Journal of Vaishnava Studies

Journal of Vaishnava Studies
Publisher
Deepak Heritage Books
Hampton, Virginia
In Cooperation With
Department of Philosophy and Religious Studies
CHRISTOPHER NEWPORT UNIVERSITY
Newport News, Virginia 23606
Senior Editors
Steven J. Rosen
(Journal of Vaishnava Studies)
Graham M. Schweig
(Christopher Newport University)
Managing Editor
Steven J. Rosen
Associate Editors
E. H. Rick Jarow
(Vassar College)
Design/Production
Barbara Berasi
International Advisory Board

Guy L. Beck
(Tulane University)
Edwin F. Bryant
(Rutgers University)
Gerald T. Carney
(Hampden-Sydney College)
Amarnath Chatterjee
(Delhi University)
Nirmal Narayan Gupta

(Bengali Educational Facility,
Howrah, Calcutta)
Barbara Holdrege
(University of California,
Santa Barbara)
June McDaniel
(College of Charleston)
Joseph T. O’Connell
(University of Toronto)
The Journal of Vaishnava Studies (JVS) is a biannual, interdisciplinary refereed
publication dedicated to the in-depth study of the Vaishnava traditions of
India, from ancient times to the present. The journal presents the research
of Vaishnava scholars and scholars of Vaishnavism, thus representing both
practitioner and academic perspectives.
Subscriber Information: The Journal of Vaishnava Studies is published two

times a year, Fall and Spring. In the United States, a one-year subscription
for individuals is US$42.00; in Canada it is US$52.00 and overseas it is
US$60.00. Back issues are US$47.00 each. For institutions and librar-
ies in the US and Canada, the annual rate is US$65.00; outside, it is US
$75.00. All subscriptions are to be made payable to “JVS/ A. Deepak Pub
lishing” and sent to P. O. Box 2130, Poquoson, VA. 23662 USA.
Publishing Information: Manuscript submissions, advertising, books for

mention and related correspondence should be sent to the Managing
Editor, JVS, P.O. Box 108, Nyack, NY 10960 USA, or by email at satch-
mo868@aol.com.
Manuscript submissions should be written in English. If the original is
in Sanskrit, Tamil, Hindi, Bengali, or other languages, the author will be
responsible for the English translation. Special characters, such as dia
critic marks and/or transliteration techniques, are determined by the
individual authors. In terms of foreign language words spelled phoneti-
cally or according to diacritic systems, therefore, the editors of JVS will not
attempt to achieve consistency from one article to the next. Words such as
Krishna (or K®ß∫a) and Braj (or Vraja) will thus be rendered variously.
Authors are responsible for all statements made in their work and for
obtaining permission from copyright owners to reprint or adapt a table
or figure or to reprint a segment of an article consisting of 500 words or
more. To legitimately obtain such usage, authors should write to the origi-
nal author(s) and to the publisher or managing editor of the quoted work.
The JVS is a refereed publication. All entries are reviewed by at least two
(anonymous) qualified scholars in the field prior to publication. For accepted
contributions, final editorial decisions, in terms of content and style, rest
with JVS editors alone. Opinions expressed in authored articles do not nec-
essarily represent the views of the edit ors or publisher.
Copyright ©2012 A. Deepak Publishing, Inc. The copyright of all printed

material in JVS rests with A. Deepak Publishing and the authors. No part
of this publication may be used, in any form or by any means, without permis-
sion of the publisher, the Managing Editor, and the author. Printed in the
United States of America. (ISSN 1062-1237)
JOURNAL OF VAISHNAVA STUDIES
Volume 20 No. 2 Spring 2012
Introduction 1
Francis X. Clooney, S. J./Prologue: Reflections on Vaishnava-Christian 7

Dialogue
John Borelli/ Why Hindu-Christian Dialogue: A Catholic Reflection 15
Anuttama Dasa/Thoughts on the History and Development of the 35

Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue
Graham M. Schweig/Vaishnava Bhakti Theology and Interfaith Dialogue 51
Kenneth Cracknell/Christian Theology and Interfaith Dialogue 69
Klaus Klostermaier/The Soul and Its Destiny: Christian Perspectives 91

Tamal Krishna Goswami/The Soul and Its Destiny: Vaishnava 105
Perspectives

Peter C. Phan/The Human Soul: A Roman Catholic View 117
Ravindra Svarupa Dasa/The Nature of the Self: A Gauḍīya Vaishnava 127

Understanding
James A. Wiseman/Reflections on St. Bonaventure’s The Soul’s 133

Journey into God and Srila Vishvanath Chakravarti Thakura’s
Cloud Bank of Nectar
Claire Robison/Metaphors of Transcendence: A Study of Spiritual Progress 147

in the Mādhurya Kādambinī
James D. Redington, S. J./A Full Outline for the Presentation on “Spiritual 163
Discipline and Transformation: Based on the Spiritual Exercises of
Ignatius of Loyola” and some Afterthoughts
Graham M. Schweig/The Crucifixion and the Rāsa Maṇḍala: A Comparative 171
Sketch of Two Great Symbols of Divine Love
Edward L. Shirley/The Word Became Flesh: The Dynamic Humanity 187

of Jesus
Gopal K. Gupta and Ravi M. Gupta/On the Bed of Arrows: Vaishnava 207
Theodicy Beyond Karma
Sara M. Adams (Śraddhādevi dāsī)/The Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue: 219

A Reflection
Vineet Chander/The Quiet Revolution in Potomac 221
David Buchta/The Value of Imbalance in Interreligious Dialogue 225
Rukmini Walker/Thoughts on Our Many Years of Vaishnava-Christian 229

Dialogue
Gerald Carney/Reflecting on our Journey 233
Rev. Carole A Crumley/Reflection: Christian/ Vaishnava Dialogue 237
Jon Pahl/Reflections on Five Years of Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue 239
Samuel Wagner/A Dialogue of Friendship 243
Book Review 247
Contributors 252
Introduction
“If you can learn a simple trick, Scout, you'll get along a lot better with all
kinds of folks. You never really understand a person until you consider things
from his point of view, until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.”
—Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird (1962)
“Only curiosity about the fate of others, the ability to put ourselves in their shoes,
and the will to enter their world through the magic of imagination, creates this
shock of recognition. Without this empathy there can be no genuine dialogue,
and we as individuals and nations will remain isolated and alien, segregated and
fragmented.”
—Azar Nafisi, Professor and Best-selling Author of Reading Lolita in Tehran
I n the mid-1960s, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel (1907–1972) articulated

what might be seen as the basis of interfaith concerns: “Revelation is
always an accommodation to the capacity of man. No two minds are
alike, just as no two faces are alike. The voice of God reaches the spirit of
man in a variety of ways, in a multiplicity of languages. One truth comes to
expression in many ways of understanding.”1
This always made sense to me. Deep and thoroughgoing interreligious
conversation is useful, if not crucial, in understanding the similarities and
differences between various peoples of the world—and, make no mistake,
both similarities and differences are important, giving us a more complete
picture of our neighbors. It’s true in any relationship. To really hear each
other—not just in regard to our agreed upon ideas but also in our palpable
distinctions—this is what relationship is all about. For example, married
couples whose marriages last—they know the value of honest dialogue, of
sincere back and forth, of serious communication. No talk, no understanding.
The usual result of such disharmony: Divorce. Do we want to be divorced from
our brothers and sisters in other religious traditions?
1
2 Journal of Vaishnava Studies
In the end, genuine dialogue is well worth it, especially in the religious arena.
But for maximum effect, it is necessary that it is not done superficially, or with
an agenda to convert to our own way of thinking. We should sincerely want
to learn the other person’s perspective. Again, like in marriage: If we converse
just to tell our side of the story, it becomes clear that we are more interested in
monologue than dialogue. And that just won’t do.
First and foremost, real dialogue necessitates revealing one’s heart, not just
doctrinal jargon, memorized verses, or inherited traditional teachings. And we
must be able to receive what is in the hearts of others, too. Indeed, in effective
dialogue, we don’t only hear through the ears but also through the heart. This
idea was noted by Professor Anne Hunt, Dean of Theology and Philosophy at
Australian Catholic University, who writes about interfaith dialogue in terms
of an alternate form of seeing and hearing—she says we must use “the eyes
and ears of the heart.” This resonates with me. In Hunt’s work, she cites both
Christian and Sufi instances of how this takes place. In the Christian tradition,
for example, she mentions the Letter to the Ephesians (1:17-19), where the Apostle
Paul writes: “I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory,
may give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation as you come to know him, so
that, with the eyes of your heart enlightened, you may know what is the hope
to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance
among the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power for us
who believe, according to the working of his great power.” St Benedict, too,
Hunt notes, instructed his monks to “listen with the ears of your heart.”
From the Vaishnava-Hindu side, with which I am more familiar, we see this
same principle at work. For example, Krishnadas Kaviraja Goswami writes in his
Chaitanya-caritamrta (1.5.21) about the prema-netra, or “eyes of love,” explaining
that one sees God (and no doubt hears Him as well) through the vision (and
sounds) of bhakti, or devotion. Ramakrishna, too, famously said:
God cannot be seen with these physical eyes.
In the course of spiritual discipline one gets a “love body,”
endowed with “love eyes,” “love ears,” and so on.
One sees God with those “love eyes.”
One hears the voice of God with those “love ears.”
In the Brahma-samhita (5.38), we find, premāñjana-cchurita-bhakti-vilocanena:

“only a person whose eyes are smeared with the ointment of love can see the
beautiful form of Lord Krishna. Or Mirabai sings, “My eyes are glowing with the
light of love. It seems that all the sins and sorrows and cravings of my life have
Introduction 3
been used as fuel for the fire of this love.” Sri Krishna says: “You cannot see Me
with your present eyes. Therefore I give you divine eyes, so that you can behold
My mystic opulence.” (Bhagavad-Gita 11.8)
Finally, according to Kabir, the fifteenth-century Indian poet, “When the
eyes and ears are open, even the leaves on the trees teach like pages from the
scriptures.”
The point should be clear: real spirituality comes with a certain openness of
heart, with the spiritualization of the senses, whereby one can perceive ultimate
truth. It would serve those who enter religious dialogue well to bear this in mind
when interacting with each other. Otherwise, there is no real dialogue. And
what is the result of no dialogue? Hans Küng addresses this:
No peace among the nations
without peace among the religions.
No peace among the religions
without dialogue between the religions.
No dialogue between the religions
without investigation of the foundations of the religions.
The two religions here, despite much historical evidence to the contrary,
have certain advantages when it comes to interfaith dialogue:
The Hindu religion is naturally pluralistic. A well-known Rig Vedic hymn
says that “Truth is One, though the sages know it variously.” (ekam sat vipra
bahudā vadanti). This is Rig Veda 1.164.46, and it will be addressed in the pages
that follow. Along similar lines, Lord Krishna says in the Bhagavad-gita (4:11),
“As people approach me, so I receive them. All paths lead to me” (ye yathā māṃ
prapadyante tāṃs tathāiva bhajāmyaham mama vartmānuvartante manuṣyāḥ pārtha
sarvaśaḥ). Traditionally, it is well known that Hinduism, in its many forms—
especially Vaishnavism—is nothing if not open when it comes to alternate
conceptions of God. This does not mean, of course, that they accept all forms
as Divine, but, given certain qualifying characteristics, the tradition is quite
“catholic,” so to speak.
And let us not forget that catholic means “all-embracing,” coming from
katholikos (katholou), i.e., “throughout the whole,” or “universal.” The word is
used in Greek classics, such as those of Aristotle and Polybius, and was often
used by early Christian authors, too, in its more generic sense. I wonder,
sometimes, how the word became associated with the Roman Catholic faith,
and although I have not yet researched the subject in depth, I can only assume
that the early Church was more open than it became in later years. I understand
that the word was first used to describe the Church in the early second century
to emphasize its universal scope. I see this scope in the early Christian mystics,
many of them Catholic, who point toward Christianity’s universality with
spiritual poetry and philosophy that could easily have been written by the
Vaishnava sages, with whom, again, I am much more familiar. I am happy that
we are finally doing an issue of JVS on Vaishnava-Christian dialogue, and I can
say that I have learned much from its contents.
But let it be said, too, that the following pages represent a very special
series of dialogues. Such discussions always transpire between individuals, who
bring to the conversation their own perspectives and realizations. The highly
qualified contributors to this volume shed much light on their respective
religions. But before going into specifics about this issue of JVS, I want to say
that, for me, two luminaries of interreligious dialogue will always stand out as
exemplary, and I would feel remiss not to mention them.
I refer to Mahanambrata Brahmachari (1904–1999), a Vaishnava sadhu
who did doctoral work on Jiva Goswami at the University of Chicago, and
Thomas Merton (1915–1968), the famous trappist monk, writer and mystic.
The two of them happened to meet first in Grand Central Station and then at
Columbia University, initiating a friendship that would last a lifetime. They
had a great amount of respect and admiration for each other, as is evidenced
in Merton’s recalling of their various meetings in The Seven Storey Mountain, his
autobiography. Recently, I discovered a “personal tribute” that Merton wrote in
further appreciation of his Vaishnava friend, and I advise readers of this journal
to peruse it in its entirety: http://www.mahanambrata.com/missionary.htm
Some highlights from that tribute:
“I have realized how true it is not only that East and West may meet, but that
they must meet, not in the chance collision of alien cultures in which one seeks
to impose upon the other the patterns of power and of technology, but in a
profoundly human exchange in which each culture finds itself in the other.”
“We do not find ourselves until, in meeting this other, we receive from him
the gift, in part at least, to know ourselves. And doubtless in this same act,
never sufficiently understood if it is only unilateral, we also may reveal to the
stranger something of his true self.”
“Thus, in an age of ecumenism, the love of one’s fellow man consists not in
depriving him of his own proper truth in order to give him yours, but rather in
enabling him to understand his own truth better in the light of yours.”
Introduction 5
These truths are at the heart of the Vaishnava-Christian dialogue you are
about to read. And now for some specifics: The dialogues in question—held
annually in Potomac, MD, just outside of Washington, DC, since 1998—would
inevitably produce some sort of publication. Its organizers knew this from its
earliest meetings. Anuttama Dasa and Samuel Wagner, particularly, began to
seriously discuss publication about five years ago. At that time, they called
a meeting to gather the inventory of the proceedings, hoping to thereby
conceptualize just how a published volume might emerge. Their records were
not complete. Some of the years, one or two presenters had written papers.
Other years there was nothing written, only spoken, and in some instances
only spotty recordings were available. The inventory process was more or less
completed in three meetings over the course of just as many years.
In 2009, Kenneth Cracknell gave the project a sense of deadline, of crucial
importance, by suggesting that they push for a 15th Anniversary publication.
Following Cracknell’s recommendation, Wagner and Dasa brainstormed an
outline for the publication in early 2010. Then, in early 2011, they refined that
outline over two lengthy working sessions, which included, again, extensive
digging through the files to determine, based on available materials, what
papers might be included. In April 2011, Dasa and Wagner presented the
publication outline to the annual Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue for feedback.
Shortly thereafter, Graham Schweig informed Dasa and Wagner that the Journal
of Vaishnava Studies would likely be interested in publishing the project. For the
next year, Wagner and Dasa, in consultation with several others, undertook the
extensive planning process required to make this issue a reality.
As the publication was taking shape, it was determined that in order to
depict the full spectrum of qualities present in the dialogues, the publication
would need to consist of three parts. First, we would have a section with
introductory articles, perhaps pertaining to how this dialogue came to be, and/
or theological reflections on such dialogue from both Vaishnava and Christian
points of view. Second, highlights of the content from 15 years worth of
meetings would be included as well. These ten papers (including two from an
earlier dialogue on Boston) are academic/theological works and examples of
what has provided the basis of discussion over the years.
Of the varieties of papers that comprise this publication, perhaps one of
the more unique is the third type: reflections. A persistent challenge in the
planning stages of this publication was how to convey not only the theological/
academic fruits of these meetings, but also the personal and spiritual fruits of
gathering individuals from two very different religious communities over the
course of many years. After much discussion, it was determined that the most
effective and perhaps comprehensive route would be to include reflection
pieces from both Christians and Vaishnavas who attended.
In conclusion, enthusiastic acknowledgement must be made of Anuttama
Dasa and Sam Wagner for their dedicated efforts regarding the publication at
hand. All that’s left is for you to read it with your eyes and heart.
—Steven J. Rosen
Endnotes
1. See Abraham Joshua Heschel, Moral Grandeur and Spiritual Audacity: Essays Edited
by Susannah Heschel (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1997), p. 244.
Prologue:
Reflections on Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue
Francis X. Clooney, S. J.
I am honored to contribute to this special issue of the Journal of Vaishnava

Studies that calls to the attention of a wide readership the considerable
accomplishment of the fifteen years of this Vaishnava-Christian dialogue.1
I am happy to add some thoughts here, though I have been only minimally
involved in this series of meetings. It is true that I was a member of the first
of these dialogues in 1996 and came again for the one in 2010, but while I have
had many other occasions to converse with Hindus and work with them in
many contexts, I have never engaged in so specific and focused a dialogue as
this 15 year long dedicated series.
It is easy to speak of this as an instance of “Hindu-Christian dialogue,” but
of course no one involved has represented the full range of Hindu traditions
or Christian communities. Even if there are core beliefs that almost all of us
share, Christians come in many varieties. Even if one speaks of Protestant
Christians or Catholic Christians, one can question further which church, which
liberal or conservative dispositions, etc. Similarly, “Hindu” marks a group of
traditions. A dialogue with a wide range of Hindu participants, or one with
Advaitins or Shaivas or Tāntrikas would of course be quite different than a
focused dialogue with Vaishnava Hindus. And even if we speak of Vaishnava
Hindus, this is still broad reference, since different sampradāyas have flourished
over the centuries in different parts of India. And if we back up, we can readily
admit that a juxtaposition of “Christians” and “Vaishnavas” cannot mean an
exact proportion of numbers involved, since the former indicates a very large
community, over a billion.
But for the sake of this brief reflection, I will use the terms “Christian” and
“Vaishnava,” though occasionally “Catholic” and “Śrīvaishnava.”
7
A Bit of History
That Christians and theistic Hindus such as Vaishnavas are in conversation is
hardly new or surprising, of course, since there is a history of contact between
Vaishnava Hindus and Christians. Consider for a moment the Jesuit Catholic
example. In a 1546 letter, St Francis Xavier, the first Jesuit in India, recounts
hearing a Vaishnava mantra, and reveals his fascination in encountering a
man who was probably a Vaishnava brahmin. He is fascinated by the brahmin’s
observance of a sabbath, respect for the moral law and a natural law instinct for
monogamy, and even a particular prayer, which he took to be very much like a
Christian prayer: “Those who are wise observe Sundays, something that is quite
incredible. On Sundays they say no other prayer than the following, which they
repeatedly recite, ‘Oṁ Śrī Nārāyaṇāya Namaḥ,’ which means, “I adore thee,
God, with your grace and assistance for ever;” and they recite this prayer very
gently and softly in order to keep the oath they have taken.”2
Inadvertently or not, Xavier’s report marks the beginning of an enduring
Jesuit interest in Vaishnavism. In the early 17th century, Roberto de Nobili
paid special attention to the Rāmāyaṇa, and so did many of his successors in
the century to follow. While his intentions were polemic—he charged that
the epic is inconsistent, the ethics unclear, the notion of God murky—clearly
he noticed the similarities to Christianity and the pertinence of comparison,
even when aiming to criticize the story of Rāma. Vaishnavism was a religion
to be taken very seriously.
This interest has continued in modern times. For example, early in the
20th century, Camil Bulcke developed sophisticated interpretations of the
Tulsidas telling of the Rāmāyaṇa, most notably in his Rāma-kathā: Utpatti aura
Vikāsa (Prayaga: Hind Parishad, 1950). In the 1970s, the Indian Jesuit Noel Sheth
wrote a Harvard University dissertation on Krishna that became The Divinity of
Krishna (New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1984); in 1990 Ishanand Vempeny
published his Christ and Krishna (Pune: Ishvani Kendra, 1988), an ambitious and
forward looking effort to map out the whole range of theological and practical
issues pertaining to how we think about Christ and Krishna in their traditions
and in relation to one another. Of course, there is no deficit of Protestant
writings on the theme, nor of Hindu reflections on the meaning of Jesus; my
point here has been not so much to sketch a complete history, but only to note
that even in my own Jesuit tradition, there is a long history of reflection on
Vaishnava themes. Others in the pages that follow will surely testify to the fact
that Vaishnavas have a long history of interest in the figure of Jesus, have noted
the parallels between Vaishnava and Christian theology and piety.
Reflections on Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue 9
My Own Experience
All of this gets personal too. I am sure that in the pages to follow contributors
will explain how they came to be interested in the dialogue and the tradition
other than their own. Here I will mention some early points in my own Catholic
engagement with Vaishnavism. Upon graduating from college in 1973, I went
to Kathmandu to teach in a Jesuit high school for two years; it was early in
the post-Vatican II era, and many of us were inspired to learn more deeply
from religions and cultures other than our own. But before going, I knew
little of Hinduism. I had read the Bhagavad Gītā, but it had not made any great
impression on me; I admired Gandhi greatly, but cannot say that I thought of
him primarily as a Hindu. But very early in my stay there, I vividly remember
hearing Hindu students singing a bhajan in honor of Rāma and Sītā; it caught
my attention, for its purity and devotion, and as it were opened a door to
thinking about Hindu devotion in the Vaishnava tradition.
Though as a seminary student, and then as a doctoral student at the Uni-
versity of Chicago, I was fascinated by Śaṁkara’s thought, it was early on in
my doctoral program that I became also very interested in Rāmānuja. Despite
the insistent and odd Christian preference for Advaita manifest in figures such
as Pierre Johanns, Richard DeSmet, and Henri Le Saux, it seems that Hindu
theistic traditions with strong intellectual grounding—such as the Vaishnava
traditions—are particularly suitable partners for conversation with Christians.
Over the past three decades, moreover, I have engaged in the study of
Śrīvaishnavism, both the Sanskrit and Tamil traditions and the crossover
between the two. When in grad school it was under the guidance of A. K.
Ramanuja that I started reading the alvars and my interest in Śrīvaishnavism
came alive. The beauty and power of this poetry touched me deeply, indeed,
and I became entirely interested too in the rich Sanskrit/Tamil language
commentarial tradition that flourished around the poetry.
When in India, I have found it particularly meaningful to visit Vaishnava
temples, notably well-known sites such as Tirupati (Tiruveṅkaṭam), the
Pārthasārathi temple in Triplicane, and the Śrīraṅgam temple (though
not permitted to enter the sanctum there)—but also innumerable smaller
Vaishnava temples in Mylapore and other parts of India. I have written a
number of times about such experiences, and included in my recent
Comparative Theology a lecture on interreligious learning that begins in the
sanctum of a Vaishnava temple in Mylapore, before the mūrti of Śrī Lakṣmī.3
The Theological Problems and Possibilities

History aside, it is also important to be alert to the particular theological
underpinnings and presuppositions that make the prospects of Vaishnava-
Christian dialogue favorable. We know that dialogue needn’t be founded on
explicit theological foundations to get started, and that there are many other
starting points of contact for fruitful exchange. Again, the essays that follow
will give many specific examples, but a few general comments may help.
It is easy to identify areas of common ground. Reading the two traditions
together has highlighted for me several claims about what God is like. In my
book Hindu God, Christian God (2001), for example, I sought to highlight some
claims common to Christian and Hindu theistic theologies: God is omniscient,
omnipotent, without beginning; God can be recognized as the maker of the
world, because the world requires an intelligible and intelligent source, and
this source can be named as “God.” This is true even if much more needs to
be said to explain what it means to say that God makes the world. Such a God
is accessible, loving, and intent on the good of the human race. Such claims
indicate largely shared theological ground.
There are other points that are shared by Vaishnava Hindu and Christian
thinkers, even if not fully: that God is without flaws is agreed upon by Vaish-
nava and Christian theologians, but they do not agree on whether having-a-
body and being-possessed-of-desires are flaws or essential dimensions of the
divine reality. Vaishnava theologians see divine materiality and divine desire
as goods, not flaws; Christians and Vaishnavas agree on the possibility and
importance of divine embodiment; while terms such as “incarnation” and
“avatāra” do not point to identical claims about God and humans, they do
highlight a shared conviction about what God is like and how God becomes
involved in our world. While Vaishnavas and Christians will agree that we are
in some real ways like God who nonetheless transcends our every category,
there is no agreement whether this perfect God too can be described as male or
female, or both or neither. Both traditions respect complexity and relationality
within the divine simplicity. For Christians, this is manifest in the doctrine of
the Trinity, while for Hindus a more likely form of relationality is the male–
female relationship of a divine couple. Either way, the divine person is one, yet
relational. All of this is exciting to think through and discuss with one another,
in both academic and dialogue settings.4
Dialogical exchanges need not be thought through only on a conceptual
level and apart from practice, and I know that this dialogue community has
been committed to some occasions for prayer and worship together, as least
opening the possibility of this other and often deeper level of sharing. This
makes sense to me as well, even just in terms of my own Catholic tradition in
dialogue with Vaishnavism. For Catholicism has always been committed to a
rich array of ritual practices that appeal in various ways to all the material and
spiritual senses. Indeed, my earliest memories of the pre-Vatican Church have
always been a help to me in Hindu temples, where one likewise encounters
a rich appreciation of the sacramental aspect of the religious life, a spiritual
materiality, one might say, that helps us to pray spiritually with and through
our senses.
There are points of consonance in practice too. We cannot deduce ritual
practice from theological tenets—the reverse is more likely: as we pray, so we
believe and then theologize. Nevertheless, still we can point to the appreciation
of the material world that Vaishnava and Catholic spiritualities manifest,
and we can notice how a shared appreciation of the embodiment of God and
the sacramental presence of God in the world leads to richer, more vivid
worship. The world of things is good; God dwells in matter too; things, properly
understood, speak to us of God in all the ways that our senses can understand.
And then there is the necessity of mutual engagement: Vaishnavism and
Christianity must be in conversation, to be coherent within themselves. For
the faith and theology of these communities make claims on the world as
a whole. Neither thinks of itself as merely local, merely sectarian: our God
is the God of all. And so the “other” must be taken into account, explained
in terms of God’s will for the world. We know that Christians have long
debated this topic, and that Christian positions range from an exclusion of the
possibility that other religions are from God or have an enduring value, to a
tolerant pluralism that sees the Christian tradition simply as one among many.
Most of us including, I am sure, the Christian participants in the dialogue, are
somewhere in-between, and this has to be sorted out in the dialogue.
The Vaishnava communities too will not share a single view of other
religions or God’s plan for the world. Sampradāyas such as the Mādhva show
little interest whatsoever in other traditions, even most Hindu traditions.
Some account for the others as lesser ways meant for people not yet ready for
the higher way of Vaishnavism. Some Vaishnavas, in my perception, really do
want everyone to become devotees of Krishna and even hold that everyone is
really already worshipping Krishna, in light of Gītā 9.23: “Even those who have
offered their love to different deities, who, filled with faith, perform sacrifice
—even they perform sacrifice for me alone, O Kaunteya, though not according
to injunction.”5 And some, surely, are quite content to let everyone worship
as she or he will, knowing that the same God graciously hears all prayers in all.
The essays that follow will show how many years of dedicated conversations
have changed the ways in which these Vaishnavas and Christians view the
other religion, its theology, practices, and distinct claims about life’s ultimate
meaning and destiny.
The Hard Work To Be Done

In the end, Vaishnavas and Christians have a lot in common and a lot to talk
about. But none of this is as easy as I have perhaps made it sound. Any Hindu-
Christian dialogue requires dedication and the hard work of listening and
study. It also has to be in part a spiritual and social rectification of the past
troubles in the Hindu-Christian relationship, including the offense given by
overly aggressive missionaries who revile religions other than their own. One
of the very best ways to move forward in this rectification is by an extended
conversation such as the years of dialogue that have occasioned this special
issue of JVS. This dialogue will certainly be appropriate and salutary in
the West where, though the benefit will be mutual, it is particularly true
that Christians have so much to learn about Hindu beliefs and practices.
Yet too, the benefits of dialogue in this new era of mutual learning will be
considerable for the Hindu majority in India, so that fresh and more nuanced
understandings of Christian beliefs and practices can come to the fore.
The commitment to study together, pray together, share personal insights
and then friendship places the dialogue on an immeasurably firmer ground
than any brief and passing contacts could do. My hope in the end is that we can
all learn from this committed dialogue, and hear more of the value of particular
encounters with people of other religions—and their beliefs, practices, the
material and spiritual things of their traditions—as these offer some satisfying,
even compelling reason for learning across religious boundaries.
I close then simply by expressing my appreciation to the participants in this
long communal conversation for their dedication to it, the real and meaningful
understandings and friendships that have blossomed in these dialogues over
so long a period. It is an honor to have a few pages in this volume, which will
surely offer real and substantive guidance and inspiration to many another
dialogue around the world.
Endnotes
1. I am happy to have published in the Journal of Vaishnava Studies on related matters
in the past: “Hindu Love and the Practice of Catholicism,” 5.2 (Spring 1997), 9-28,
and “Teaching All Nations: An Observer’s Reflections on a Constructive Śrīvaishnava
Response to Pluralism,” 19.1 (Fall 2010), 69-79.
2. From his January 15, 1544 letter to his companions in Rome. Collected in The Letters
and Instructions of Francis Xavier. Translated and introduced by M. Joseph Costelloe, SJ.
Institute of Jesuit Sources (1992) pp. 71-72 (adapted)
3. Comparative Theology (Wiley-Blackwell, 2010), c. 6.
4. This paragraph is adapted from Chapter 7 of Comparative Theology. See also Chapter
2 of Divine Mother, Blessed Mother (Oxford University Press, 2005), in which I study in detail
the Śrīvaishnava Parāśara Bhaṭṭar’s Śrīguṇaratnakośa as offering a rich theology of the
Goddess Śrī, and draw some careful comparisons to the theology of the Virgin Mary in
Catholic piety.
5. Graham Schweig, translation.
Why Hindu-Christian Dialogue:
A Catholic Reflection
John Borelli
Many Beginnings
. . . Thus, in Hinduism men and women contemplate the divine mystery
and express it through an inexhaustible abundance of myths and through
searching philosophical inquiries. They seek freedom from the anguishes of
our human condition either through ascetical practices or through profound
meditation or through a flight to God with love and trust. Buddhism, in its
various forms, realizes the radical insufficiency of this changeable world; it
teaches a way by which persons, in a devout and confident spirit, may be
able either to acquire the state of perfect liberation, or to attain, by their
own efforts or through higher help, supreme illumination. Likewise, other
religions found everywhere try to counter the restlessness of the human
heart, each in its own manner, by proposing ways, comprising teachings,
rules of life, and sacred rites.
The Catholic Church rejects nothing that is true and holy in these reli-
gions. She regards with sincere reverence those ways of acting and of living,
those precepts and teachings which, though differing in many aspects from
the one she holds and sets forth, nonetheless often reflect a ray of that truth
which enlightens all. Indeed, she proclaims, and ever must proclaim, Christ
as “the Way, the Truth, and the Life” (Jn. 14:6), in whom men and women
may find the fullness of religious life, and in whom God has reconciled all
things to Himself. (Cf. 2 Cor. 5:18-19.)
The Church therefore exhorts her sons and daughters to recognize,
preserve, and foster the good things, spiritual and moral, as well as the
socio-cultural values found among the followers of other religions. This is
done through conversations and collaboration with them, carried out with
prudence and love and in witness to the Christian faith and life.1
I t is nearly impossible for me to recall when I first read these sentences. They
flow one into the next in paragraph 2 of Nostra Aetate, the Declaration on the
Relation of the Church to Non-Christian Religions. The document reached
its final form in the last months of 1964 and received final approval in October
15
1965. I was in my first year of college in fall 1964 and was well into my second
year at the time the statement became an officially promulgated statement of
the Catholic Church. Unlike most young people my age, I was actually paying
attention, as best I could, to what was happening in Rome during the Second
Vatican Council (1962-1965) or Vatican II as it is more popularly known. I might
have read Nostra Aetate very soon after it was promulgated on October 27, 1965,
but I cannot recall that with certainty. If I did, it was all new information for me,
an American Catholic living in the middle of the United States in Oklahoma City
and without much experience of religious diversity beyond my neighborhood
of Protestants, Catholics and Jews.
Since fall 1960, I had been a Catholic seminarian. I was in a “minor semi-
nary,” one that covered four years of high school and, in some cases as this
one did, two years of college. The faculty was mostly drawn from the diocesan
clergy of the Diocese of Oklahoma City and Tulsa, who made my nine months
of residency in a seminary interesting and generally pleasant. Even during
grammar school in Oklahoma City, I was gradually being formed spiritually in
the renewed participation in church life that would characterize Catholic life
after Vatican II. Change was as prevalent as incense in the air of some Catholic
parishes in Oklahoma, where liturgical renewal was already unfolding as was
the case in my home parish in Oklahoma City throughout the 1950s and to
some extent lay leadership was receiving encouragement. As Jesuit historian
John O’Malley has shown, Vatican II was about change, whether conceptual-
ized as development, updating, or renewal through return to sources:
Of the three categories, development (and its close equivalents like evolution
and progress) was the least threatening because it inserted changed into
an unfolding continuity. Yet even amid this continuity change was at its
core. The word “change” stuck in the throats of bishops at the council, and
it stuck in the throats of Paul VI [elected pope after the first session in 1963
and guided the council to its conclusion]. Nonetheless, the council frequently
employed change-implied words and did so to such a degree that they
became part of its most characteristic vocabulary. They suggested that even
the final documents of the council were not final in the sense of establishing
an end-point beyond which there would be no further movement.2
I first read these words of Nostra Aetate 2 with particular enthusiasm

some years later, probably around 1972 and then again sometime soon after
1976 with an added excitement for imagined possibilities for interreligious
experience. Much had happened in my life in the intervening ten years; yet,
mine was only one set of hundreds of millions of unintended consequences of
Why Hindu-Christian Dialogue: A Catholic Reflection 17
Vatican II. I was no longer a seminarian studying for the diocesan priesthood. I
was married. I had become a lay graduate student of theology, had experienced
a year tour of duty in Vietnam, and changed my interests from historical
theological studies to the history of religions. I was not in Oklahoma City
but in New York, at Fordham University, where the study of the religions of
India was the most competently resourced area for history of religions study
within a theologically engaged faculty. This was the only Catholic graduate
school of theology that had inaugurated such a program of study since Vatican
II. I had no idea that in another ten years I would be in a national office
promoting dialogue and eventually appointed a consultor to the Vatican office
for interreligious dialogue.
As a Catholic, the words of Nostra Aetate 2 were liberating. In a few short
and simple sentences, this ground-breaking document of church teaching
stated intelligent and legitimate reasons for respecting the religious ideas
and practices of Hindus and Buddhists and the raison d’être for religions
everywhere. The text offered the foundation for a new approach for
Christians to the religions of India and to religions everywhere, one of respect
and dialogue. I was preparing myself for dialogue. I imagined that I would be
of service to the Catholic Church, but probably as an academic, teaching with
my doctorate, whose method of study, which we called history of religions,
included dialogue and engagement in such a way that the engaging subject
entered the subjectivities of one’s partners in dialogue.
Of course, by the 1970s, I was learning about those in the distant past,
like Roberto de Nobili (1577-1656), who had adopted the garb of Brahmin
scholars, gave up meat, carried the walking stick and water jug used by
Hindu renouncers, and learned Sanskrit sufficiently to read and even write
treatises of his own.3 I found inspiration from those in the not so distant
past too, like Henri Le Saux (Swami Abhishiktananda, 1910-1973), a French
Benedictine monk who left for India and the life of an ascetic, establishing
the now famous Christian ashram of Shantivanam and developing a spiritual
practice founded on a Christian reading of Vedanta.4 I read about Indians
from the previous century who had bridged the Christian West with Hindu
India, like Swami Vivekananda (1863-1902) who journeyed to Chicago to
participate in the 1893 Parliament of Religions and along with Manilal Dvivedi
(1858-1898) sought to relieve Americans of their condescending stereotypes
of Hindu practices and beliefs.5 In the 1970s, my fellow graduate students and
I found Raimon Panikkar (1918-2010) intriguing because he could skillfully
wind a path through high Hindu theological texts showing us Catholics how
to understand the mystery of Christ, ever present and revealing behind

philosophical concepts and principles best identified by Sanskrit terms.6
Living and teaching in New York in those days was A. C. Bhaktivedanta Swami
Prabhupāda (1896-1977), founder of the International Society of Krishna
Consciousness, who, in line with the Sri Chaitanya Vaishnava tradition,
respected Jesus as a saint, founder, and teacher with extraordinary insight
and powers, whose name, when chanted by Christian devotees, could bestow
spiritual transcendence.7 All these and many others were examples of how
Christians and Hindus had already been saying a great deal to one another
and would continue to do so in dialogue. These sentences of Nostra Aetate
assured Catholics of the support of their church for them to join with Hindus
to “recognize, preserve, and foster the good things, spiritual and moral, as
well as the socio-cultural values” found in our two traditions.
With confidence, I applied myself to my studies and, early in 1976, defended
a thesis on the late Hindu theologian Vijñānabhikshu, in which I translated
some of his work and presented the core of his Vedānta teaching, located him
with his own Hindu traditions, and then sought to understand his insights
through comparative study of western thinkers and principally theologians.8
Besides the foundational knowledge and budding technical skills gained from
my studies, I was fortunate to have absorbed a sympathetic spirit, sufficient
humility and a broad desire to marvel at discovery when seeking to understand
the faith of my partners in dialogue from within their perspectives, whether
Hindus or members of some other tradition.
Coming from such an organized tradition, like the Catholic Church, whose
spiritual leadership could summon its more than 2500 bishops in 1962
to one large meeting in Rome and through their combined efforts could
issue policy statements supporting dialogue, I felt at a distinct advantage.
There were numerous resources within the Christian tradition, individuals
and institutions that had devoted themselves to appreciating the gifts of
India’s civilizations and cultures. Now in addition to these, there were the
teaching documents of the church, like this text of Vatican II, which carried
considerable authority.
The words of the text cited at the beginning of this article represent a
beginning at answering the question of why Hindu-Christian dialogue?
The program at Fordham was a beginning in graduate theological study at
answering the same question in the post-Vatican II era, but individuals, Hindus
and Christians alike, had been asking the question for centuries.
Context and Resources for Vatican II

