of your life, seriously.

I’m gradually publishing the chapters of The Song of God, our detailed study of the Bhagavad-gītā. We have finished the introduction, and now we are starting the first chapter of the Gītā. The system will be to study the book in sections, which brings a balance between two extremes: the detail of studying each verse separately without seeing the flow of the argument and the vagueness of trying to grasp an entire chapter at once.

This project is among the most ambitious studies of the Gītā in scope. The goal is to create a practical and detailed guide that allows you to go deep into the meaning of the text, not merely as philosophy, but as a living guide for the practice of Kṛṣṇa consciousness.

Bhaktivinoda Thākura explains devotional practice in terms of sambandha, abhidheya, and prayojana. Sambandha is the philosophical knowledge that guides our practice of Kṛṣṇa consciousness and allows us to apply the process in our practical lives and surpass the many obstacles on the way. Abhidheya, in turn, is the practical process based on this knowledge that leads to prayojana, the ultimate goal of pure love for Kṛṣṇa.

Without being properly grounded in knowledge, we tend to hit a wall at some point in spiritual life, facing challenges we are not able to overcome. This leads us to stagnation instead of success.

The Bhagavad-gītā is the practical book that gives us this foundation, and that’s what makes it such an essential book. It is not just a book for beginners, but the very engine of our practice of Kṛṣṇa consciousness. It teaches us how to see the world, how to act, how to face the inevitable difficulties, how to become free from attachment, and how to offer our lives to Kṛṣṇa.

I have been studying the Gītā since 1992; it was the first book of Śrīla Prabhupāda I got. Like many, at first, I couldn’t understand it at all. Over time, after reading it many times, learning from others, and applying it in my practical life, I started understanding something, and that’s what I’m now trying to share.

I will be publishing a new topic every day or every few days. If you take the time to seriously follow the publication and effectively study each group of verses, by the time we finish, you will gain a deep, structured, and practical understanding of the Bhagavad-gītā, much deeper than what is usually available through casual reading or academic study. This can bring a massive boost to your practice of Kṛṣṇa consciousness.

» Choose Your Level of Study:

Inside each section, you will find a brief introduction, followed by the verses being studied, and then by a more profound explanation of their meaning and a study of the points made by Śrīla Prabhupāda in his purports. There are three levels you can study.

• Level 1: The Overview

If you want just an overview of the general meaning of the sections and how the verses connect, you may just study the introduction and the verses. This can already give you a basic understanding of the flow of the Gītā.

• Level 2: The Deep Dive (main track)

The second level is to also study the main explanation, which goes deeper into the meaning of the section. That’s, of course, the main thrust of the book. That’s where most of my effort goes.

• Level 3: Specialist

The third level is to also take time to study the individual purports for each verse. At the end of each section, you will notice a list of the main points made by Prabhupāda in each purport. It breaks down the dense philosophy he explains into bite-sized points you can easily understand. By following the points together with the purports, you can really go deep into their meaning. This complements the macroscopic study from the general explanation with a microscopic study of each individual verse, making you a full specialist.

• Bonus: The Sanskrit Monster

If you want to go still deeper, you can take Prabhupāda’s advanced Sanskrit course, studying also the word-for-word of each verse, becoming familiar with the individual Sanskrit terms and the intricate way Kṛṣṇa uses them. If you go for this level, you will be truly unstoppable. Even Sanskrit scholars will be afraid of you. :)

Also, if you have any questions as you study, you can use the comments at the end of each page. They are not just for decoration; I’m following them.

In this way, you can choose what fits your daily schedule and your goals. The main decision today is to make this sankalpa, this resolution of taking time daily to study, and continue to the end. This apparently small change can trigger a series of positive changes in your life that can be the difference between going back to Godhead at the end of this life or taking another birth.

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