In my work with Fr. Thomas Stransky who served on the staff of the Secretariat
for Promoting Christian Unity from 1960 to 1970 when Nostra Aetate was
composed, I have surfaced a range of discoveries that throw some light of how
these sentences came to be. The basic story of Nostra Aetate has been told a few
times by those who helped compose it.9 Pope John XXIII, who called the council,
much to the surprise of nearly everyone in the Catholic Church and himself,
did not articulate “interreligious relations,” much less dialogue with Hindus,
among the reasons for calling a council. He did not even mention correcting
the church’s teachings on the Jews, at least initially. He did want this council,
Vatican II, to be ecumenical in some way, that is, to be open to restoring unity
among Christians.10
Thus, among the preparatory commissions that Pope John set up was the
Secretariat for Promoting Christian Unity, which began its tentative existence
on June 5, 1960. Less than two weeks later, Pope John had a visitor, the elderly
French scholar and former member of the ministry of education of pre-World
War II France, Jules Isaac. He was a Jew and a survivor of the Holocaust, who had
spent his years in hiding during war and afterwards in study and conferences
and dialogues with others reflecting on the teaching of contempt for Jews
that had been prevalent in the church since apostolic times and had provided
fertile ground for the abysmal ideology of Nazism to be implemented in such
unthinkably horrible proportions.
On that trip to Rome, Isaac also visited Cardinal Augustin Bea, an elderly
Jesuit scholar of the Jewish scriptures who then served as head of the
Secretariat. Before long, a statement on the Jews was on the agenda for the
council.11 In fact, Stransky has evidence from Pope John’s private secretary that
after the visit of Jules Isaac, he never gave up on the thought of a statement on
the Jews.
As it turned out, Nostra Aetate was the shortest of all 16 documents of
Vatican II, a little over 1,600 words of their more than 100,000 words, and a
mere 41 sentences. It was perhaps the most controversial of the documents,
debated when the establishment of the State of Israel was hotly contested
and demanding Catholic bishops to reinterpret the implications of religious
pluralism. Removed from the agenda for the first of the council’s four fall
sessions (1962) for reasons of international politics, John XXIII restored it at
the request of Cardinal Bea who believed the council produce a theological
statement on Jewish relations. It passed through another five committee
approved drafts. First presented to the bishops on November 18, 1963, it was
already in a new context from the previous years because Pope John had passed
away and Pope Paul VI was in his place and had soon promised before the
second fall session began in 1963 that there was be another secretariat in due
time, one to relate to members of other religions.12
Then, between a second presentation of the text in September 1964 and
the third in November 1964, it was expanded to five numbered paragraphs
addressing relations with all religions in general including Hinduism and
Buddhism in two paragraphs, relations with Muslims in paragraph 3, relations
with Jews in paragraph 4, and religious bigotry in paragraph 5. Paragraph 4
remained central to the text. It is quite a story how a draft on the Jews became
such a document. It was quite a process requiring insights of scholars, careful
attention of staff, and the willingness of bishops for all over the world to invite
Catholics into the arena of interreligious dialogue and relations. The particular
consultor who helped with expertise in the study of Hinduism was Joseph
Neuner, S.J.13
There was much overlooked in Catholic tradition and little explicitly ana-
lyzed over the centuries of a positive nature, except by specialists whose work
was not widely known. This was especially true regarding inspiring Catholics
to dialogue with Hindus. Surprisingly, Pope John’s predecessor, Pope Pius XII,
had urged Catholics in India, ten years before Vatican II convened in 1952, to
remember that the church belongs to the east as well as the west and is bound
to no particular culture. He further said that “what is consonant with man’s
God given nature, is good and simply human, the Church permits, further
ennobles and sanctifies.”14 This has slight echo in Nostra Aetate’s urging
Catholics to “foster the good things, spiritual and moral, as well as the socio-
cultural values found among the followers of other religions.” Pope Pius’ next
sentence conveys a pleasant enthusiasm: “This once made clear, beloved sons
and daughters, it is for you to be conscious of your duty and to your country
and people.” He added this profoundly positive insight a few paragraphs later,
“The people of India should rejoice in the religious spirit rooted in their soul.”
To understand how a statement on the Jews could come out the way it did,
one needs to understand that the Second Vatican Council was an event in a
technical sense. Following one historian of the council who has summarized
this idea well, I mean that Vatican II was a noteworthy occurrence with
consequences, including a significant enough rupture with the general
direction of earlier time that it continued to unfold well past a discreetly
defined conclusion with enough outcomes to legitimately influence how we
view from any perspective what happened during the event.15 This is not to
say that the rupture made the initial major outcome, the document itself, to
stand alone from what had occurred before. This is not true at all, because
first there was the intense amount of scholarly activity that the person of
Neuner represented to the Secretariat composing the text. Second, the text
cites scripture with a freshness of insight, but it is still scripture. The third
numbered paragraph on Muslims cites an eleventh century papal document.
Still, Vatican II was an event in this technical sense, and this is most
evident with Nostra Aetate. Nowhere before in official texts of the Catholic
Church had the words “dialogues” or “conversations” been applied to
relations with those who are not Catholic, especially since the Reformation of
the sixteenth century. Nowhere in official teachings of the Catholic Church had
respect for Jews, Muslims, Hindus, and others who are not members of the
church been stated with such care and attention.
By contrast, the 1952 radio address of Pope Pius was complimentary of
the people of India and the cultures in which Catholics in India lived, but
the sentences of Nostra Aetate represent a move beyond these accolades.
Remembering that Nostra Aetate was but one of sixteen official acts of Vatican
II in the form of documents, the text itself needs to be read in connection with
the text on ecumenical dialogue with other Christians, with the text on the
theological understanding of the church as a communion of believers drawn
into the communion of God, with the text on the church’s missionary activity,
with the declaration on religious liberty, with the final and concluding
statement on the church in the modern world, and with much more. All
these collectively provide a treasure-trove for answering the question from
a Catholic point of view, “why dialogue with Hindus?” Pope Paul VI made
it clear that the way to interpret Vatican II was through all the documents
collectively.16
Aside from these specific published texts, during those years from the
announcement of the council on January 25, 1959, to the final general
congregation on December 8, 1965, much occurred that altered the original
vision of the Council, the attitudes of the direct participants, and numerous
outcomes. I have already mentioned that Pope Paul VI, advised as he was
by bishops from Asia, decided to create a second secretariat, one to greet all
religious people, at some point during the council.17 No one at the time knew
what the implications of this office would have just on the text of Nostra Aetate,
which didn’t have such a title on September 12, 1963, when he made this
announcement. It did not have these two words in its initial Latin sentence,
translated as “in our time,” until November 1964. By then, Pope Paul had
formally set up the Secretariat for Non-Christians. He announced this new
office to stand alongside the Secretariat Promoting Christian Unity on Pentecost
Sunday, May 17, 1964. At the time, he revealed his own receptive attitude:
“no pilgrim, no matter how distant he may be religiously or geographically,
no matter his country of origin, will any longer be a complete stranger in this
Rome.” All Hindus and whomever will have a place to receive them, welcome
them, and hear them when they visit Rome, and this openness was to be
repeated wherever the Catholic Church exists in all the dioceses around the
world.18 Two days later, he established the Secretariat, but he left the further
declaration on interreligious dialogue in the hands of the other Secretariat
originally established in 1960. Since 1988, the Secretariats are called “Pontifical
Councils,” and the one handling relations with Hindus has the name, “Pontifical
Council for Interreligious Dialogue.” No longer is there a negative word, “non-
Christian” in the offices title, another reflection on how clearly open-ended
Vatican II was.
A few months after that office was set up, by November 1964, the words
that I quoted at the beginning of my article were in place. Then, a month
later, Pope Paul VI made a rare papal trip outside of Italy. Up until that time,
popes had not traveled far from Rome. Pope John XXIII had made a couple
of journeys, and Pope Paul had made an historic trip to the Holy Land in
January 1964 to greet the Patriarch of the Orthodox Church in an embrace
that would be the beginning of the end of 900 years of estrangement between
the church in the east and the church in the west. In addition, Pope Paul
went to Bethlehem and gave an historic address that included a greeting to
monotheists. But, in December of the same year, with the words of Nostra
Aetate in place and a new Secretariat established to carry on interreligious
dialogue after the close of Vatican II, Pope Paul journeyed to India. The trip
was principally set up for the pope to visit the Eucharistic Congress that was
meeting in Bombay. The first of these was held in 1881 and the aim had been
“to make the Eucharist better known and loved.”19 The changes at Vatican
II including “the more extensive participation of the people in the liturgy,
including far greater use of the vernacular,” helped this aim. The meeting in
Bombay was the 38th Eucharistic Congress. But the trip became a model for
papal pilgrimages to countries that would become a hallmark of the papacy of
John Paul II (1978-2005).
One major feature of these papal pilgrimages was meetings with religious
leaders, especially with leaders of the majority traditions. Thus, in India, on
December 3, 1964, to an audience representative of the peoples of India, Pope

Paul remarkably prayed an ancient prayer of the Hindu tradition:
This visit to India is the fulfillment of a long cherished desire. Yours is a
land of ancient culture, the cradle of great religions, the home of a nation
that has sought God with a relentless desire, in deep meditation and
silence, and in hymns of fervent prayer. Rarely has this longing for God
been expressed with words so full of the spirit of Advent as in the words
written in your sacred books many centuries before Christ: “From the
unreal lead me to the real; from darkness lead me to light; from death lead
me to immortality” (Br. Up. I, 3, 28).
This is a prayer which belongs also to our time. Today more than ever,
it should rise from every human heart. The human race is undergoing
profound changes and is groping for the guiding principles and the new
forces which will lead it into the world of the future . . .
The next day, he told an audience of representatives of various religions:

This is the mission of the Church here, and We are deeply grateful
for the freedom assured to the preachers of the Gospel in your country.
They communicate the message of Jesus with the highest respect for the
convictions of others, in the language and cultural expressions of the people,
and encourage Christians to express their faith and devotion in harmony
with the civilization of India and in truly Indian forms. Thus the Church,
having gathered the varied treasures of many cultures of East and West, will
be further enriched by the contribution of her Indian sons, drawn from their
country’s rich and ancient cultural tradition.
Indeed his message was mixed. On the one hand, he had just thanked
those in India who over the years had expressed respect for Jesus and
asserted that Christians in India were encouraged to express their faith and
devotion in harmony with the civilization of India in truly Indian forms. This
“inculturation” would enrich the church, allowing it to receive through dialogue
and cultural exchange a richness that would enhance the life and spirituality
of the church. On the other hand, he mentioned the mission of the church to
preach the gospel and expressed gratitude for the freedom that Christians
enjoyed in the Indian democracy. Mission and dialogue go hand and hand, and it
would be a misrepresentation that Vatican II promoted both, dialogue as a way
of relating to all peoples of faith and a renewed mission to preach the gospel to
all peoples. Would the enduring mission to preach the gospel subvert attempts
at Hindu-Christian dialogue?
Updating the Message of Nostra Aetate

Vatican II was an event in the technical sense because it was more an
invitation to numerous initiatives than a final assessment of value. Clearly this
is evident with regard to interreligious relations and Hindu-Christian relations
in particular. The passage from Nostra Aetate cited at the beginning of this
article appear to us today a bit and in need of explanation. Religious pluralism,
the engaged religious diversity that characterizes more and more the lives of
all people in the world, has become a more commonplace experience. While
dialogue and respect seem obvious to us today and certainty that the lessons
of dialogue enhance our understanding of religious experience, we wonder if
Nostra Aetate was simplistic. It appears arrogant too. Were Hindus waiting for
Catholics to acknowledge that truth awaits those who study the insights and
practices of Hindus? Did Hindus care whether or not the Catholic Church in an
official way acknowledged that their ancient sources respond to the restlessness
of the human heart and provide avenues to what is good? If the text is read
as a public document serving a role beyond encouraging Catholics to open up
their lives to dialogue, it is not much of an achievement. A little scholarship
and attention to Hindu sources and friendship easily provide answers to the
question why Hindu-Christian dialogue? Finally, even if the text of Nostra Aetate
is revolutionary in the history of Christianity, and perhaps it is still not so
extraordinary when one weighs how organized Catholics are as a church, the
text of 1965 still conveyed a paradoxical message. That message is: Christians
want to dialogue with you for many good reasons including the value of your
Hindu sources but they also must proclaim that Christ is the way, the truth and
the life.
Pope John Paul II did not shy away from this twofold message. He was honest
about this issue when he spoke on his first trip to India on February 1, 1986:
My purpose in coming to India has both a religious and human dimension. I
come to pay a pastoral visit to the Catholics of India, and I come in friendship
with a deep desire to honor all your people and your different cultures. As I
begin, I take this occasion to express my sincere interest in all the religions
of India—an interest marked by genuine respect, by attention to what we
have in common, by a desire to promote interreligious dialogue and fruitful
collaboration between people of different faiths.
Among his many interests was his fascination with Mahatma Gandhi. At
Raj Ghat in Delhi, that same day, he spoke extensively about Gandhi:
It is entirely fitting that this pilgrimage should begin here, at Raj Ghat, ded-
icated to the memory of the illustrious Mahatma Gandhi, the Father of the
Nation and ‘apostle of non-violence’ . . .
From this place, which is forever bound to the memory of this extraordinary
man, I wish to express to the people of India and of the world my profound
conviction that the peace and justice of which contemporary society has such
great need will be achieved only along the path which was at the core of his
teaching: the supremacy of the spirit and Satyagraha, the ‘truthforce’, which
conquers without violence by the dynamism intrinsic to just action.
The power of truth leads us to recognize with Mahatma Gandhi the dignity,
equality and fraternal solidarity of all human beings, and it prompts us to
reject every form of discrimination. It shows us once again the need for mutual
understanding acceptance and collaboration between religious groups in the
pluralist society of modern India and throughout the world.
Four days later in Madras on February 5, he cited Gandhi on the importance

of inwardness:
Gandhi’s spirituality is an eloquent illustration of this. He says: ‘Let me
explain what I mean by religion . . . that which changes one’s very nature,
which binds one indissolubly to the truth within and which ever purifies. It
is the permanent element in human nature which counts no cost too great in
order to find full expression and which leaves the soul utterly restless until it
has found itself, known its Maker and appreciated the true correspondence
between the Maker and itself’ . . .
And then, he cited another sage, one of Tamilnadu, Pattinattar: “Believe

the One above. Believe that God is. Know that all other wealth is naught. Feed
the hungry. Know that righteousness and good company are beneficial; Be
content that God’s will be done. A sermon this is unto thee, O Heart!” Noting
the date, this was just a few months before the historic meeting in Assisi, Italy,
the World Day of Prayer for Peace, October 27, 1986. The trip by the pope to
India was one of many preparations for religious leaders to come to Italy.
On January 25, 1986, Pope John Paul announced that he would invite
religious leaders, including Hindus, to join him for pilgrimage, fasting, and
prayer in Assisi. When that historic day dawned some ten months later,
religious leaders from several traditions kept silence while each prayed in
his own way. Reflecting on that day in December, he marveled at the unique
power of prayer, showing profound respect for the distinctiveness of every
individual’s effort:
Every authentic prayer is under the influence of the Spirit “who intercedes
insistently for us . . . because we do not even know how to pray as we ought,”
but he prays in us ‘with unutterable groanings” and ‘the one who searches
hearts knows what are the desires of the Spirit” (Rm 8: 26-27). We can indeed
maintain that every authentic prayer is called forth by the Holy Spirit, who is
mysteriously present in the heart of every person.
Pope John Paul II returned to India in 1999. There on November 7 in New

Delhi, he spoke again of contributions from Hindus to peace and harmony
among peoples:
In India the way of dialogue and tolerance was the path followed by the
great Emperors Ashoka, Akbar and Chatrapati Shivaji; by wise men like
Ramakrishna Paramahamsa and Swami Vivekananda; and by luminous figures
such as Mahatma Gandhi, Gurudeva Tagore and Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan, who
understood profoundly that to serve peace and harmony is a holy task. These
are people who, in India and beyond, have made a significant contribution to
the increased awareness of our universal brotherhood, and they point us to a
future where our deep longing to pass through the door of freedom will find
its fulfillment because we will pass through that door together. To choose
tolerance, dialogue and cooperation as the path into the future is to preserve
what is most precious in the great religious heritage of mankind. It is also to
ensure that in the centuries to come the world will not be without that hope
which is the life-blood of the human heart. May the Lord of heaven and earth
grant this now and forever.
On that occasion, unable to give a speech at Raj Ghat, due to the political
changes in India and the ascendency of Hindu political parties stressing the
overriding values of the Hindu character (Hindutva) of India, Pope John Paul
was a silent pilgrim to the memorial dedicated to Gandhi. Barefoot, he poured
cups of water over the steps and offered a silent prayer.
These few tiny steps, taken in official ways by Catholic spiritual leaders,
are a slim record for the last four decades of the twentieth century and
the first of the twenty-first. They illustrate developments that move well
beyond the few simple lines of Nostra Aetate. A prayer by a pope using the
an English translation of an Upanishad and the humble silence of the most
recognized spiritual leader in the world, one with the persuasive authority
to gather leaders from all the major religions of the world, speak volumes
through example and encouragement. Our Hindu and Christian traditions are
ancient with roots deep in the primeval soil of India and the Middle East. The
contributions of a few reformers who journeyed west in the nineteenth and
twentieth centuries and who journeyed east in the twentieth century should
be seen against this backdrop stretching to prehistory.
For Catholics, Nostra Aetate was truly an invitation and not a final guiding
judgment. Go with confidence and find out with the help of God was its
basic message, and additionally, do so through study and dialogue and
friendship. In particular, Catholics living in India and wherever Hindus live
in large numbers should appreciate the cultural contexts in which they are
raised and which educates them to experience, judge, and act. An office for
dialogue was established in Rome but it would serve more as example than
as arbitrator. In fact, following the principle that “all dialogues are local,”
it was more productive when bishops established offices for dialogue in
dioceses and at institutions for education and service. Bishops were encouraged
to form national conferences and, in some cases, regional conferences.
Thus the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of India and the Federation of Asian
Bishop Conferences took leading roles in promoting dialogue and mutual
understanding.20 There was considerable progress in the early years after
Vatican II.21
In 1984, the office for interreligious dialogue in Rome issued an extensive
reflection on the experience gained through dialogue which resulted in a
text, The Attitude of the Church toward Followers of Other Religions, Reflections
and Orientations on Dialogue and Mission. It marked the twentieth anniversary
when Paul VI introduced the term “dialogue” into the unfolding of Vatican
II through his encyclical on the church.22 The 1984 text on dialogue and
mission gathers the experiences of dialogue which had been occurring
everywhere in the church.
It is here in that 1984 text that for the first time a fourfold typology for
dialogue was suggested distinguishing four somewhat different approaches
and each providing a different set of answers to the question, Why Hindu-
Christian dialogue? These four kinds of dialogue are: the dialogue of life,
the dialogue of social engagement, the dialogue of experts, and the dialogue
of religious experience. These need not happen separately and overlap to
some extent. At the same time, they are very different sorts of engagement.
The dialogue of life is the daily engagement of life, when friendship across
religious boundaries result in the many fine benefits of friendship, sharing
the common concerns of life, celebrating together times of joy and nurturing
one another in times of stress and suffering. These daily experiences can
be quite profound. At times, religious groups band together to address
the social needs of their communities and nations, helping the poor and
needy, establishing justice where it is lacking, and restoring public virtue.

Experts need to dialogue to share and test their knowledge, and through
sincere comparative work to open their insights to all with a freshness of
understanding that stretches the horizons of knowledge. Such comparative
work, reading Hindu and Christian texts together, has been the mainstay of
the Vaishnava-Christian dialogue convened annually in Potomac, Maryland.
To keep interreligious dialogues from being occasions of detached intellectual
insight, this dialogue has also made space for a spiritual dimension to the
meetings. Prayer and worship are also occasions for interreligious encounter,
the dialogue of religious experience, giving rise to a spiritual companionship
that is one of the wonderful benefits of interreligious dialogue.
Why This Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue?

In November 1986, the Catholic bishops of the United States approved funding
for a professional staff position promoting interreligious dialogue with
adequate funding for office support, programming and travel. The following
year, I took up that position at the National Conference of Catholic Bishops in
Washington, DC. The Catholic bishops of the United States, even before the end
of the final session of Vatican II in 1965, had made provision for staff positions
and adequate funding for ecumenical dialogue with other Christians and
relations and dialogue with Jews. The wide diversity of Christian communities
and the size of the Jewish population provided excellent, if not unmatched,
opportunities for ecumenical and Christian-Jewish dialogue. The U. S. record
is commendable in moving these dialogues towards their goals. It took another
twenty years before a case could be made for Catholic bishops to devote as
much time, money, and energy to interreligious dialogue. Given the world
situation and especially issues related to the Middle East, which had become
even more complex since the time of the composition of Nostra Aetate, priority
in interreligious relations beyond Jewish relations was to be given to forming
relationships with the growing Muslim population of the United States.
While my training and focus of doctoral studies kept me vigilant for
opportunities in Hindu-Christian relations, I accomplished little in the first
ten years than to offer occasional advice and lend my presence and support to
local initiatives where a particular diocese was involved in a project with the
Hindu community. The 1993 commemoration of the parliament of religions in
Chicago was one such occasion. I continued to attend the American Academy
of Religion, as I had when I was still an academic, and participated in sessions
leading towards the eventual establishment of the Society for Hindu-Christian
Studies. Networking with Hindu and Christian scholars with an interest in

dialogue and comparative studies was one important aspect of my work on the
staff of the Secretariat for Ecumenical and Interreligious Affairs at the National
Conference of Catholic Bishops. In addition, I attended meetings and special
sessions planned by the Executive Council of the U.S. chapter of the World
Conference on Religion and Peace, which included the participation of Hindu
leaders. Building trust and rapport between religious leaders is one important
reason for Hindu-Christian dialogue and all ecumenical and interreligious
relations.
An opportunity arose in April 1997 for some in-depth reflection between
Catholics and Hindus on dialogue. Professor Ewert Cousins, a specialist in
Bonaventure and Franciscan Studies and a former professor of mine at
Fordham, was then a visiting scholar at the University of St. Mary of the Lake/
Mundelein Seminary. Over the years, Professor Cousins and Professor K. R.
Sundararajan, St. Bonaventure University, had engaged in a “Franciscan-bhakti”
dialogue, sharing their theological and spiritual resources around various
themes favoring devotion to God. A public event was schedule for April 7 at
Mundelein featuring this dialogue, and I invited a few individuals, Hindu and
Catholic scholars, to meet in Mundelein for reflection on fostering Hindu-
Catholic dialogue in the United States. Cousins and Sundrarajan reported on
the success of their efforts to relate the Vaishnava and Franciscan traditions.
Others at the consultation were Anand Mohan (Queens College), Francis X.
Clooney, S.J. (Boston College), Anant Rambachan (St. Olaf College), Gerald
Carney (Hampden-Sidney), Albert Nambiaparambil, C.M.I., who for many
years staffed interreligious relations for the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of
India and had been spending a year of ministry in Louisiana, and myself. It
was refreshing to come together and talk specifically about how Hindus and
Catholics relate to one another on a variety of topics and could do so more
often in the United States. The group concluded that associations of Hindus in
the United States lacked the resources and institutional goals of the bishops’
conference for joint partnership for an ongoing dialogue on a national level;
however, the individuals present and their networking potential could serve
to assist dialogues on a local level. Modest efforts in Los Angeles and Chicago
involving the archdiocesan offices for dialogue in those cities and Hindu leaders
were already in progress. There was hope that in Minneapolis a similar effort
might occur. The April 7-8, 1997, was the most explicit project to date in Hindu-
Catholic dialogue that I was able to pull off. Still, the focus for future work was
in promoting local initiatives.
All credit goes to Anuttama Dasa for the next step. He presented a paper at a
meeting of the Society for Hindu-Christian Studies. Francis Clooney suggested
that we talk because Anuttama, in his capacity as a communications officer for
ISKCON, had already brought a few together for a Hindu-Christian dialogue.
We chatted, and by the next spring, April 17, 1998, to be exact, Anuttama had
invited several of us to a dialogue on the everlasting soul in Hinduism and
Christianity. The annual Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue was born and had
attracted sufficient numbers to keep it alive and well for a good many years to
come. If I did a little initially, it was to host a planning meeting the following
September 18 to make the dialogue a joint effort and one that would have a
compelling reason for continuing. The major activity of the group is sharing
spiritual resources by pairing texts or groups of texts that fit well enough
together to evoke creative insights by the participants.
For example, we chose for the next meeting a theme, “Spirit in the World/
Renunciation and Affirmation,” and we chose two texts—the Bhagavad Gītā and
the Gospel of John. We asked two experts on these texts to present them, but
we asked a Vaishnava and a Christian to respond to each of the presentations.
In subsequent years, we would at times choose two or two sets of readings but
ask for a Vaishnava and a Christian paper on each. The dialogue continued open
ended through an afternoon, evening, and into the next day.
People are drawn to interreligious dialogue and Hindu-Christian dialogues
for a variety of reasons. Those in this dialogue feel enriched by the experience.
Most have sufficient background and interest in the study of both traditions
to attend to expand their knowledge. Others attend because the spiritual
companionship gives them encouragement, joy, strength and any number
of advantages. For some, friendship and rapport across religious lines will be
helpful when future projects and needs require cooperation and assistance.
Let me conclude with the wisdom of Sara Grant, a Catholic nun and Scots-
woman, who began living in India in 1956, and from 1977 was the co-ācārya of
the Christa Prema Seva Ashram in Pune. A series of three lectures in England in
1989 have been collected in the volume entitled Toward an Alternative Theology,
Confessions of a Non-Dualist Christian. She concludes her third and final lecture
making reference to the ways of knowledge, devotion, and action and then says
something of great significance about interreligious dialogue contextualized in
her Hindu-Christian life:
I said at the beginning of my first lecture that there is in every human being
something of the jñāni, the bhakta, and the karma yogi, though in varying
degrees. Each temperamental type or “way” has its own contribution to
make to the Church and society at large. We all need each other, and in
theological gatherings no less than in the rest of life the centripetal movement
of convergence has to prevail over the tendency to diversification and self-
assertion, les we destroy the very richness of our diversity.23
Endnotes
1. The Declaration on the Relation of the Church to Non-Christian Religions (Nostra Aetate)
2, Second Vatican Council, October 27, 1965. This translation of the original Latin
text is by Thomas F. Stransky, C.S.P., recently rendered for a larger project on the
genesis and development of this declaration at the Second Vatican Council (1962-65).
Fr. Stransky worked on this text nearly 50 years ago, when he served as one of the
original members of the staff of the Vatican Secretariat for the Promotion of Christian
Unity, established by Pope John XXIII in 1960 to serve as a preparatory commission for
the upcoming council. Fr. Stransky devoted much of his time and effort to producing
this text, and I am privileged to be working with him in recent years on the task of
writing a thorough analysis of its genesis and development.
2. John W. O’Malley, What Happened at Vatican II (Cambridge: Harvard University
Press, 2008), 300. This is the best single volume history of Vatican II. See pp. 36-43,
298-303 for fuller analysis of Vatican II and change.
3. See Preaching Wisdom to the Wise: Three Treatises by Roberto de Nobili, missionary
and scholar in 17th century India (St. Louis: Institute of Jesuit Sources, 2000).
4. See James Stuart, Swāmī Abhishiktānanda: his life told through his letters (Delhi:
ISPCK, 1989).
5. See Richard Hughes Seager, The World’s Parliament of Religions : the East/West
encounter, Chicago, 1893 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1995, 2nd ed., 2009).
6. See R. Panikkar, The Unknown Christ of Hinduism (London: Darton, Longman &
Todd, 1964). This initial writing of Panikkar was sufficiently revolutionary for its time;
however, his final book, The Rhythm of Being (Maryknoll: Orbis, 2010) is a masterpiece of
reflection on essential questions by someone who is doubly resourced by internalizing
the interface between his Christian faith and the traditions of Asia, principally India.
7. See Ravi M. Gupta, “‘He is our master’: Jesus in the Thought of Swami Prabhupāda,”
Journal of Hindu-Christian Studies, 23 (2010), 15-19.
8. The Theology of Vijñānabhikshu: A Translation of his Commentary on Brahma Sūtra 1.1.2
and an Exposition of his Difference-in-Identity Theology, Fordham University, 1976. I did not
have my thesis published, but I did publish several articles using the comparative mode
of interpretation: “Vijñanabhiksu: Indian Thought and The Great Chain of Being,” in
Jacob’s Ladder and the Tree of Life: Concepts of Hierarchy and the Great Chain of Being, 371-84,
edited by Marion and Paul Kuntz (New York: Peter Lang, 1987); “Coincidence and the
Harmony of Religions in the Thought of Nicholas of Cusa and Vijñanabhiksu,” Bulletin,
Secretariat for Non-Christians, 61 (1986): 36-46; “Matter and Exemplar: Difference-in-
Identity in Vijñanabhiksu and Bonaventure,” in Neoplatonism and Indian Thought, 137-59,
edited by R. Baine Harris, Studies in Neoplatonism: Ancient and Modern, vol. 2 (Albany,
New York: SUNY Press, 1982); and “Vijñanabhiksu and the Re-assertion of Difference-in-
Identity Vedanta,” Philosophy East and West 28, 4 (October 1978): 425-37.
9. Thomas F. Stransky, C.S.P., “The Declaration on Non-Christian Religions,” in Vatican
II An Interfaith Appraisal, edited by John H. Miller (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame
Press, 1966), 335-348; “The Genesis of Nostra Aetate: An Insider’s Story,” in Nostra Aetate:
Origins, Promulgation, Impact on Jewish-Catholic Relations, Proceedings of the International
Conference, Jerusalem, 30 October–1 November 2005, edited by Neville Lamdan and Alberto
Melloni (Münster: Lit Verlag, 2007), 29-53; and John M. Oesterreicher,“Declaration on the
Relationship of the Church to Non-Christian Religions,” in Commentary on the Documents
of Vatican II, volume 3, edited by Herbert Vorgrimler with comments on Hinduism by C.
Papali, on Buddhism by H. Dumoulin, and on Islam by G. Anawati (New York: Herder and
Herder, 1969), 1-136.
10. Joseph A. Komonchak, “Is Christ Divided? Dealing with Diversity and Dis-
agreement,” 2003 Common Ground Initiative Lecture, published in Origins, CNS doc-
umentary service, 33, 9 (July 17, 2003):141.
11. Thomas F. Stransky, C.S.P., “The Genesis of Nostra Aetate,” America (October 24,
2005), 8-12. The other sources cited previously cover this story of Isaac’s visit to Rome
as well as the now standard five volume A History of Vatican II, edited by Giuseppe
Alberigo and in English by Joseph A. Komonchak. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1995-
2006. Regarding Isaac’s own writing, among his several books is the following: Genèse de
l’antisémitisme. Essai historique. Paris: Calmann-Lévy, 1956; 2nd ed. 1985; Paris: Éditions,
10/18 (May 31, 1998) ; in English as The Teaching of Contempt: Christian Roots of Anti-
Semitism. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1964.
12. John Borelli, “The Origins and Early Development of Interreligious Relations
during the Century of the Church (1910-2010),” U. S. Catholic Historian, 28, 2 (Spring 2010)
94.
13. Joseph Neuner entered the Jesuits in 1926, wrote a thesis on “The Doctrine
of Sacrifice in the Bhagavad Gītā,” and since 1938 had been teaching in Pune. During
Vatican II, he planned a conference on “Christian Revelation and non-Christian
Religions,” which took place in Bombay prior to the papal visit of Paul VI to India in
December 1964. This was a historically important conference involving Hans Küng,
Piet Fransen, Joseph Masson, and Raimon Panikkar. The proceedings were edited by
Neuner as Christian Revelation and World Religions, first as a special number of Indian
Ecclesiastical Studies, IV, 3-4 (1965) and then by Burns & Oates, 1967.
14. A radio broadcast to the bishops and faithful of India, December 31, 1952, Acta
Apostolicae Sedis, 45 (January 16, 1953), 96-99.
15. Joseph A. Komonchak, “Vatican II as an Event,” in Vatican II, Did Anything
Happen?, edited by David G. Schultenover (New York: Continuum, 2007), 24-51.
16. This is particularly evident in his closing addresses in the final weeks of the
fall session 1965.
17. Ralph M. Wiltgen, SVD, The Rhine Flows into the Tiber (New York: Hawthorne,
1967), 73-78.
18. There exists a collection of statements by Vatican II, popes, and offices in the
Roman Curia under the title, Interreligious Dialogue, The Official Teaching of the Catholic
Church from the Second Vatican Council to John Paul II (1963-2005), edited by Francesco Gioia
(Boston: Pauline Books and Media, 2006). This passage can be found on p. 161. All these
texts can be found on-line, tracking the sources on the Vatican website, http://www.
vatican.va/phome_en.htm, whether stated by popes, the council, Vatican offices or
related entities, like the Synod of Bishops or the International Theological Commission. I
see no need to document every single statement from this point on.
19. Anne M. P. Twomey, “The Eucharist at Bombay,” The Tablet (December 12, 1964)
1397-8.
20. See for example, FABC Papers No 76, Working for Harmony in the Contemporary
World, A Hindu-Christian Dialogue, October 23-29, 1995. This dialogue produced a
statement
21. An amazingly rich example of the fruits of dialogue in India is the 814 page
publication Shabda, Shakti, Sangam, edited by Vandana Mataji (Bangalore: St. Paul’s
Press, 1995), replete with contributions of Hindus and Christians on how sacred word,
divine power, and religious communion give inspiration.
22. Ecclesiam Suam (August 6, 1964), issued half-way through Vatican II, the text uses
the term “dialogue” over 70 times, defines it, and places it within the mission of the
church.
23. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2002), 95.
Thoughts on the History and Development
of the Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue
Anuttama Dasa
My Preamble to Dialogue
W hile in Denver Colorado, my home from 1975 to 1993, I had my first

experience with formal dialogue when, as a local Hare Krishna1
member, I attended the inaugural meetings of an interfaith group
concerned about the environment. While the goals were important, protocol
was a tripping point, and after three meetings when participants were still
apologizing for using terms like “church” in a “mixed group of faiths,” I lost
hope that anything significant could ever arise from a group so stuck on labels.
In 1993, I moved with my family from Denver, Colorado, to Washington,
D.C., to continue my new role as ISKCON’s North American Director of Com-
munications in the nation’s capital. I became involved in multiple projects
involving dialogue, as a participant, and later Board Member, of the Washington
Metropolitan Region of the National Conference of Christians and Jews (later
the National Conference for Community and Justice), known as the NCCJ.
At those dialogues, I learned how to understand the world from another
person’s perspective and how to relate better with my fellow human beings
despite differences in gender, race, age, religion, sexual orientation, and other
“diversities.”
What I couldn’t experience during those exchanges was a sense of how
the Divine was working in their lives. That topic, though occasionally given
cursory treatment, was not front and center. What mattered most to that
group, despite its original religious orientation, was to root out discrimination
based on bodily distinctions. While that is certainly an important and noble
cause, I couldn’t overcome my Vaishnava bias. The stinging message of the
Bhagavad-gita about ultimate priorities reverberated in my mind: “Neither
you, nor they, are these earthly bodies.”
For me, at least, I intuited that the human connectedness we seek, often
in dialogue, needs to transcend even the most pressing issues of our material
limitations and begin to address our spiritual identities and possibilities.
35
That urge for a spiritual epicenter in my life had led me years before to
walk away from the values of my secular, Midwestern upbringing and commit
myself to the path and practice of Vaishnavism, or Krishna Consciousness.
After months of travel and experimentation, I chose the life of a brahmacari,
or celibate student. I learned to chant the “Great Mantra for Deliverance” as a
daily meditation and to study in depth the Bhagavad-gita and other texts that
revealed the “Supreme Personality of Godhead.” That same urge continued as I
later looked to dialogue as a means to build broader community in Denver and
then in D.C. I sought not just to hear from others about their journey and their
experience of the Divine, but also to understand.
My view was motivated in part by a prayer by Srila Bhaktivinode Thakur,
a 19th-century Vaishnava author and teacher. The Thakur wrote that upon
encountering the expression of another faith, as when visiting a temple, mosque
or church of another tradition, one should think in this way:
Here is being worshipped my adorable highest entity (God in a different
form than that of mine). Due to my practice of a different kind, I cannot
thoroughly comprehend this system of theirs, but seeing it, I am feeling a
greater attachment for my own system. I bow down with prostration before
His emblem as I see here and I offer my prayer to my Lord who had adopted
this different emblem that he may increase my love towards Him . . .2
That vision of God’s versatility, His3 unlimitedness, and His existence beyond
my cultural prejudices and small ability to comprehend Him made sense to me.
To be able to say, “Hey, He is working over here, too,” seemed like a window to
heaven. He is bigger than me; bigger than you; bigger than us. That just made
sense to me.
Interfaith Beginnings
When my ISKCON Communications colleague in Europe, Shaunaka Rishi Das,
organized an interfaith dialogue between Christians and Vaishnavas in Wales,
I was inspired to do the same in the United States.4 Thus, the first Vaishnava-
Christian Dialogue in North America was held in East Freeport, Massachusetts
outside of Boston, in September 1996.
In attendance were such notables as Francis X. Clooney, Larry Shinn, Gordon
Melton, Leonard Swidler, and Kenneth Cracknell, Klaus K.. Klostermaier and,
from the Vaishnava side, Tamal Krishna Goswami, Ravindra Svarupa das (Dr.
William Deadwyler), Shaunaka Rishi, and others.
I selected the topic: “The Destiny of the Soul” (The Kingdom of God). We
Thoughts on the Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue 37
spent two days and two evenings in discussion. I confess that I chose this topic
because the Vaishnavas had so much to say about it. I thought it would give us
a chance to show how much we had to share; dissipate false conceptions that
we were “new kids” on the theological block; and make a strong showing as
dialogical partners. Krishna’s “pastimes” with His friends in Vrindavan, the
beautiful descriptions of God’s lila, or play, as revealed in the Srimad-Bhagavatam
and other Vaishnava scriptures would surely be appreciated by the august
crowd—some of whom knew little of Vaishnava revelation.
During a round of sharing organized by Father Clooney, we all spoke what
was most meaningful to us about the topic. I was moved (and prematurely
proud) that my Vaishnava colleagues were so profound in their descriptions.
We clearly had an advantage in this one; we were doing well.
Then Dr. Larry Shinn spoke, a Methodist Minister, friend and scholar who
had written much about the Hare Krishna movement, especially during our
earliest years. Larry spoke simply. He said his scripture, the Bible, didn’t say all
that much about the details of God’s Kingdom. But, he added, that was fine for
him. He was confident it was a wonderful place. What he said mattered most to
him was that he, as a Christian, led a life consistent with the principles of God’s
Kingdom, and that his community reflected that truth to the world.
As Larry spoke, I felt my foolishness revealed, at least to me. While I could
recite, almost like a parrot, descriptions of God’s “home” from my tradition—I
questioned whether my life, my heart, and perhaps my community were a
reflection of that truth.
I had, in a sense, been made naked. The experience allowed me to realize
that dialogue was not for basking in my own light, but to reveal my darkness.
I sensed that I needed these people around the table to tell me how God
reveals Himself to them. If I want to genuinely understand something of God,
I must be open to how He chooses to reveal Himself to the world, and not just
how I choose to prop Him up as my shield and selfish emblem.
The Washington, D.C. Dialogues

Boston was an attractive place to meet, but it was off the beaten path for many.
Since my residence was now in Washington, the capital city, it was natural—if we
wanted the dialogue to continue, and the initial response had been favorable—
to bring it closer to home. Thus, the first Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue in
Washington, D.C. (held in nearby Potomac, Maryland) took place in April of 1998.
Under the advice of Reverend Kenneth Cracknell, I contacted Dr. John
Borrelli, of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB) for his
help and guidance. Together we strategized topics and participants. Some from
the Boston meeting continued with us; others based in the greater Washington
region now joined us.5
We met in April at beautiful retreat center, Rockwood Manor, amid flowering
cherry trees and nearby a national park and the Potomac River. About twenty
of us gathered, one-half Christian and one-half Vaishnava. Although that first
year we met for just one day, from 10 AM to 4 PM, the next year we expanded to
a two-day format. We decided collectively that we needed more time to digest
each other’s presence.
The second year was to set our standard. The schedule began after lunch on
Friday, at 1 PM, and continued through the evening hours. Many of us, but not
all, slept at the Manor overnight. Due to the design of the Manor’s guesthouses,
a few of us were in private rooms but most shared with a roommate or two, or
three. Saturday, our second day, we were together from 8:30 AM until 4:30 PM.
Thus, we squeezed two days of being together into a mere 27-hour period. The
same location and schedule have served us well since that second year.6
The dialogue has also followed a consistent format. We gather in an open,
carpeted room with a high, beamed ceiling and around a large table that bulges
with our twenty or so members. We begin with an hour of introductions and
personal updates on the highlights of the previous year. While in the early
years the emphasis was on introductions, as time went by the first session has
become more like a high school reunion where we catch up on major events,
children and grandchildren born, conferences attended, books published, and
other milestones we wish to share with old and dear friends.
After our introductory time, we listen to our first presentation, or paper,
on that year’s theme.7 For instance, one year we heard a presentation on
theodicy from the Christian perspective, then a presentation on theodicy from
the Vaishnava perspective. Some years we hear both papers first and then
open for discussion, while some years we discuss each paper separately. The
presentations serve the same function either way—to provide food for thought,
and to help us begin to digest our theme.
Most years, but not all, the presenters provide readings from their traditions to
be reviewed before the dialogue. Those average thirty pages per side, so homework
is required. The themes are chosen one year in advance by the group and are always
theological, or philosophically based. While other dialogue groups may focus on
shared projects, or shared social issues, ours does not. As I view it, we seek to learn
about the deepest issues concerning God, His creation, and our relationship to
Him—from our friends around the table and from each other’s traditions.
I come to this dialogue in the mood of a pilgrim: “I know a little something

about God from my Vaishnava tradition, and perhaps I can share some of that
with you. Would you kindly help me to understand some of what you know
about God from your Christian tradition(s)?”
In this way, the first day is spent in back and forth conversation about our
theme, and the two presentations. Often questions are directed towards the
speakers; at other times the conversation is freewheeling. There are simple
rules: Respect each other, and listen with an ear to learn—as well as to teach.
Most years, John Borelli of the USCCB, and/or I would moderate, although the
main challenges were simply (a) be sure to inject an occasional break into the
lively conversation, and (b) ensure the most enthusiastic participants give way
so that all might contribute.
After a sumptuous eight-course vegetarian dinner around 7 PM, the evening
is less structured. We either continue with casual individual conversations
or, some years, we share an hour of so of devotional music and meditation—
listening to Vespers by one of our Methodist members, or a kirtan performed by
a Vaishnava, or a few shared choruses of “Amazing Grace” and other favorites.
One or two of the years classical Bharata Natyam dancers entertained us; one
year Sam Wagner, a Lutheran, played his sitar for us.8
Saturday morning, after many of us rise early to chant our mantras, say
our prayers, walk in the woods, or perhaps dash over to the nearby Starbucks,
we come together again for a specially prepared east-meets-west vegetarian
breakfast (with everything from home made blueberry muffins, to upma with
tomato chutney, and scrambled curd with strawberry jam).
Following breakfast, we observe, or—per our individual preference—par-
take in two prayer services. One of our Christian members, who previously
volunteered, leads us in a half-hour Christian prayer service. After that, or
preceding that in alternative years, a Vaishnava leads us in a half-hour prayer
service from the bhakti tradition.
The two prayer services generally consist of a scriptural reading, singing
of hymns/bhajans, a brief talk or commentary, and often a question and
answer period about what we just observed. While the Vaishnava prayer has
consistently been from the Chaitanya school, for a variety of reasons, the
Christian prayer service has been sometimes Roman Catholic, sometimes
Methodist, Presbyterian, Anglican, and Lutheran. (In this way, the Vaishnavas
have been particularly enriched.)
After that, with a break around noon for lunch, we continue through the
balance of the day with more round table discussion on Friday’s theme, or any
topic that arose from the prayer services. The topics always provide more than
sufficient material for two days of dialogue.
At 3:30 PM we put aside our theme to decide collectively what topic we will
examine the next year, what the readings will be, and who will be presenters.
If time allows, we chose who would lead next year’s prayer services, too.9 The
Dialogue ends at 4:30 with a group photo, hugs, and farewells.10
Why Vaishnavas Should Be in Dialogue

I would now like to briefly examine what I understand are the Vaishnava the-
ological underpinnings for engaging in events like this, and why I feel it is
imperative for Vaishnavas to be active in such exchanges.
Bhagavad-gita is a preeminent scriptural text for Vaishnavas. In the Gita, Lord
Krishna, the “Supreme Personality of Godhead” explains:
Although I am unborn and My transcendental body never deteriorates,
and although I am the Lord of all sentient beings, I still appear in every
millennium in My original transcendental form. Whenever and wherever
there is a decline in religious practice or descendent of Bharata, and a
predominant rise of irreligion—at that time I descend myself.”11
A. C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, Founder-Acarya of ISKCON, explains

in his commentary on this verse:
It is not a fact that the Lord appears only on Indian soil. He can advent
Himself anywhere and everywhere, and whenever He desires to appear.
In each and every incarnation, He speaks as much about religion as can be
understood by the particular people under their particular circumstances. But
the mission is the same—to lead people to God consciousness and obedience
to the principles of religion. Sometimes He descends personally, sometimes
He sends His bona fide representative in the form of His son, or servant, or
Himself in some disguised form. . . . In all incarnations of the Lord, therefore,
the same principles are taught, but they appear to be higher or lower in varied
circumstances. . . . The whole purpose of the mission of incarnations is to
arouse Krsna [God] consciousness everywhere.”
Vaishnavas believe that God comes into this world repeatedly. So doing, He
establishes religious principles to help humankind awaken love for Him, and
become qualified to enter Vaikuntha, or the Kingdom of God.
In His analysis of spiritually advanced souls, Krishna later states in the
Bhagavad-gita, that:
The thoughts of my pure devotees dwell in Me, their lives are surrendered
unto Me, and they derive great satisfaction and bliss enlightening one another
and conversing about Me.12
These two verses, I believe, shed light on why Vaishnavas are (or should be)
open to dialogue. The Gita’s version is that (a) God comes repeatedly to this
world with varying but single-pointed messages, and (b) He encourages His
devotees to “enlighten one another and converse about Him.” Thus, it seems
reasonable to include in such discussions the practitioners of other great
religious traditions, i.e., devotees of God who worship a different “incarnation,”
or representative of the Lord (such as Jesus, Moses, or Mohammed).
One may argue that Vaishnavas should only dialogue with other Vaishnavas,
or perhaps other Vaishnava sampradayas, or traditions. I disagree. I believe
that we should dialogue with other Vaishnavas. But, there is no need to limit
ourselves to conversing only with those within our own broader tradition.
As a simple example: If I love my spouse, I want to learn all that I can about
her from her parents and other family members. I’m enthusiastic to understand
the details of her childhood, her personal quirks, prior interests, etc., that her
relatives can share with me. That is natural because I love her. However, my
interest for my spouse will naturally endear me to anyone who can help me
understand and know her better. That may include neighbors, and perhaps
even a few people unknown to the family, who have some intimate connection
with her. In the same way, if we love or are deeply curious about God, we
may be inspired to know as much about Him as possible from any, and every,
genuine source.
It also may be argued that one who has understood something of how vast
God is, will be open to whatever sources of revelation and information may
exist about Him. None of us can claim to know all there is to know about God.
He is, after all, “unlimited.” It follows that not everything there is to know
about the unlimited must, or can, be contained within “my” holy book(s), “my”
rituals, or “my” teachings—exclusive of any other book, ritual or teaching.
In the Bhagavad-gita, Lord Krishna supports this analysis from at least two
angles of vision. First, in the Tenth Chapter, He explains that all the wonders
of this entire universe spring from “but a spark of My splendor.”13 God is great
and so vast, sources of knowledge about Him must therefore be vast. And, I
argue, it is to our advantage to be open minded about what all those sources
are, and where they are to be found.
Second, Krishna teaches that to approach Him, one must be a humble soul,
and not proud.
Humility, pridelessness, non-violence, tolerance . . . accepting the importance

of self-realization and philosophical search for the Absolute Truth—all these I
declare to be knowledge, and what is contrary to these is ignorance.14
Humility and pridelessness are of central importance to self-realization and

the search for the Absolute Truth. In fact, per Bhagavad-gita, they are knowledge.
A falsely, or overly, proud man, who is “full of himself” finds little room for
growth due to his lack of humility and openness. Conversely, a humble person,
Krishna hints, should be open to learning from others.
Sri Chaitanya Mahaprabhu, a 16th-century Bengali (Indian) saint and founder
of the Chaitanya-Vaishnava lineage, spoke often about humility. Although
Chaitanya’s followers headed by Sanatana Goswami, Rupa Goswami, and Jiva
Goswami, wrote many books in explanation of Chaitanya’s thought, only eight
stanzas are directly attributed to him—his Shisashtakam prayers, in which
humility is a central theme:
“One should chant the holy name of the Lord in an humble state of mind.
One should be more tolerant than a tree, devoid of all sense of false prestige,
and ready to offer all respects to others. In such a state of mind, one can
chant the holy name of the Lord constantly.”15
Chaitanya also taught that God has “hundreds and millions” of names,
directly it seems, opening the door for interfaith appreciation, and giving value
to dialogue—at the very least discussion on the sanctity of God’s many names.
Why ISKCON Should Be in Dialogue

The International Society for Krishna Consciousness (ISKCON) comes in the line
of both Sri Chaitanya Mahaprabhu and Sri Krishna, and thus finds inspiration
in their statements about multiple incarnations, multiple sources of religious
instruction, multiple names of God, and the need for enlightening discussions
between the devout. These are foundational principles for ISKCON. They open
the door for dialogue, and provide optimism about its outcome.
To clarify ISKCON’s official vision and role in regard to dialogue, a docu-
ment “ISKCON in Relation to People of Faith in God” (1999) was drafted and
later authorized by ISKCON’s Governing Body Commission (GBC) Executive
Committee.16 That statement includes a brief summary of ISKCON’s essential
theology, its view of the “other” and the benefits of dialogue with others:
In ISKCON we consider love of a Supreme personal God to be the highest
form of religious expression, and we recognize and respect this expression in
other theistic traditions. We respect the spiritual worth of paths of genuine
self-realization and search for the Absolute Truth in which the concept
of a personal Deity is not explicit. Other communities and organizations
advocating humanitarian, ethical, and moral standards are also valued as
being beneficial to society.
ISKCON views dialogue between its members and people of other faiths as an
opportunity to listen to others, to develop mutual understanding and mutual
trust, and to share our commitment and faith with others, while respecting
their commitment to their own faith.
ISKCON recognizes that no one religion holds a monopoly on the truth, the
revelation of God or our relationship with God.
ISKCON’s members are encouraged to be respectful to people of faith from

other traditions and to see the need for people of different faiths to work
together for the benefit of society as a whole and for the glorification of God.
ISKCON affirms the responsibility of each individual to develop his or her

relationship with the Supreme Lord.
Further, this clarifies the benefits of spiritually minded people engaging one
another in dialogue:
Through dialogue, theistic people and those engaged in the pursuit of the
Absolute Truth can encourage one another to be more true to their own
practice. Many traditions prescribe the disciplines of self-control, sacrifice,
austerity and charity for developing spiritual enlightenment but we all need
encouragement and inspiration in our endeavors. To fulfill the requests of
our spiritual teachers and to provide good examples to society, we need to
encourage one another to be faithful to the principles of our own traditions.
Dialogue offers a challenge to the faith to devotees of every tradition.

This challenge is a necessary and welcome part of spiritual life in a multi-
faith world. Such dialogue can help strengthen the faith and character of
individuals, the integrity and vision of institutions and the support and
appreciation of those who expect enlightened spiritual leadership . . .
In this statement we find that ISKCON is “bullish” about dialogue. ISKCON

believes that dialogue can challenge us to grow, strengthen our character,
and encourage us to be more true to our own faith while building appreciation
for others and their tradition(s). At the same time, there is much more to be
done, within ISKCON and beyond, to bring this statement to full life.
Institutional Benefits of Dialogue to ISKCON, and Beyond

ISKCON is a continuation of the five hundred year-old Chaitanya Vaishnava
tradition and the more than two-millennium old Krishna devotional tradition.
At the same time, ISKCON, the institution, is new—not quite yet 50 years old.
ISKCON was not founded until 1966, when Srila Prabhupada registered the first
temple of the International Society for Krishna Consciousness at a lower eastside
storefront location in New York City.17
As a new old tradition, and one that continues to bring new members into its
fold across the globe, ISKCON has not always shown the most mature face to the
public, or to its religious contemporaries. Nor have we always acted with the
wisdom of a society based on norms established and evolved over thousands of
years.18
Being open to dialogue on an institutional and individual level provides
needed opportunity for serious self-reflection and self-criticism. Dialogue—as a
genuine process of hearing and learning from others and being open to change
and growth through that process—can mediate and minimize the isolation and
extremism that impact today’s religious climate.19
It is the bane of religious communities to become complacent, and even
arrogant about their status in the world. Which of the world’s great traditions,
for example, especially in those places where it is the majority faith, has not
sometime in its history become proud, and then demeaning of other faith
traditions? Are not the seeds of Hindu, Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Jewish and
other forms of religious extremism sown through ignorance of other faiths, and
thinking ourselves to be not only dominant, but exclusively blessed?
I believe that ISKCON can play an important role in countering these ten-
dencies, and in promoting the shared progress and spiritual awakening of
modern society. Human beings are meant to comprehend the reality of higher
consciousness and the needs of the soul—beyond bodily necessities, modern
conveniences, and “sense gratification” (which my tradition declares so boldly
to be destructive to the essential human aspirations).
Chaitanya Vaishnava theology addresses some of the core epistemological
and sociological issues that confront modern people. For example, people are
realizing there is a limit to how much we humans can consume—the earth’s
resources are not unlimited—and we are being forced consider alternatives
sources, not for just energy, but for our unquenched thirst for happiness.
It is the duty of religious men and women to offer alternative perspectives
on the world’s complexities. We do so best when we exemplify respect and
cooperation with our fellow religious. While we may never agree on all aspects
of philosophy, ritual, culture, or absolute reality, those searching after God can
agree to respect, learn and benefit from each other’s wisdom, earnestness and
shared values.
As Srila Prabhupada wrote in the 1950s:
Hindus, Muslims, Christians, and the members of the other sects that have
convincing faith in the authority of God must not sit idly now and silently
watch the rapid growth of a Godless civilization. There is the supreme will
of God, and no nation or society can live in peace and prosperity without
acceptance of this vital truth.20
In my experience, dialogue between Vaishnavas and Christians, in particular,

opens the doors for deep and meaningful mutual understanding of the “per-
sonality” of the Godhead, His love for His children, the means of awakening love
for Him, and how to better share and care for the earth.
This may be true because our traditions have so much in common. We both
emphasize the concept of an eternal and loving God; we both believe that this
world is not our real home and that God, out of His compassion, comes into this
world to deliver us; and we both believe that the soul cannot be fully satisfied
until we offer ourselves to the Supreme.
Conversely, it may be that this dialogue is deep because of our differ-
ences: We vary in how we explain the source of evil in the world; we differ in
understanding universal origins and time; free will, while essential to us both,
differs in its application within our respective traditions.
Or, it may be that this dialogue is deep because our similarities and differ-
ences challenge us both to examine our deepest questions and doubts: Why
is there so much evil in the world? What of this earthly existence? Are we to
embrace it or renounce it, or both? Can I be a rationalist and a person of faith?
Can I overcome, or will God help me overcome, my repeated failings? Am I so
sure?
On a global scale also, I believe that dialogue between Vaishnavas and
Christians has an important role to play. We live in a world embroiled in tension,
much of it religiously inspired, or conspired. While our two traditions speak of
peace and love, they have also both seeded, sometimes condoned, and often
ignored sectarianism, needless violence and persecution.
Today, for instance, Christians are often scapegoated in India with deadly
results. They are unfortunate victims of anti-colonial fervor pent up over
centuries, as well as Hindu or Indian nationalism. While no doubt the British
imperial policy created havoc and caused immense suffering for millions, that
does not justify the modern persecution of innocent people because of their
faith, nor their desire to give witness to it.
Neither can we whitewash the history of cultural imperialism that sys-
tematically strove to overwhelm Indian culture and religious identity, and
replace it with European and Christian models. Those dark periods of our
collective history need to be acknowledged, understood, repented, and
transcended.
Today too, for instance, at the time of this writing, Vaishnavas in Russia face
a crisis. Spurred on by nationalist sentiment, xenophobia, and heightened fears
among a few in the Orthodox church, a court case is underway attempting to
label the “Bhagavad-Gita,” specifically the translation and commentary by A.C.
Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, as “extremist” or “terrorist” literature.
That such a witch trial can occur in post-Communist Russia is a wake-up call.
Thankfully, scholars and leaders from around the world, including within
Russia itself, are speaking out against this attack on a minority faith. The
implications are clear: If the Bhagavad-gita is terrorist, so too are its followers.
And the world, including Russia, deals harshly with terrorists.
Vaishnavas and Christians are at the center of many of the world’s stress
points and conflicts. We can, and must, continue to reach beyond the confines
of our own doctrines and cultural comfort zones. Our two communities share
a message of God’s universal love. In dialogue with each other we can learn to
better see how that love manifests in the hearts of those within our traditions,
and beyond. We thus teach by example to our respective sangas and fellowships
that are called to seek God’s blessings without trampling the rights, dignity, or
spiritual worth of others.
Bhaktivinode Thakur spoke of this when he wrote:
It is not proper to constantly propagate the controversial superiority of the
teachers of one’s own country over those of another country although one
may, nay one should, cherish such a belief in order to acquire steadiness
in a faith of your own. But no good can be affected to the world by such
quarrels.21
Srila Prabhupada shared his vision in broad terms during a public lecture
in 1969:
Everyone should follow the particular traditions or sampradaya, the
regulative principles, of your own religion. This is required as much as
there are many different political parties, although everyone is meant to

serve one country.22
Final Thoughts
My search for God began around 1971, in the midst of the counterculture,
when I signed up for a high-school religion class—because several of my friends
had enrolled—and when I discovered a taste for George Harrison’s hit song “My
Sweet Lord,” immersed as it was with intermittent choruses of Alleluia and
Hare Krishna, Hare Rama.
My curiosity was piqued, and after three years of searching and experiencing
church, Zen centers, meditation, attempts at political reform, and occasional
Hare Krishna temples, I left college, my family and friends to seek a higher
solution to life’s problems.
While I ended up as a Hare Krishna monk and a few years later president
of an ISKCON temple and then its Minister of Communications, I never lost
my appreciation for the spiritual value of the other “paths” I crossed. Years
of mission work on behalf of ISKCON only increased my conviction that the
serious practitioners of many faiths that I met daily were undergoing genuine
spiritual transformation.
Looking back on 15 years of the Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue, I am aware
that it has become an invaluable source of learning and inspiration for me—a
highlight of my life.
Through those experiences, I’m convinced that it is important for ISKCON
members, and especially our leaders, to be active in interfaith dialogues like
the Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue. We have much to gain, and to offer, by
increasing the number of dialogues that ISKCON convenes or contributes to
around the world. I hope the Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue (and its younger
sibling, the Vaishnava-Muslim Dialogue which began in 2010) will serve as a
model for additional dialogues around the world with other religious traditions.
Personally, I am a more faithful and compassionate person because of
dialoguing with my Christian friends. When my Roman Catholic and Protestant
partners describe Jesus’ love for humanity, and of his sacrifice for us, I am
moved to go deeper in my own devotion. When I read St. Bonaventure and St.
Ignatius, I am more convinced to overcome my own limitations and “weak-
nesses of the flesh.” After learning from my Christian colleagues about their
struggles and joys in dedicating their lives to the Divinity, I yearn to be more
attentive to my own spiritual practice.
In conclusion, I offer my gratitude to both my Vaishnava and Christian

friends in dialogue. By their warmth, scholarship, and faith I now better
understand the Bhagavad-gita’s claim that God’s devotees “dwell in Him, their
lives are surrendered unto Him” and most importantly, they derive “great
satisfaction and bliss enlightening one another and conversing about Him.”23
Endnotes
1. Hare Krishna is a popular way of referring to members of the International Society
for Krishna Consciousness (ISKCON). As will be explained, ISKCON is a continuation of
the Gaudiya Vaishnava, or Caitanya Vaishnava devotional and monotheistic tradition,
or sampradaya, within the broad Hindu culture and religious diversity. His Divine Grace
A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Srila Prabhupada, who established ISKCON in New York City
in 1966, brought the tradition to the west from India.
2. Sri Caitanya Siksamrita, Chapter 1.
3. While throughout this paper I will use the more traditional Christian and Vaish-
nava reference for God by referring to “Him” in the masculine, it is interesting to note
in the Vaishnava tradition, God is manifest in both masculine and feminine aspects, as in
Radha-Krishna, or Sita-Ram. The feminine is always listed first.
4. Shaunaka Rishi Das was ISKCON’s European Director of Communications and, in
that role, a pioneer in building interfaith relations for ISKCON. He was the principle
author of “ISKCON in Relation to People of Faith in God,” an official statement on the
topic which will be discussed in this article. Shaunaka organized the first Vaishnava-
Christian Dialogue in Europe in January 1996, in Wales, at which Dr. William Deadwyler
(Ravindra Svarupa das) and Dr. Kenneth Cracknell presented papers on the topic “The
Nature of the Self.” He also offered vision and support in planning the Boston Dialogue.
5. Special thanks are due to Dr. John Borelli, and the United States Conference
of Catholic Bishops (USCCB), for his and the Conference’s years of support for the
Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue. The USCCB was the official co-sponsor of the dialogue for
more than a decade, and while financial and other limitations have recently restricted
that co-sponsorship, one or more representatives of the USCCB have been active
participants to the Dialogue every year.
6. A Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue using the one-day format was also held in Detroit,
Michigan at ISKCON’s Bhaktivedanta Cultural Center on September 24, 1999. Father John
A. Saliba, S.J., and Ravindra Svarupa Dasa presented on the topic: “The Millennium and
Beyond” from a Christian and Vaishnava perspective, respectively. Other less formal
events have also been organized since in Boston and elsewhere.
7. The themes and presenters are available upon request.
8. In 2011, a few Christians and Vaishnavas took the night off to attend a performance
of The Wizard of Oz, performed by local school children including my seven-year old
granddaughter. It was entertaining, and enlightening enough to warrant an entry in
Professor Ed Shirley’s Facebook page.

9. In the early years the Christians had a clear advantage in the number of scholars at
the table. However, over time the number of young Vaishnava scholars in America has
increased significantly, and thus the Vaishnavas now too provide an articulate variety of
presenters.
10. It’s interesting to note that we’ve had close to seventy participants over 15 years
of dialogue, most of whom came two, three or more years. There is a core group of six or
seven from each side who consistently return year after year.
11. Bhagavad-gita As it Is Chapter 4, verse 7; translation and commentary by A.C.
Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada (Bhaktivedanta Book Trust)
12. Bhagavad-gita 10.9
13. Bhagavad-gita, 10.41
14. Bhagavad-gita, 13.8-12
15. Shishashtakam, verse 3
16. The full document, authored by Saunaka Rishi Dasa in consultation with many
other participants of the Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue, was published in the ISKCON
Communications Journal, Volume 7, Number 1, June 1999, and is available on line.
17. I was endeared to Dr. Gordon Melton, during the Boston Dialogue, when he
mentioned that he was a member of a new religious movement, because he is a United
Methodist Minister. Methodists trace their roots to the teachings of Jesus, two thousand
years ago, and the Hebrew Scriptures before that. More recently, they are followers
of John Wesley, 18th-Century preacher and church reformer. Most recently, they
became a new old religion when several branches of Methodism merged, reformed,
and re-registered in the United States as the United Methodist Church. The parallels
to my ISKCON affiliation were striking, and this insight became a memorable learning
experience.
18. A great tragedy of our fledging society was the child abuse scandal that rocked
our communities and led to a more than $10 million settlement in US Bankruptcy Court
in 2005. I have stated publicly (as have others) that if ISKCON was less socially isolated
in its formative years when most of the abuse occurred, circa 1975-1990, we would have
been aware of the potential for abuse that exists in religious communities, and perhaps
avoided some of the terrible pain our children and communities underwent.
19. I’ll mention briefly here another dialogue I enter each year, although within
a much different culture, and with different rules. As a leader of a new old religion, I
have attended the annual conference of the International Cultic Studies Association,
formerly the American Family Foundation, for about as long as I have participated in
the Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue. Sometimes I attend alone, and more often I bring
colleagues from ISKCON in the U.S. and Europe. We do not attend such meetings as
equal partners, but more as a “suspect organization.” However, over the years those
relationships have matured and changed. At many ICSA conferences ISKCON members
have served on panels discussing uncomfortable histories of ISKCON’s problems in the
hope of demonstrating our honesty in dealing with those issues, as well as our desire to
learn how to be a more healthy religious institution. (In recent years, I also sat on a panel
with a former priest who discussed similar issues in a Catholic order.) In those venues I/
we seek to understand how my community can grow, mature, and avoid the excesses so
common in religious communities and organizations. I have learned much, and I share
what I have taken away from those meetings with other ISKCON leaders.
20. Light of the Bhagavata, p. 20
21. Sri-Caitanya-Siksamritam, p. 7
22. As quoted in “ISKCON in Relation to People of Faith in God”
23. Bhagavad-gita 10.9
Vaishnava Bhakti Theology and Interfaith Dialogue
Graham M. Schweig
D ialogue holds a profoundly important place in the practices and

theological vision of the Chaitanya school of Vaishnavism. First,
dialogue is itself an essential part of the practice and worship in the life
absorbed in Krishna bhakti. Dialogue is also a literary matrix through which
even the greatest revelations of Krishna’s divine acts are most often disclosed.
Moreover, dialogue is the pedagogical medium through which the teachings
of bhakti are transmitted. And finally, dialogue becomes a constituent and
essential element within the most intimate exchanges between divine
personages within līlās contained in the divine realm.
Dialogue, I will claim, is clearly something that runs through every level
of bhakti, and it is of the very nature of bhakti itself. Here I will argue that
because of the onto-existential dimensions that emerge from a deeper the-
ological understanding of bhakti, dialogue between persons of other faiths
with persons of bhakti is not only plausible, or even most desirable—it is an
absolute imperative and necessity for the very practice of bhakti and a life
fully lived in bhakti. And finally, it is in bhakti that dialogue becomes the basis
of a genuine pluralism of faith.
Dialogue and Sacred Hindu Texts

When beginning to explore the relationship between Vaishnava theology
and interfaith dialogue, it is impossible to ignore the central place that
dialogue has in sacred Hindu texts. One of the most important, if not the
most important literary forms or modes of expression in Hindu scriptures
is that of dialogue, especially observable in the earlier principal Upanishads
and the Bhagavad Gītā. Dialogue is the dominant mode of expression in these
texts. As we often speak of the Socratic dialogues, we may also similarly
speak of the Upanishadic dialogues, since the Upanishads, especially the
early ones, are replete with didactic dialogues between teacher and student.
The famed Bhagavad Gītā is essentially a dialogue, a conversation, between
51
Krishna and Arjuna, coming from within the outer narrative layer of dialogue
between Dhritarāshtra and Sanjaya. It is not uncommon to find multilayered
dialogues within the frame narratives of Sanskrit epic and historical texts.
For example, Śuka’s dialogue with Parīkṣit, which occurs in the Bhāgavata
Purāṇa, is recounted within the dialogue between sages of the Naimiśa forest.
Moreover, the Bhāgavata text is filled with various dialogues. Especially notable
is Krishna’s dialogues with the Vraja Gopikās that is recounted within the
dialogue between the sage Śuka and the king Parīkṣit in the famed Rāsa Līlā
Pañcādhyāyī, the ultimate līlā of Krishna.1 In both the Bhagavad Gītā and the
Bhāgavata, dialogue is the locus of revelation.
For the Chaitanya school of Vaishnavism, the Caitanya Caritāmṛta, a text
very sacred to the school for its biography of Chaitanya and for the greatest
theological synthesis of the tradition’s earliest teachers, also contains many
dialogues. Of the many dialogues recounted in the text, perhaps the most
meaningful for this discussion here is that famous dialogue between Chaitanya
and his close friend Rāmānanda Rāy. This particular catechismal dialogue is
exemplary because Chaitanya repeatedly implores Rāmānanda to go deeper
and deeper in response to his questions.2 Chaitanya’s example of dialogue is one
of two persons sharing and discovering together new and greater depths of
realization and deeper interpersonal connecting.
Dialogue and Faith

When we speak of a dialogue that is specifically “interfaith,” such as “inter-
faith dialogue,” then it is important to appreciate that this is a special kind of
dialogue in which the words exchanged are not just any words, but words of
faith. Here it is important to affirm a simple, working understanding of what
is meant by the word faith. The word can, of course, refer to the particular
vision of the divine and relationship with the divine espoused and cultivated
by a particular religious tradition in which a community presumes to share
a common faith. In this context, the word faith refers to a specific shared
vision of ultimate reality and thus the word can be found in the plural, since
there are many such shared visions in the many traditionally defined faiths
of humans. And as a member of a religious community or tradition, one can
identify with a particular faith, and the faith of an individual is reinforced,
cultivated, and strengthened by its connection with a shared faith of other
individuals. But from an understanding of bhakti, this understanding of faith
is epiphenomenal in relation to the more basic, onto-existential level of what
faith originally is.
Vaishnava Bhakti Theology and Interfaith Dialogue 53
Faith is an irreducible and universal quality of human existence and of each

individual human being. First and most fundamentally, and indeed ultimately,
faith is a matter of what resides most deeply within any individual or single
person’s heart. Whether a person claims to be a member of “a” faith or religious
tradition or spiritual path, or whether a person claims to be a nonreligious
humanist or a proclaimed atheist, whatever the collective faith with which
one may identify, faith is first something more basic, and something that every
individual possesses. It is something inborn and intrinsic to human nature—
something that proceeds directly from the deepest recesses of the heart.
In Sanskrit, the word śraddhā is most commonly, and perhaps most
appropriately, translated by the English word “faith,” because in Sanskrit
the word etymologically breaks down as meaning “where one places (-dhā)
one’s heart (śrad-).” This definition speaks to the universal quality of faith as
something that cannot be claimed merely by religion. It is intrinsic to each
and every human being, it is what motivates all human living, and it is what
constitutes what is most important to humans everywhere. It is what is at the
very core of a human.
On the other hand, faith is intensely personal and individually formed and
shaped. It is what each of us most ardently desires and loves, what each of us
most passionately believes, and what each of us trusts as a totally embracing
vision of reality. While faith is a universal quality of human being, each per-
son’s faith is unique and individual because each person, according to bhakti
theology, is an eternally constituent infinitessimal part of supreme being. And
therefore even if a person is a member of a particular faith tradition, his or
her participation in a shared faith will still be uniquely shaped and formed.3
Ultimately, no one person’s faith is exactly like another’s, inside a shared
traditional vision or outside. Thus dialogue is as important within a tradition as
it is between traditions. Often practitioners become too comfortable with one
another due to false assumptions that the heavily binding doctrinal adherences
among practitioners automatically achieve an identical faith among members
of a tradition. This relaxed notion among members within a tradition ironically
often eclipses their dialogue.
Over the years of experience I have had in interfaith forums, I often get the
impression that there is an assumption in the minds of partners in interfaith
dialogue that they are to strive to discover similarities or commonalities, and
to get away from differences. I have also seen that the discoveries of what is
assumed to be similar or even identical ways of thinking or experiencing the
religious life somehow gets higher praise or appreciation than the differences.
Moreover, these apparent similarities often point us to deeper differences

and uniquenesses between traditions. Exploring and comparing similarities
and differences within dialogue is natural. However, I would argue that this
comparing is not ultimately the point of dialogue. Rather, it is the dialogue
itself that is the goal. It is the sharing that takes place within dialogue that is
the achievement, and this sharing should not be eclipsed by assumptions of
similitude when there is a mutual exploration of faith through dialogue.
Many Truths of the One Reality: Sat

There is a well-known, much celebrated Hindu adage. It is often engaged as a
Hindu way of understanding the diversity of religious traditions in the world.
This adage is often worded in the following way: “Truth is one. Paths are
many.”4 Another rendering of this adage goes like this: “Truth is one. Sages
call it by many names.” And there could easily be variations of either of these
renditions.
What is important to note here is the essential message most likely intended
by these types of renderings: There is something that unifies human beings in
their many ways (as in “paths are many”) of grasping the one ultimate reality
(as in “truth is one”). A more precise or strict translation of the original source
of these sayings, which is originally located in the Vedas, reveals this very
intention quite clearly:
ekaṁ sad viprā bahudhā vadanti
There is one (ekaṁ) Reality (sad)

about which vibrant persons (viprā)
in various ways (bahudhā) speak (vadanti).5
Clearly differences between the popular renditions of this passage and the
direct translation that I provide here are obvious. For example, no words such
as “names” or “paths” exist in the original Sanskrit of this passage. But the
intention, I believe, is to be expressing what the passage says most literally.
Thus from the earliest sacred writings of India one finds this wise vision that
has certainly been a powerful influence on traditions typically grouped under
the umbrella term, Hinduism. And included in that group would obviously be
the Chaitanya school of Vaishnavism.
This Vedic passage presents essential components for setting the stage for
dialogue and the revelational gifts that can come from it: (1) There is “one
reality” in which we all find ourselves, no matter what our faith orientation
may be. Everything exists together in this one totality of reality no matter what
religious truth we may hold as absolute, whatever we believe or claim as truth—
or that which is closest to our hearts. Whatever exists is contained within this
“one reality” which, in Sanskrit, is ekaṁ sat. (2) Persons who directly experience
a connection or a relationship with that one reality become viprā (literally
“shaking”) or “vibrant persons.” Such deeply inspired persons shake or vibrate
in their experience or relationship with the divine as the absolute truth. This
experience can consist of (a) that one reality revealing something of itself to
such persons, or (b) something of that one reality as being reached or attained
by such persons, or (c) a combination of the two. (3) Following from such an
experience, persons are moved to share what has so deeply moved them or
inspired them by “speaking” about that divine relationship with the one Reality
that constitutes their “absolute truth.”
Now, to whom shall these people speak their absolute truth? These inspired
persons share through dialogue their experience with either (a) persons who
also participate in something of their vision of that absolute truth, or (b)
persons who do not participate in their own vision but are nonetheless moved
by their relationship with the one Reality that constitutes a different vision, a
different “absolute truth.” (4) The fullness of the one reality is such that there
is no end to the experiences that such inspired persons can have of it, and thus
the “various ways” of speaking about their relationships with the one Reality
are endless.
Partners in dialogue will utilize whatever ways can best express this
ultimate relationship. Each way of expressing it is unique, whether it be
within a tradition or between traditions. And what is implied here is that
the more such inspired or vibrant persons share with one another their
experiences of the one Reality, the more that this very sharing itself through
dialogue becomes the special way of uniting human hearts. What will
invariably emerge between partners in such a dialogue is the special kind of
revelation of the one Reality that cannot be found anywhere else. The Rig
Vedic passage explored above thus reveals the unique form of revelation of
the one Reality that should be the very basis of dialogue and the very ground
on which a genuine religious pluralism is built, and further, it expresses an
interfaith ethos that forms a foundation on which the Chaitanya school’s
vision of dialogue and bhakti rests.
Reality and Relationality: Rasa

The word bahudhā in the famous Rig Vedic passage presented above, which I
have translated there as “in various ways,” should be more closely examined.
This word, which can mean, “in many ways,” “in many parts,” “in many forms,”
“manifoldly,” etc., is significant.6 Humans speak about the one reality in various
ways, in many forms, etc., because humans have different ways of relating
to the one Reality. Simply, and interpreted for our purposes here, each of us
has a specific and unique relationship with the one Reality. This relationship
is absolute because it is connected to the absolute reality. It is also absolute
because it is the ultimate way each of us relates to the absolute. A key verse
of the Bhagavad Gītā affirms the notion that there are is an endless variety of
relationships that can be reciprocated and accommodated by the divine Reality:
In the way they offer

themselves to me,
in just that way
I offer my love
to them reciprocally.
Human beings
follow my path
universally,
O Pārtha.7
Moreover, these many forms or ways each constitute the “the” that
immediately precedes the word “truth,” expressing the singular exclusive
vision within a relationship of the one Reality for each and every person. And
thus the Vedic adage can be seen as anticipating the well-known Upanishadic
phrase, raso vai sa˙, or “Rasa truly is that (Reality).”8
For the Chaitanya school, rasa is ultimate reality, or the relationship with the
one Reality as person. That relationship which connects humans to the one true
Reality, imbuing it with absolute value or truth, is rasa. “The truth” of religious
traditions, that exclusive absolute truth of religion, rests in this very notion of
rasa with the one reality. A revision of the popular renditions of the passage
from the Rig Veda examined above, then, might read as, “The totality of all
reality is one. Religious truths (or rasas) are many.”9
Though there are specifically five general types of rasas according to the
Chaitanya school, the word rasa could be broadened and opened up to whatever
one experiences and knows in a relationship with the one Reality. It is precisely
because of rasa, therefore, that humans speak in many ways about the one
Reality. In genuine dialogue, it would be precisely on the nature and experience
within this rasa that would be shared between humans who experience rasa,
thus disclosing a unique revelation. The extent to which this intra-faith dialogue
takes place between humans and the divine determines the extent to which
humans can offer themselves in inter-faith dialogue with other humans. When
intrafaith dialogue is deep, then one becomes lifted up by dialogue into an even
greater experience of Reality in which a shared state of elevated consciousness
and the intimate connection of hearts is experienced between souls.
Mutual Enlightenment: Kathā

In order to appreciate the nature of this new kind of revelation that comes to
each of us through the special type of sharing in dailogue between traditions,
we turn to a specific verse in the Bhagavad Gītā:
With their thought on me,

with their life-breath
offered to me,
enlightening one another
And conversing about me
continuously,
they are satiated and
they feel rapturous love.10
For the kind of sharing that is possible in bhakti, for ushering in the special kind
of revelation available between souls, there is a certain ordering of activity
prescribed in four stages that correspond to the four quarter lines found in
the above verse: (1) The first quarter of the verse directs one to go deeply
into one’s own relationship with the divine, by focusing all one’s thought
processes on the divine, and offering one’s very life-breath to the divine (mac-
cittā mad-gata-prāṇā). (2) The second quarter of the verse describes what one
can do with others, with the phrase “enlightening one another” (bodhayantaḥ
parasparam). (3) The third quarter of the verse speaks about how this mutual
enlightenment between souls becomes a completely absorbing kathā, or a
continuous conversing about the divine (kathayantaś ca māṁ nityaṁ). (4) And the
last line describes the satisfaction and affection one feels in this kind of sharing
within bhakti.
Here, of course, the first person objective voice is found in the pronoun
“me,” spoken by the divinity as Krishna. And certainly, in the Bhagavad Gītā, the
voice of divinity is declared to be that of Krishna. There is, however, precedent
in the tradition for leaving the specific identity of the divine open by utilizing
the words bhagavān and īśvara without any direct reference to a particular
deity.11 So for this reason, I feel that the Chaitanya school can take such a verse
and apply its process broadly, expanding its application to the intimate personal
interactions involved in interfaith dialogue.
The Gītā speaks also about the nature of what is shared within this sharing,
and with whom it should be shared. What is shared is described as a divine
secret. Indeed, as I’ve discussed elaborately elsewhere, the narrator of the con-
versation between Arjuna and Krishna, and the teachings offered, describes it
as “the supreme secret of yoga.”12 What is shared by practitioners with others
is the most valuable thing, the most secret thing, what is held closest to one’s
heart. Here relationality, rasa, is an experience between those humans who
are prepared to share and risk their deepest and most precious truths, their
experiences of the one reality. Therefore it is normally secret. What is held as
secret, then, should be shared with only those with whom one can engage in a
truly balanced and mutually enlightening sharing as described in the Gītā verse
above. Krishna instructs in the final portion of his teachings that his divine
secret disclosed to Arjuna should not be spoken to one who is not committed
and to one whose heart does not know divine love, or to one who possesses
antagonism toward the divine.13 On the other hand, this type of deep sharing
of one’s highest religious truths is deemed to be most blessed, as expressed in
Krishna’s words:
One who reveals

this supreme secret
to those who have
offered me their love,
Enacting the highest
offering of love for me—
that one shall certainly
come to me, without doubt.
And among humans,

there is no one whose acts
are more dearly loved by me
than that one,
Nor shall there be

any other on earth who
is more dearly loved by me
than such a person.14
From these words of Krishna, it is so very clear that this kind of intimate
sharing of divine secrets and religious truths is most precious, most blessed,
and most rewarded.
Onto-Existential Dimensions of Bhakti

If we speak about dialogue as something that takes place between faiths or
between religious traditions, that is one thing. But ultimately, I would argue, in
light of bhakti, dialogue is the genuine encounter of, and partnership between,
one heart with another heart, whether it is within a faith or between faiths.
Dialogue, that is specifically interfaith, as I have been developing it here, is
constituted of two souls embraced by the supreme reality, who come together in
dialogue in order to realize their mutual connection to the divine heart.
The structure and interpersonal dynamics of dialogue can be seen paralleling
the elements essential to bhakti. An etymologically grounded and literal def-
inition of dialogue reveals aspects of dialogue that highlight these paralleled
features between the two. The word dialogue consists of two parts, the prefix
dia-, and the stem -logue, which comes from the Greek word logos, meaning
“words” or “discourse.” Three meanings of the word’s prefix are telling. In
dialogue, words are exchanged “between” two partners, words move “across”
from one partner to the other, and meaning moves “through” the words in
dialogue to each person. It is precisely this space between partners in dialogue,
the dia- of dialogue, as it were, that becomes filled with the intermingling of
words, ideas, and heartfelt communications in which one shares the most
precious part of life.
An examination of the word bhakti itself is also revealing. The word is often
translated as simply “devotion.” In published work of my own, I have translated
it as “devotional love” and in a more protracted translation as “the practice or
life of offering all of one’s heart to the divine.” A related word is bhakta, which
means one who practices or lives a life of bhakti. The word bhakta, or one who
offers one’s heart, can mean simply one who is “loved” or one who is “beloved.”
The significance of these meanings of bhakti and bhakta make more sense when
the verb root from which these words are derived is understood.
The verb root bhaj has two first, primary meanings: “to divide” and “to
share.” These two apparently opposing meanings for the same verb is telling
in the way they reflect what is at the heart of bhakti metaphysics, and, in turn,
what is at the heart of interfaith dialogue as well. The two senses of the verb
belong together, because that which is divided can be shared, and that which
is shared can be divided. The soul or the bhakta, then, is something divided or
aportioned from the supreme whole, and yet the bhakta also is something shared
by the supreme and something that has participated in the divine as well. The
former sense points to the oneness of the soul with the divine, and the latter to
its separateness. Existentially and ontologically speaking, the former signifies
the experience of being apart from the divine, and the latter the experience of
being a part of the divine, at the same time.
In the word’s verbal sense of “to share,” the self is a constituent irreducible
part or share of the Self or the divine. As a part or share of the divine the
individual self naturally shares in the being of the divine as do all other beings
who are also portions of the divine. All individual beings, then, participate as
shares of divine being while they remain distinct and discrete entities. Because
all souls share in the divine, they do so collectively, and this collective sharing
is the basis of community, the uniting of hearts in bhakti. Therefore, the soul’s
unity with the divine and its community with humans are both constituent
aspects of bhakti, and when speaking about the one, it absolutely necessitates
the existence of the other. When one offers all one’s heart to the divine in
bhakti, it ncessarily means that one has connected deeply to the hearts of other
humans, and other living beings. And one offers all one’s heart at the altar of
another eternal being’s heart, within which the presence of the very heart of
the divine is manifested, one has also connected deeply to the very heart of
the supreme. It is in bhakti that the greatest love is found between humans and
the divine and also among humans who belong to and long for the divine. In
bhakti, there is (1) a deep communing or union with the divine, and (2) a deep
communing or union with others’ hearts. The one is not possible without the
other, and therefore a bhakta, who gives his or her whole heart to the divine,
also honors and values all souls as individual and discrete beings who are both
a part of and yet apart from the divine. This onto-existential vision creates an
intimate relationship between the bhakta and all life and all souls. But further, it
makes dialogue with persons of faith, partners in faith. It makes them especially
valuable because in them, through them, and between them, as partners
elevated to a heightened sense of community, greater dimensions of the
unlimited divine are revealed.
The essential meaning of the word bhakti, as discussed above, is “sharing,”

and the directly related participial word (in Sanskrit), bhakta, means literally
“distributed,” or “apportioned,” referring to the practitioner who has “offered
one’s heart fully to the divine Beloved.” In effect, bhakti is that practice in which
the bhakta has shared his or her heart fully with others’ hearts and with the
divine Beloved, and finds that these two are absolutely inseperable.
Four Axes of Revelation in Dialogue

In concluding this brief essay on the relationship between Vaishnava bhakti
theology and dialogue, we are now in a better position to appreciate not only
how dialogue is greatly valued by the Chaitanya school of Vaishnava bhakti, and
how dialogue is an essential practice of bhakti, but how dialogue represents
the intrinsic character of bhakti and, even more so, how it ultimately has the
potential of furthering and deepening a revelation of religious truth of the one
reality through dialogue itself.
The foregoing exploration in this essay supports the idea that one realizes
and experiences the power of divine revelation as four axes within dialogue:
(1) the ontological (leading to a type of universalism), (2) the traditional
(leading to an exclusivism), (3) the interpersonal (to an inclusivism), and (4)
the existential (to a pluralism). The relationship of these four axes to one
another, and the various dynamic ways divinity becomes present in the life
of the bhakta can be illustrated in the diagram below.
Figure 1.
The first axis, identified as number one of the arrowed lines, conveys the all-
embracing “one reality” in which everything exists, all truths, all dialogues, etc.
It is the divine embrace that a bhakta experiences and feels behind everything.
It represents the outermost reaches of existence that ultimately supports each
and every dialogue and the partners within such dialogues.
This ontological axis then acknowledges a revelation of the totality of all
being and all beings in which every human being is grounded. Yet, as we have
seen, this ontological dimension must be characterized as relational since
distinctiveness of being and beings is sustained. As this first axis, dialogue is the
exchange between the nondividual level of the oneness of all being in relation
to, or in dialogue with, the level of in-dividual (in the sense of indivisible
or irreducible) beings. The great sayings of the Upanishads poignantly and
powerfully relate this ontic dialectical relationship between the undivided
oneness and the individual beings. The famous saying tat tvamasi, translated
literally as “That (tat) [totality of reality] is [the very nature of] the you (tvam),
[of which] you are (asi) [a constituent part].”15 The phrase, ahaṁ brahmāsmi
is another great saying that engages this ontic dialectic: “I am (ahaṁ)[of the
nature of] supreme reality (brahma)—[of this, truly,] I am (asmi).”16 The oneness
of which the Upanishads speak is interpreted by the Upanishads themselves,
especially as seen in the following statement:
As a lover knows nothing within or without

when embraced by the beloved,
a person knows nothing within or without
when embraced by the intelligent soul.17
The indivisible oneness of ultimate reality can only be asserted and appreciated
by virtue of the paradoxical and necessary assertion of divisible character of
oneness. Conversely, the divisible nature of reality can be asserted only on the
contingent basis of its oneness. In deepening dialogue, partners strive to find
the grounds of oneness between them, and also discover greater closeness and
communion between hearts within conversational exchanges. The Upanishads
reflect this ontological axis of revelation that forms the basis of dialogue.
The second, identified by number two, is the axis of religious truth, the “absolute
truth” for those within a certain tradition. In the healthiest sense, this axis
represents the exclusive and focused relationship with the divine, incomparable to
all else. It is intensely personal and it nourishes the faith of the worshipper. It is the
rasa a particular worshipper has with the particular vision of the One Reality.
Mining the jewels of a tradition is no easy task. It requires a life of practice,

contemplation, and commitment to the deepest aspirations of the heart.
In order to understand the relationship of interfaith dialogue to the bhakti
theology of the Chaitanya school of Vaishnavism, it is first necessary to seek the
very source, the very core, or essential wellspring from which the one reality
flows to worshippers. It is all about accessing the divinity within one’s heart.
To the extent that this intra-faith dialogue between the worshipper and the
worshipped is established, it will be to that extent that a worshipper can then
become a “partner” in dialogue, the third axis.
The third is the interpersonal axis of dialogue. While the second axis rep-
resents the “space within the heart,” as the Upanishads speak about it, the third
represents the space between one’s heart and the heart of another in dialogue.
At this stage, the exchange between one partner in dialogue with the other
represents a healthy form of inclusivism in which each partner discovers more
about his or her own tradition by exploring the tradition of another in dialogue.
Deep conversation and sharing characterizes the fourth stage of dialogue.
It is in this final stage that the whole of the dialogue is greater than the sum
of the two parts or partners that comprises it. Both partners are lifted up into
a greater sense of community, a precious experience of a shared theological
moment, a new revelation, as it were, of the one reality that would otherwise
remain concealed had it been the case that these two partners never engaged
in dialogue together. Dialogue now becomes the back-and-forth movement of
play, like that of a dance between hearts. Dialogue as a dance is the effortless
and movement between partners, the way two dancers together are being
danced by the dance itself.18 Indeed, the Chaitanya school sees the ultimate
symbol of the sharing between human hearts as an eternal dance of divine love.
Dialogue as a Dance of Divine Love: Rāsa

The five Bhāgavata chapters known as the Rāsa Līlā are rich with the symbolism
of dialogue. Elsewhere I have illuminated this ultimate symbol of union in
divine love, the Rāsa Maṇḍala, in great detail. But it is specifically the formation
of the great circle, or maṇḍala, of the dance known as rāsa, that is significant
here. This dance begins with the Vraja Gopikās, the cowherd maidens of
Vraja, linking arms to form a great circle of dancers around the divine figure
of Krishna who remains at the center of the maṇḍala. Then it is Krishna who
duplicates his divine form as many times as it takes to enter between every
two Vraja Gopikās. The significance of Krishna entering between two Gopikās
is this: two partners in dialogue have the power to attract a new presence or
revelation of the divine, which constitutes the fourth axial phase of dialogue as
discussed above; this must be considered the perfection of dialogue.
The Chaitanya school sees in the Vraja Gopikās, as described in the
Bhāgavata Purāṇa, the very paradigm of this intimate kind of sharing between
souls and between souls and divinity.19 And it is precisely the heartfelt and
intermingling of their forms among all of the dancers that allows each of
them to celebrate supreme love in the great circle dance. I have argued that
the great symbol of supreme love as the circle dance of Krishna and the Gopīs
can speak beyond the Vaishnava tradition to which it was originally revealed.
The symbol of the Rāsa Maṇḍala could be seen and interpreted as a great
symbol of dialogue, the building blocks of an authentic pluralism. At the very
least, it can speak to Vaishnavas as symbolizing a perfect form of dialogue or
sharing between humans and the divine, and also between humans and other
humans. And further, I suggest, it can contribute a visual image of this symbolic
representation of an authentic pluralism.20
How the divine circle of the Rāsa dance could be seen as symbolizing a
genuine religious pluralism bears repeating here briefly. The Rāsa Maṇḍala
is a great circle in which human beings, collectively, of different faiths, first
become linked together in joyous harmony for offering their hearts to the
divine, and then individually, each soul receives the exclusive, singular and
superlative attention of the divine. There is a great lesson here. We in the
human community must first link together in dialogue, and the more we do
this, the more that each of us will attract the attention of divinity. As I state
elsewhere:
The cowherd maidens linking arms in the dance represent the linking
of human hearts and the solidarity of the human community of devoted
souls. All souls, collectively, are invited to dance together with God, while
simultaneously each individual soul is able to dance with God personally
and exclusively. The Rāsa dance symbolizes the humility and passion of
the devoted soul--the humility of love expressed through linking with
other human beings, and the passion of love through souls linking with the
supreme. This linking is the meaning of yoga, of which, as we have seen, the
Gopīs are masters.21
It is significant that the formation of the Rāsa Maṇḍala first begins with
and is initiated by the Vraja Gopikās themselves. They, who represent souls
who are immersed in loving the divine, become unified, forming bonds of
affection that surround the divine in an unbroken circle of celebration. This
first formative action represents how humans must realize a total inclusivism.
It represents how humans must share in a dance of divine love between
hearts, and then the collective and exclusive, intimate, and personal offering
of the heart to the divine is possible. The second formative action of Krishna
then duplicating himself as many times as there are Vraja Gopikās represents
how humans can realize a pure and healthy form of exclusivism, the purely
personal and individual attention of the divine, which yet occurs all the while
only within the totally inclusive circle of human linking. The humility enacted
within the Rāsa Maṇḍala’s inclusivism and the passion enacted within the Rāsa
Maṇḍala’s exclusivism are inseparable, representing how these two must
exist with one another in a new revelational pluralism that can only arise
from dialogue.
In closing, it is important to point out that the One Reality already embraces
all humans and all faiths just as Krishna attracts all the Vraja Gopikās to the
beautiful jasmine-scented forest on that full moon night in autumn. No one
person’s faith, whether it be secular or sacred, traditional or individual—no
faith whatsoever is excluded. This embrace from the One Reality is indicated
in the above diagram as the two arrowed lines of axis number one. In this
embrace, one can see the “two arms” embracing or encompassing the other
axes within the totality of reality.
Within that embrace of the totality of reality, souls receive the revelation of
truth from tradition and the revelation of others’ hearts in dialogue. However,
souls offer their return embrace when, as worshippers and partners in dialogue,
they embrace with both arms, as it were, the truth of tradition (axis two) and
the truth of dialogue (axis three). Then they follow the example of the Vraja
Gopikās when they link arms within one another surrounding Krishna at the
center of the complete circle they form.
It is for both this divine embrace and the return embrace that we as humans
must strive. The return embrace of humans becomes stronger and stronger as
the reception of revelation from tradition and humans becomes stronger and
stronger. As these embraces strengthen, then, just as Krishna does with the
Vraja Gopikās when he intimately and exclusively attends each maiden, a new
revelation of divine intimacy comes to the human community. And this mutual
embracing of the human with the divine, then, lifts both up into a newly shared
revelational moment in which the divine dances most intimately with each and
every soul (axis four). This transporting mutual embrace between souls and the
divine produces a greater revelation. It allows us to offer what is deepest in our
own hearts to both the divine Beloved and the divine within all beings---this
constitutes the unending and ongoing perfection of dialogue.
Endnotes
1. Perhaps Indic traditions have more in common with the Greek philosophical
tradition than they do with the early Christian faith, the latter which could be
characterized as more sermonic and homiletic rather than dialogic. In Bhakti, it is the
dialogical rather than the homiletic interpersonal communications that become the
highest order of connecting and exchanges between humans.
2. See Caitanya Caritāmṛta, Madhya Līlā, Chapter 8. The dialogue begins with verse
57 and takes up at least two hundred verses.
3. In the object relations school of depth psychology have shown that even during
a particular lifetime, a person’s faith is always changing and growing in ways that
correspond to the natural developmental phases of the psyche. See The Birth of the Living
God: A Psychoanalytic Study, by Ana-Maria Rizzuto, M.D. (Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1979).
4. One of the most celebrative presentations of this Vedic adage can be observed at
Satchidananda Ashrama, Yogaville, founded by Swami Satchidananda in Buckingham,
Virginia, where he built the Light Of Truth Universal Service (LOTUS) temple that
celebrates all religions. This Vedic passage is prominently displayed there and appears
in the literature of the sect.
5. Rig Veda 1.164.46. Translation mine.
6. Sanskrit-English Dictionary, Sir Monier Monier-Williams (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 1899).
7. Bhagavavd Gītā 4.11. Note the word “path” in the singular, contrasting the popular
notion of “paths are many.”
8. Taittirīya Upanishad 2.7.1. See my co-authored article with David Buchta, “Rasa
Theory,” in the Brill Encyclopedia of Hinduism (ed., Knut Jacobsen) for a concise
history of the word rasa and how its usage culminates in the Chaitanya school in
the word of Rūpa Gosvāmin. The more complete translation surround this passage
is the following: “Because truly that existence is auspiciously formed, rasa truly is
that existence; for once one here reaches that rasa, this person becomes completely
blissful.”
9. Here I present a rendition that follows the syntax of the popular renditions men-
tioned above, which present the Vedic adage as two sentences. If this same rendition
offered here were to be more syntactically accurate, keeping “the one reality” phrase as
the object by utilizing the passive voice, it would read, “The one totality of all reality is
that which is revealed through many religious truths.”
10. Bhagavavd Gītā (BG) 10.9. All passages from the Bhagavavd Gītā engaged in this
essay are from Bhagavad Gītā: The Beloved Lord’s Secret Love Song, by Graham M. Schweig
(New York: Harper Collins Publishers, 2007).
11. The gradual way in which Krishna’s identity is revealed to Arjuna in the Bhagavad
Gītā is examined within the “Textual Illuminations” portion of my translation of the
text, in a section entitled, “Krishna: Intimate and Infiinite Divinity” (page 259). Here
I show that it is not until the fourth chapter of the text that Krishna’s identity as the
supreme divinity is boldly declared by him. Krishna’s identity as a charioteer occurs
first, then his identity as a confidant, second, and then as a guiding teacher, third. And
throughout the text, even after the fourth chapter, much of the text is devoted to the
different manifestations of the divine that are coming from Krishna but are treated and
spoken of as separate from him. For example, Krishna states:
In that one only,

take shelter
with all your heart,
O Bhārata.
Through his grace
you shall attain
supreme peace,
the eternal dwelling. (BG 18.62)
The signficance of this phenomenon of independent divine manifestations, as

expressed by Krishna speaking about them in the third person, has to do with the tacit
fluidity and flexility of divine manifestations in this Vaishnava theology. This is also
reflected in the avatāra theology of Vaishnavism, that the very person of Krishna can
take many different forms, for purposes of līlā or cosmogenesis, etc. Moreover, within
the broader Hindu context, we find that in the Yoga Sūtra of Patañjali, there is no specific
deity named at all; rather, it is to īśvara that Patañjali directs his reader, or to one’s iṣṭa-
devatā, “one’s most loved deity.” It is also interesting to note, as we shall see later in this
essay, that in the Bhakti Sūtra of Nārada, there is no deity specific nomenclature engaged;
only bhagavān and īśvara are engaged.
12. BG 18.75. For an in-depth discussion on the “secrecy” in the Bhagavavd Gītā, see
the section entitled, “The Secret Love Song” within Textual Illuminations in my translation
of the Bhagavavd Gītā. Also, see my article, “Toward a Constructive and Comparative
Theology of Krishna Bhakti for Contemporary Bengal Vaishnavism,” especially the section
entitled, “A theology of divine secrecy” (Journal of Vaishnava Studies, Vol. 18, No. 1 / Fall
[2009]).
13. BG 18.67:
This is not to be spoken

by you at any time
to one who is
without discipline,
nor to one who

does not offer one’s love,
Nor to one who hears
yet has no desire to follow,
nor to one who is
envious of me.
14. BG 18.68-69.
15. Chāndogya Upanishad 6. This great saying is repeated several times throughout
this portion of the text.
16. Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upanishad 1.4.10.
17. Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upanishad 4.3.21.
18. Here I invoke Hans-Georg Gadamer’s eloquent philosophy of “play” as explicated
in his chapter entitled, “Play as the clue to ontological explanation” in Truth and Method
(New York: The Continuum Publishing Company, 1989 [1975]), 101-133. Gadamer speaks
about the way play plays the players.
19. See my Dance of Divine Love: The Rāsa Līlā of Krishna from the Bhāgavata Purāṇa:
India’s Classic Sacred Love Story (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2005), the chapter
entitled, “The Song of the Flute: Veṇu Gīta” (pages 78-85: Bhāgavata Purāṇa, Chapter 21,
Book 10), and the chapters of the Rāsa Līlā in which the Vraja Gopikās, during Krishna’s
absence pour their hearts out to one another: Act 2: “The Gopīs Search for Krishna,” and
Act 3: “The Song of the Gopīs: Gopī Gīta,” in Dance of Divine Love (Bhāgavata Purāṇa, Book
10, Chapters 30 and 31).
20. See my Dance of Divine Love: The Rāsa Līlā of Krishna from the Bhāgavata Purāṇa:
India’s Classic Sacred Love Story, the chapter entitled, “Messages of the Text,” especially
pages 179-182. Any discussion here in this essay engaging the Rāsa Līlā text derive
from my work on the famous Bhāgavata five chapters, known as the Rāsa Līlā
Pañcādhyāyī.
21. Dance of Divine Love, p. 180.
Christian Theology and Interfaith Dialogue
Kenneth Cracknell
T hese days, there are Catholic and Protestant Christians who joyfully take
part in Christian-Vaishnava dialogue, as well as in many other interfaith
discussions. But it was not always so, and the eager participation of
all Christians in such conversations cannot be taken for granted. Indeed
interreligious dialogue is still a very recent phenomenon and Catholics and
Protestants alike are still finding their way forward. In this process the fifteen
years of rich experience and experiment in Christian-Vaishnava dialogue that
has been taking place in Washington (as well as elsewhere) gives us abundant
material for reflection as well as many pointers to fruitful developments in
future years. As we move forward together it will be helpful to review some
of the Christian theological reflections that form the basis for the active
engagement of Christians in dialogue with Vaishnavas.1
Old, Unhappy, Far-Off Things, and Battles Long Ago

Both Catholics and Protestants have had much historical baggage both to hinder
them in their own free participation in inter-religious discussion, and to raise
doubts in the minds of their partners in dialogue as to what their intentions might
be. Chief among these impediments is the long Christian missionary past and
its underlying structures of polemical depreciation, if not actual defamation, of
other religious paths and ways. Catholics and Protestants alike have at times in
their histories regarded religious others as lost in darkness and doomed to perish
eternally. The Council of Florence in 1442 puts it most bluntly:
The Holy Roman Church firmly believes, professes and proclaims that
none of those who are outside the Catholic church, not only pagans, but
Jews also, heretics and schismatics, can have part in eternal life, but will go
into eternal fire, ‘which was prepared for the devil and his angels,’ unless
they are gathered into that Church before the end of life.2
With few exceptions, and until relatively recently, this doctrine, extra ecclesiam
69
nulla salus (outside the church there is no salvation),3 was universally accepted.
One example of the human consequences of this exclusivist stance can be seen
in the life of St Francis Xavier (I506–I552) as recounted by Walbert Bühlmann:
On his journeys he was accompanied by a loyal servant, a pagan Chinese who
stuck by him even when the Portuguese deserted him. He regarded Francis as
a brother. Unfortunately it never once crossed his mind to adopt his master’s
religion. Suddenly he died, and Francis Xavier wrote: “We could not reward
him for his goodness of heart, for he died without knowing God. We could
never help him or pray for him even after his death, for he is in hell.”4
A near contemporary of Francis Xavier, the Protestant Reformer Martin

Luther (1483–1546), took exactly the same position on the salvific status of
religious others ‘All worship and religions outside Christ are the worship of
idols,’ he wrote; for ‘apart from Christ there is nothing except mere idolatry,
an idol and a false figment of God.’ For Luther, salvation was by faith in
Christ alone and therefore ‘whatever is outside faith (extra fidem) is idolatry.
Consequently ‘the Christian faith is set apart from every other religion and
faith. It makes all the others false and useless.’ We can say that for Protestants
who followed Luther, extra fidem nulla salus: ‘outside faith [in Christ] there
is no salvation.’ But Luther drew the circle of exclusion even more tightly:
Those who remain outside Christianity, be they heathens, Turks, Jews or
false Christians although they believe on only one true God, yet remain in
eternal wrath and perdition.5
By ‘false Christians’ here Luther meant Roman Catholics.

A century later British Protestants (in the tradition stemming from John
Calvin [1509-1564]) affirmed in the Westminster Confession of Faith (1646)
that salvation was for the elect, those chosen before the foundation of the world,
alone:
Others not elected, although they be called by the ministry of the Word, and
may have some common operations of the Spirit, yet can never truly come unto
Christ, and therefore cannot be saved; much less can men not professing the
Christian religion be saved in any other way whatsoever, be they ever so diligent
to frame their lives according to the light of nature, and the law of that religion
they do profess; and to say that they may, is very pernicious and to be detested.
In sermon, creed and song, such doctrines were expressed by generations

Protestant believers, even those who never read Luther or Calvin. So I as a young
person learnt in my Methodist Sunday School and on Overseas Missions Sundays
Christian Theology and Interfaith Dialogue 71
that: ‘O’er heathen lands afar, Thick darkness broodeth yet’ (Lewis Hensley);
that ‘the song must go round the earth,’ so that ‘lands where Islam’s sway, Darkly
broods o’er home and hearth’ may ‘Cast their bonds away (Sarah Geraldine
Stock); that the ‘Word of life, most pure and strong’ must spread ‘till from its
dreary night/All the world awakes to light’ (J. F. Bahnmaier); that those whose
‘Souls are lighted/With wisdom from on high’ cannot ‘to men benighted/The
lamp of life deny’ (R. Heber). The firm impression was implanted by these hymns
is that God is absent from the world and that idolatry rules everywhere until
such time as the missionary arrives with the message of Christ. Charles Edward
Oakley declared as much in his striking hymn ‘Hills of the North Rejoice’
where he wrote ‘Though absent long, your Lord is nigh/He judgment brings and
victory.’ Such images that I took with me when I became a missionary ‘to bring
Christ’ to Eastern Nigeria in 1962.6
It is, however, far from my purpose to pour scorn on either Catholic or Pro-
testant missionaries who endured great hardships, sicknesses, persecution and
very often death for the sake of preaching Jesus Christ. Yet in the light of history
a serious question mark has to be placed against their missionary theologies.
Believing there was little or no truth to be found in ‘heathen darkness’ meant
that discourse with the non-Christian world was turned into either one-sided
monological proclamation or disputatious defamatory polemic. We know from
the historical records of both Catholic and Protestant missions that for a very long
time their need to win the debates and thus to assert superiority over the religious
others precluded the possibility of the missionaries themselves learning from
people of other religious paths.
The Discovery of the Faith and Commitment of the Religious Others.

How Christians changed from proclamation to dialogue is a long and
complicated story that cannot be told in detail here.7 But we may perhaps
highlight a few key moments in this transformation. These range from individual
changes of heart to great shifts in the shaping of the world order, and from fresh
thinking on part of both Catholic and Protestant philosophers and theologians to
what can only be described as powerful spiritual movements within major Church
councils and assemblies.
At the individual level we can point to the immense learning that actually
took place in authentic missionary encounters, where Christians discovered in
the religious others unsuspected riches of spirituality and wisdom. While such
illumination can be found everywhere on the so-called mission fields, there
were particularly frequent in India. On the Catholic side such eminent persons as
Jules Monchanin, Henri Le Saux (Swami Abhishiktananda), and Bede Griffiths

affirmed a Catholic-Vedanta connectedness and embraced Hindu sannyasa as
part of their Christian understanding.8 On the Protestant side we may instance
the rich appreciation of Hindu theism, in particular Bhakti traditions displayed
by missionaries like C. F. Andrews (1870–1940) the close friend of Gandhiji and
Rabindranath Tagore.9 The outstanding American Methodist missionary to India,
E. Stanley Jones, also a friend of Gandhiji, was the author of Christ at the Round
Table (1928), a book whose title presages the interfaith dialogue movement.10
These missionaries were just two among many who were deeply influential in
changing Christian attitudes to Hinduism.11
The missionaries had their counterparts among the scholars and thinkers whose
high regard for Hinduism sprang not so much from their personal encounter with
Hindus as from their vast reading in newly discovered Indian sources. Between
1874 and 1894 Max Müller, the first Professor of Sanskrit at the University of
Oxford, published forty-nine volumes of The Sacred Books of the East. These
volumes impressed Catholic and Protestant scholars alike and the serious study
of religion became commonplace in western universities. In the generations that
followed, a number of seminal thinkers offered fresh and positive interpretations
of the religious experience of humankind. These included Roman Catholics like
Baron Frederich von Hügel, Erich Przywara, and Karl Rahner, and Protestants
Brooke Foss Westcott, Nathan Söderblom, Rudolf Otto and Paul Tillich. As we
shall see below, their thinking has contributed much to the development of a
coherent theology of interfaith dialogue.
All these individuals worked in a period of seismic changes in the world
political situation. The old attitudes toward other religions were formed within
a world dominated by a Christian outlook, and bore the marks of imperialism.
Devaluation of those outside Christendom in general went hand in hand with
disregard of the religious other. After 1914–18 that all changed: Europeans and
many North Americans lost confidence in their own superiority. At the same time,
slowly but inexorably, new nations found their voices, shook off colonialism and
took their place in the new world-order.
This process accelerated rapidly after 1945 and necessarily included within
it the resurgence of the great religious traditions of Islam, of Buddhism and of
Hinduism. Moreover, after 1945 western Christians had to come to terms with
Holocaust, most certainly caused to a large extent by sustained anti-Jewish
teaching in the Catholic and Protestant churches. Also, the social and political
consequences of colonialism in subjugating other races were coming to light as
the new nations struggled for their independence.
Against this background the Second Vatican Council (1962–5) was convened,
and had on its agenda the repudiation of all forms of anti-Semitism. This was
done by the affirmation of a profound respect for Judaism.12 But at the Council
bishops from Asian countries also pressed for positive words to be said about
Islam, Buddhism and Hinduism, the religious traditions amidst which they lived.
The result was the The Declaration on the Relationship of the Church to non-
Christian Religions (1965) always known by its Latin title, Nostra Aetate.
The Protestant story is somewhat different. The major ecumenical body, the
World Council of Churches (WCC) was founded in 1948. At the time of its
establishment, its member churches belonged almost entirely within western
Christendom. In 1948 the WCC’s overwhelmingly European and North American
leadership remained convinced of the need to convert the world to Christ, by
which they meant western forms of Christianity.
But in the next two decades the situation altered enormously. The indepen-
dence of new nations meant the rise of new indigenous churches which brought
new patterns of leadership for the WCC. By the time of the Third Assembly in
New Delhi in 1961, Asian voices like Paul Devanandan and M. M. Thomas urged
co-operation with people of non-Christian religious traditions.13 By 1979 the
WCC was able to adopt its own statement Guidelines on Dialogue with People of
Living Faiths and Ideologies. This was commended to WCC member churches
for study and action. These Guidelines were adopted by individual churches
and councils of churches, among them the British Council of Churches and the
National Council of Churches of the USA. An examination of these two seminal
documents, Nostra Aetate and the Guidelines on Dialogue, will give a sense of
how the new era in interfaith relations was established and shaped.
Nostra Aetate (1965)

Nostra Aetate begins with the following call to action: ‘In this age of ours when
human beings are drawing more closely together and the bonds of friendship
between different peoples are being strengthened the Church examines with
greater care the relation which she has to non-Christian religions.’ The Church,
it continues, reflects at the outset on what human beings have in common and
what tends to promote fellowship among them. From the Church’s point of view
the greatest communality lies in sharing ‘a common destiny, namely God.’ All
though history, Nostra Aetate states, ‘there is found among different peoples a
certain awareness of a hidden power, which lies behind the course of nature and
the events of human life At times there is present even a recognition of a supreme
being or still more of a Father.’ Consequently the Catholic Church ‘rejects
nothing of what is true and holy in these religions.’ While the Church always is
under obligation, it said, to proclaim Christ as the Way, the Truth and the Life,
it may at the same time urge its children to enter ‘with prudence and charity into
discussion and collaboration with members of other religions.’
Let Christians, while witnessing to their own faith and way of life, acknow-
ledge, preserve and encourage the spiritual and moral truths found among
nonChristians also their social life and culture.
Then follows some brief indication of what the ‘moral and spiritual truths’
might be among Muslims and Jews, and then some appropriate responses to
them. Nothing is said about approaches to Hindus or Buddhists (or Sikhs, Jains,
or Zoroastrians). We have only a tantalizing reference in paragraph 2 to the way
in which in more advanced civilization responds to ‘the unsolved riddles of
existence’ and so it baldly states that in Hinduism,
[human beings] explore the divine mystery and express it both in the limitless
riches of myth and the accurately defined insights of philosophy. They seek
release from the trials of the present life by ascetical practices, profound
meditation and recourse to God in confidence and love.
We shall return to the limitations of this characterization of Hinduism when

we come to our section on the Christian-Vaishnava dialogue. Meanwhile we
may note that there is no positive teaching anywhere in Nostra Aetate about
the salvation of those who are not Christian, indeed the implication remains
that only in Christ is there salvation: only in Christ ‘in whom God reconciled
all things to himself’ will people find ‘the fullness of their religious life.
Since1964, however, much more work on this issue has been done by both
Catholic and Protestant thinkers, and this has lead to an affirmation that
God’s salvific purposes may be worked out though non-Christian religious
commitments.14
So we may take Nostra Aetate as an opening volley in the struggle against ‘the
old unhappy things and battles far ago’; quite certainly countless Roman Catholic
people have taken it as a full mandate for interfaith dialogue.15
WCC Guidelines on Dialogue with People of Living Faiths and Ideologies

(1979)
It would be another fourteen years before the ecumenical movement would
promulgate its equivalent to Nostra Aetate. The vicissitudes behind this long
delay are explained in S. Wesley Ariarajah’s admirable book Hindus and Chris-
tians: A Century of Protestant Ecumenical Thought.16 Like the Catholics, the

Protestants were very reluctant to concede that God was at work within other
religious traditions, let alone that God offered salvation through them. The most
that could apparently be agreed in the consultation in Thailand that produced the
final draft of the Guidelines in 1978 was a set of questions:
What is the relationship between the universal creative redemptive activity
of God towards all humankind and the particular creative/redemptive
activity of God in the history of Israel and in the person and work of Jesus
Christ?
Are Christians to speak of God’s work in the lives of all men and women only
in tentative terms of hope that they may experience something of Him, or
more positively in terms of God’s self-disclosure to people of living faiths and
ideologies and in the struggle of life?
In the same way that the Catholic theological community has been discussing the
ramifications of Nostra Aetate, Protestant theologians have been engaged ever
since 1979 in wrestling with the issues raised in the Guidelines.17 At the same
time, something positive had to be said on behalf of the Ecumenical Churches,
and in the years that followed two key themes have dominated the discussions on
interfaith relations; the first is captured in the phrase ‘a dialogue of communities’
and the second in the idea of ‘bearing authentic witness.’
The Guidelines declared that Christians begin their reflection on community
with the understanding that God is the creator of all things and of all humankind:
‘from the beginning He willed relationships with Himself and all that He has
brought to life; to that end He has enabled the formation of communities,
judges them, and renews them.’ The simple realities of the world are that we
live with religious diversity. But we can go further, and affirm that this richness
and diversity is God-intended. With a note of self-criticism the Guidelines refer
to the human temptation to ‘regard one’s own community as the best and to
attribute to one’s own religious and cultural community an absolute authority.’
But our Christian convictions should lead us to an attitude of real humility toward
all people. Dialogue is accordingly to be thought of as a ‘life style,’ and as ‘a
fundamental part of Christian service within community’. It was to be an ‘active
response to the command “love God and your neighbor as yourself.”’ Moreover,
in a world where communities are often fractured and antagonistic, dialogue was
to be seen as a ‘joyful affirmation of life against chaos.’ Christians were called
therefore to share with all others who are seeking ‘the provisional goals of a better
human community.’
But the question of mission could not be avoided,18 and the Guidelines dealt
with the issues involved in evangelism by invoking the concept of ‘bearing an

authentic witness.’
In dialogue Christians seek to ‘speak the truth in a spirit of love, ‘not naively
“to be tossed to and fro, and carried about by every wind of doctrine (Eph. 4.14
15).’ In giving their witness they recognize that in most circumstances today
the spirit of dialogue is necessary. For this reason we do not see dialogue and
the giving of witness as standing in any contradiction to one another.
Accordingly the Guidelines went out of their way to stress that while dialogue was
a way in which Jesus Christ can be confessed in the world today, our partners in
dialogue can and must be assured that Christians ‘come not as manipulators, but
as genuine fellow pilgrims, to speak with them of what we believe God to have
done in Jesus Christ who has gone before us, but whom we seek to meet anew in
dialogue (Para. 19).19
The last paragraphs of the Guidelines sum up the position of the WCC in 1979.
Though it could not make much in the way of theological progress, its stance
toward people of other religious traditions at once generous and affirmative and
forms the mandate upon which many Protestants act:
To enter into dialogue requires an opening of the mind and heart to others.
It is an undertaking which requires risk as well as a deep sense of vocation. It
is impossible without sensitivity to the richly varied life of humankind. This
opening, this risk taking, this vocation, this sensitivity are at the heart of the
ecumenical movement and in the deepest current of the life of the churches. It
is therefore with a commitment to the importance of dialogue to the member
churches of the WCC that the Central Committee offers this statement and the
Guidelines to the Churches
Christian Theology with Special Reference to Vaishnava Dialogue

The stage was now set for a rapid increase in serious reflection by both Pro-
testant and Catholic theologians on the theology of religion.20 Although the recent
history of interfaith relations with people of other faith and commitment has
involved a wide variety of dialogue partners we shall confine ourselves to some of
the specific issues raised by the conversation with Vaishnavas.
When participants in Christian-Vaishnava dialogue began this fruitful process
in the 1980 there was a major conceptual difficulty to be overcome. We have
already alluded to the preferences of earlier scholars of Indian religion for the
monistic or non-dualistic school of Shankara, known as Advaita Vedanta. This,
they thought, was the tradition most truly representative of Indian philosophy and
religious aspiration and therefore the one with which Christianity had most to
reckon with (thus the reference in Nostra Aetate, already quoted, to ‘the limitless
riches of myth and the accurately defined insights of philosophy.’) In this earlier
period Abishiktananda and Bede Griffiths were widely perceived as seeking to
reconcile Advaitic thought with Christian spirituality and that therefore that the
dialogue would be focused on the Vedanta.
For their part, earlier Protestant scholars had allowed a certain intellectual dis-
taste to creep in their characterization of the bhakti paths. We have, for example,
descriptions of Krishna worship as ‘incurably idolatrous,’ as ‘sensuous’ and as
‘lacking a content of revelation.’ The most influential missiologist of the twentieth
century, Hendrik Kraemer, asserted that the bhakti versions of Hinduism were
‘exclusively individualistic and essentially eudaimonistic.’ 21
But there was always a paradox in these positions. These writers often hinted
that Advaita needed the corrective of ‘personalist’ understanding of both God and
the human soul. ‘Christians,’ Bede Griffiths once wrote, ‘have to show the Hindu
in the light of our faith, that in the ultimate experience of God, the absolute being,
the world and the soul are not lost, nor is the personal being of God absorbed in
the impersonal Godhead.’22 Griffiths writes here as though he had never heard of
Ramanuja.
Other students of India, and indeed many Christian missionaries, knew better,
and I use first the work of the German Protestant theologian Rudolph Otto as an
example. In 1930 Otto published his seminal book, India’s Religion of Grace, in
which he spoke of a doctrine of salvation that is ‘offered to all’ and to the ‘poor
in spirit’ in particular. This salvation, he wrote, ‘comes not by mystic experience,
by the loss of personality in the impersonal primal cause of all being, but by
bhakti, that is by surrender in simple, trusting appropriation of the “grace” of the
Lord and in love to Him.’ This salvation is the free gift of grace and is offered
through ‘the saving might of the Lord.’ Otto declared that in ‘this Indian bhakti
religion there is presented, without a doubt, a real, saving God, believed, received
and—can we doubt it?—experienced.’23 In India Aiyadurai Jesudasen Appasamy,
later to become bishop of Coimbatore, wrote in 1927 that the bhaktas ‘adore
His goodness, worship Him with bowed heads and clasped hands as seeking in
all possible ways to establish a relation with Him which will grow into a mystic
union.’ Appasamy thought that only such men and women could appreciate the
inner spirit of Christianity.24
Such were two early advocates of the Christian-Vaishnava conversation as
practiced today. But it still took another fifty years for this dialogue to take root
and to blossom in the way it has done in the last fifteen years. For reasons that I
have sought to set out previously (‘ISKCON and Interfaith Dialogue’ ICJ, Vol.8,
No.1 June 2000) I believe this was a high order religious encounter. I felt able
to affirm in that essay that in these dialogues we had become a community of
‘learners and teachers.’ Thus, I thought then (and still do), that ‘Christians and
Vaishnavas draw very close to one another because of their sense of mission. At
the heart of each faith is a profound sense that it is the bearer of good news for
everyone. Both Christians and Vaishnavas are essentially preachers with a Savior
to commend.” I continued:
It is this devotion and commitment that we recognize in one another. At the
same time, each of our theologies recognizes that God has come to other
men and women in different modes and forms. In Christianity, we look to the
teaching of God’s universal wisdom, and speak of Spirit or Logos Christologies.
The sense that Christ will have spoken within other religious traditions is
increasingly common among us.
This brief allusion to ‘Spirit’ or ‘Logos’ christologies needs some amplification

here, as they represent developments that were taking place in the churches at
the same time as the Christian-Vaishnava dialogues of the 1980s and 1990s were
occurring. By the year 2001 several major statements by WCC commissions and
major Protestant communions had been issued. These had employed two themes
central to Christian theology (immediately springing from its understanding of
the Holy Trinity) to affirm the presence of God with people of different faith
commitments. The first theme was the ever-present action in all places and at all
times of the Spirit of God: ‘The person of the Holy Spirit moved and still moves
over the face of the earth, to create, nurture and sustain.’ How the Spirit works
passes beyond our definitions and descriptions in the manner of the wind that
‘blows where it wills’ (Gospel of St John, chap 3, v.8).
We can assuredly see the results of the Spirit’s activity in the lives of Gaudiya
Vaishnavas. We Christian participants are happy (what an understatement!)
to discern and acknowledge that the gifts and graces of our partners in this
dialogue are the fruits of the Spirit (namely love, joy, peace, patience, generosity,
goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control, see St Paul’s Letter to the
Galatians, chap 5, v 22-3) Thus in the formal words of a 2001WCC Declaration,
contemporary theology for interfaith dialogue boldly asserts that the Holy Spirit is
present in the life and traditions of people of living faith:
People have at all times and in all places responded to the presence and
activity of God among them, and given their witness to their encounter with
living God. In their testimony they speak both seeking and having found
wholeness, or enlightenment, or divine guidance, or rest, or liberation. This
is the context in we Christians testify to the salvation we have experienced
through Christ.25
Other documents and statements focus on verses from the first chapter of St.
John’s Gospel: ‘In the beginning was the Word (Logos) and the Word was with
God and the Word was God. . . . All things were made by this Word and in him
was life and this life was the light of all people’ (vv 1-4). This light has always
shone in the darkness and the darkness has never extinguished it (v.5). From as
early as the second Christian century these words have been used to suggest that
the light of Christ has always shone far beyond the boundaries of the Christian
church. So Justin Martyr (c100 -165 CE) wrote in his First Apology: We have
shown that Christ is the Word (Logos) of whom the whole human race are par-
takers, and those who lived according to reason (Logos) are Christians, even
though accounted atheists and in his Second Apology ventured the astonishing
thought: ‘Whatever men have uttered aright . . . belongs to us Christians; for we
worship and love, next to God, the Word (Logos) which is from the Unbegotten
and Ineffable God.’ He was claiming that the Greek philosophers were hidden
Christians and that their great thoughts were Christian too.
Today no contemporary Christian would ever dream of claiming that Hindus
are really Christians or that their theology is really Christian as well. But expo-
nents of the Logos theology/christology are convinced that the Logos touched
Sri Chaitanya or Bhaktivinoda Thakura or Srila Prabhupada. If indeed the Word
did speak to them it is incumbent upon Christians to listen to, to learn from, and
to reflect upon their teachings. This approach was put into formal theological
language by the report of the General Synod of the Church of England entitled
Towards a Theology for Inter-faith Dialogue
Christians need to be open to recognize and respond to all manifestations
of the Logos. The decisive revelation of God in Jesus Christ has to be safe-
guarded for that is the canon by which we are enable to recognize all other
manifestations. Furthermore in the encountering of those other revelations
new depths are discovered in the fullest revelations of God in Jesus Christ.26
Readers of this Journal will detect a certain defensiveness in the second sentence
of this quotation, and I must ask them to remember this was also an attempt to
reassure nervous Christians of the latter part of the twentieth century that they
were not going to betray Jesus Christ by entering into dialogue with religious
others as equal partners. Such a sentence has not been felt necessary in theologies
of dialogue in the twenty-first century. The situation has changed, and participants
in now innumerable dialogues with Jews, and Muslims, and Buddhists and the
other traditions testify that their partners are courteous and respectful of Christian
convictions and indeed are usually anxious to have these convictions fully
expressed and carefully explained.27
Perhaps the best I can offer now are some recent contributions to a theology of
dialogue from outstanding individual scholars deeply committed to finding new and
better ways of expressing their commitment to Jesus Christ and at the same time the
reality of the presence of God with religious others. One is Catholic, two are Protestant,
but making this denominational distinction seems to have become increasingly
irrelevant in the Christian struggle to find a constructive theology for dialogue.
Jesus as the Sacrament of Christian Salvation

Particularly in the context of the Christian-Vaishnava dialogue we must explore
an important contribution made by the Catholic theologian Paul Knitter. In
the most recent statement of his interfaith theology, Knitter has focused on
the contrast between thinking of Jesus, on the one hand, as the single and
therefore unique constitutive cause of salvation and of Jesus, on the other, as the
sacramental bearer of salvation.28 In most Catholic and Protestant theologies
up to our time Jesus has been seen as the sole author of salvation. There are at
least five theories of how Christ died for our sins, the most widespread in North
America is undoubtedly that known as penal substitution or substitutionary satis-
faction. Its premise is that all creation has been broken and distorted by sin and
Jesus has died on the cross to bridge the vast gap between sinful human beings
and a righteous and judgmental God. The wages of sin include death and Jesus
died in our place to pay the price of sin on our behalf.29 In his death he reversed
the consequences of the fall of Adam and Eve and opened the gates to eternal life
for all who believe on his name. This has always been seen as unique and ‘once-
and-for-all.’ For if salvation is understood as a matter of fixing what was broken,
then there need only be one fixer. Once something is repaired, Knitter notes,
especially if the repairer is divine, it does not need to be fixed again! This leads
to the conviction that ‘there is no other name given by which we may be saved
except that of Jesus of Nazareth,’ as in Acts 4.12, a verse of the New Testament
that on first reading puts a stop to any true interreligious dialogue and any kind of
positive theology of other religions.
Over against this negativity, Knitter presents a Jesus who has become the
central symbol of God’s saving love. Recalling the seminal work of two of his
teachers, Paul Tillich (1886–1965) and Karl Rahner (1904–1984), Knitter writes
For both these theologians, symbols are necessary to communicate or express

realities that are beyond ordinary words. Symbols enable us to see things
that we would otherwise not be able to see. Symbols participate in what
they symbolize. A wedding ring, in the eternity of its circularity and in the
preciousness of its material, truly participates in the love that it expresses; yet
that love is so much greater than this little, but so important, ring.30
Consequently, says Knitter, when the first followers of Jesus called him ‘the Son
of God,’ they were using a symbol that expressed for them the experience that to
have met Jesus was to have met God.
For them ‘Jesus’ and ‘God’ were almost the same thing. But they weren’t the
same thing! Jesus as symbol participated in the divine reality yet was not the
fullness of that reality, for as he reminded his disciples in John’s Gospel, the
Father is greater than me (John 14.28) 31
Because he both embodied the divine nature and demonstrated what human
nature could become when fully opened up to breathing in the divine spirit, Jesus
is authentically called both the ‘Son of God’ and the ‘Son of Man.’ In this way he
becomes a sacrament—indeed, the primary sacrament—for Christians. Such an
understanding, Knitter suggests, is most fruitful for our theology of dialogue for it
makes room for other saviors in other religions.
We cannot stress too much the contrast Knitter is drawing between Jesus as the
one constitutive element in the salvation of human beings and Jesus as opening
up the way to New Being. As Knitter puts it ‘Jesus as the Sacrament of salvation
is open to other sacraments.’32 In terms of the conversation with Vaishnavas
few things are more apparent than the sacramental intensity of Krishna as a
transforming presence. Vaishnava salvation, Rudolf Otto suggested, comes through
‘simple, trusting appropriation of the grace of the Lord and in love to Him.’ Knitter,
I think, would agree that Krishna is most surely a legitimate sacrament of salvation.
It seems to me that this suggestion is most helpful for an all-embracing
Christian theology of religion that will transform the churches’ understanding
of the place of Christian faith amid religious diversity in the next two or three
generations. All we need to note here is that the teaching about symbolism by
Paul Tillich, a Protestant, and Karl Rahner, a Catholic, have come alive in the
context of the theology of religion and the theology of dialogue.
Pure Universal Love

In what follows I am largely speaking from within my own tradition of faith,
namely that of the Methodists, the followers of John Wesley. In this I am aided by
the English scholar of Indian Religion Eric Lott, one of the most distinguished of
my Methodist colleagues.33 He and I were nurtured by the hymns of divine love
of John and Charles Wesley, as for example Charles’s great verse:
Love divine, all love excelling

Joy of heaven to earth come down
Fix in us thy humble dwelling
All thy faithful mercies crown.
Jesu, thou art all compassion
Pure, unbounded love thou art;
Visit us with thy salvation.
Enter every trembling heart.
In another hymn (actually it is more of a reflective poem) Charles Wesley asks to

know the name of God, specifically saying: ‘tell me if thy name is Love’ and he
receives this answer:
‘Tis Love! tis Love! Thou diedst for me!

I hear thy whisper in my heart
The morning breaks, the shadows flee’
Pure, universal love thou art
To me, to all, thy mercies move;
Thy nature and thy name is love
In straightforward prose, John Wesley insisted to his Methodists that they were to
be: ‘grounded in love, in true catholic love, till thou art swallowed up in love for
ever and ever.34
For Eric Lott this understanding of the centrality of love is plainly paralleled
in Indian bhakti or devotional theism of which he has profound knowledge.
One immediate parallel he cites is the Alvar tradition, where as he notes, an
alvar ‘is as the name means, one drowned in divine love.’ His prolonged study
of vernacular devotional songs in south India shows ‘an experience of divine
love as passionately personal (italics his). He gives many examples of which
Nammalvar’s verse is one:
O Lord of celestial powers,

In your grace you have entered even my heart,
O Lord of eternal glory, the living spring of all that lives…
Ramanuja has described this inseparable relation with the Great Self as ‘an
unbroken flow of oil,’ and as ‘an ocean full of forgiving love for those who take
refuge in him, the supremely merciful.’35
In the light of all this, Lott is able to see Methodism as a Christian bhakti
movement where the love experience of God is an end in itself, and where this
experience of God is made possible only by divine grace. But as in the case
of Wesleyan theology, Lott observes that such experience has transformative
implications and discusses them fairly fully in his article. Of course, this is
thematic material for Christian-Vaishnava dialogue rather than a theology for
interfaith dialogue. In the end, Lott has some important concluding words about
bhakti-faith:
We [Westerners] should not go on . . . overlooking those faith traditions that
may even enable us to recover a deeper sense of the wonder that is God, the
wonder of Charles Wesley’s “Love divine, all loves excelling.” It may be that
this faith from afar may enable us to be more faithful to the God and Father of
our Lord Jesus Christ.36
The theology of this should be clear: we are truly to expect that the God whom
Methodists describe as pure universal love is at work everywhere and that
because of the diversity of God’s children, in some places some of them will
have seen further or understood more than God’s children in other places.
With this kind of understanding Christian participation in interfaith dialogue
becomes a dialogue towards truth not yet fully known to any of us. Because of
the profound affinity of Methodism as a Christian-bhakti movement with the
rich and varied Vaishnava responses to God it can perhaps help this pilgrimage
of discovery to attain new levels. Certainly the Methodist emphasis will
always ensure an emphasis on experience and worship, a doxological dialogue,
within the interfaith process.
No Longer The Same

[A] stranger, suddenly
showing up, makes the very thing you were doing no longer
the same.
That is [,] suddenly
what you thought, when you were alone, and
doing what you were doing,
changes because someone else shows up37

These verses give the title No Longer the Same to a recent book by an American
Anglican layman, David Brockman, whose work is new to the list of publications
on Christian theology of religion.38 Brockman is concerned that for two thousand
years Christianity ‘has operated as if it were the only game in town, or at least
the only game that mattered.’39 But this he says is no longer sufficient. For
many reasons it has be come vital in our time to have a theology that is ‘faithful
not only to the truth of God revealed in Jesus Christ but also to encounter with
religious others as a potential truth event witnessing to that God.’40 This will
involve the element of ‘comparative theology,’ which involves serious scho-
lars work together in direct conversation and mutually enriching research.
Interestingly he instances among the major proponents of this approach James
L. Fredericks, Francis X. Clooney and John P. Keeney.41 The first and that last
of these scholars have been concerned with Buddhism but Frank Clooney will
be well-known to readers of JVS and actually contributes an article to this present
issue.42 As more and more scholars join in this enterprise Brockman hopes that
they will include in this remit the wider social, political and economic contexts
of the texts and teachings that have hitherto preoccupied participants in this
important form of interfaith dialogue
In the future, Brockman suggests, other perceptions and insights will become both
part of the sources and norms for Christian theological reflection in such a way that
the witness of religious others will have been brought into fully reciprocal, mutually
critical dialogue with Christian witness. Here it is important that comparative
theology not limit itself to merely what appears to be ‘similar’ but engages with
what is really different. This dialogue may well suggest answers to some Christian
theological puzzles and raise new questions about issues that Christianity had
previously taken for granted: equally it could perhaps solve some Vaishnava puzzles
and shed new light on issues that Vaishnava tradition has taken as settled.43
Brockman’s underlying concern about comparative theology, as indeed
about any other form of theology, is that we all have to recognize that any given
religious tradition is likely to be involved in structures of authority, power and
repression. All theologizing, he says, needs to look up from texts scriptures,
traditions, doctrinal debates and ritual practices, and to look around at social,
political and economic contexts (the italics are in Brockman’s original text). The
positive message embedded in religious traditions is about transformation, both
immediate and ultimate.44 There is a utopian dimension in religious discourse,
the scent of a changed world and a conviction that the human framework can be
ultimately changed. Certainly this applies to Christianity and Vaishnavism: both
are committed to ‘a praxis which transforms what exists.’45
Brockman helps us enormously in giving us the phrase that he has made key
to his own thinking: no longer the same. After fifteen years of working together,
none of us, Christian nor Vaishnava, is any longer the same. We have begun on a
process that will lead us together toward things that we can only imagine.
A Final Reflection
One Christian theological principle ties together the thinking of Knitter, Lott
and Brockman highlighted in this paper. It is best described as ‘eschatological’
and reminds Christians that Christ is not fully disclosed to us, that in fact in this
present life we only see things in part or in a distorted form. As St. Paul describes
our situation in the First letter to the Corinthians, we see the things of God
now only as in a mirror, rather dimly and in a puzzling way (blepomen gar arti
di’esoptrou en ainigmati. 1 Cor. 13.20). Only in God’s eschaton (last times) will
the enigma (ainigma) become clear as we see the Lord face to face and gain the
full personal knowledge of God. Until that time theologians have to speak with
a proper humility. As Knitter has indicated we have been given a glimpse of the
divine splendor in symbols and sacraments, with the result that that, as he wrote,
Jesus manifestly ‘participated in the reality of God yet was never the fullness
of that reality.’ Indeed, as St Paul declares later in the same First Letter to the
Corinthians, the accomplishment of God’s purposes will be when God is all in all
to all people (1.Cor. 15.20).
This is, as Lott reminds us, ‘the wonder that is God, the wonder of Charles
Wesley’s “Love divine, all loves excelling,” when the new creation is complete
and we are changed from glory into glory, lost in wonder, love and praise.’
Meanwhile, one of our common tasks in our dialogue is to anticipate in our life
a quality of love and devotion not yet fully known to any of us. Maybe we can
sense in our mutual participation as two different kinds of bhakti movement in
sharing insight and wisdom as ‘a foretaste of the heavenly banquet prepared for
all human kind.’
Brockman, as we saw, believes that the ‘no longer the same’ encounters with
religious others may become potential truth events witnessing to and deepening
our understanding of God. When this happens, as is now increasingly often
case something wholly new comes to birth. There is then as it were a new
creation, both marvelous and unforeseen. This is now the vocation laid upon
both Vaishnavas and Christians in which God is saying to both communities in
vigorous if ungrammatical language: ‘you ain’t seen nothing yet!’ With eyes open
expectantly we move to this new world, itself a witness to the eschaton of God,
all in all to all people.
Endnotes
1. Some of this material revisits what I wrote twelve years ago as ‘ISKCON and Inter-
faith Dialogue’ in ISKCON Communications Journal, Vol 8, No 1, June 2000
2. Denziger/Schonmetzer, Enchiridion Symbolorum, Friburg in Bresgau, Herder, Editio
29, No. 1354.
3. The formula ‘extra ecclesiam nulla salus’ is in fact derived from Cyprian: he wrote,
‘Habere non potest Deum patrem qui Ecclesiam non habet Matrem’: ‘who does not have
the Church as Mother cannot have God as Father ’and the phrase ‘salus extra ecclesiam
non est’ itself appears in his Epistulae LXXII 21.
4. In All Have the Same God, St Paul Publications 1979, p. 21.
5. Larger Catechism II, iii.
6. To my profound and lasting astonishment I found that Christ had been there a long
time before I arrived: but that is another story.
7. I have made an attempt at telling some of the history of these developments
on the Protestant side this in my Justice Courtesy and Love: Theologians and Missionaries
Encountering World Religions 1846-1914, Epworth Press, 1995.
8. See below for further comments on their espousal of adviatic Hinduism as their
chief dialogue partner.
9. Andrews wrote in 1910 ‘The whole field of Hindu theism needs working over and
its treasures bringing to light. At present it is far too little understood or appreciated.’
quoted in Cracknell, Justice Courtesy and Love, p 179
10. Jones recorded with admiration the words of a Bengali Goswami at one of his
conferences in the 1920s: ‘I believe in Sri Chaitanya. I practice both bhajana . . . and
kirtana. . . . I feel that God is very near me. I have this experience almost every time I
have kirtana in the morning. The name of Hari gives happiness.’ Christ of the Round Table.
Abingdon Press, 1928, pp 30-1.
11. For many others see my Justice, Courtesy and Love and note in particular two
Americans, Robert Allen Hume and John Peter Johns.
12. In the following terms: ‘Since Christians and Jews have such a common spiritual
heritage, this sacred Council wishes to encourage and further mutual understanding and
appreciation. This can be obtained, especially, by way of biblical and theological enquiry
and through friendly discussions.’
13. Paul Devanandan is, I think, the first to use the word Dialogue in a WCC context,
see his Preparation for Dialogue, Bangalore: Christian Institute for the Study of Religion and
Society, 1964.
14. The issues of salvation though other religions remains controversial. The most
recent book on this subject (2011) Gavin D’Costa, Paul Knitter and Daniel Strange, Only
One Way: Three Christian Responses on the Uniqueness of Christ in a Religiously Plural World,
SCM Press, 2011 has the three authors locked head to head in maintaining diametrically
opposed positions. D’Costa defends the excluding position of Benedict XVI as found for
example in Dominus Iesus (2000). Paul Knitter also a Roman Catholic theologian notes the
names of Roger Height Jacques Dupuis, Peter Phan, Jon Sobrino, Tissa Balalasuriya, Jacob
Kavunkel and Michael Amalodoss as among those who have incurred Papal displeasure for
suggesting that this at least an open question. Knitter names other Catholic theologians
offering serious work on the distinctiveness of Jesus: Raimundo Panikkar Aloyius Pieris and
we can add his own name and that of his teacher, Karl Rahner.
15. D’Costa points out correctly that Nostra Aetate is a ‘Declaration’ and has no
dogmatic value. See his full discussion of the theological issues involved in No Other Way?,
pp. 7-46.
16. Eerdmans, 1991
17. Numbered among the most influential Protestant thinkers of the last generation
are Wilfred Cantwell Smith, Krister Standahl, John Hick, John B. Cobb Jr, Stanley
Samartha, I would find it invidious to name those who are currently making new and
fresh contributions.
18. “Fresh in the ears of many in that period were these words from a Hindu from
North India politely declining to take part in a WCC organized formal dialogue: ‘Do not
think I am against dialogue . . . on the contrary, I am fully convinced that dialogue is
an essential part of human life, and therefore of religious life itself . . . Yet to be frank
with you, there is something that makes me uneasy in the way in which you Christians
are now trying so easily to enter into official and formal dialogue with us. Have you
already forgotten that what you call ‘inter faith dialogue’ is quite a new feature in your
understanding and practice of Christianity? Until a few years ago, and often still today,
your relations with us were confined, either merely to the social plane, or preaching
in order to convert us to your dharma ... For all matters concerning dharma you were
deadly against us, violently or stealthily according to cases . . . quoted by Stanley
Samatha in his Courage for Dialogue, WCC. 1981.
19. In Britain we responded to the WCC Guidelines by summarizing them into Four
Principles of Dialogue:
DIALOGUE BEGINS WHEN PEOPLE MEET EACH OTHER

DIALOGUE DEPENDS ON MUTUAL UNDERSTANDING AND MUTUAL TRUST
DIALOGUE MAKES IT POSSIBLE TO SHARE IN SERVICE TO THE COMMUNITY
DIALOGUE BECOMES THE MEDIUM OF AUTHENTIC WITNESS
I expounded these in the context of Christian-Vaishnava Dialogue in my article. ‘The Four

Principles of Interfaith Dialogue and the Future of Religion, in ICJ Vol 4, No 1, June 1996.
20. Two good guides to these developments are Paul Knitter Introducing Theologies of
Religion, Orbis, 2002, and David Brockman and Ruben L.F. Habito (ed), The Gospel among
Religions: Christian Ministry, Theology, and Spirituality in a Multifaith World, Orbis 2010 .
21. Hendrik Kraemer The Christian Message in a Non-Christian world, Edinburgh House
Press, 1938.
22. Bede Griffiths, Christ in India, Templegate, 1984, p. 16.

23. India’s Religion of Grace, Macmillan, 1930, pp. 16, 18, 21.
24. Aiyadurai Jesudasen Appasamy, Christianity as Bhakti Marga; A Study in the Mysticism
of the Johannine Writings. Macmillan, 1927, pp. 2 and p. 21..
25. The Bossey Declaration: Religious Plurality and Christian Self-Understanding printed in
full in Kenneth Cracknell In Good and Generous Faith, Pilgrim Press, 2006 pp. 218-9.
26. Towards a Theology for Interfaith dialogue, CIO Publishing 1984, p 19.
27. I was moved to re-read eleven years later, these words from my previous article:
‘A report from one of the earliest residential interfaith conference records Vaishnavas
as being moved by the ‘’openness and humility of all the members of the Christian
churches present” and indeed some expressed not a little amazement at the “lack of
false ego” in these participants. They expressed gratitude for the “real willingness to
understand” the Vaishnava philosophy. According to this report, several devotees
said that they had discovered a real increase in ‘”respect, appreciation and esteem”
for Christians and Christianity, calling the conference time ‘essential and extremely
productive .’
28. In, Only One Way? p. 158.
29. Daniel Strange in Only One Way? p. 115, actually refers to ‘God’s holy and righteous
wrath’, later quoting the late John Stott, an Anglican evangelical leader: ‘Thus, God took
his own loving initiative to appease his own righteous anger by bearing it his own self in
his own Son when he took our place and died for us.’ p. 125.
30. In Only One Way? p 67, Knitter cites Karl Rahner, ‘The Theology of the Symbol’ in
Theological Investigations No 4. Helicon 1966, and Paul Tillich, The Dynamics of Faith, chap.
3 ‘Symbol of Faith,’ Harper and Row 1957.
31. Ibid, p. 68.
32. Ibid, p. 70.
33. See his chapter “All Loves Excelling”: A Methodist reflects on Hindu Faith’ in Mar-
tin Forward, Stephen Plant and Susan White (eds), A Great Commission: Christian Hope and
religious Diversity, Peter Lang, 2000, pp. 244-265.
34. Sermon XXXVI: The Catholic Spirit.
35. op.cit. pp. 248-9.
36. ibid. p 265.
37. Charles Olson, Coles’s Island in Robet Creeley (ed), Selected Poems, University of
California Press, 1993.
38. The full title is No Longer the Same: Religious Others and the Liberation of Christian
Theology, Palgrave, 1911.
39. No Longer the Same, p126
40. Ibid, 127
41. Fredericks and Keeney have been concerned with Buddhism, see for example
James L. Fredericks Buddhists and Christians: through Comparative Theology to Solidarity,
Orbis, 2004 and John P. Keenan, The Meaning of Christ; A Mahayanan Christology, Orbis, 1989.
42. See Francis X. Clooney among many other writings, Seeing Through Texts Doing
Theology Among the SriVaisnavas of South India, State University of New York Press, 1996.
Hindu God, Christian God, Oxford University Press, 2001, Divine Mother, Blessed Mother: Hindu
Goddesses and the Virgin Mary Oxford University Press, 2004, The New Comparative Theology:
Interreligious Insights from the Next Generation, T. and T. Clark 2010.
43. I had a doctoral student in Cambridge UK twenty years who, having learnt San-
skrit, suggested to me that the Methodist theologian John Wesley would have found
it more congenial to use the thought of Ramanuja in which to frame his teaching.
Unfortunately, this idea was some years ahead of its time.
44. Eric Lott commented in his article cited above that there is ‘another aspect of
at least some bhakti-faith that surely should encourage the sense of need for wider
social change. This is the conviction that the new age of God has now dawned on people
everywhere being touched by God’s grace. A kind of realised eschatology . . . this has
been best brought out by . . . Hare Krishna movement,’ italics his, op.cit. p. 262.
45. The liberation theologian Gustavo Gutiérrez, quoted by Brockman, op.cit p. 139.
The Soul and Its Destiny: Christian Perspectives
Klaus Klostermaier
Preface/Postscript
I deeply appreciated the invitation from Shaunaka Rishi and Anuttama Dasa
to prepare the Christian position paper for this conference, and I enjoyed
the warm atmosphere created by our friendly hosts. When preparing my
manuscript I was naturally aware of significant doctrinal differences between
not only the various branches of Christendom, but also between traditional and
progressive thinkers in one and the same denomination. I intended to give a
summary of what I thought was mainstream traditional Christian teaching on
the soul and its destiny, beginning with a study of some Biblical notions relating
to soul, giving an outline of Thomas Aquinas’ and mediaeval official Church
teaching, providing some mystical/experiential accounts, summarising a major
contemporary Roman Catholic theologian’s view on the “destiny of the soul,”
mentioning some major modern challenges to Christian views of the soul, and
ending with a few personal/critical remarks on the issue.
I came away from the meeting with the impression that there is not a single
statement regarding the nature and destiny of the soul that would be accepted
by all Christian denominations. The doctrinal development in the various
Christian denominations, and the disinterest shown by many contemporary
Christians in any formulations of “metaphysical doctrines” has reached a point
where it is pretty meaningless to speak of a “Christian position” on questions
like the soul and its destiny vis-á-vis, e.g., a Vaishnava position. It would be
possible—as was suggested by one participant—to compare and contrast the
teaching on soul of, for instance, Thomas Aquinas and Jiva Goswami; however,
it was widely felt that such a comparison would be rather useless. The empha-
sis, all were agreed, should be on contemporary perceptions, and a perceived
relevance to the questions of our age and day.
The following write-up does not claim to reflect the collective thinking on
the soul and its destiny of the individual Christians present at the gathering
(none of whom came in any official function), but is offered as a historic docu-
91
ment and as a point of departure for the discussion which proved to be lively as
well as going in many different directions.
Biblical Background
Since this paper is meant to prepare a dialogue with Vaishnavism, the hori-
zon of the “soul-dialogue” must encompass not only Western philosophical
and theological Christian psyche notions, but must cover all notions con-
tained in the Indian notion of jivatman. Accordingly, the Biblical background
will include notions of “life” and “spirit” over and above “soul.”
Life (Hebrew chaim ; Greek zoe; Latin: vita) is one of the most fundamental
concepts of the Bible. “The living God” is a standing expression, as compared
with the “dead idols.”1 God is “life-giving-spirit,” and life is the most precious
possession of man. Life is not seen only in terms of modern medicine and biol-
ogy, as a mere physico-chemical mechanism, but it is the whole of existence,
feeling, thinking, knowing God. Life is something divine-only God can give
it. Genesis relates that humans got their life through a special and immedi-
ate act of God. Life in the proper sense is union with God; the sinner is “dead,”
even if biological life is still going on. Life is thus the most cherished treasure
of humans, identical with God’s blessing, merit, good-whereas death is syn-
onymous with sin, God’s curse, evil. Since sin has deprived humans of their
true life—the union with God—the purpose of salvation is to restore the life.
Christ calls himself “life.”2 God is life, and can give life. “Life” is the state of the
redeemed ones, a life which is the fruit of the redemption through Christ, which
will last forever. “Eternal life” is not something which comes “after death,” but
it is the divine life, which is already in those who have received salvation. Life
is essentially seen as a process of communication, whose source is “the living
God.” The conditions to receive it are faith in Christ,3 good works, love of neigh-
bour especially,4 baptism and Eucharist.5 Baptism is described as the “dying
with Christ and rising with Christ to a new life in God.”6
Soul (Latin: anima) is the translation of the Biblical nephesh and psyche, and
etymologically both contain the idea of breath, blowing, drawing breath. Some-
times psyche is used simply as a synonym for life, or the principle of life,7 or for
“living being”—either animal or man;8 in other places it means the principle
which is opposed to the body,9 which is immortal and which is man’s most valu-
able “part”: “What does it profit you if you gain the whole world and lose your
soul? What can you give in exchange for your soul?”10 And: “There is no need
to fear those who kill the body but have no means of killing the soul; fear him
more, who has the power to ruin body and soul in hell.”11 The use of the term
The Soul and Its Destiny: Christian Perspectives 93
“soul” in the Bible is far from uniform—it is not used in a philosophical way.
“Soul” signifies the spiritual principle of humans coming from God and some-
how remaining forever.
Spirit (Hebrew: ruah; Greek: pneuma; Latin: spiritus) is used often in the Bible
in different senses. Sometimes it is a synonym for life, soul or living being,
people.12 Occasionally it stands for the seat of feelings, thoughts, intentions.
Sometimes pneumata (spirits) describes the deceased ones.13 With Paul we find
very often spirit as the opposite to “flesh” (sarx). Spirit stands for union with
God, and thus also the body of the redeemed ones (as referred to here, the body
of the risen Christ) is “spirit”, whereas the whole existence of the sinner, who is
“far from God,” is “flesh.”14 Spirit is the divine power which justifies and sancti-
fies; flesh is the weakness in which sin is dwelling and thriving. This “spirit” is
the “spirit of Christ”—the faithful become “One spirit with Christ.”15
There are some more expressions in the Bible which could be used in order
to show how “soul” is to be understood: we find sometimes human essence ex-
pressed as “the heart” (Hebrew: leb; Greek: kardia). Also “flesh” is used as express-
ing human existence, not just in the negative sense. The terminology of the
Bible is far from uniform, and we do not find clear definitions of the term. Life,
soul and spirit stand for a reality which is transcategorical. The Bible wants to
make clear that the whole existence of humans is from God, and depends on
God, who is the “living God.”
The Theology of the Early Church and the Middle Ages

When Christianity came into contact with Greek philosophy it had to give an
answer to the problems posed by Greek philosophers. Greek philosophy had
already coined definite, mutually exclusive, concepts of body and mind, matter
and spirit, it had a “body-soul-problem” which was unknown to the Bible.
According to Plato the soul had a pre-existence as a pure spirit in the realm
of ideas. For some fault it had been imprisoned in a body, and its liberation, its
freedom, the regaining of its own true nature, could only be through discard-
ing the body. In the Epicurean school the soul was considered to be inseparably
connected with matter. The death of the body meant the annihilation of the
“soul.” The Aristotelians raised problems concerning the origin of the soul,
the existence of separate spiritual substances, the nature of the soul, and the
relation of body and soul. Representatives of all schools, who had become Chris-
tians, tried to interpret the Christian message in their respective terminology.
It is interesting to observe that the early Church saw a threat against its
“souldoctrine” coming more from the “spiritualistic” schools than from “mate-
rialistic” doctrines. Therefore, the Apologetes of the first and second century
sometimes use expressions which overemphasise the opposition to Neo-Pla-
tonism, sometimes calling the soul “material and naturally mortal.” Tertullian
in his De Anima seems to think of the soul as made of a very subtle material
substance.
Manichaeism and Priscillianism tried to divide reality into two hostile camps:
the realm of God, spirit and light on the one side, and the realm of the devil,
body and darkness on the other. The Councils of the Church opposed such a
dualistic concept of reality. They taught that the substance of the soul was
not identical with the substance of God, nor could it be considered a part, or
transformation of a part of it.16 The body was not a creature of the devil, but
was created by God, and therefore in its nature good.17 Marriage, instituted
for the propagation of the human race was not a devilish and sinful institu-
tion, but ordained by God and made a sacrament.18 The human body received
through Christ’s redemption a dignity of its own and will rise again for life eter-
nal.19 Human souls did not have any pre-existence in heaven before they were
united with the body, and it is not because of some fault or sin of the soul that it
becomes embodied.20 The soul is not transmitted by the parents through natu-
ral generation, but is created individually by God.21 In death the soul becomes
neither one with the substance of God, nor does it perish altogether.22
One of the questions repeatedly discussed throughout antiquity concerned
the time at which soul and body are united. Aristotelian philosophers thought
of a successive animation of the body: in the moment of conception the body
had only a “plant soul,” some months later this would be replaced by an “ani-
mal soul,” and only at birth the “spiritual-soul” would be given. The Christian
philosophers used the categories shaped by Greek philosophy, not always fully
aware that by doing so they shifted the centre of the Biblical teaching. They no
longer dealt with the human person as whole, but with a “part,” with “soul.”
For centuries Aristotle’s Peri psyches was the great textbook of philosophical
psychology. The greatest philosophers of the Middle Ages wrote commentaries
on it. Thomas Aquinas, whose De Anima is a classical treatise of mediaeval psy-
chology, lists the following questions:
Can the soul be a form and a particular thing?

Is the soul, so far as its act of existing is concerned, separated from the body?
Is there one possible intellect, or intellective soul, for all humans?
Is it necessary to admit that an agent intellect exists?
Is there one separately existing agent intellect for all humans?
Is the soul composed of matter and form?

Should the rational soul be united to a body such as humans possess?
Is the soul united to corporeal matter through a medium?
Are the rational, sentient and vegetative souls substantially one and the same?
Is the soul its powers?
Are the powers of the soul distinguished from one another by their objects?
Is the human soul incorruptible?
Is the soul, when separated from the body, capable of understanding?
When the soul is united to the body, can it understand separate substances?
When the soul is separated from the body, can it understand separate substances?
When separated from the body can the soul know all natural things?
When separated from the body can the soul suffer punishment by corporeal fire?
In response to the opposition of Manichaean dualism Aquinas emphasises that

the union of body and soul is essential for humans, and that it is to the advan-
tage of both body and soul. “To be united to body is not to the detriment of
the soul but to its enrichment. There is the substantial benefit of completing
human nature, and the accidental benefit of achieving knowledge that can only
be acquired through the senses.”23 He says that our body substance is not from
an evil principle, as the Manichaeans imagine, but from God. “By the friendship
of charity, by which we love God should we cherish the body.”24 In his opinion
the psycho-somatic interdependence goes so far that the quality of intellectual
life depends on the quality of the body. When the body is a hindrance for the
achievements of the higher aims of human life, it is not due to its being body,
but to sin which corrupts the body and disturbs the harmony between body and
soul.25
Another major problem was that of the “oneness of the intellect”. The back-
ground lies in the Aristotelian concept of mind. Human understanding comes
about by an active process of the mind by which mind abstracts from the (pas-
sive) objects an “idea” and makes it its own, “assimilating” it to its own nature.
To make this possible, Aristotle had to assume a distinction in mind itself: an
active mind, which provides for the contact with the outside world and which
delivers to the “passive mind” the ideas, the abstractions of things. “Passive
mind” is a mere interiorising faculty and intellect proper.
But then how to explain the objectivity of human knowledge, the likeness
of ideas and understanding? Aristotle left this question open. The great Arab
interpreters of Aristotle, Averroes (Ibn Rosd 1126-98) and Avicenna (Ibn Sina
980-1037), tried to explain it by some kind of “super-mind,” an intellect which is
common to all humans. They asserted either that the active mind was common
in the passive individual, or that the passive mind was common in the active
individual. Thomas rejects this doctrine, which contains the danger of doing
away with personal responsibility and the individuality of men.26
Human souls are manifold, and their oneness is not one of substance, but of
species. The “objectivity” and likeness in understanding comes from the same-
ness of nature, not from the sameness of existence. As bodies are different, the
souls which are their specific “form” are bound to be different.27 Against this
background Aquinas defends the individual immortality of the soul. After death
the soul does not merge into any “supersoul,” neither separated substance nor
Absolute, but remains an individual human soul and capable of either beatitude
or damnation: “Mind is not composed of matter and form, for its ideas are not
physical but spiritual as their universality declares, they are abstract and not
tied down to matter or to the material conditions of time and place. The mind
is, therefore, a subsisting form, and is consequently immortal.”28
One of the favourite topics of mediaeval philosophy was speculation about
“separate substances,” beings that are pure spirit. The profound discussions
about their location, their kind and method of knowing, and their relation with
the world of matter have lost much of our interest. (It is interesting to note that
theoretical physicists have resurrected some of these problems and terminol-
ogy in their description of the mode of existence of subatomic particles.) One
topic, however, has gained more interest in our times: the concept of “person.”
Thomas defines person in a very general manner, as “individual substance of a
spiritual nature.” Thus, it applies to humans, angels and God. It does not express
any kind of limitation or restriction, but on the contrary, it means the highest
perfection in its order of being. It is a “name of eminence.”
Person ranks highest in the metaphysical scale of being. Person means some-
thing unique, ineffable, a value in itself, an end in itself. Person as such is inde-
structible. The ultimate stage of perfection is therefore not a merging of created
persons into the uncreated (personal) Absolute, but a communion of persons, a
“being face to face,” a “dialogue,” between God and humans.
While most of the psychological and anthropological problems of mediae-
val theology have lost their actual importance, the problem of “person” has
become the central issue of both modern philosophical anthropology, as well
as modern sociology. The human understood as person is the end to which all
non-personal values have to be referred. It sets definite limits to the imper-
sonal powers such as state, party, nation or economy. It is the personality of
every human which distinguishes human society from an ant hill, which makes
human history different from natural history, which gives a sense and a rich-
ness to human life.
Mediaeval Visions of Soul and God

Beginning with Paul, Christianity relied on visions as an important and genuine
medium of communication between God and humans. Since that time vision-
aries have described an “out-of-body-experience” as the initial phase of such
a visionary event. The soul detaches itself from the body, often looking at the
body as it were from a distance, always recognising the body as its own, wheth-
er being delighted by its contemplation as Alpais de Cudot (p.55),29 or horrified
by it as Elsbeth Stagel (p.112), and beholding itself, before being immersed in
the vision of God. The self-description of the soul is usually in terms of light and
brightness:
She was a round, beautiful and illuminating light, like the sun, of a golden
red hue, and that light was so immensely beautiful and pleasant that I cannot
compare it with anything else. If all the stars in heaven were as large and
beautiful as the sun and were combined into one splendour, it could not
compare with the beauty in my soul. It appeared to me as if a light was issuing
from me which illuminated the whole world, and the whole world enjoyed a
glorious day. And in this light, which was my soul, I saw God whine blissfully,
like a beautiful light in a beautiful lamp stand, and I saw that he so lovingly
and graciously joined my soul that he became totally one with her. And in
this union of love my soul received from God the assurance that all my sins
were completely forgiven, and that she was so pure and clean as she was after
baptism (Elsbeth Stagel, pp.111-2).
In a more abstract way, Alpais de Cudot described the soul as “simple, invisible,
incorporeal, not divided into parts like the body, present as a whole in whatever
she does . . . the soul is not in a particular place. As God is everywhere . . . so the
soul is everywhere in the body, more powerfully in heart and brain, as one says
that God is in a special way in heaven . . .” (pp.56-8).
While being in that condition, the soul is not making any distinctions
between good and bad, noble or ignoble. As Angela da Foligno reports:
I perceive (God) present and recognise how He is present in all of nature,
in everything that is, in the demon, the good angel, in hell, in paradise,
in adultery and murder, in every good deed, in beautiful and ugly things.
When I am in this truth I am as happy when I see God or an angel or a good
deed or an evil one . . . when the soul sees that it cannot take offence at
anything (p.142).
Mystics emphasize that in that vision everything belonging to the previ-

ous state of soul disappears and is transcended, including faith. As brother
Aegidius said: “Whosoever has faith in the perfect way in which one ought
to have it, God will take it from him.” When asked what he would do in such
a “faith-less” state if he had to celebrate Mass (which requires the priest
to say “I believe In God . . .”), Brother Aegidius began singing with a strong
voice: “I know One God, Father Almighty.”
The Destiny of the Soul According to Michael Schmaus

Christian tradition has always affirmed the spirit-soul’s substantiality, immortal-
ity and individuality. Its “destiny,” then, was perceived as fulfilment of its natu-
ral longing for God. Popularly (and biblically) that fulfilment has been described
as “heaven.” The “joys of heaven” have been held up to Christians of all genera-
tions as compensation for the denial of earthly enjoyments and as an incentive
to not only fulfil the commandments, but to exert themselves to the utmost in
the service of God on earth. For many centuries “eschatology” has been a major
part of systematic theology; and within eschatology the heavenly existence of
the soul has been dealt with quite extensively. Due to the speculative nature of
the subject, individual presentations by different theologians widely diverge. It
is also here that the factional feuds and prejudices of denominationally-defined
Christianity become painfully apparent: the qualifications for entering “heaven”
are usually the same as those required for joining a particular church or sect.
In the following I am summarising the views of the well-known twentieth
century theologian Michael Schmaus (1883-97), whose Katholische Dogmatik,
appearing in many editions during his lifetime, has been quite influential. It also
is expansive and detailed. According to Schmaus “with death begins a kind of
existence that lies beyond all experience-it is the authentic form of existence,
intended by God from eternity. Its perfect form is only gained in the resurrec-
tion.”30
The “separated soul” leads a kind of in-between existence: “Human spirit
is intended for an existence in, with and through a body.” For Schmaus “the
belief that death liberates spirit from the body is a romantic-idealistic misun-
derstanding” whose “historic roots are to be found in platonic/neo-platonic
anthropology.” He asserts, however, that “according to Catholic doctrine the
spirit-soul is alive and awake in the period between death and resurrection.”
Referring to official Church pronouncements, such as the 1336 papal bull
“Benedictus Deus” by Benedict XII, he tells us that the following souls are
already living in paradise: the saints deceased before the coming of Jesus Christ,
the apostles, martyrs, faithful who have been baptised (both those who did not
need cleansing and those who were cleansed), and baptised children. (The fate-
ful statement “Extra ecclesiam nully salus” was usually understood to mean that
nobody who had not been baptised after the coming of Christ could go to heav-
en; at best a kind of “limbo” could be reached, the same place where unbaptised
infants were supposed to dwell.)
The souls in heaven “have an immediate vision of the divine essence, face to
face”; they are blissful. Heaven not only is the ultimate “destiny of the soul,” but
also the “completion of God’s reign in individual humans.” Schmaus speaks of it as
“a defined area” and “a form of existence.” “Heaven as “home” was meant as the
soul’s ultimate destiny from the very beginning. There is no way beyond it . . .”
Heaven also is a “living in Christ and Christ in us,” a “conscious direct behold-
ing of Christ.” According to the Council of Florence “the blessed see the Triune
God as He is without image and mediation.” Schmaus amplifies: “The blessed
soul sees the glory of the Being of God and the life-exchange of the three divine
persons. He sees in God and through God also the world in the right light.” The
blessed takes delight in contemplating the qualities of God and participates in
the conversation between the three divine persons: “In this conversation the
perfect comes to know the secret of God and world. The Father explains to him
everything that He tells the Son . . .”
The distinction, however, between God and humans is not obliterated. “God
remains superior to humans in a non-sublateable way. . . . They remain different
as creator and creature. Also, in heaven, God remains for humans an impen-
etrable mystery.Humans cannot understand everything that the Father tells the
Son . . .”
Schmaus emphasises both the individuality of the perfect, and the commu-
nity character of heaven. But, “everybody remains a mystery for everybody.”
“Uninterruptedly the blessed gain new, delightful insights into the wonder-
works of creation from the vision of God . . . fulfilment of every genuine desire
for knowledge, love and happiness.” And, “the dominion which has been prom-
ised by Christ to the blessed, which is a participation in his own dominion, com-
prises all of creation. Everybody is Lord of the entire world.”
Reflections on Christian Perspectives on the Soul and Its Destiny

Christianity did not begin as a coherent philosophical system, but as a branch
(“fulfilment”) of Judaism, which itself had no clear-cut and agreed upon teach-
ing on the nature of the soul. Some of its schools did not accept the notion of an
individual life eternal others maintained conflicting views on life after death.
The Christian New Testament, as specialists like; the scholars of the “Jesus-Sem-
inar” tell us, is largely the creation of the Christian Church(es) of the first two
centuries: only about 15% of the sayings attributed to Jesus are today considered
authentic Jesus-words. The constant divisions within the Christian Church-vir-
tually from beginning-lead eventually to the establishment of several thousand
Christian Churches which maintained their own sets of beliefs and practices and
did not encourage the development of a systematic, commonly accepted, phi-
losophy of “soul.”
Sayings attributed to Jesus use the word psyche in a colloquial, popular sense.
It does not emerge clearly whether an eternal soul was ascribed to each and
every individual human being, or only to the “elect.” (That Christianity had a
problem in this area emerges from the mediaeval discussion “whether women
have souls,” and from the early modern issue of not ascribing souls to the “sav-
ages” of newly discovered America.) Paul seems to not only maintain the exis-
tence of a “spirit” (pneuma) over and above psyche (and sarx), but also to assume
that only those who had the pneuma possessed immortality.
The early Christian preachers did not win adherents by effectively arguing
for a convincing philosophy of the soul but by telling the Jews that their hope
for a Messiah had been fulfilled, and by telling non-Jews that Jesus was “Lord.”
Eventually it was the military victory of Constantine which gave Christianity the
status of a state religion. The first step taken by Christians in power was not the
establishment of theological centres, but the assumption of secular offices and
the displacement of pre-Christian religion and its officials; philosophical schools
and institutions of learning were closed down without replacement. A strong
anti-intellectual and anti-philosophical strain has characterised much of Christi-
anity throughout its history.
Initially it was only individual Christians who had had the benefit of a “pa-
gan” education (like Basil or Augustine) who made an effort to philosophically
digest Christian teaching in order to formulate a “Christian philosophy.” Even
they, when facing real philosophical problems, quickly resorted to “revelation,”
and denounced secular philosophers as being in error.
A major boost in the direction of developing a soul-philosophy came in the
early Middle Ages when, due to the appropriation and utilisation of Greek phi-
losophy by the early Muslims, a challenge was thrown at Christianity in the very
heartland of Europe. Christian teachers seriously attempted to cast their teach-
ing in a philosophical systematic mould. Neither did this happen without major
opposition from within the Church, nor did it result in a definite and universally
accepted doctrinal position on such crucial questions as the nature and the des-
tiny of the soul. While some principles of Aristotelian philosophical psychology-
like the axiom of the soul being the forma corporis-became official Church teach-
ing (established at some minor Councils), the resistance against the attempt to
make Christianity a more philosophical religion grew inside the Church, and
became a major factor in the major break-up of Western Christianity, called the
“Reformation.” Luther, for instance, had nothing but contempt for the “pagan
philosophers” and for those who tried to bring their teachings into the Christian
faith. Sola fide became the watchword the “whore reason” was to be driven away
from God’s temple.
It is accepted as a matter of course today that each Christian denomination
has its own theology and its own doctrines concerning such matters as the
nature and destiny of the soul. It is also accepted that within each denomina-
tion every major theologian would have their own version and interpretation
of such doctrines. Some contemporary theologians interpret (or reinterpret)
traditional teachings on the soul in a Freudian or Jungian perspective, without
expressing clearly whether they accept the reality of what they talk about. Most
pastors would squirm when confronted with the question of whether they really
believed what their Churches officially teach about the soul and its destiny.
“Post-modernism” in a variety of ways has made in-roads into the thinking
even of non-intellectuals. It is no longer politically correct to assert the unquali-
fied reality of anything, or to assume that one can know truth. It is telling that
“soul” does not appear in the index of as influential a popular theological work
as Matthew Fox’s Original Blessing (Sigmund Freud, Erik Fromm, Carl Gustav Jung,
besides Thomas Aquinas and Meister Eckhart do appear, however!).
While “officially” nothing has been taken back from the late mediaeval
Church teaching on “soul,” in practice not much of it seems to matter. Since the
eighteenth century the West has gone through an anti-metaphysical phase, and
“soul” (in the sense understood by the scholastics) is no longer the subject mat-
ter of serious scientific/ philosophical investigation. The “psychological” notion
of human nature seems to have penetrated fairly deeply. One consults a psy-
chologist when in “psychological” trouble; one trains “specialists” to deal with
“psychic trauma”; but one hardly recognises a need for a “curate of the soul” in
the literal (Socratic) sense.
Concerning the destiny of the soul, for most contemporary Christians “heav-
en” is not much of an attraction, nor is “hell” much of a deterrent in the pursuit
of their “legitimate interests.” The main, if not exclusive concern is with a good
life here and now, with health (physical and mental) and with security (job and
financial). Those who assume a life after death do not argue along dogmatic/
metaphysical lines, but refer to “near-death-experiences,” mostly enjoyable,
and purely on the level of individual experience. The contemporary euthanasia
debate does not contain references to the fate of the eternal soul, but has an
exclusive foreground ethical concern arising largely from the fear that euthana-
sia may be misused.
As far as the dialogue of Christianity with Vaishnavism is concerned, it will
be indispensable to openly face the present situation as described. Both Vaish-
navas and Christians have to rethink their traditional teachings on the back-
ground of contemporary psychology and neuro-science, and have to restate
their metaphysics in a contemporary idiom. They must recognise the historico-
cultural conditioning of traditional teaching without giving up the timeless
insights expressed in them. Vaishnavism was always perceived to be close to
Christianity in its theology and its ritual practices. It may be possible to find a
common language to speak about the soul and its destiny that could religiously
inspire late-20th-century women and men.
Endnotes
1. Deut. 5, 23; Matt. 26, 63.

2. John 16, 6; 11, 25.
3. John 3, 15; 5, 24 f.
4. Rom. 2, 7; 1; John 3, 14.
5. Rom. 6, 4; John 6, 27, 32, 50, 58.
6. Rom. 6, 1 ff.
7. Matt. 2, 20; 10, 28; 10, 39; John 10, 11.
8. 1 Cor. 15, 45; Rom. 13, 1.
9. 1 Pet. 2, 11.
10. Matt. 16, 16.
11. Matt. 27, 50; Appoc. 11, 11.
12. Heb. 15, 23.
13. Rom. 8, 4–13.
14. 1 Cor. 6, 16.
15. 1 Cor. 6, 17.
16. Symbolum Concilii Toletani (400 C.E.): “Animam autem hominis non divinam esse
substantiam, aut Dei partem, sed creaturam . . .” (D 20) Concilium Bracarense II (561 C.E.):
“Si quis animas humanas vel angelos ex Dei credit substantia existitisse, sicut Manichaeus et
Priscilliani dixerunt. A.S.” (D 242)
17. Concilium Bracarense II: “Si quis plasmationem humani corporis diaboli dicit esse
figmentum, et conceptiones in uteris matrum operibus dicit daemonum figurari, propter quod et
resurrectionem carnis non credit, sicut Manichaeus et Priscillianus A.S.”
18. D 242f.
19. ibid.
20. ibid. D 236f 20. “Si quis animas humanas dicit prius in coelesti habitatione peccasse et
pro hoc in corpora humana in terra deiectas . . . A.S.”
21. Justinian Liber adversus Originem A.D. 543 (D. 203).
22. The so-called “Thetnopsychists” believed in a temporal death of both soul and body.
23. De Anima 1 ad 1, 2 ad 14. De Anima was written about 1260. English translation: The
Soul by J. P. Rowan, St. Louis 1951.
24. Summa theologica II–II, 25, 3.
25. Summa theologica I, 85, 7: “Because some people have more finely tempered bodies
their souls have greater strength of understanding.” Cf. De spiritualibus creaturis, 4.
26. Summa theologica I, 76, 2.
27. One of the most central and fruitful teachings of Aristotle’s is the idea that the
soul is “the form of the body.” I.e. The soul is the principle of existence of the body:
if there were no soul, there would not be a body. The individual nature of the body
depends on the individual nature of the soul, and vice versa. This understanding has
been incorporated into the official doctrine of the church. The 5th Lateran-Council
(1512-17) defines: the soul is “Vere et essentialiter humani corporis forma . . . et immortalis
et pro corporum, quibus infunditur, multitudine singulariter multiplicabilis, et multiplicata, at
multiplicanda sit.”
28. De Anima 14.
29. All page references are to Martin Buber, Ekstatische Konfessionen, Diederichs: Jena,
1909. All translations are my own.
30. All quotes are my translations from the original German in M. Schmaus, Katholische
Dogmatik, Vol. IV, part 2: “Von den letzten Dingen,” 5th edition, Mhnchen: Max Hueber
Verlag, 1959, pp. 301–15.
The Soul and Its Destiny: Vaishnava Perspectives
Tamal Krishna Goswami
T he Vaishnava understanding of the soul’s destiny may be conveyed by

focusing the discussion on three topics: consciousness, salvation and
the kingdom of God, of which salvation is perhaps the more inclusive
term. To locate and frame this discussion in categories appropriate to Gaudiya
Vaishnavism,1 we may label these three topics with the Sanskritic terms
sambandha, abhidheya, and prayojana.2 Sambandha refers to the conditioned
soul’s relationship with God. (Here, our analysis of consciousness post-mortem
is meant to identify the soul as the one who survives death); abhidheya refers
to the regulated activities of the conditioned soul for reviving its relationship
with God; and prayojana indicates the ultimate goal of life for conditioned souls.
These definitions suggest, at least for the present discussion, the following loose
epistemological equation: sambandha, abhidheya and prayojana = consciousness,
salvation, and the kingdom of God.
Sambandha—Consciousness Post Mortem

Aham brahmasmi, the Upanishads declare, “I am not this body; I am spirit.”
We are each infinitesimal parts of the Godhead, one in quality with Him, while
quantitatively different. The Bhagavad-gita (2.24) informs us that the individual
soul is “unbreakable and insoluble, and can be neither burned nor dried. He is
everlasting, all-pervading, unchangeable, immovable and eternally the same.”3
Consciousness is an inseparable aspect of the soul which pervades the entire
body, much as sunlight illuminates the universe.4 As light is a symptom of the
sun, so is consciousness a symptom of the soul. Consciousness is not a result
of matter interacting nor can it be equated with the mind, intelligence or ego
which together form our psychic body.
The body / soul distinction is immediately understood by the statement: “my
body.” By this assertion we distinguish our true person from our physical being.
We do not say, “I body.” Similarly, “I mind” and “I intelligence” are equally
incorrect. Therefore, personal identity is not jeopardized when memories,
105
thoughts and other products of the mind are altered, or even lost. Personhood
remains even in the state of susupti, deep sleep, in which there is no psychic
activity. Our mental conditions may be useful in ascribing personal identity, but
do not in and of themselves constitute personal identity. The soul is the true
self, the subject of self-awareness, and the ultimate agent of thinking and feel-
ing. This agent is free and responsible, unlike matter which can make no moral
choices but only follow deterministic patterns. Consequently, death is merely a
termination of the physical state—an end to the neural firings, but not the end
of our spiritual being.
The Vaishnavas maintain that this spiritual being is distinctly individual —
not only in the state of bondage, but after liberation as well. This view differs
markedly from the monistic Vedantists who contend that at liberation the
individual self is consumed by the One Supreme Self. Atman becomes one with
Brahman, like a drop of water merging with the ocean, and there the story
ends. The monists assert that the self as an individual should not survive death,
for that very desire is the root of all problems. The Vaishnavas find this conclu-
sion abhorrent, since denying permanent individuality to the soul strips it of
personality and deprives it of ever achieving the ultimate bliss of service to God.
But first one has to understand transmigration.
How has this effulgent, spiritual being called the soul become fettered to
this world of illusion, and forced to undergo the repetition of birth and death?
Gaudiya Vaishnavas believe that we were once with Krishna, enjoying an eter-
nal life full of knowledge and bliss, but we abused that freedom, misjudged our
strength and gave up that relationship which was the very basis of our exis-
tence. Each of us made a wilful decision to abandon Krishna and instantly plum-
meted downwards. Imprisoned in material existence from a time immemorial,
we can neither recall our original sin nor easily find the means to expurgate it.
This is hell, though certainly there are regions darker than this. Yet the term of
our imprisonment need not be eternal. Our bondage will cease when the sins
that continue to stain our consciousness are entirely removed. Until then, the
soul must continue to transmigrate.
At death, the soul sheds the gross body, to be transported by the subtle
vehicle of mind (manas), intelligence (buddhi) and false ego (ahamkara) to its
next destination. This psychic vehicle is not dependent upon the brain, and
it survives the body’s demise. The Bhagavad-gita (8.6) provides us this axiom:
“Whatever state of being one remembers when he quits his body, that state he
will attain without fail.”5 The departing soul’s consciousness—an accounting of
all the thoughts and actions of one’s life—is expressed in the form of unfulfilled
The Soul and Its Destiny: Vaishnava Perspectives 107
desires that propel the soul on a psychic vehicle to its next destination.
Under normal circumstances death plunges the soul into forgetfulness of
its past life, yet various Puranic examples relate previous life remembrances.
In the narrative of Maharaja Bharata (the famous king after whom the earth is
named), the monarch could still remember his previous royal position despite
his next birth as a deer. Such instances indicate that it is the same individual
who survives death. And the same is true for an individual who may attain a
transcendental body, as illustrated by the following statement of the sage Nara-
da, quoted from Bhagavata Purana:
And so, O Brahmin Vyasadeva, in due course of time I, who was fully absorbed
in thinking of Krishna and who therefore had no attachments, being freed
from all material taints, met with death, as lightning and illumination occur
simultaneously. Having been awarded a transcendental body befitting an
associate of the Personality of Godhead, I quit the body made of five material
elements, and thus all acquired fruitive results of work [karma] stopped.6
The next birth—whether material or spiritual—is awarded by the Supreme

Lord, who, as Paramatma, the Supersoul, is privy to our most hidden desires and
directs our wanderings that we may fulfil them. Reincarnation is neither arbi-
trary, nor need it be unending; our birth is a consequence of free will. Misuse of
that freedom is played out in any of the universe’s eight million four hundred
thousand species of life; while with its proper use we can return back to our
original home in the kingdom of God.
Abhidheya—Salvation
The Gita7 instructs us to learn the truth by approaching a guru. And the Gautamiya
Tantra confirms, “My spiritual master opened my eyes, which were blinded
by the darkness of ignorance, with the torchlight of knowledge.”8 The guru’s
words and example are truth, and the guru is therefore considered to be “the
supreme personality of servitor Godhead.” He intercedes on the conditioned
soul’s behalf, seeking the soul’s reprieve from endless rotation on the wheel of
samsara (the repetition of birth and death).
What precisely is that intercessionary act which reverses the soul’s down-
ward spiral from the Godhead? Sri Chaitanya, teaching His disciple Rupa Gos-
wami, likened it to planting the seed of the creeper plant of devotion (bhakti-
lata-bija) in the disciple’s heart.9 By doing so, the guru does not introduce some-
thing new, or even something unknown. Devotion to God is part of the soul’s
constitution, but was covered in the forgetfulness of uncountable rebirths. The
association of a guru promotes faith (shraddha), which revives the disciple’s

dormant devotion. Faith, therefore, is the seed of the devotional creeper which
in maturity blossoms as prema (love for God). Faith and guru (the bestower of
faith) are essential for the healthy growth of the bhakti-lata.
After a period of mutual testing the relationship between guru and disciple
is formalized by initiation (diksha). This is an essential rite of passage, for by
accepting a disciple, a guru is said to absorb his karma. It is not merely the
stored merit of the particular guru that neutralises the initiate’s sins; rather,
it is the guru’s connection with God through an unbroken chain of spiritual
masters (parampara) that allows the sinful reactions to be vanquished by the
Godhead Himself. The salvific relief a disciple experiences by this act of mercy
cannot be underestimated; nevertheless, it is only the beginning of the ben-
efits initiation is meant to bequeath. If salvation is understood in the restricted
sense of release from karma, it is subservient to devotion. A guru’s primary
duty beyond neutralizing karma, is to offer a disciple training in the devotional
arts as a preparation for eternal spiritual life. Devotional service then becomes
the inclusive term to describe all one’s spiritual activities—before liberation
and after. A devotee hesitates to ask God even for salvation (if salvation means
simply release from birth and death), for that too is a selfish desire. A devotee is
prepared to do anything in any number of births to please Krishna, so salvation
as an unconditional appeal to be engaged in God’s service is alone acceptable.
Following rules and regulations (vaidhi sadhana bhakti) under the three-fold
authority of guru, sadhu (saintly practitioners) and shastra (scripture), a devotee
performs mandatory devotional service until the practice becomes spontaneous
(raganuga bhakti). Revelation can take place at either stage of practice, for both
bring one into direct contact with the Godhead in His various manifestations:
His names, His message, His worshipful form in the temple and foods which
have been offered to Him and are to be consumed as a sacrament (prasadam).
Of all practices, chanting God’s holy names is considered the yuga-dharma,10
the most important religious act in this present age of Kali (kali-yuga), capable
of cleansing the heart of all inebriety accumulated through countless births.11
This is not to deny the efficacy of other services,12 but to emphasize its central-
ity in Lord Chaitanya’s mission.
When the heart is cleansed of all unwanted desires (anartha-nivritti), then
faith in God and His devotional service are firmly established (nishtha). The
devotional acts are so conceived as to exactly resemble the very same per-
formed by liberated souls in the kingdom of God. When one has learned to serve
spontaneously with taste (ruchi) and attachment (asakti), one’s relationship
with Krishna is automatically revealed, and one is able to emulate the mood
described in scripture of the eternally liberated associates of the Lord. This rela-
tionship will accord with one of the primary rasas, the loving moods relished in
the exchange of love with the Supreme Personality of Godhead. These are, in
the order of increasing intimacy, passive adoration (shanta rasa), servitorship
(dasya rasa), fraternal love (sakhya rasa), paternal love (vatsalya rasa) and conju-
gal love (madhurya rasa). Keeping in mind the ideal of an appropriate exemplar
from the Lord’s eternal entourage, emotions will gradually intensify until there
is an actual awakening of love (bhaava13), and its full manifestation (prema14).
The fully Krishna conscious devotee, though still physically residing in this world,
actually lives in the kingdom of God.
Prayojana—The Kingdom of God

What is the kingdom of God and where is it located? The term “kingdom of
God” suggests a supreme Deity who presides over a spiritual realm. But what
exactly is the nature of that kingdom? Has it physical dimensions, or is it only
a metaphor for the internal landscape of a devotee’s consciousness? The Gita
(8.21), provides the following information:
That which the Vedantists describe as unmanifest and infallible, that which is
known as the supreme destination, that place from which, having attained it,
one never returns—that is My supreme abode.15
It is “unmanifest” (avyakta ) to those lacking spiritual vision; “infallible”

(akshara) or eternal in contrast to the created universes; and the “supreme des-
tination” (paramam gatim) because one who attains it never returns.
We may hesitate to exactly locate God’s kingdom, fearing to do so would
suggest limitation. But the Bhagavata Purana reminds us of our own universe’s
enormous size, which, along with innumerable others of similar and even
greater proportions, constitute but one-fourth of existence. God’s kingdom
makes up the balance.16 Vaikuntha (which literally means “without anxiety”)
is the descriptive nomenclature used to identify the entire spiritual realm.
Manifested from the Lord’s internal, spiritual potency (antaranga-shakti),17 the
infinite Vaikuntha space is the Upanishadic Brahman, which the Vaishnavas
explain as God’s bodily effulgence. This undifferentiated brahmajyoti is the
destination of monists who desire to merge their individuality into the exis-
tence of God. Vaishnavas, who eschew such impersonal liberation, target one
of the many spiritual abodes on which the Lord personally resides.
One of these, Goloka (which literally translates as “the planet of cows”), is
said to be the abode of Krishna, who is also known as Gopala, the protector of
cows. For those finding difficulty in the very concept of locating the Godhead,
consigning the most opulent Supreme Being to a cowherd village seems incon-
ceivable. To be certain, it is not a village like any in our experience. Literature
like the Brahma-samhita inform us that Goloka’s soil, trees, calves—everything—
is spiritually surcharged with the power to fulfil all of one’s desires.18 There
is nothing of the dirtiness, the toil and hardship we normally associate with
farms and animal maintenance. It is the perfect setting for God’s lila (a most apt
Sanskrit term that describes God’s “play”). Here He cavorts with His intimate
associates and devotees, whose “play” is simply delight, free of all dross and
drudgery.
The more conventional vision of God’s kingdom—one of splendors, palaces,
thrones and other opulent paraphernalia—is, according to Gaudiya Vaishnavas,
found in the other planets of the Vaikuntha space where Krishna’s majestic
expansion—the four-armed form of Narayana—is worshipped. Whereas in
Goloka the charming arrangement makes all the participants forgetful of their
subservience to the Godhead, the majesty that characterizes the other Vaikun-
tha planets inspires the sort of awe and reverence normally associated with the
Godhead. There, all are mindful of the Godhead’s greatness and their own need
to maintain a respectful distance.
These spiritual worlds are beyond empirical observation, unapproachable
by any material means. As those travelling to other planets in our solar system
must adapt to different atmospheres, entrance to the transcendental abodes
requires a particular spiritual preparation. To facilitate the practitioner, the
Godhead’s abode is recreated within the bounds of our own planet. Appearing
to be a simulated world of virtual spiritual reality, these training grounds seem,
at first sight, to be no different from their surrounding geography. Yet we are
told that they are in fact replicated portions of the spiritual sky.
One of these locations is situated approximately one hundred miles south of
New Delhi, India. The area of Vraja in the district of Mathura, which includes
the pilgrimage town of Vrindavan, has many cowherd villages. Life goes on
there much as it has for thousands of years, except for the occasional intrusion
of modernity—a blaring radio or a madly honking bus horn. Otherwise, the
rambling ox carts along the dirt roads, the sounds of butter being churned by
hand and songs of the cowherd people all seem to resist the influence of time.
Of the pilgrims who come here, some are able to submit to the discipline that
spiritual cultivation demands; others will leave, taking with them memories
they will relive again and again until the day they can return. For the Vaishna-
va, such holy places are non-different from their transcendental counterparts
in the spiritual sky, placed within this world like windows through which to
view eternal reality. Vaishnavas remember God’s eternal play, moulding them-
selves until they are also suitably qualified to participate.
So far this is a definition of the kingdom of God in physical terms—the spiri-
tual planets of Vaikuntha and the pilgrimage-site counterparts in this world. To
be complete it needs to include how a devotee’s consciousness directly interacts
with, and even impacts on, spiritual reality. Specifically, this paper attempts
to demonstrate the important correlation between motivation and goals, and
what bearing these have on the Gaudiya Vaishnava cosmology.
As indicated previously, there is a class of impersonal transcendentalists
whose aspiration is not meeting with God, but merging in Him. Monists forsake
a personal loving relationship with God in favour of absorption in His brilliant
aura. The effulgent spiritual sky which surrounds God’s kingdom is in fact made
of shining spiritual particles intermixed with the souls of monists whose desire
for undifferentiated oneness is thus fulfilled. In contrast to the devotees who
desire to experience the blissful cognition of the Lord’s unparalleled company,
monists can realize only the eternal nature of the Godhead. Unable to savor the
full satisfaction which comes with God’s personal association, monists inevi-
tably retrace their spiritual journey, returning dissatisfied to resume material
existence.
What could possibly induce the monists to undertake even lifetimes of aus-
terities if the net result of their efforts is to boomerang through the cosmic
covering, only to return to their original point of departure? They hold the
mistaken impression that perfection lies in annihilating individuality, while suf-
fering is an illusion caused by differentiating oneself from the rest of existence.
But their attempt at spiritual suicide fails due to the soul’s indestructible and
indivisible character—to be eternal, full of knowledge and bliss—qualities that
only a loving relationship with God can fulfil. The monist fails to recognize that
in relationship with the personality of Godhead there is none of the mundane
inebriety characterizing material interactions. Monists therefore commit a fun-
damental error by using their material experience as a basis for judging spiri-
tual life. God is unlike any person they have known, but the clash of egos they
have encountered previously in all of their interpersonal dealings makes them
think that with the annihilation of individuality their problems will be solved.
Arriving at this imperfect conclusion, they try to deny their desire to love and
be loved.
The monistic example illustrates the powerful role fear plays in spiritual en-
visioning. In most religious practices, fear of consequences is a primary motiva-

tion for the adherent. Religious laws are codified in lists of “do’s” and “don’ts,”
with an elaborate description of corresponding positive and negative conse-
quences. Considering human frailties, it is hard to imagine any tradition’s suc-
cess without such strictures. Yet the very nature of “rules” implies a ruler, who
may employ force, which in turn invokes fear. God’s omniscience, omnipresence
and unlimited strength indicate, among other things, His unparalleled capability
as a law enforcer, making the wrathful God an image common to many tradi-
tions. Directly or indirectly, nearly every religion invokes fear as a method of
keeping believers in line. It is difficult to ignore God’s retributive capability,
especially (as is usually the case) when it is woven into the very fabric of wor-
ship. If awe and reverence are the warp and woof of the religious fabric, fear is
the thread itself. It induces humility, defines the tone of prayer and demands
surrender.
Built into the concept of awe and reverence is the feeling of subordination;
hence, distance. God’s unparalleled attributes make Him nearly inaccessible and
potentially alienate the worshipper. Stressing God’s mightiness initially condi-
tions our relationship with Him, establishing even overtly that He is great, we
are small.
This does not exclude the possibility of love, for we see that parents and chil-
dren are bound by strong ties of affection specifically due to their respective
greatness and smallness. The dependency of one upon the other defines their
relationship. And it is this same sense of dependency which characterizes the
love many devotees feel for God, irrespective of their denominational affilia-
tions. The opulence of God the Father’s majesty provides a protective umbrella
beneath which they can take shelter.
Yet the Lord’s mercy can be so overwhelming, His affectionate dealings so
appealing, that awe and respect are eclipsed by unbounded love. Intimacy and
familiarity replace awe and reverence, as a devotee becomes overwhelmed by
the sweet dealings of the Lord. Devotees with such capacity for love relate to
God in friendship, parental affection, even conjugal love. What distinguishes
these devotional moods from those who take shelter of God’s majesty is the
degree of intimacy each entails. The roles are reversed: God becomes the equal
friend, the subordinate child, the paramour. The intimacy of such relationships
succeeds in bridging the distance awe and reverence created.
Anyone who attains the kingdom of God lives in a state of perfection. To sug-
gest that one devotee’s perfection is better than another seems to imply that the
achievement of some is incomplete. Yet if love of Godhead increases in propor-
tion to the degree of intimacy, it may not be incorrect to assign different grades
of perfection. All may be complete, just as various vessels may be filled to capac-
ity though the amount of water differs depending upon the size of each.
This may cause some to feel an egalitarian disappointment where an ideal
in which all are “equal” seems compromised. As if to suggest a solution to this
dilemma, Rupa Goswami, the foremost of Gaudiya aestheticians, refers to Krish-
na’s manifestations in Dvaraka, Mathura and Vrindavan (the three divisions of
His abode, Goloka) and says that Krishna is respectively perfect, more perfect and
most perfect in each.19 How astonishing! God is better in some situations than in
others. Yet even in the least of such circumstances He is “perfect.” Similarly, all
devotees in God’s kingdom are perfect; but some are more perfect than others.
There is a fascinating parallel between God, His kingdom and the devotee’s
perfection. The intimacy of devotion, as well as determining relationships, also
dictates which of His many features the Lord reveals. God assumes a command-
ing demeanour as Narayana of Vaikuntha for those whose devotion is filled with
respect; for those whose feelings of reverence are mixed with equal feelings
of familiarity, He reveals Himself as Vasudeva-Krishna to accommodate both
moods; and finally, for those who want extremely intimate love, He is Gopala
Krishna, a transcendental cowherd boy, who lives in the relaxed atmosphere of
a village surrounded by His closest family and friends. These last circumstances
are ideally chosen to evoke natural, spontaneous love, by which the supreme
personality of Godhead comes fully under control.
Krishna acknowledges that He is incapable of properly reciprocating with
those who love Him as intimately as these affectionate relatives and friends. And
even though He is the cause of these devotees’ super-excellent devotion, Krish-
na admits defeat. At the same time He is fascinated by the paradox that though
He is unconquerable, He has been conquered with love; though He cannot be
surpassed, He has been surpassed by love.
Of the few who have vanquished Him in this way, none have done so as
thoroughly as Shri Radha, His pleasure potency and spiritual counterpart.
Reflecting upon His astonishing defeat at Her hands, He desired to under-
stand the glory of Her love, the wonderful qualities in Him that She alone
relishes through Her love, and the happiness She feels when She realises
the sweetness of His love.20 Meditating upon His own spiritual counterpart,
Shri Radha, Krishna’s bluish body became imbued with Her golden complex-
ion and transcendental emotions, transforming into the form of Chaitanya
Mahaprabhu.
In His unique identity as “God the Devotee,” Chaitanya Mahaprabhu

expresses the most sublime feelings of love in separation. Though He is the
Godhead Himself, He “forgets” His supreme identity and madly searches
everywhere for His beloved Lord. “Where is Krishna? Where is the Lord of
my life?” He fervently appeals. Seeing their Krishna so transformed (as Sri
Chaitanya), the residents of Vrindavan desire to share His ecstasy. So they
manifested alternative forms, suitable to participate in Lord Chaitanya’s
pastimes. Thus Chaitanya and His devotees incarnated on earth and
inaugurated the religious practice most suitable for this age: congregational
chanting of the Lord’s holy names. The followers of Lord Chaitanya are
known as Gaudiya Vaishnavas. They worship both Chaitanya and Krishna,
seeing Them as the same non-different Supreme Personality of Godhead.
Dedicating their lives to this two-in-one Deity, they aspire to attain to Goloka
Vrindavan, the topmost realm of Krishna and Chaitanya.
Endnotes
1. Gaudiya Vaishnavism refers to that Vaishnava division which regards Sri Chai-tanya
Mahaprabhu, the fifteenth century Bengali saint, as the supreme Godhead Sri Krishna
Himself.
2. These terms were used by Sri Chaitanya Mahaprabhu in His instructions to Sanatana
Goswami to categorize his teachings. See Prabhupada, Sri Chaitanya-charitamrita Madhya
20.124.
3. A. C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, trans. and comm., Bhagavad-gita As It Is
(Los Angeles: BBT, 1989).
4. The comparison of consciousness/body with sunlight/universe is found in
Prabhupada, Bhagavad-gita 13.34: “O son of Bharata, as the sun alone illuminates all
this universe, so does the living entity, one within the body, illuminate the entire
body by consciousness.”
5. See Prabhupada, Bhagavad-gita 8.6.
6. A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, trans. and comm., Shrimad Bhagavatam,
12 cantos. (Los Angeles: BBT, 1978) 1.6.27-8.
7. See Prabhupada, Bhagavad-gita 4.34: “Just try to learn the truth by approaching
a spiritual master. Inquire submissively and render service unto him. The self-
realized souls can impart knowledge unto you because they have seen the truth.”
8. om ajnaana timirandhasya
jnaanaanjana-salaakayaa
chakshur unmilitam yena
tasmai shri gurave namah
Rohininandana dasa, ed., Vaishnava Verse Book, (Borehamwood: BBL, 1990) p.194.
9. See Prabhupada, Sri Caitanya-caritamrta, Madhya 19.151: “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 Krishna. By the mercy of both Krishna and the spiritual master, such a person receives
the seed of the creeper of devotional service.”
10. See Prabhupada, Shrimad Bhagavatam 12.3.51-2 for an explanation of the omni-
potency of chanting God’s names in the present age: “My dear King, although Kali-yuga
is an ocean of faults, there is still one good quality about this age: Simply by chanting
the Hare Krishna maha-mantra, one can become free from material bondage and be
promoted to the transcendental kingdom.”
“Whatever result was obtained in Satya-yuga by meditating on Vishnu, in Treta-
yuga by performing sacrifices, and in Dvapara-yuga by serving the Lord’s lotus feet
can be obtained in Kali-yuga simply by chanting the Hare Krishna maha-mantra.”
11. See Prabhupada, Caitanya-caritamrta Antya 20.12. The first of the only eight
verses composed by Lord Chaitanya describes the benefits of chanting God’s holy
names:
cheto-darpana-marjanam bhava-maha-davagni-nirvapanam
shreyah-kairava-candrika-vitaranam vidya-vadhu-jivanam
anandambudhi-vardhanam prati-padam purnamritasvadanam
sarvatma-snapanam param vijayate shri-krishna-sankirtanam
“Let there be all victory for the chanting of the holy name of Lord Krisha, which
can cleanse the mirror of the heart and stop the miseries of the blazing fire of material
existence. That chanting is the waxing moon that spreads the white lotus of good fortune
for all living entities. It is the life and soul of all education. The chanting of the holy name
of Krisha expands the blissful ocean of transcendental life. It gives a cooling effect to
everyone and enables one to taste full nectar at every step.”
12. Devotional service to God (bhakti-yoga) can take any one of nine forms: (1) hearing
of the spiritual name, form, attributes and pastimes of Krisha (shravanam); (2) chanting
Krisha’s glories (kirtanam); (3) remembering Him (smaranam ); (4) serving His lotus feet
(pada-sevanam); (5) worshipping Him (archanam); (6) offering prayers (vandanam); (7)
serving (dasyam); (8) befriending Him (sakhyam); (9) full surrender (atma-nivedanam).
13. When devotional service is situated on the transcendental platform of pure
goodness, it is like a ray of the sunlight of pure love for Krisha. At such a time devotional
service causes the heart to be softened by various tastes and is called bhava.
14. When bhava softens the heart completely, becomes endowed with a great
feeling of possessiveness in relation to the Lord, and becomes very much condensed
and intensified, it is called prema.
15. See Prabhupada, Bhagavad-gita 8.21
16. See Prabhupada, Srimad Bhagavatam 2.6.20: “The spiritual world, which consists
of three fourths of the Lord’s energy, is situated beyond this material world, and it is
especially meant for those who will never be reborn.”
17. The material universes, unlike the spiritual universes, are created from His
external, material energies (bahiranga-shakti).
18. chintamani-prakara-sadmasu kalpa-vriksha-
lakshavriteshu surabhir abhipaalayantam
lakshmi-sahasra-sata-sambhrama-sevyamaanam
govindam adi-purusham tam aham bhajami
“I worship Govinda, the primeval Lord, the first progenitor who is tending the cows,
yielding all desires, in abodes built with spiritual gems, surrounded by millions of
purpose trees, always served with great reverence and affection by hundreds of
thousands of lakshmis or gopis.” Bhaktisiddhanta Sarasvati Goswami Thakura, trans. and
comm., Shri Brahma-samhita (Los Angeles: BBT, 1985) 5.29.
19. See A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupäda, Nectar of Devotion: A Summary Study
of Srila Rupa Goswami’s Bhakti-rasaamrita-sindhu (Los Angeles: BBT, 1985) p.195.
20. This is a translation of a verse composed by Rupa Goswami and found in
Prabhupada, Caitanya-caritamrita Adi 1.6:
shri-radhayah pranaya-mahima kidriso vaanayaivaa-
svaadyo yenaadbhuta-madhurimaa kidriso vaa madiyah
saukhyam caasyaa mad-anubhavatah kidrisam veti lobhaat
tad-bhaavaadhyah samajani saci-garbha-sindhau harinduh
The Human Soul: A Roman Catholic View
Peter C. Phan
T he intent of this brief essay is to present an overview of the Roman

Catholic perspective on what is generally referred to as “the human
soul.” Its approach will be both philosophical and theological since the
Roman Catholic tradition makes use of both reason and faith, or more precisely,
reason guided and illumined by the Christian faith, to understand God and
all matters pertaining to God. Though attention will be paid to the Catholic
Church’s official teaching office, commonly referred to as the Magisterium, and
its Tradition, the essay will focus on Roman Catholic theology.
A few preliminary observations on the use of the word ‘soul’ would be
helpful. The primary dictionary definition of ‘soul’ is : “the immaterial essence,
animating principle, actuating cause of an individual life,” or “the spiritual
principle embodied in human beings, all rational and spiritual beings, or the
universe” (Webster’s New Collegiate Dictionary). It is taken to be opposite to,
or at least distinct from, the ‘body,’ and being immaterial and spiritual, it is
said to be immortal. ‘Soul’ is often used in conjunction with ‘spirit,’ albeit not
as its equivalent, since the latter can exist without a body (for instance, an
angel is a spirit but not a soul). In Christian anthropology, ‘body,’ ‘soul,’ and
‘spirit’ (with their corresponding Hebrew, Greek and Latin roots) have been
thought of as essentail components of being human. In contemporary empirical
psychology, however, ‘soul’ and ‘spirit’ are regarded as quaint metaphysical
relics; instead, only ‘brain’ and at best ‘mind’ are the acceptable coins of the
realm. Of course, the Catholic Magisterium rejects this reductionistic approach,
though some Catholic theologians, as we will see, question whether ‘soul’ is
still the appropriate term if the ontological unity of the human person is to be
maintained.
On the Soul and the Unity of the Human Person

The official teaching of the Catholic Church on the human soul is stated in
its Catechism of the Catholic Church: “The Church teaches that every spiritual
117
soul is created immediately by God—it is not ‘produced’ by the parents—and

also that it is immortal: it does not perish when it separates from the body at
death, and it will be reunited with the body at the final Resurrection.”1 Four
points are being made: first, the immediate creation of the human soul by God;
second, its immortality; third, its separation of the soul from the body at death;
and fourth, its reunion with the body at the universal resurrection.
At first sight the above text seems to espouse a dualism between body and
soul: the body is ‘produced’ by the parents, whereas the soul is immediately
created by God; the body is corruptible whereas the soul is immortal; at death the
soul is separated from the body; and in the intermediate state the soul maintains a
separate existence until it is reunited with the resurrected body. Indeed, Christian
anthropology has often been accused, especially by feminists, of being infected
by Platonic dualism, with its loathing for matter, the body (especially female)
and sexuality. That there has been in the Christian tradition a longstanding
abhorrence for these realities and that this Manichaean view was bolstered by
Greek dualism is beyond question. A cursory reading of Origen, one of the great
Greek theologians, or Augustine, one of the great Latin ones, will dispel any
lingering doubt.
Before examining further this dualism in Catholic anthropology, it is to be
noted that Catechism unequivocally affirms the ontological unity of the human
person: “The unity of soul and body is so profound that one has to consider the
soul to be the ‘form’ of the body: i.e., it is because of its spiritual soul that the
body made of matter becomes a living, human body; spirit and matter, in man, are
not two natures united, but rather their union forms a single nature.”2 In support
of this position, Catechism cites a text from the Second Vatican Council’s Pastoral
Constitution on the Church in the Modern World (Gaudium et Spes): “Man,
though made of body and soul, is a unity. Through his very bodily condition
he sums up in himself the elements of the material world. . . . For this reason
man may not despise his bodily life. Rather he is obliged to regard his body as
good and to hold it in honor since God has created it and will raise it up on the
last day.”3 To understand the theological basis of the Catholic Church’s positive
attitude toward the human body as expressed by Vatican II, which serves as a
corrective to the church’s past dualistic anthropology, a brief overview of the
teaching of the Bible is helpful.
Biblical View of the Human Person

Ironically, the concept of “spiritual soul,” which is central in Christian
anthropology, does not have an equivalent in the Bible. The Hebrew term nephesh,
The Human Soul: A Roman Catholic View 119
commonly translated as ‘soul,’ comes closest to it. However, it does not mean
“soul” in the Christian sense as explained above, but the throat as the seat of vital
needs, desire and feelings, life itself, or a living being. The Greek version of the
Hebrew Bible (the Septuagint) translates it with psychē, which in turn is (mis)-
rendered into English as soul. In the New Testament, psychē refers to the physical
life of an animal or a human being, the life principle, the human person as a whole
(in the modern sense of “self”), or the moral self. At times it can mean something
distinct from the body (sōma), as in Jesus’ warning: “Do not fear those who kill
the body but cannot kill the soul; rather fear him who can destroy both soul and
body in hell” (Matthew 10:28).4 In this case, psychē means something other than
the physical life, since it cannot be killed by human beings.
Paul uses at least six different terms to describe the human being as a whole,
each referring to the entire person but under various but not mutually opposing
and exclusive aspects. (1) Sōma (body) is the person as a whole, a living
and unified organism, the modern “self,” but with emphasis on the material
component. (2) Sarx (flesh, equivalent to the Hebrew basar) is the human person
as a natural, physical, earth-bound being, prone to being opposed to God and the
things of God. (3) Psychē (soul) indicates the human being as a living being with
conscious, purposeful activities. It is not yet the life with and in God or the Spirit
of God. Like sarx, psychē is the human person seen as opposed to the life in the
Spirit of God: the psychikos person or the flesh is contrasted with the pneumatikos
person or the person animated by the Holy Spirit (1 Corinthians 15:44-49).
(4) Pneuma (spirit) is the human person who in his knowledge and freedom is
open to receiving the Holy Spirit. In 1 Thessalonians 5:23, in his prayer for the
Thessalonian Christians Paul enumerates three elements together, suggesting
that they make up the human being: “May your spirit (pneuma) and soul (psychē)
and body (sōma) be kept sound and blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus
Christ.” (5) Kardia (heart) is the human person as the seat of knowledge and
emotions. (6) Nous (mind) is the human being aa a knowing and judging subject,
capable of intelligence, planning and decision. Clearly, the Catholic concept of
soul comprises all these six elements of Pauline anthropology.
In addition to nephesh, the Hebrew Bible uses the word ruah to refer to the
human person. Literally meaning breath and wind, ruah refers to the human
person as a living being. (The Latin word for ruah is anima, which also literally
means breath and wind and is figuratively used to mean ‘soul.’) The life principle
in humans is seen not as something they possess by nature but as a gift of God. It
is derived from the breath of God, as is stated in Genesis 2:7: “The LORD GOD
formed man from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath
(ruah) of life, and the man became a living being.” In the New Testament, ruah is
rendered with pneuma (spirit), and given the intimate connection between God’s
breath and the human spirit, it comes as no surprise that ruah gradually refers to
the immaterial part of the human person, that is, the equivalent of ‘soul’ in the
modern sense. Furthermore, when the human spirit is enlivened by the Spirit of
God, also called the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of Christ, and the Spirit, the human
person acquires a new life which will lead to the resurrection of the body, as Paul
puts it: “If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who
raised Christ from the dead will give you life to your mortal bodies also through
his Spirit that dwells in you” (Romans 8:10-11). Paul calls this resurrected body
“the spiritual body” [sōma pneumatikon], as opposed to the “natural body” [sōma
psychikon] (1 Corinthians 15:44).
Paul does not explicitly speaks of the separation of the soul from the body at
death. Furthermore, the so-called intermediate state was not much of a concern
to him since he expected the resurrection of the flesh to occur within his lifetime
(1 Corinthians 15:51). However, he was convinced that at the resurrection,
“this perishable body puts on imperishability, and this mortal body puts on
immortality” and death will be conquered (1 Corinthians 15:26; 54-57). Paul does
not say what transpires to the soul between a person’s death and the resurrection,
perhaps because for him the human person is a unitary being, not to be divided
into body and soul, with the possibility of the soul existing apart from the body.
The most important biblical teaching on the human person is not however
about the body and the soul and their ontological unity. Rather it is that humans
are created in the image and likeness of God, and it is this theme that is central
in contemporary Catholic anthropology. The basic text is Genesis 1:26-27: “The
God said: ‘Let us make humankind in our image (shelem), according to our
likeness (demut). . . . So God created humankind in his image, in the image of
God he created them; male and female he created them.” In being the image and
likeness of God, humans possess a fundamental and inviolable dignity as persons
capable of knowledge and freedom whose basic rights must not be denied but
rather promoted. In addition, since humans are God’s image and likeness in their
being male and female, there are goodness in sexuality and gender equality in
God’s original creation.
The Soul/Body in the Catholic Tradition

This biblical vision of the fundamental unity and equality of the human person
was preserved in second-century theologians such as Justin Martyr (100-c.-163)
and Irenaeus of Lyons (c.130-c.200). For the former, salvation includes not only
the preservation of the immortality of the soul but also the gift of immortality
to the mortal body. The latter, in his fight against the Gnostics, stresses that the
human being is composed of a corruptible body (but called toward immortality)
and the soul, that is, the breath of life which enlivens the body, and both are
created in the image and likeness of God. In addition to these two elements there
is a third, which however does not belong to the human person by nature but
is the gift of God, namely the Spirit, who transforms by grace humans into the
“perfect human being.”
In later centuries, however, this ontological unity of the human person became
blurred. Developed within the Hellenistic context, Christian theology was heavily
influenced by neo-Platonic philosophy with its dualistic cast and its disdain for
matter and sexuality (especially woman). Origen (c. 185-c. 254) taught that from
eternity God has created a world of spirits, all equal to each other, endowed
with freedom of choice and united with bodies of subtle or ethereal matter.
Some of these fell from their status by neglecting the contemplation of God,
and were punished according to the severity of their sins. Those with the lightest
culpability became angels, their bodies clothed with the thinnest matter. Those
with the greatest culpability became demons, their bodies covered with the
heaviest matter. Those in between became humans, their ethereal bodies taking
on less heavy bodies like ours. However, by living a Christian life and practicing
contemplation, humans can be freed from their heavy bodies and recover their
original ethereal condition. For Origen, the human being is composed of three
elements: body, soul, and spirit, the last being God’s gratuitous gift leading the
soul to salvation. The soul itself is composed of two parts: the higher is called
nous (intellect) or kardia (heart), which is the seat freedom. Contrary to Irenaeus,
Origen believes that only the nous, and not the body, is created in the image of
God. If the nous is submitted to the spirit, it will become the likeness of God
and spiritualize the soul’s lower part, which is added to the soul after its fall and
corresponds to thumus (passion) and epithumia (desire). As for the body, Origen
believes that it can exist in three states: earthly, like ours; demoniac, like those of
demons; and ethereal and luminous, like those of the angels and the resurrected
bodies of the holy people.
Origen’s neo-Platonist anthropology is amended by Greek fourth and fifth
century theologians, especially the Cappadocians (Basil of Caesarea, Gregory
of Nyssa, and Gregory of Nazianzus). For them it is the entire human being, and
not only the soul, that is the image and likeness of God. The bodily condition is
not the result of a prehistorical sin but is created as good by God. As such the
body has a share in salvation, thanks to the body of Christ, of which Christians
are members, especially through the sacraments of baptism and the eucharist.
The Cappadocians do make a distinction between the earthly, psychikon stage
of the body and its resurrected, eschatological state. The former lies under the
power of sin and is corruptible; the latter, which corresponds to God’s creative
intention, is the goal toward which humans must move. Even while affirming the
human tendency to oppose God’ will through the earthly body, these Fathers are
convinced that material realities reveal their Creator and can be redeemed, and
indeed, through being sanctified by the church, can function as “sacraments” or
“mysteries” of God.
In the Latin Church, the African theologian Tertullian (c.160-c.225) still
maintains the unity of body and soul, and, like Irenaeus, distinguishes between
the human soul, which is breath [afflatus] of God, and the divine Spirit [spiritus],
which is given to Christians. The divine Spirit is not a constitutive part of the
human being, but without him, the human body-and-soul reality is worthless.
Nevertheless, Tertullian insists that “the flesh is the hinge of salvation” [caro
salutis cardo] and that “it is in the flesh, with the flesh, and through the flesh that
the soul meditates on everything it meditates in its hear” (On the Resurrection of
the Dead, XV, 3).
This highly positive appreciation for the flesh and for matter in general, is
however much weakened in another, vastly more influential, African theologian,
Augustine of Hippo (354-430). Augustine posits the existence of an immaterial
substance in humans which he calls “spirit.” This spirit is to be distinguished from
the uncreated Sprit, God, and is created by God in God’s image. On the basis of this
image Augustine devises an ingenious analogy between the human soul and the
Trinity, with memory, intelligence, and love in the soul standing for the Father, the
Son, and the Spirit respectively. The superiority of the soul over the body is clearly
affirmed; it is only by returning into the soul that one can truly discover God.
Contrary to the Greek Fathers, Augustine does not think that the body can share in
the process of deification. In spite of his diatribe against dualistic Manichaeism with
its suspicion of matter, the body and sex, the bishop of Hippo never fully recovers
from its intellectual and spiritual impact on him. Augustine’s anti-body tendency
is heightened by his theology of “original sin.” Against Pelagius Augustine argues
from the practice of infant baptism that humans are born with the deadly “ original
sin” inherited from the sin of Adam. Some of the consequences of original sin
include physical death, the corruption of the will for good, concupiscence, and
eternal damnation (the latter unless one is saved by baptism).
Thomas Aquinas (c.1225–1274), following Aristotle’s On the Soul, especially
his teaching on matter and form, corrects the overly dualistic tendency of Augus-
tinian anthropology. For Thomas, the human being is not the union of two
independent substances, namely, the body and the soul. Rather the soul and the
body are the principles constituting the one substance, namely, matter and form
(the other two remaining “causes” of each finite being are efficient and final
causes). As principles of being, matter and form—in this case, body and soul
respectively—cannot exist by themselves but only in union with each other.
As the “form” of the body, the soul makes it a human body and is its lifeforce.
Together with the body it enables the person to actualize the three functions of
growing and reproducing (the vegetative power), feeling (the sensitive power),
and thinking (the intellective power). Hence, it is in principle impossible for the
soul to survive the corruption of the body. However, following the Christian faith,
Thomas maintains that the human soul, being spiritual and immortal, exists in a
separate state from the body following death (anima separata) but this existence
during this “intermediate state” is unnatural and will end with the resurrection
of the dead at the end of time. Thomas’s thought on the soul, as contained in his
Summa Theologiae, I, 75), became the standard teaching of the Catholic Church,
especially after the Ecumenical Council of Vienne (1311-1312).
Origin of the Soul and the Intermediate State

Whereas the nature of the soul as the form of the body and its immorality are
widely accepted in Catholic theology, there remains much debate about its origin
and the so-called intermediate state. With regard to the soul’s origin, the above-
mentioned Catechism asserts that “every spiritual soul is created immediately
from God” (“creationism”). This position is a corollary of the doctrine that the
soul is immaterial; as such it cannot be the result of the material evolutionary
process. Whether the soul is created and infused into the embryo at conception,
or several weeks later, when it has achieved its vegetative and sensitive functions
(Thomas Aquinas), is debated. Those who are against abortion are generally in
favor of immediate animation.
There is however another theory called “traducianism,” according to which
the soul along with the body is transmitted through the parents. Tertullian and
Augustine are the foremost proponents of this theory in antiquity, the latter to
strengthen his theology of original sin. Among its opponents are Peter Lombard
and Thomas Aquinas, the latter providing extensive argument for rejecting the
view that the soul is “transmitted with the semen, as though it were begotten by
coition”(Summa contra Gentiles, I, chapter 86). It is to be noted however that in
itself traducianism does not affirm that the parents “create” the soul of their child
but only that they “transmit” it, or are at best its “secondary causes,” with God being
its “primary cause.” The theological advantage of traduciansim over creationism
seems to be that the former accounts better for the unity of body and soul.
As to the theory of reincarnation as an explanation of the origin of the soul,
Catechism states: “Death is the end of man’s earthly pilgrimage, of the time
of grace and mercy which God offers him so as to work out his earthly life in
keeping with the divine plan, and to decide his ultimate destiny. . . . We shall not
return to other earthly lives. . . . There is no ‘reincarnation’ after death” (#1013).
Concerning the time between death and resurrection, as mentioned above,
Catechism seems to imply that there is an intermediate state during which the
soul exists separated from the body until it is united with the body at the final
resurrection. Immediately after death the souls of those who die in God’s grace
and are perfectly purified enjoy heaven, “the ultimate end and fulfillment of the
deepest human longings, the state of supreme, definitive happiness” (# 1024).
On the contrary, “immediately after death the souls of those who die in a state of
mortal sin descend into hell, where they suffer the punishments of hell (#1035).
Finally, those who die in God’s friendship but are still imperfectly purified
must undergo a process of purification, which the church calls “purgatory.”
This doctrine is derived from the church’s practice of prayer for the dead and
commendation of “almsgiving, indulgences, and works of penance undertaken on
behalf of the dead” (# 1032).
Some contemporary theologians, for example, Karl Rahner, have argued that
the intermediate state is not a defined dogma but only a cultural framework
for the Christian teachings on human freedom and the inclusion of the body
in salvation. To preserve the ontological unity between body and soul, Rahner
and others (for example, Gisbert Greshake) have suggested the possibility of an
immediate resurrection in death. Similarly, for the same reason, they prefer to
speak of the resurrection of the dead rather than the immortality of the soul.
Their theology has been opposed by Joseph Ratzinger (now Pope Benedict XVI).
It may be argued that there is still a trace of neo-Platonist dualism in the
teaching of Catechism on body and soul: “In Sacred Scripture the term ‘soul’
often refers to human life or the entire person. But ‘soul’ also refers to the
innermost aspect of man, that which is of greatest value in him, that by which
he is most especially in God’s image: ‘soul’ signifies the spiritual principle in man”
(#363). It is doubtful that the Bible, especially the Hebrew Bible, would warrant
such hierarchization of the soul over the body. As we have seen, both the body
and the soul embody God’s image and likeness, without any distinction and
without privileging one over another.
Given this tendency to place the body in a lesser position and its underlying
dualism, many contemporary Catholic theologians have suggested that the
word ‘soul’ used in conjunction with ‘body’ to describe the human person is
misleading. Instead, they prefer to speak of ‘spirit’ and ‘matter’ (or ‘world’) and
of ‘spirited matter’ or ‘embodied spirit. Thus, Rahner entitles his doctoral thesis
on metaphysical anthropology as Geist in Welt (Spirit in World). Furthermore,
they prefer to root the immortality of the soul not in the fact that the soul is
a “subsistent form” (Thomas Aquinas) but in the fact that the human person
is called to dialogue and enter in communion with God and with others. The
human person is immortal not in virtue of its spirituality but of its interpersonal
relationship.
The Roman Catholic Church’s teaching on the human soul, as any other of its
doctrines, has evolved along two thousand years of reflection. Its roots remain
the biblical teaching on the creation of humanity in both body and soul in the
image and likeness of God and on the effects of sin. These basic truths have been
brought into dialogue with different cultural contexts—mostly, neo-Platonic,
Aristotelean and modern philosophies—all of them judged useful but ultimately
inadequate ways to communicate the biblical truths. Reason and faith are not
seen as mutually contradictory; rather they are seen as the two lungs humans
need in order to breathe fully. The process of interpreting faith with categories
appropriate to the times is unending, and the challenge is even more urgent and
arduous as Christians encounter increasing cultural and religious pluralism in a
globalized world.
Endnotes
1. Catechism of the Catholic Church (Dubuque, IA: Brown-Roa, 1994), # 366.
2. Ibid., #365. What is meant by the soul being the “form” of the body will be explained
below.
3. Ibid., #364. The text cited is from Gaudium et Spes, #14.
4. The English translation of the Bible in this essay is the New Revised Standard Version.
The Nature of the Self:
A Gaudiya
ḍā Vaishnava Understanding
Ravindra Svarupa Dasa
The Sparks of God
T he soul, or self (ātma), is described as a separated, minute fragment of

God, the Supersoul (paramātma). God is like a fire; the individual souls,
sparks of the fire. As the analogy suggests, the self and the Superself
are simultaneously one with and different from each other. They are the same
in quality, for both the soul and the Supersoul are brahman. spirit. Yet they
differ in quantity, since the Superself (param brahman—“supreme brahman”—
in Bhagavad-gītā 10.12) is infinitely great while the individual selves are
infinitesimally small.
In the Upanishads some texts assert the identity between the individual soul
and the Supreme Soul, while others speak of the difference between them. The
way the Vaishnava Vedānta resolves this apparent contradiction recognizes
identity and difference as equally real.
Such a reconciliation is conveyed in the Kaṭha Upanishad (2.2.13) in the
words nityo nityānām cetannaś cetanānām eko bahūnāṁ yo vidadhāti kāmān.
(“There is one eternal being out of many eternals, one conscious being
out of many conscious beings. It is the one who provides for the needs
of the many.”) This text states, in effect, that there is a class division in
transcendence. It says that there are two categorically different types of
eternal, conscious—hence, spiritual—beings. One category is singular in
number (nityo), a set with only one member. This, then, is the category of God,
who is one without a second. The other class is plural (nityānām), containing
innumerable members. This is the category of the souls. The members
of both classes are brahman, spirit. Yet one of them is unique, peerless,
in a class by Himself, for He is the singular, independent self-sustaining
sustainer of all others. Each of the others possesses a multitude of peers,
and all of them alike are intrinsically dependent upon the one. The one is
the absolute, the many are relative.
127
The Energies of the Absolute

Fundamental to the Vaishnava Vedānta is the doctrine that the Absolute
Truth possesses energies. (The impersonalistic Advaita Vedānta, in contrast,
denies the reality of the energies.) The energies are divided into different
categories; one of them is comprised of the innumerable individual souls.
The “Absolute Truth” denotes that from which everything emanates, by which
it is sustained, and to which it finally returns. The products of the Absolute are
thought of as its śakti, its energy or potency. Heat and light, for example, are
considered the “energies” of fire. Just as the sun projects itself everywhere by its
radiation yet remains apart, so the Absolute expands its own energies to produce
(and, in a fashion, to become) the world while remaining separate from it. Unlike
the sun, the Absolute can emanate unlimited energy and remain undiminished.
(The arithmetic of the Absolute: One minus one equals one.) In short, while
nothing is different from God, God is different from everything.
The host of souls makes up the category of divine energy called the taṭastha-
śakti. Taṭa means “bank,” as of a river or lake. Taṭastha means “situated on the
bank.” The souls are characterised as marginal or borderline energy because
they are, as it were, between two worlds. They can dwell within either of
the other two major energies, the internal (antaraṅga-śakti) and the external
(bahiraṅga-śakti). The internal potency is also known as the spiritual energy
(cit-śakti), and the external potency is also called the material energy (māyā-
śakti). The internal potency expands as the transcendental realm, the eternal
Kingdom of God. The external potency expands as the material world, which is
sometimes manifest and sometimes unmanifest.
Because souls are spiritual, their original home is the spiritual kingdom.
Almost all souls dwell there. These are called eternally liberated souls. Only a
tiny minority of souls inhabit this material world. These are called fallen, or
conditioned, souls.
Souls are small samples of God. Hence they possess a minute quantity of
that freedom which God possesses in full. Although they are eternal, full of
knowledge and bliss, and although their dharma, or essential nature, is to serve
God, they may still, in the exercise of that freedom, wilfully turn away from
divine service. Thereupon these souls fall into the inhospitable realm of the
external, material energy.
Because souls are constitutionally servants, even the rebellious souls
remain under God’s control, but that control is now exercised indirectly and
unfavourably through the agency of material nature. Souls do not have the
freedom not to be controlled by God, but they do choose freely how they wish
The Nature of the Self: A Gauḍīya Vaishnava Understanding 129
to be controlled. Those who will not voluntarily be controlled by the Lord are
controlled involuntarily by material nature. For this reason, souls become
incarcerated within matter. Under the superintendence of the Lord, there is a
confluence of the marginal and the external energies, and the creation arises.
Spirits in the Material World

The presence of spirit within the material world is disclosed immediately to us
by consciousness. Consciousness is the symptom of the soul. It is the current
or the energy of the soul. Consciousness does not arise as a by-product of the
material energy. A material object like a table or chair is entirely an object and
in no way a subject. It does not undergo experiences. It has no significance for
itself. An embodied soul, a living being, on the other hand, is a subject; it has
significance for itself as well as for others; it undergoes experiences. The claim
that the soul is a “metaphysical entity” beyond all possible experience is simply
false. Not only do we experience the soul; the soul is the very condition for our
having any experiences at all.
Thus, souls are fundamental, irreducible entities in the world. Each living,
conscious being is of a different category from the material energy which
embodies and surrounds it. The Upaniñads declare: ahaṁ brahmāsmi, I am
brahman, I am spirit. The corollary is: I am not matter. And further: I am not this
body. Human beings achieve their full potential when they realize this.
The material elements, of which living bodies are made, are traditionally
given as eight: earth, water, fire, air, ether, mind, intelligence, and false ego.
They are arranged in sequence from the grossest to the subtlest, that is,
from the most apparent to our senses to the least. The first five are the gross
elements (mahā-bhūta-s); the last three, the subtle elements (śukṣma-bhūta-s).
The gross elements become more intelligible to us when translated as: solids,
liquids, gases, radiant energy, and space. The subtle elements, taken together,
make up what we in the West generally call the “mind.” The subtle element
manas, or mind, is the locus of habit, of normal thinking, feeling, and willing
according to one’s established mind-set. Buddhi, or intelligence, is the higher
faculty of discrimination and judgement; it determines mind-sets and comes
to the fore when we undergo conversions or paradigm shifts. Ahaṁkāra, or
the sense of self, is the faculty by which the embodied soul assumes a false or
illusory identity in the material world.
Conditioned souls attain human form after transmigrating upward through
the scale of beings; thereupon they become capable of self-realization and
liberation. Liberation means giving up the false identification of the self with
the gross and subtle material coils and regaining one’s original spiritual form as
a servant of God.
Even in the conditioned state, the soul always remains a spiritual being.
Like a dreamer who projects his identity onto an illusory, dream-self, the
conditioned soul acquires a false self of matter. Although the self is by nature
eternal, full of knowledge and full of bliss, this nature becomes covered by
illusion. Identifying with the material body, the soul is plunged into the
nightmare of history, trapped in the revolutions of repeated birth and death
(mṛtyu-saṁsāra). This false identification by the embodied souls with their
psychophysical coverings is the cause of all their suffering.
The quest by conditioned souls for happiness in this world inevitably fails.
The eternal souls naturally seek eternal happiness, yet they seek it where all
happiness is temporary. The fulfilment of the most common and basic desire, that
of self-preservation, has not once met with success. Indeed, the deluded souls do
not know that matters are just the opposite of the way they seem. Gratification
of the senses is in fact the generator of suffering, not happiness. This is because
each act of sense gratification intensifies the soul’s false identification with the
body. Consequently, when the body undergoes disease, senescence, and death,
the materially absorbed living beings experience all these as happening to
themselves. Death is an illusion they have imposed upon themselves owing to
their desire to enjoy in this world. So enjoying, their agony continues unabated. A
mind brimming with unfulfilled yearnings propels them, at the time of death, into
new material bodies, to begin yet another round.
Recovering the Authentic Self

Fallen souls have been granted a false material identity because they reject
their authentic spiritual identity. The traces of that rejection are found
everywhere. We see that all organisms, from microbes on up, are driven by the
mechanism of desire and hate, by “approach” and “avoidance.” This duality is
the reverberation of the original sinful will that propelled them into this world.
The original sinful desire is: “Why can’t I be God?” And the original sinful hate,
“Why should Krishna be God?”
When souls evince the desire to become the Lord, the Lord responds by
granting them the illusion of independent lordship. They enter the material
kingdom, to be provided with a sequence of false identities—costumes fab-
ricated out of material energy—along with an inventory of objects which they
think they can dominate and enjoy. Even so, the Lord accompanies them in
The Nature of the Self: A Gauḍīya Vaishnava Understanding 131
their wanderings, dwelling in their hearts as He works to bring about their

eventual rectification and return from exile. When the soul in the depth of his
being again turns to God, the Lord makes all arrangements for his inauthentic,
illusory life to end.
The renovation of real life is called bhakti-yoga—reconnecting the soul with
the Supersoul (yoga) by loving devotional service (bhakti). Bhakti rests upon the
principle that desire and activity are not in themselves bad. The soul itself is the
source of desire and activity. The original, pure desire of the soul is to satisfy
the senses of the Lord. This is called prema, or love. When souls contact matter,
their love becomes transformed into lust (kāma), which is the desire to satisfy
one’s own senses. The practice of bhakti-yoga reconverts lust into love. Desire
is not suppressed or repressed; it is purified. One may call this “sublimation,”
but it should be understood that when desire is thus sublimated it returns to its
own natural and aboriginal state.
The world, the body with its senses, the sense objects are not to be enjoyed,
but neither are they to be renounced. The world is God’s energy, and it should
not be decried as false or evil. Rather, the elements of this world are to be
engaged in divine service. When that is done, the veil of illusion is lifted, and
everything and everyone are seen in their true identity: in relationship to God.
The way to see divinity everywhere and in everything is to utilise everything
in the Lord’s service. God is the first of fact, but our materially contaminated
senses cannot perceive Him. When, however, the senses become purified by
being engaged in the Lord’s service, they regain their capacity to perceive God
directly.
Such purified souls are fully joyful. They neither hanker nor lament. Their
happiness does not depend upon the course of circumstance. They see all living
beings as the same. They see that all the agony and hopelessness of the world is
exorcised when the illusion that has rendered us oblivious to our own identity
is dispelled, and they engage themselves in the highest welfare work of rousing
sleeping souls from their nightmare. For themselves, they take no mind of what
becomes of the future of their lives.
Because they have no material desires, there is no further birth for them in
this world. Instead, they attain their original spiritual forms in the kingdom of
God, spiritual bodies suitable for pastimes of love with the Lord.
Spirits in the Spiritual World

The Absolute Truth has both an impersonal and a personal feature, but the
personal feature is the last word in Godhead. To say the Absolute is a person
is to say that it has senses (indriya-s). Traditionally, the senses are ten: those
through which the world acts upon us (instruments of hearing, touching,
seeing, tasting, and smelling), and those through which we act upon the world
(instruments of manipulation, locomotion, sound production, reproduction,
and evacuation). The mind is often considered the eleventh sense. A body,
accordingly, may be thought of as an array of senses organized around a center
of consciousness. Thus, to say that the Absolute is a person is to say that the
Absolute has body or form.
The body of God is not material. It is a spiritual or transcendental form—
sad-cit-ānanda-vigraha, an eternal form of bliss and knowledge. Though
differentiated by limbs or parts, a spiritual body is nevertheless completely
unified and identical with its own possessor. Therefore, in God, there is no
difference between body and soul, mind and body, soul and mind. Every limb or
part of that body can perform all functions of every other limb.
Because the Absolute is a person, the souls, the offspring of God, are also
persons, and they fully manifest their authentic identity only in relationship
with the Supreme Person. When conditioned souls act under the impetus of
sense gratification, their bodies evolve materially. But when the souls act in
their constitutional position, their love toward God displays itself as the soul’s
proper spiritual bodies. Thus, the selves achieve their full personal identity and
self-expression as lovers of God.
All relationships in this world are dim and perverted reflections of their real
prototypes in the kingdom of God. The taste or flavor of a relationship is called
rasa (literally, “juice”). It is said that there are five primary rasa-s a soul can have
toward the Lord. In order of increasing intimacy, they are passive adoration,
servitorship, fraternal, parental, and conjugal.
God and His devotees engage in eternal pastimes of loving exchanges
in spiritual forms that are sheer embodiments of rasa. Such bodies are the
unmediated concrete expressions of spiritual ecstasies. These unceasing,
uninterrupted, ever-increasing variegated ecstasies are nondifferent from the
souls and from the spiritual bodies that bear them. The forms and activities
of the Lord and His devotees all possess transcendental specificity and
variegatedness. The forms of love are not abstractions and their relations are
not allegories. In the kingdom of God life is infinitely more full, vivid, and real
than anything of the thin shadows that flicker here, on and off. Here, we are not
what we are. There, we are truly ourselves again because we are truly God’s.
Reflections on St. Bonaventure’s
The Soul’s Journey into God
and Srila Vishvanath Chakravarti Thakura’s
Cloud Bank of Nectar
James A. Wiseman
Introductory Remarks
A s often in these annual dialogues, we are going to be reflecting this

year on texts from our two traditions that have a number of common
traits. Even so, St. Bonaventure’s treatise The Soul’s Journey into God is
perhaps not the best choice as our Christian text, despite the fact that the
great twentieth-century medievalist Etienne Gilson claimed that it is the
most complete synthesis that Christian mysticism ever achieved. Various
factors make the treatise difficult. In addition to its extremely condensed
character, there is Bonaventure’s love of playing with numbers (especially the
traditionally sacred numbers of three and seven), his lack of clarity regarding
distinctions between “through” and “in” (for example, seeing God “through
his vestiges” [ch. 1] and “in his vestiges” [ch. 2]), and the work’s rather obscure
correspondences between certain academic disciplines and Trinitarian theology
(as in Bonaventure’s claim that metaphysics leads to the First Principle, the
Father; that mathematics leads to the Father’s image, the Son; and that physics
leads to the gift of the Holy Spirit). Much of this will surely strike modern
readers as too artificial and contrived. For these reasons, Cloud Bank was actually
the easier text for me to understand, despite the fact that I had never heard of
it before last year, whereas I have taught classes at The Catholic University of
America dealing with Bonaventure’s treatise.
My procedure will be to reflect on each text in turn, but in different ways.
For the Christian text, I will give some background information (especially for
ISKCON members who might be unfamiliar with this kind of literature) and a
basic analysis of Bonaventure’s approach—in other words, I will talk about the
overall movement of Bonaventure’s thought without getting bogged down
in details. My principal resources here will be the work of two prominent
133
medievalists: Gilson’s The Philosophy of Saint Bonaventure and Philotheus

Boehner’s introduction to his edition of Bonaventure’s Itinerarium Mentis in
Deum,1 often translated under the title The Soul’s Journey into God. For Cloud Bank,
I will more briefly point out some noteworthy parallels with Christian texts and
also raise some questions of interpretation.
The Soul’s Journey into God

St. Bonaventure was a very important medieval Christian theologian, in the
opinion of many ranking second in importance only to St. Thomas Aquinas.
Like Thomas, he was a member of one of the newly founded “mendicant”
orders, the Franciscans and the Dominicans.2 Founded respectively by St. Francis
of Assisi and St. Dominic Guzmán, these religious orders were distinguished
from the earlier monastic orders, such as the Benedictines and Cistercians, by
not requiring their members to remain in one location, namely, a monastery
that was quite strictly separated from life outside the walls of the monastic
enclosure. Instead, these “friars” (“brothers”) lived and worked in the midst
of towns and cities, moving from place to place as their superiors deemed
necessary for the spread of the Christian gospel. In this respect, these two
mendicant orders had much in common, but there were also some major
differences. The Dominicans, known officially as the Order of Preachers,
gave relatively more emphasis to studies. They did indeed practice strict
poverty, meaning that the individual friar had no personal possessions, but
the Dominican practice of poverty was understood mainly as a means toward
effective preaching, whereas St. Francis was wary of too much academic activity
and understood the practice of poverty primarily as imitation of the poor man
Jesus, who the Gospels tell us “had nowhere to lay his head.”
Bonaventure, born in the Italian town of Bagnorea in 1217 (35 years after
Francis and only nine years before Francis’s death), was a “second-generation
Franciscan” and with an understanding of intellectual activity rather different
from that of the founder of his order. On this point, Fr. Boehner writes:
“St. Francis does not need to detour over intellectual ways with reasonings
and cumbersome speculations; [Bonaventure] needs them” (Boehner, p. 15).
Nevertheless, Bonaventure “has caught in his own way the spirit of St. Francis”
and “the result is the Itinerarium mentis in Deum, a plan of pilgrimage which the
mind of an intellectual Franciscan must follow if he wishes to reach the high
goal of St. Francis, peace and rest in the foretaste of things to come in mystical
experiences” (Boehner, p. 15).
Bonaventure was thoroughly devoted to Francis even from his boyhood,
The Soul’s Journey Into God and Cloudbank of Nectar 135
for he once said that while still young he was “snatched from the jaws of
death” by Francis’s invocation. Feeling that he owed his very life to Francis, he
entered the Franciscans, known officially as the Order of Friars Minor (“lesser
brothers”), and years later wrote a life of that saint. In chapter thirteen of that
life he describes a pivotal event in Francis’s life (to which he refers in our text as
well):
On a certain morning around the feast of the Exaltation of the Cross [September
14], while Francis was praying on the mountainside [of Mount La Verna],
he saw a Seraph with six fiery and shining wings descend from the height
of heaven. And when in swift flight the Seraph had reached a spot in the air
near the man of God, there appeared between the wings the figure of a man
crucified, with his hands and feet extended in the form of a cross and fastened
to a cross. . . . When Francis saw this, he was overwhelmed and his heart was
flooded with a mixture of joy and sorrow. He rejoiced because of the gracious
way Christ looked upon him under the appearance of the Seraph, but the fact
that he was fastened to a cross pierced his soul with a sword of compassionate
sorrow . . .
As the vision disappeared, it left in his heart a marvelous ardor and imprinted
on his body markings that were no less marvelous. Immediately the marks of
nails began to appear in his hands and feet just as he had seen a little before in
the figure of the man crucified. . . . Also his right side, as if pierced with a lance,
was marked with a red wound from which his sacred blood often flowed,
moistening his tunic and underwear. (Bonaventure, pp. 305-6)
Bnaventure wrote this while he was minister general of the entire Franciscan
order, a position he assumed in 1257 after about ten years as a professor of
theology at the University of Paris. He had been minister general for two years
when he decided to spend some time meditating on Mount La Verna, where he
felt he could best search more deeply into Francis’s ideal, both for his own life
and for guiding the order itself. It was there that he conceived the plan of the
work we are discussing, The Soul’s Journey into God.
How Bonaventure (and Francis) introduced a new note into Christian spirit-
uality can be illustrated by contrasting them with St. Bernard of Clairvaux, the
Cistercian monk who was most influential spiritual writer of the preceding
century. For Bernard, meditation on the humanity of Christ and on his passion
was a profitable but still rather imperfect kind of devotion, belonging to what
he called the realm of “carnal love” (amor carnalis) rather than “spiritual love”
(amor spiritualis). Meditation on other aspects of the sensible world had even
less place in Bernard’s spirituality. It was said that he did not even know the
structure of the oratory to which he went almost every day to pray. This led
Gilson to make a striking analogy: “The walls of his mysticism are as bare as the
walls of a Cistercian chapel” (Gilson, p. 488).
The contrast between that kind of relationship to the world around us and
Francis’s relation to creatures is striking. As Boehner writes: “[Francis] felt a
great reverence toward all creatures, since they were created and owned by his
Almighty Lord, and hence he greeted them with reverence; he loved all of them
dearly, since all were children of the good Father in Heaven, and [therefore] he
greeted them as brothers and sisters” (Boehner, p. 13). This is best seen in one
of Francis’s best-known works, often called “The Canticle of Brother Sun” or
“The Canticle of the Creatures.” So highly did Francis think of this canticle that
he urged his followers to do everything possible to see that it was not lost after
his death. Part of its reads as follows:
Praised be You, my Lord, with all your creatures,

especially Sir Brother Sun,
who is the day and through whom You give us light.
And he is beautiful and radiant with great splendor;
and bears a likeness of You, Most High One.
Praised be You, my Lord, through Sister Moon and the stars,
in heaven You formed them clear and precious and beautiful . . .
Praised be You, my Lord, through Brother Fire,
through whom You light the night
and he is beautiful and playful and robust and strong.
Praised be You, my Lord, through our Sister Mother Earth,
who sustains and governs us,
and who produces varied fruits with colored flowers and herbs . . .
(Francis, pp. 38-39)
Chapters One and Two of The Soul’s Journey into God

Reflecting this Franciscan love of the world around us, Bonaventure, in a more
scholastic and less immediately appealing way, follows Francis’s lead in the first
two chapters of The Soul’s Journey as he turns to the vestiges of God that are to
be found in the universe. He writes that the beings that compose the universe
are like so many steps of a ladder leading up to God, but he is clear that we
cannot climb this ladder by our own power. Hence the emphasis on the need
for divine grace already at the beginning of chapter one, where Bonaventure
writes: “We cannot rise above ourselves unless a higher power lifts us up. No
matter how much our interior progress is ordered, nothing will come of it
unless accompanied by divine aid.” But this aid is available “to those who seek
it from their hearts . . . and this means to sigh for it . . . through fervent prayer”
(Bonaventure, pp. 59-60).
A crucial aspect of God’s aid comes through the revelation of the Scriptures,
which helps explain why there are so many quotations from the Bible to be
found in Bonaventure’s work, as when he quotes from the Book of Wisdom:
“From the greatness and beauty of created things, their Creator can be seen
and known” (Wis. 13:5). He follows that passage with a line of his own: “The
Creator’s supreme power, wisdom and benevolence shine forth in created
things, as the bodily senses convey this to the interior senses . . .” (Bonaventure,
p. 63). Toward the end of chapter one he adds, “Whoever is not enlightened
by such splendor of created things is blind; whoever is not awakened by such
outcries is deaf” (Bonaventure, p. 67).
But this awareness of God in things will grow deeper still if “to what is
immediately apparent in things, we add what we know of the conditions [within
ourselves] required to enable us to see them” (Gilson, 448). This is the point of
chapter two. According to medieval scholastic psychology, exterior sense objects
enter the human mind (or soul) not through their very substance but through
their “likenesses” that are “abstracted” by the power of the mind. This likeness
(or “species”) is impressed on the mind and leads back to its source, namely,
the object to be known. For Bonaventure, this suggests a parallel with what his
faith tells him of the relationship between God the Father and God the Son, who
Christians believe became incarnate in Jesus of Nazareth. Bonaventure writes:
“The Eternal Light generates from itself a coequal Likeness or Splendor. . . ” and
this Likeness, whom St. Paul calls “the image of the invisible God” (Col. 1:15),
“leads us back to the Father as to the fountain-source” (Bonaventure, p. 72).
Chapters Three and Four

The next two chapters of Bonaventure’s treatise turn from the sensible world to
the interior world of the mind. Here he is basically working with a distinction
drawn from that well-known verse in the opening chapter of the Book of
Genesis, where it is said that God made human beings “according to his image
and likeness.” The Hebrew author of that verse probably made no clear
distinction between “image” and “likeness,” but many Christian writers did:
The image, they said, is given with our very being: if it were lost, we would
simply be annihilated. The likeness, however, can be lost through sin, while on
the other hand it can be enhanced through the virtues, especially the “theological
virtues” of faith, hope, and love. Following St. Augustine, Bonaventure locates
the image primarily in the three faculties of the memory, the understanding (or
“intelligence”), and the will and sees these as reflecting the Christian doctrine
of the Holy Trinity: Just as the intelligence comes from the memory and just as
“love is breathed forth as their mutual bond,” so too does the second person of
the Trinity, God the Son, come forth from the Father, while the third person, the
Holy Spirit, is breathed forth as the love between Father and Son. Since this image
is always present, it will ideally help keep us aware of the divine presence. But
because of the distractions caused by cares, sensory images, and worldly desires,
our mind is not readily aware of God within us. In other words, the image alone
is not enough. The likeness must be restored, and this restoration or reformation
comes “through faith in, hope in, and love of Jesus Christ, . . . who is like the tree of
life in the middle of paradise” (Bonaventure, p. 88).
Of these three virtues—faith, hope, and love—Gilson writes: “Once the
soul believes in Christ our Lord by Faith, it has once more the ear to hear the
teachings of the Saviour and the eye to look upon His miracles. . . . Hope, in turn,
is applied to the soul . . . to perfect its action. . . . [Love], finally, perfects the work
that has begun. Even one who had never before experienced it feels that contact
with God has been given to him along with the desire for it, and that from now
on he is prepared to seize his object in a spiritual embrace, and to savour the joy
of a soul at last united to the being it loves” (Gilson, p. 453).
Chapters Five and Six

In the first four chapters of his work, Bonaventure focuses on the created order:
the world around us and our very selves as human beings. Next, in the fifth
and sixth chapters, Bonaventure turns from reality within the human mind to
that which is above it, namely, God. In chapter five, he reflects on the Unity of
God through what he calls its “primary name,” Being. This is found in the way
God names himself when asked by Moses: “I am who I am. . . . Therefore, say to
the Israelites, ‘He who is’ sent you” (Exod. 3:14). Reflecting on this, Bonaventure
writes: “Behold . . . purest being itself and you will realize that it cannot be
thought of as received from another. From this, it must necessarily be thought
of as absolutely first. . . . It will appear as having no possibility for defect and
hence as most perfect . . . and as supremely one” (Bonaventure, p. 97). And
this is God.
After this kind of reflection on God’s Unity, Bonaventure goes on in chapter

six to consider the Trinity and what he calls its primary name, Goodness (or
“the Good”). Being is good, and as good it blossoms into fecundity, for (as
the sixth-century Christian writer Dionysius the Areopagite said) the good is
diffusive of itself. This diffusion within the Godhead is what is meant by the
Trinity, the Father begetting the Son and the two of them breathing forth (or
“spirating”) the Holy Spirit. Bonaventure writes: “Unless these were present,
it would by no means be the highest good, because it would not diffuse itself
to the highest degree” (Bonaventure, p. 103). He subsequently expresses his
wonder not only at the coincidence of apparent opposites within the attributes
of the triune God (communicability with individuality of persons; mutual
intimacy with outward mission; etc.) but also at the union of opposites in the
person of Jesus Christ, the incarnate Son:
The eternal is joined with temporal man,

Born of the Virgin in the fullness of time.
The most simple with the most composite,
The most actual with the one who suffered supremely and died,
The most perfect and immense with the lowly, . . . (Bonaventure, p. 107)
Chapter Seven
In the seventh and final chapter of the treatise, Bonaventure emphasizes that
the power of the intellect has now reached its limit. Just as God rested after the
sixth day of creation, so now there is nothing remaining for the mind except a
“day of rest” in mystical ecstasy. This ecstasy is described in terms borrowed from
Dionysius’s treatise The Mystical Theology. It occurs in darkness, for “all intellectual
activities must be left behind and the height of our affection must be totally
transferred and transformed into God” (Bonaventure, p. 113). Nature can here
do nothing, hence he says that “little importance should be given to inquiry but
much to unction; little importance should be given to the tongue but much to
inner joy” (Bonaventure, p. 113). What is needful here is “grace, not instruction;
desire, not understanding; the groaning of prayer, not diligent reading; . . . the
fire that totally inflames and carries us into God by ecstatic unctions and burning
affections” (Bonaventure, p. 115). His final advice is, therefore, to “impose silence
upon our cares, our desires, and our imaginings” and “with Christ crucified” [that
is, with the same Christ who appeared to Francis in his vision on Mount La Verna]
to “pass out of this world to the Father, so that when the Father is shown to us, we
may say with the [Apostle] Philip: It is enough for us” (Bonaventure, p. 116).
The overall movement in the entire treatise is from the external to the
internal to the transcendent, from light to darkness, from reasoning to mystical
illumination. Along the way, as I have said, there are a multitude of distinctions,
a delighted playing with numbers, and a heaping of concept upon concept and
image upon image that make this, in my opinion, a very demanding text. My
intent has been simply to shed some light on what the treatise is all about.
Part II: Cloud Bank of Nectar

The Primacy of the Bhakti Path
As I turn now to reflect on the Vaishnava text that was chosen for comparison
with Bonaventure’s work, I would like to begin by recounting a conversation I
had a few years ago with an Indian scholar in New Delhi about the various kinds
of yoga (bhakti, jnana, karma, raja). He actually rather scolded me for thinking
that there is some clear distinction among them, in such a way that a person
could claim to be a devotee of one with relatively little regard for the others.
How different, however, is what one finds in Cloud Bank, where the author, Srila
Vishvanatha Chakravarti Thakura, quotes from the Srimad-Bhagavatam: “For a
devotee engaged in My loving service, with mind fixed on me, jnana and vairagya
are not generally beneficial to achieve perfection in the world” (Chakravarti
Thakura, p. 7). And a page later he writes: “Bhakti is . . . not dependent on purity
of place, time, or even practice. One cannot say the same of karma-yoga, where
even the slightest fault is a great obstacle to progress” (p. 8).
Cloud Bank of Nectar, in other words, is presented unabashedly as a work of
bhakti-yoga, in clear distinction from other paths. The opening words of the
text illustrate this: “The mercy of Sri Krishna Chaitanya Mahaprabhu is an
uncontrollable cloud bank of exquisitely sweet nectar which fully rejuvenates
the grains of nine-fold bhakti in the field of the heart, . . . From far off, may those
clouds of the Lord’s mercy give satisfaction and pleasure even to the worthless
soul” (Chakravarti Thakura, p. 1).
In that same opening chapter, the author asks about the cause of bhakti.
He says there is no material cause of it, but he also denies that it is causeless.
There’s a sense that the devotee’s mercy is the cause of bhakti, but this does not
come from the devotee himself or herself. Rather, “the cause of that mercy is
bhakti itself residing within his heart. Without the devotee having bhakti, there is
no possibility of him giving mercy to others. Bhakti causes the devotee’s mercy,
which causes bhakti in another person. Bhakti causes bhakti. The self-manifesting,
independent nature of bhakti is thus concluded” (Cakravarti Thakura, p. 4).
This seems quite parallel with the Christian doctrine that we cannot even
begin to perform the slightest good act unless God’s grace precedes, for grace
is what gives us even the very desire to do something good. Moreover, the
sentence “bhakti causes bhakti” is very similar to something that St. Bernard
once wrote: “Amo quod amo,” which means “I love because I love.” In other
words, there is no external or ulterior reason for loving. Love is generative of
itself, the love that the New Testament says is God’s very being (1 John 4:8, 16).
Ascent to the Ultimate Stage of Prema Can Only be Gradual

Vishvanatha Chakravarti Thakura writes that some verses in the scriptures
imply that devoutly reciting the holy name but once destroys all sins and frees
one from all contamination. But then the question arises: Why does the spiritual
journey normally take so long a time? This is simply because offenses we
have committed (aparadhas) have lingering effects. The author uses a medical
example:
As during a high fever, a person losing all taste for food finds it impossible to
eat, so a person who makes serious aparadhas loses scope for hearing, chanting,
and other devotional service. There is no doubt about this. However, if the fever
lessens with time, some taste for food develops. Even then, nourishing foods
like milk and rice cannot give their full nourishment, . . . Nevertheless, medicine
and an invalid’s diet can, with time, restore one’s former health. . . . In the same
way, after a long period of suffering the effects of aparadha, the intensity reduces
slightly and the devotee develops a little taste. Again the devotee becomes
fit for bhakti. Repeated doses of hearing and chanting the Lord’s name reveal
everything in progression. (Chakravarti Thakura, p. 31)
This, too, has clear parallels with Christian teaching. One of the best examples
comes from a 19th-century British writer who is not much in favor today but
who nevertheless said some important things. His name was Frederick Faber,
and one of his finest passages goes like this: “God is slow, we are swift and
precipitate. It is because we are but for a time, and He has been from eternity.
Thus grace for the most part acts slowly, and mortification is as long as leveling
a mountain, and prayer as the growth of an old oak. God works by little and
little, and sweetly and strongly He compasses his ends, but with a slowness
which tries our faith because it is so great a mystery” (Faber, p. 145).
Behavior of Someone in Love with God Can Appear Foolish

Cloud Bank even has a reference to “addiction” as characterizing the state of
the devotee. Whether or not the term “addiction” is a good translation of

the original word, there is no doubt but that the devotee will often manifest
behavior that is very much out of the ordinary. The section on the Sixth Nectar
Shower says that the devotee, “when asked by his relatives what’s the matter,
will sometimes act like a mute, and at other times, feigning normality, he
will hide his inner feelings. His friends will apologize, saying, ‘Recently he’s
become scatter-brained.’ His neighbors will conclude he’s an idiot by birth.
The followers of the philosophy of Jaimini will think him a fool” (Chakravarti
Thakura, pp. 40-41).
So, too, the Seventh Nectar Shower has these sentences: “Sometimes, feeling
he has obtained direct realization of the Lord in his heart, boundless joy dances
in his heart. Relishing the rare treasure of the Lord’s sweetness, he becomes
delirious. Then, at the disappearance of that feeling, he plunges into grief”
(Chakravarti Thakura, p. 43).
The next chapter picks up the same theme: “Plagued by various doubts, the
devotee falls on the dusty earth praying to again have darshan of the Lord.
Hankering over and over for this but not obtaining it, he laments, weeps, rolls
on the ground, wounds his own body, faints, recovers, stands, sits, runs about,
and wails like a madman. . . . He spends the rest of his life behaving in this
strange way, and no longer knows whether he has a body or not” (Chakravarti
Thakura, pp. 51-52).
Christian mystical writers have noted similar behavior in persons filled with
longing for their Lord. In Russia there are those known as “fools for Christ’s sake,”
some of whose behavior is like that described in Cloud Bank. Moreover, the great
fourteenth-century Flemish mystic Jan van Ruusbroec, about whom I wrote my
own doctoral dissertation, describes such persons in the following way:
A person [sometimes] thinks he is enveloped from within by a divine
embrace of affection. . . . God enters the depths of the heart by means of
his gifts and does so with so much savor, consolation, and joy that the
heart overflows from within. This makes a person realize how miserable
are those who live apart from love. . . . This delight gives rise to spiritual
inebriation. . . . [This] produces much strange behavior in a person. It
makes one person sing and praise God out of the fullness of his joy, and it
makes another shed many tears because of the delight he feels within his
heart. In one it produces restlessness in all his limbs, causing him to run
and jump and dance about, and in another the force of this inebriation is
so great that he must clap his hands in jubilation. One person cries out in
a loud voice and so makes manifest the fullness that he feels within, and
another becomes silent and seems to melt away out of the delight he feels
in all his senses. (Ruusbroec, pp. 82-83)
If and when this sense of the Lord’s presence evaporates, the person will react in
a way very similar to what Cloud Bank described. In Ruusbroec’s words: “[Now]
all the stormy transport and restlessness of love have been cooled. The hot
summer has turned to autumn and all a person’s riches have turned to poverty,
so that he begins to lament and complain about his state: Where have all the
warmth of love, all the fervor . . . and delightful praise gone? How have the
interior consolations, interior joy, and perceptible savor escaped him? . . . He is
thus like a person who has forgotten everything he ever learned and has lost his
livelihood and the fruit of his labor. A person’s corporeal nature will often fall
prey to disorders because of such losses” (Ruusbroec, p. 91).
Some Possible Questions for Reflection or Discussion

Having pointed out some rather striking similarities between the two works, I
would like to conclude this presentation with a few questions that seem worth
pondering.
First, both texts are wary of too much speculation. Bonaventure writes:
“Since in this regard nature can do nothing and effort can do but little, little
importance should be given to inquiry but much to unction; little importance
should be given to the tongue but much to inner joy; little importance should
be given to words and to writing but all to the gift of God, that is, the Holy
Spirit” (Bonaventure, p. 113). Cloud Bank has a somewhat similar piece of
advice: “My dear Lord, devotional service unto You is the unrivaled path for
self-realization. If someone gives up that path and engages in the cultivation
of speculative knowledge, he will simply undergo a troublesome process and
will not achieve his desired result” (Chakravarti Thakura, p. 6). These passages
raise the following questions: What is the place of speculation in the spiritual
path? Do either or both of these treatises seem overly speculative? What is
the primary practical value to be found in either of them?
Secondly, both texts place much emphasis on the place of ardent longing.
Bonaventure writes that whoever wants “interior progress” must “sigh for it .
. . through fervent prayer” (Bonaventure, p. 60). He also says that the passing
over into God “is mystical and most secret, which no one knows except him
who receives it, no one receives except him who desires it, and no one desires
except him who is inflamed in his very marrow by the fire of the Holy Spirit”
(Bonaventure, p. 113). Similarly, Cloud Bank says that “prema pierces the devotee
like a shaft with ardent longing to see the Lord at every moment” (Chakravarti
Thakura, p. 46). Some of the symptoms of prema are called “a change in the heart,
tears in the eyes, and the standing of hairs on the body” (Chakravarti Thakura,
p. 30). In some circles, this kind of ardent yearning is suspect, inasmuch as it
may really be a longing for “the consolations of God” rather than for “the God of
consolations.” Sensible phenomena like tears or a literal hair-raising frisson may
have little spiritual significance but may only manifest high-strung emotionality.
What, then, is the place of affectivity on the spiritual path? To what extent is it to
be proposed as something of an ideal for everyone?
These are just a few of the questions that the joint reading of The Soul’s
Journey into God and Cloud Bank of Nectar raise. That these works continue to
challenge and intrigue us so many centuries after their composition is a sure
sign of their classic status. It is itself a blessing that the annual Vaishnava-
Christian dialogues held in Potomac, Maryland, give those of us who attend the
opportunity to rise to the challenge.
Endnotes
1. Boehner’s edition includes not only his introduction and commentary but also the
Latin text and his English translation on facing pages. For my paper, I am using the more
accessible translation by Ewert Cousins, published by Paulist Press.
2. “Mendicant” literally means “begging,” thereby indicating the insistence of the
founders of these orders that the members were not to possess any money or property
of their own. As I go on to show, however, the really crucial distinction between these
new orders and the older monastic ones is that monks were expected to remain in their
monasteries, while the mendicants lived among the people in cities and towns and
could be sent from place to place (even from country to country) in accordance with the
wishes of their superiors.
Bibliography
Boehner, Philotheus, O.F.M. Introduction to Bonaventure’s Itinerarium Mentis in
Deum. Saint Bonaventure, NY: Franciscan Institute, 1956.
Bonaventure. The Soul’s Journey into God, The Tree of Life, The Life of St. Francis.
Translated and introduced by Ewert Cousins. The Classics of Western
Spirituality. New York: Paulist, 1978.
Faber, Frederick. Growth in Holiness. Baltimore: John Murphy Co., n.d.
Francis of Assisi. “The Canticle of Brother Sun.” In Francis and Clare: The Complete
Works. Translated by Regis J. Armstrong, O.F.M. Cap. and Ignatius Brady,
O.F.M. The Classics of Western Spirituality. New York: Paulist, 1982.
Gilson, Etienne. The Philosophy of St. Bonaventure. Translated by Dom Illtyd

Trethowan and F.J. Sheed. New York: Sheed & Ward, 1938.
Ruusbroec, John. The Spiritual Espousals and Other Works. Translated and
introduced by James A. Wiseman, O.S.B. The Classics of Western
Spirituality. New York: Paulist, 1985.
Chakravarti Thakura, Srila Vishvanatha. Madhurya Kadambini—Cloud Bank of
Nectar. Translated by Deena Bandhu Dasa. Nandagram, Uttar Pradesh:
Bhaktivedanta Book Trust, 1993.
Metaphors of Transcendence:
A Study of Spiritual Progress in the Madhurya
ā Kadambini
ā ā
Claire Robison
R ev. James Wiseman has explored Bonaventure’s description of spiritual

progress and has also introduced descriptions by the Gauḍīya Vaishnava
theologian Viśvanātha Cakravartin of the ultimate goal of spiritual
growth, prema (love for Krishna). I will further explore a Gauḍīya Vaishnava
understanding of spiritual progress, in particular through looking at the
metaphors that undergird Viśvanātha’s descriptions of progressive spiritual
states in his seventeenth century work, Mādhurya Kādambinī (“Cloudbank of
Sweetness”).
Metaphor is a powerful device for conveying the character of religious life.
Metaphors depicting spiritual progress serve to open out a new world to the
practitioner—by construction and discovery simultaneously. Gauḍīya Vaishna-
va scriptures and commentarial traditions adamantly assert the direct and non-
metaphoric nature of their descriptions of the divine, Rādhā and Krishna, and
their ultimate abode, Vṛndāvana. Though when it comes to describing what it is
like to proceed along the path to Vṛndāvana—or even to relate the beauty and
majesty of the divine—poetic metaphors are extensively utilized. As in many
traditions, poetic metaphor here takes on a special power to convey spiritual
truth. My focus in this study is to try to understand the function of metaphor
in describing stages of spiritual advancement in the Gauḍīya Vaishnava tradi-
tion. To gain a glimpse of this, I will look primarily at the use of metaphor in
the Mādhurya Kādambinī of Viśvanātha Cakravartin. Yet as Viśvanātha styles his
Mādhurya Kādambinī as a commentary on select verses from Rūpa Gosvāmin’s
sixteenth century Bhaktirasāmṛtasindhu, I will also delve into Rūpa’s work to pro-
vide context and fullness to the study.1
Both Viśvanātha and Rūpa outline religious practices and states of
attainment, seeking to guide practitioners to the ultimate goal of love for
Kṛṣṇa (prema). The concept of structured religious practice is termed sādhana
in their works. Throughout descriptions of the methods that engender
religious progress in the Gauḍīya tradition, practitioners are guided through
147
landmarks on the path of sādhana, including both stages of advancement

and obstacles (generally linked with aparādha-s, “transgressions”). The
purification of desire and emotion involved in this process is made clear
especially through the use of metaphors, such as the “mad elephant”
of criticism that threatens to trample one’s carefully tended garden of
devotion.2 In particular, the thorough structuring and hierarchizing of emo-
tions in this sādhana strongly puts forward a notion of spiritual life as process,
while also highlighting the profoundly personal, subjective nature of religious
experience in the Gaudiya Vaiṣṇava tradition.
Two types of religious metaphors are dealt with in this study: those that
are descriptive, or depictive, and those that structure experience. Each
contains some degree of oscillation between the realms of metaphorical
construction and discovery. The former construct a vision of God for the
reader through poetic analogies of beauty, mainly drawn from nature—a
blossoming flower, the brilliant full moon, or a downpour after a drought.
The latter, metaphors structuring experience, serve to portray the model for
a successful practitioner’s experience. In imparting a depiction of God and
religious experience, these metaphors bring about a type of divine discovery in
the practitioner who hears them.
Janet Martin Soskice offers a working definition of metaphor as: “that figure
of speech whereby we speak about one thing in terms which are seen to be
suggestive of another.”3 In this case, the metaphor’s suggestiveness contains
the ambiguity of two possible interpretations—the suggestion of a parallel
between two objects that are known to the listener, or a suggestion (and a
teaching) about an unknown object by means of its similarity with a known
object. Sanskrit aesthetics, however, has a very complex system of figures
of speech, wherein metaphor is defined differently from the grammatical
categories, stemming from Aristotle’s Poetics, that undergird the Western
terminology.4 In his Glossary of Indian Figures of Speech, Edwin Gerow cautiously
translates rūpaka as “metaphor,” but explains that the grammatical categories
do not overlap neatly.5 For the purposes of this study on the language used
to describe spiritual progress, I will be employing the working definition
of metaphor offered by Soskice, and will be dealing with the passages from
Rūpa and Viśvanātha in light of this interpretative frame rather than from a
perspective of grammatical analysis.
William Alston points out that it is unhelpful to think of literal and meta-
phorical as types of meaning, the former as the ‘respectable’ meaning as
opposed to the latter as the ‘emotive’ meaning. Alston asserts: “A given
A Study of Spiritual Progress in the Mādhurya Kādambinī 149
truth may be expressed by a metaphor, may perhaps only be expressed

by using the metaphor, but this is not to say that it exemplifies a sort of
‘metaphorical truth’ distinguishable from and inferior to ‘literal truth’.”6
Rather, metaphor’s potential to communicate meaning by a comparative
process can be used in the realms of various subjects, some of which are
difficult to communicate otherwise. In this respect, Rūpa and Viśvanātha
act as guides for their tradition into rare levels of experience; they provide
bridges through their systematic outlines of sādhana and their metaphor
usage to describe religious experiences. The uniqueness of religious
metaphor in their theology also lies in that it not only imparts something
about unknown experiences to the novice but also helps to bring about
those experiences through evocation of emotion.
In the Mādhurya Kādambinī, Viśvanātha’s central metaphor is the creeping and
blossoming vine (bhakti latā), which conveys spiritual advancement as a process
of growth that ends in an ultimate bearing of fruit in the form of a relationship
with Krishna. Viśvanātha’s growing creeper has nine stages of development,
predicated on Rūpa’s nine-fold model of sādhanā progression. In the larger
context of the Bhaktirasāmṛtasindhu, Rūpa describes stages of injunctive,
regulated religious practice (vaidhī-bhakti) and the stages of spontaneous and
natural contemplation that arise in an advanced practitioner (rāgānugā-bhakti).
Progression or growth in sādhana is largely determined by one’s emotional
growth along these stages. However Rūpa’s revered nine-fold outline of the
growth of devotional love is found in a mere two verses toward the beginning
of his work:
The first stage of love is faith (śraddhā). Then one becomes interested in
keeping the company of the devout (sādhu saṅga). Thereafter one develops
a relationship with a spiritual teacher and engages in sādhanā, directing
one’s life and worship according to the teacher’s instructions (bhajana kriyā).
Through this, one’s vices are diminished (anartha nivṛtti) and one becomes
stable and strong in the cultivation of devotion (niṣṭhā). This increases to
a state of desire (ruci) and then attachment (āsakti). Gradually devotion
manifests (bhāva), and finally there is an awakening of love (prema).7
This brief description has served as a frame of reference for many later writ-
ers and theologians, and has to a large degree become the normative outline
of spiritual progress in Gauḍīya Vaishnavism.
In Rūpa’s own descriptions of these nine stages of spiritual progress, he
uses metaphors sporadically, mainly to illuminate descriptions of otherwise
obscure emotional states and illustrate their relation to one another. He

gives a description of the penultimate stage of devotion (bhāva) in relation
to the highest stage of love (prema): “Devotion is characterized by a pure
and luminous quality, and is like a beam of the sun of love; its desirous rays
soften the heart.”8 He also characterizes love thus: “Love is an abundant
stream of bliss that incessantly pours forth passionate warmth. Even though
it emits heat, it is cooler and sweeter than a billion moons.”9
However it is in Viśvanātha that the stages of spiritual progress receive
their full metaphoric development. Viśvanātha’s Mādhurya Kādambinī expands
the discussion of these nine stages with rich descriptions of the psychological
state and behavior of the practitioner throughout each stage and the devel-
opment of the bhakti-latā metaphor of progress that has since been of great
importance to his tradition.
Viśvanātha is fond of water metaphors, as the title of his work attests.
Images of divine grace as an ocean, cloudbank, stream, and river recur through-
out the Mādhurya Kādambinī. The title itself translates as “cloudbank of sweet-
ness” which, according to the final verse, is drawn from Śrī Krishna Caitanya,
“ocean of sweetness” (mādhurya-vāridhi).10 Krishna is also the “ocean of com-
passion” (kṛpā-pāravāra),11 from which comes all grace. The eradication of
weeds at the stage of niṣṭhā, steadiness in practice, increases the “downpour” of
devotional feeling, and following the stage of desire (ruci), the practitioner falls
into the “current of the great celestial river of attachment” to Krishna. Grace
“rains down” and in turn love (prema), which arises like the “brilliant rising
sun,” then “dips” one’s emotions in “a well of great rasa.”12 Finally, like a moon,
“prema rises in the devotee’s heart where it causes hundreds of waves in the
ocean of his ecstasy to crash against each other.”13 The practitioner is led from
a downpour of rain, to being whisked away by a stream to a river, and finally to
becoming immersed in the great ocean of this divine goal.
Viśvanātha also frequently turns to images of a garden and the flora
and fauna inhabiting it. On the spiritual path, the sādhaka becomes a gar-
dener, weeding and tending to his or her devotional growth. If the garden
is kept under control, devotion will blossom. It is in the well-tended garden
that the bhakti-latā, or vine, can grow and flourish as devotional love. This
experience-structuring metaphor develops its leaves, flowers, and fruits in
accordance with the running commentary on advancement in sādhana. The
images of watering and the natural growth of plant life carry one back, in
some ways, to gardening metaphors in the descriptions of spiritual progress
in the Catholic tradition, such as Teresa of Avila’s garden in The Interior Castle.
For Viśvanātha, sādhana is like watering; it is a natural process evoking innate

growth and, eventually, spiritual experience. Viśvanātha describes in poetic
detail the beginning of the growth process: “Gradually, the creeper of devotion
begins to sprout and two leaves, named sādhana bhakti, unfold. The first leaf is
called kleśaghnī, “the destroyer of material sufferings,” and the second is called
śubhadā, “the giver of all auspiciousness.”14 Along the way however, one must
watch out for weeds. Viśvanātha dedicates a significant portion of Mādhurya
Kādambinī to the subject of weeds: the vices, transgressions, and selfish desires
that choke the bhakti latā. These are said to be strongly present in the beginning
of practice, and also hold some potential for disturbance up until the final stage
of the practitioner’s development.
Rūpa and Viśvanātha’s elaborations on the nine stages of sādhana demarcate
a gradual but clear transition period between the stage of diminishing vices
(anartha-nivṛtti) and that of becoming stable and strong in devotion (niṣṭhā).
Viśvanātha describes that, though there is some oscillating before the prac-
titioner settles down to a grounded stability, when it is achieved, the dynamics
of sādhana change. No longer is one forcing the process but one rather begins to
find deeper and deeper joy in it. Another significant step is taken at the stage
of attachment (āsakti), wherein the normative mental state of the practitioner
is no longer absorption in the worldly affairs which usually engage one’s mind,
but absorption in Kṛṣṇa and one’s relationship with him.15 The successful
gardener eventually loses taste for topics and activities that hinder sādhana
and becomes spontaneously drawn toward absorption in and worship (bhajana)
of the Lord (bhagavān).16 Āsakti is likened to a “cluster of buds on the bhakti
creeper, heralding the appearance of its flower, bhāva, and its fruit, prema.”17
Then finally, at the state of bhāva, the creeper blossoms and attracts the bee-like
Krishna (madhusūdana),18 then soon after bears the fruit of prema.19
These metaphors are aimed at religious practitioners—particularly those who
are new or inexperienced on the path of prayer or sādhana. Both authors extol
absorption in the practice of sādhana and the cultivation of bhakti in daily life,
and place them prominently in their formulas for affecting spiritual growth.
In Viśvanātha particularly this becomes a spiritual journey, replete with
landmarks as well as potential detours. The heart of their expositions, however,
is to communicate the nature of the divine by bringing their novices closer
to him through practice.20 Yet in the end metaphors are only pointers; they
cannot do justice to the reality of divine experience. How, then, can they guide
one towards that state?
One purpose of metaphors is to awaken one to an understanding—either
one previously not reached or one not articulated. They can have a cognitive
content of their own; they are purveyors of insight. It is there that the mind
can capture meaning by accessing rasa, which is the heightened emotional
state that, in Rūpa’s devotionalism, develops in the context of a spiritual
relationship with Krishna. This process of rasa evocation is considered to be
superior to the ordinary processes of inquiry and knowledge acquisition.
Rūpa’s ontology of emotion asserts that emotion is not a hindrance to know
higher truth. Rather, emotion is the vehicle through which such knowledge is
gained. Rūpa emphasizes the efficacy of devotion, far more than philosophical
pursuit and religious penances, in bringing one closer to the divine: “Even
a tiny taste of devotion is tantamount to understanding the principles of
devotion, while logic alone is not, because it is an unreliable measure of
devotion.”21 Conversely, “That which is attainable by means of knowledge
and renunciation can be attained by devotion alone.”22 Viśvanātha furthers
Rūpa’s claim: “Devotional love is essential to give results in the pursuit of
spiritual knowledge but is itself not even the least contingent on any other
process for its own result.”23 The underpinning notion here is that as rasa
grows, so proportionately does knowledge of God. Indeed, knowledge of God
is dependent on the formation of devotional love, which in itself can even be
viewed as a type of cognition.
Intrinsic to metaphor’s function of awakening understanding is both
its ability to communicate a previously unknown reality and its evocation of
emotion.24 The religious experiences these theologians try to impart are not
re-descriptions of experiences already known to most of their readers, but
rather novel accounts of information regarding religious reality. They impart
something unknown of the divine, Krishna, and how Krishna relates to those
practicing sādhana. Given that they come from a tradition rich in mystical
visions and encounters, the experiences they describe are not unprecedented.
However, their unique contribution is that they have ordered these experiences
via a specific metaphorical structure to provide a picture of the stages of
spiritual progress.
Viśvanātha’s portrayal of the creeper inspires many who were content to
remain as ‘seeds,’ to delve into the growth of devotional love that is seen as the
nature of the true self. The growth of the creeper that symbolizes one’s spiritual
development reorders one’s present patterns of motivation and action, shifting
from one’s false self, ahaṁkāra, and its selfishly motivated actions, to selfless
devotion. Rūpa’s explicit description of the varieties and stages of devotional
love also makes a self-centered emotional life suddenly unfamiliar and in turn
makes the very foreign world of Krishna and his surroundings close and
eventually familiar.
Bonaventure links his stages of spiritual growth to the contemplation of
God through ‘his vestiges in the universe and the sense world,’ a strategy that
to some degree may parallel the use of naturalistic metaphor in Caitanyaite
descriptions of spiritual progress. Though in depicting God strongly in personal
terms, Bonaventure tends not to advance metaphors or other descriptions
of God’s appearance in great detail. In contrast, the Vaishnava tradition
typically develops detailed descriptions of Krishna alongside their experience-
structuring metaphors and these descriptions are strongly asserted to be
genuine portrayals of the personal Krishna. Yet even in these descriptions,
metaphor abounds again, perhaps to evoke emotion as well as describe
divine beauty. Rūpa portrays Krishna thus: “His complexion is as lovely as
a blue sapphire, his smile is as bright and merry as a jasmine blossom, his
clothing resembles a golden blossoming ketakī flower.”25 Viśvanātha, in his
characteristic imagery, further describes his vision of Krishna, the lotus-faced
Lord, as “an ocean of ecstasy” (ānanda-mahodadhi).26 Such descriptions impart a
vision of the divine as much as they serve as a form of worship through words,
and indeed these dual purposes seem intentional in Gauḍīya theologians’
writings. They also make the unfamiliar familiar, both in giving a personal
glimpse of Krishna and in orienting one’s imagination toward what a divine
experience entails. As Rūpa conveys: “The youthful form of that one who
inspires love is sweeter than all other sweetness and more exciting than all
other excitement.”27
Alongside this description of divine beauty comes an evocation of intense
feeling. For Rūpa, “In the course of encountering reminders of Krishna, love
approaches the highest limit of perfect bliss and wonder.”28 He later writes:
“In the case inexperienced practitioners, a poem or drama about Krishna
can affect the growth of devotion.”29 Here the metaphorical or symbolic
representations of Krishna and his surroundings have the potential to awa-
ken love of God. Moreover, Rūpa states:
Those with mature love experience rasa to the extent that their love
engenders reminders of Krishna in all situations of life. Love makes Krishna
and all related to him vessels of sweetness, and then when Krishna and
anything related to him is experienced as such, they expand that love.30
This speaks of a deep dynamic which begins with emotion though gradually
extends beyond love or remembrance compelled by deliberate representations
of Kṛṣṇa to include remembrance potentially evoked by a wider range of sen-
sory objects (‘vestiges in the universe’?), all linking the practitioner back to con-
templation of God. This level of advancement in sādhanā is determined largely
by the presence of particular emotions in the practitioner, labelled by Rūpa and
Viśvanātha primarily as bhāva and prema, which are seen to develop initially,
according to the classical aesthetic theory from which Rūpa draws, in a certain
carefully crafted environment. Rūpa explains that once basic love for Krishna
is dominant in the heart of the practitioner, it intensifies and manifests as
prema, the highest love, with the slightest provocation by metaphor or symbol
for Krishna’s beauty, such as the full moon or a blossoming lotus flower. These
metaphors tie into the centre of Rūpa’s entire religious system: the generation
of a state of love for Krishna,31 and his system, like that of Viśvanātha, is defined
by a course of emotional development.
However is there not a tension between a system of sādhana and the
spontaneous emotions evoked by theistic religious experience? Emotion and
desire are, in the work of these authors, the means through which one senses
and relates to God. It may seem a paradox, then, that Rūpa and Viśvanātha
embark on formulating a system for one to cultivate ‘spontaneous’ emotional
states. For after all, emotion tends to be polarized from system.32 Emotions and
desire cannot be forced, and if they are what bring about a relationship with the
divine, then a highly systematized and rehearsed process seems dichotomous
in relation to the natural emotionality of bhakti. Yet Rūpa and Viśvanātha
imply in their structures of spiritual progress that emotions and desire can be
“taught,” or rather re-directed, in a way that opens one up to sacred reality.
Thus emotion for Rūpa and Viśvanātha is compatible with system and structure.
As any logical conclusion is reproducible by retracing one’s train of logic, so
developing—or opening toward—religious emotion is reproducible through the
presence of the variables that caused it. This is the theoretical underpinning of
Rūpa’s development of rasa theory, wherein bhakti-rasa is awakened through the
presence of certain conditions or ‘excitants’ which engender devotion.33 In fact,
turning the usual understanding entirely around, Rūpa asserts that for most
practitioners, it is precisely through diligent dedication to sādhana that one can
attain the desired emotion (bhāva) that grant one entrance into sacred reality.
Only rarely can one attain love of Krishna otherwise.34
Perhaps this relation of system and emotion is in fact central to the work of
metaphors in these Gaudiya Vaiṣṇava notions of spiritual growth. Viśvanātha
aims in the Mādhurya Kādambinī not only to convey something of the
relationship between God and the practitioner, but also to engage the reader in
that relationship through the experiential or supra-rational process of sādhana.
In the process of making the unfamiliar familiar, Viśvanātha details an advanced

practitioner’s vision of Krishna, depicted with crimson-hued lips and the
brilliant smile of his moonlike face (tadīya-vadana-smita-candrikā).35 More than
pictorial language is required however to succeed in communicating something
of the experience of seeing Krishna. One must evoke emotion in the reader,
allowing him or her to begin to participate in the vision itself. The prominent
way Viśvanātha does this is through monologue and detailed description of
the devotee’s feelings and reactions. Upon seeing a vision of Krishna, writes
Viśvanātha, the devotee reacts with intense emotion, manifesting the physical
symptoms of the awakening of ecstasy known as sāttvika bhāva-s.36 This and
other similar in-depth depictions of the practitioner experiencing love of
Krishna can evoke a type of identification the devout reader. Therein the
unfamiliar becomes so familiar that the description gradually grows out of being
a model of spiritual development to be emulated, into an embodiment of the
practitioner’s own experience. The lines between construction and discovery
blur as the metaphor moves from the head to the heart of the practitioner,
where it takes on an active role of evoking emotion and invoking grace.
Indeed, as Anne Dooney notes, this transition seems to lie at the heart of these
metaphoric images.37
Viśvanātha describes the thoughts of one who has received a divine expe-
rience and is thus in transition from construction of the divine to genuine
discovery:
Just the other day when I drew poetic parallels between your limbs and
a fresh raincloud, blue lotus, or sapphire, or when I compared your face
to the full moon and your feet to the fresh leaves of spring. . . . it was like
comparing the golden Mount Meru to half a sesame seed, a lion to a jackal
. . .38
Sentiments to the same effect are also quoted from the Kṛṣṇakarṇāmṛta of
Bilvamaṅgala Thākura, who writes: “How can anyone compare your face to
a lotus? The moon shrinks in each dark quarter until it is no longer worthy
of mention. Hence it cannot be compared to your face either. To what shall
I compare it? There is nothing at all equal to your face . . .”39 Here, in almost
an apophatic vein, metaphor is used to convey both the beauty of Krishna
and the strongly emotional nature of spiritual experience.
The aesthetic and sensory realms are inseparable from metaphor in practice.
It is in these realms that metaphor affects the religious practitioner, by impart-
ing a concept or experience according to aesthetic language in addition to the
level of theoretical or intellectual understanding. Metaphors can therefore act

as re-descriptions of reality, both in their articulation of transcendent experi-
ence and their function of imparting that to others and thus reordering their
recipients’ reality. Rūpa and Viśvanātha’s descriptions of Krishna and one’s
identity in relation to him counter most, if not all, of our sensory experience.
In that, they can be simultaneously descriptive (of the practitioners’ experi-
ence) and prescriptive (for aspiring practitioners). David Haberman observes a
chain of experience underlying all Gauḍīya Vaishnava meditative poetry—it is
composed from and for recollection of Krishna’s activities.40 In this chain, the
novices must rely on accounts of the experiences of others as the basis of their
meditations, until they have perfected their own sādhana practice to the point
where they can enter an ideal state of consciousness and have a direct experi-
ence of the divine. At this stage, one’s own direct vision becomes the major
source of knowledge of Krishna.41 The experienced practitioners thus construct
descriptions that point toward their spiritual discoveries; this leads younger
practitioners ultimately to experience the described sacred reality.
In the context of Rūpa and Viśvanātha’s sādhana, this may be called the
surface or initial dialogue in the process of construction and discovery—namely
the practitioner constructs a mental image of God/religious experiences through
the depictions of others. Rūpa suggests: “One who is practicing structured sādhana
should rely on scriptural instructions and favourable reasoning until the
natural emotional states of devotion appear.”42 Yet as a general rule: “Diligent
dedication to sādhana brings about desire for Krishna, then produces attachment
for him, and then causes the birth of love for him.”43 Thus the transition to a
deeper dynamic of construction and discovery is marked by one gaining the
competence to receive and articulate a genuine experience of the divine.
However Rūpa and Viśvanātha assert the transcendent nature of spiritual
experience and address its relation to sensory experience and perception by
a theology of grace. Though the nature of contact with Krishna is beyond the
scope of ordinary sensory perception, they assert that Krishna’s grace enables
the transcendent to meet with the worldly. In the final section of the Mādhurya
Kādambinī, Viśvanātha describes a divinely bestowed sensory experience of
Krishna: “The Lord himself makes his own most auspicious innate attributes—
his stunning beauty, divine fragrance, melodious voice, tender touch, delectable
taste, his magnanimity and loving compassion—perceptible to the devotee’s
eyes and other senses.”44 A crescendo of a water metaphor is offered to convey
the intensity of the experience. Although this “ocean of ecstasy” is “beyond
the power of any poet to describe,” Viśvanātha compares it to the “ecstasy”
of taking shelter in the cooling shade under the dense foliage of a banyan
tree contrasted with a desert road baked by the summer sun, or the “ecstasy
of the forest elephant who has been drenched by a monsoon cloudburst,
contrasted with his torment at being trapped in a forest conflagration.”45
Further detailing the experience, Viśvanātha relates that Krishna reveals
himself to each of the five senses of the devotee, in succession, and then
reveals his magnanimity (audārya) and compassion (kāruṇya). Each time
the perception is so intensely powerful that the devotee swoons in ecstasy,
losing consciousness until the Lord revives him again with another of his
seven attributes.46 He imparts that this divine perception enables each of
the senses to relish each of the attributes simultaneously.47
This is quite a world apart from the apophatic traditions to which Denys Turner
refers in his argument on mysticism and experience, though perhaps reminiscent
of Bonaventure’s discussion of the reformed, spiritualized senses engaging
in the experience of Christ. (89-90) It must be emphasized, however, that this
fusion of the sensory with the transcendent is again, for the Caitanya tradition,
heavily dependent on one’s emotional development and one’s previous desires.
It is not until devotion begins to “mature” and “ripen into love that Krishna is
directly realized by rāsika devotees.48 This is intertwined with the assertion that
what one experiences is unlike any other sensory experience in this world in
both its intensity and profundity. Faced with these experiences, the process of
metaphor construction begins for our authors, for with what can you compare
it? The experience truly surpasses what can be captured in words. The Mādhurya
Kādambinī speaks of this in its section on the practitioner’s attainment of devotion
(bhāva), the eighth and penultimate stage of Viśvanātha’s spiritual process.
There, as we saw, the practitioner laments over the inadequacy of the descriptive
metaphors to do justice to Krishna’s beauty. However, though the metaphors
are ultimately inadequate, they are not abandoned. Though the experience is
unlike any other sensory experience—and in some sense supra-sensory—it is
experienced by the practitioner. There is some degree of communication or
dialogue between the supra-sensory and the sensory.
In a volume on the ethics of the Bhagavad Gītā, Nicholas Lash asserts: “To be
a Christian, or a Hindu, a Muslim or a Buddhist, is to know oneself apprenticed
to a school the purpose of whose pedagogy is the purification of desire.”49
Within the four faiths Lash names, there are differing understandings about
the ontological place of desire. Bonaventure, for instance, foregrounds the
role of desire in the cultivation of contemplation and ecstasy, and he asserts
that one should not believe knowledge is possible without love or understanding
without humility. (55) The emotions generated in Rūpa and Viśvanātha’s systems
of religious growth are also not meant to be self-gratifying by nature. While
one’s progress is determined by the development of emotional absorption in
the process, it is an absorption that acts to re-orient or “purify” of one’s desires.
The valued emotions of love, gratitude, and humility are the defining marks of
spiritual growth, and the entry card for each stage is the deeper development
of love and consequent abandonment of pride. The concurrence of these two
qualities is found in Viśvanātha’s system at the stage of attachment to Krishna
(āsakti, the sixth of nine stages).50 It is at this stage that the practitioner, due to
an abandonment of selfish attachments, is able to continue in his or her sādhana
despite whatever external obstacles arise.51 Donna Wulff further assesses the
character of purified desire as it developed in the Gauḍīya Vaishnava tradition: “It
is the enhancement of the devotee’s love and desire for the Lord and his beloved,
and for the privilege of witnessing their divine love, rather than the satisfaction of
such desire, that is the primary aim.”52
Emotion thus follows from desire and determines one’s spiritual state.
What, then, determines desire? Lash may provide a further clue: “The point I
want to emphasize is that the character of remembrance shapes the character
of expectation and desire. Differences of memory engender differences of
hope.”53 This connection is seen clearly in Rūpa and Viśvanātha’s works, in
regard to the sādhana techniques of meditation and remembrance of Krishna.
As Lash writes, it is the character of remembrance that shapes the character
of desire. For our two theologians’ systems, this shaping requires a general
understanding of the process prescribed by more advanced practitioners and
an awakening of desire and emotion therein.
Viśvanātha’s growing and blossoming creeper strongly speaks of this
transformation. The “seed” of bhakti, devotion, gradually transforms, in the
careful heart, into the blossoming and fruitful love of Krishna. Parallel to this
process is the transformation of the self as a whole—the eradication of the
weed-like vices and the re-instatement of pure desire and emotion. Viśvanātha
details the reorientation of emotions in the practitioner:
Though previously the hundreds if not thousands of emotions of the devotee
were firmly bound by ropes of attachment to body, family, house, and money,
prema now easily severs these bonds, and, through its own power, takes the
same emotions, though illusory, and dips them into a well of great rasa, whose
mere touch completely transforms them into radiant transcendental feelings.
Then it firmly ties these spiritualized emotions to the sweetness of the Lord’s
form, name, and attributes.54
Rūpa also touches on this point, quoting Krishna from the Bhāgavata
Purāṇa: “Just as a blazing fire turns all fuel to ashes, so devotion focused on
me completely consumes all attachment to sense objects.”55 It is through the
process of sādhana that the self undergoes the transformation toward perfected
and sustained devotion.56
Rūpa and Viśvanātha’s descriptions of spiritual progress illustrate something
both intrinsic to the religious pursuit and possibly to human nature itself—the
centrality of transforming process. The transformation of the self enables
one to experience or participate in one’s innate relationship with Krishna. To
that end, the experience-structuring and descriptive or depictive metaphors
employed by Rūpa and Viśvanātha are oriented toward evoking a certain type
and intensity of emotion which catapults the practitioner to a higher state of
spiritual progress. They are both emotive and reality depicting, in this sense;
they partake in the reciprocation of construction and discovery in spiritual
life. Such metaphors act continually as devices for creating an outlet to express
spiritual experience and as a roadmap to others for embarking on the path
of Krishna bhakti through them. Through this structure, they help to awaken
latent emotions within the practitioner. However, to this end, Viśvanātha
also speaks of bhakti as something that arises and grows in and of itself; our
efforts can orient us toward it, but ultimately they cannot direct it.57 They can
create the conditions in which experience of divine love may happen—though
ultimately it is a matter of grace.
Endnotes
1. Rūpa Gosvāmin (1489-1564), a formative theologian for Caitanya Vaishnavism, is
largely responsible for the codification of sādhanā, or structured religious practice, in
the tradition, and as such is considered one of the foremost formulators and recorders
of the tradition’s doctrine and practices. He writes with a rich use of metaphor, common
in the theological writings of the Caitanyaite tradition. His most widely read work is the
Bhaktirasāmṛtasindhu (“The Nectar Ocean of Devotion”), wherein he describes in great
detail aspects of human endeavour in sādhanā and varieties and degrees of spiritual
experience. Viśvanātha Cakravartin (1660-1754) writes roughly two centuries after Rūpa
composed his works, and is considered the most prominent seventeenth and early-
eighteenth century Caitanya Vaishnava theologian.
2. A metaphor attributed to Caitanya himself, in his instructions to Rūpa Gosvāmin
in the Caitanya Caritāmṛta of Kṛṣṇadāsa Kavirāja (2.19), wherein metaphors of the
garden and the bhakti latā are also developed at length.
3. Soskice, J. M. 1985. Metaphor and Religious Language. Oxford, Clarendon Press, 15.
4. Gerow, Edwin. 1971. Glossary of Indian Figures of Speech. The Hague: Mouton & Co., 20 ff.
5. Gerow also identifies utprekṣā, samāhita, and upamārūpaka as bearing resemblances

to the English usage of metaphor.
6. Soskice 1985: 69.
7. Bhaktirasāmṛtasindhu, 1.4.15-16. The technical terms used for describing these nine
stages are difficult to translate, as they have certain conceptual overlaps in English as
well as added richness in Sanskrit, so I have included the Sanskrit.
8. BRS 1.3.1; Viśvanātha uses the same analogy in the introduction to his chapter on
the stage of bhāva.
9. BRS 1.3.61. This and the following translations are taken from David Haberman’s
translation (Indira Gandhi National Centre for the Arts: 2003).
10. Mādhurya Kādambinī, 345. This and following translations are taken from
Brzezinski, Jan K., et al., trans. and ed. 2005. Srila Vishwanath Chakravarti Thakur’s
Madhurya Kadambini. Mathura: Sri Krishna Chaitanya Shastra Mandir.
11. Mādhurya Kādambinī, 319.
20. The masculine gender is used here since, for the theologians under discussion, the
divine as Krishna is gendered.
21. Bhaktirasāmṛtasindhu, 1.1.45.
24. Lakoff, George and Mark Johnson. 1980. Metaphors We Live By. Chicago: University
of Chicago Press, 196.
27. Bhaktirasāmṛtasindhu 1.3.39, a quote from Bilvamaṅgala Thakura’s
Krishnakarṇāmṛta.
31. Haberman, David L. 1988. Acting as a Way of Salvation: A Study of Raganuga Bhakti
Sadhana. New York: Oxford University Press, 39.
32. Lakoff and Johnson 1980: 194.
33. Bhaktirasāmṛtasindhu, 2.1.3-5.
34. Bhaktirasāmṛtasindhu, 1.3.6. Thanks to David Haberman for pointing out this verse.

37. Dooney, Anuradha. 2003. “Clouds, Creepers, and Kṛṣṇa: The Flourishing of Faith in
Viśvanātha Cakravartī’s Mādhurya Kādambinī,” unpublished M.St. dissertation, University
of Oxford, 47.
38. Mādhurya Kādambinī, 322; Mount Meru is a celestial mountain according to Hindu
mythology.
40. Haberman 1988: 129.
41. Haberman 1988: 131.
48. Mādhurya Kādambinī 287 ff.
49. Lash, Nicholas. 1997. “The Purification of Desire,” in Julius Lipner, ed., The Fruits of
Our Desiring: An Enquiry Into the Ethics of the Bhagavadgītā, 4.
51. Mādhurya Kādambinī, 256 ff.
52. Wulff, D. M. 1984. Drama as a Mode of Religious Realization: the Vidagdhamadhava of
Rupa Gosvami. Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 37.
53. Lash 1997: 3.
55. Bhaktirasāmṛtasindhu 1.1.20-26. Rūpa cites the Padma Purāna and Bhāgavata Purāna
to this end.
57. Mādhurya Kādambinī, 29 ff.
Bibliography
Bhaktirasāmṛtasindhu of Rūpa Gosvāmin. 2003. The Bhaktirasāmṛtasindhu of Rūpa
Gosvāmin, trans. David L. Haberman. New Delhi: Indira Gandhi National
Centre for the Arts and Motilal Banarsidass Publishers Delhi.
Mādhurya Kādambinī of Viśvanātha Cakravartin. Brzezinski, Jan K., et al., trans. and
ed. 2005. Srila Vishwanath Chakravarti Thakur’s Madhurya Kadambini.
Mathura: Sri Krishna Chaitanya Shastra Mandir.
Black, Max. 1962. Models and Metaphors: Studies in Language and Philosophy. Ithaca:
Cornell University Press.
Dooney, A. 2003. “Clouds, Creepers, and Kṛṣṇa: The Flourishing of Faith in Viśvanātha
Cakravartī’s Mādhurya Kādambinī,” unpublished dissertation, University of

Oxford.
Gerow, Edwin. 1971. Glossary of Indian Figures of Speech. The Hague: Mouton & Co.
Haberman, David L. 1988. Acting as a Way of Salvation: A Study of Raganuga Bhakti
Sadhana. New York: Oxford University Press.
Lakoff , George and Mark Johnson. 1980. Metaphors We Live By. Chicago: University of
Chicago Press.
Lipner, Julius, ed. 1997. The Fruits of Our Desiring: An Enquiry into the Ethics of the
Bhagavadgītā for our Times. Calgary, Canada: Bayeux Arts.
McFague, Sallie. 1983. Metaphorical Theology: Models of God in Religious Language.
London: SCM.
Ricoeur, Paul. 1995. [1946] Figuring the Sacred: Religion, Narrative, and Imagination,
trans. M. I. Wallace Minneapolis: Fortress Press.
Ricoeur, Paul. 1981. [1975] The Rule of Metaphor: Multidisciplinary Studies of the Creation
of Meaning in Language, trans. by Robert Czerny. University of Toronto
Press.
Siegel, Lee. 1978. Sacred and Profane Dimensions of Love in Indian Traditions as Exemplified
in the Gitagovinda of Jayadeva. Delhi: Oxford University Press.
Soskice, Janet M. 1985. Metaphor and Religious Language. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Turner, Denys. 1995. The Darkness of God. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Wulff, Donna M. 1984. Drama as a Mode of Religious Realization: the Vidagdhamādhava of
Rūpa Gosvāmī. Chico, CA: Scholars Press.
A Full Outline for the Presentation on
“Spiritual Discipline and Transformation:
Based on the Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius Loyola”
and some Afterthoughts as presented by
James D. Redington, SJ
[Editors’ Note: This article is different than the prior essays. It is in the form
of personal notes and reflections. We thought it important to include this piece
here because it looks at the process of personal transformation via the Spiritual
Exercises.]
Author’s Note: As usual at the end of each year’s dialogue, in 2003 we decided
on the next year’s topic: ‘Transformation in Christ and in Krishna.’ I agreed to
present the Spiritual Exercises on that topic, and Ravindra Svarupa would present
Bhaktirasamrtasindhu. My main endeavor in this article will be to reproduce
my invitation letter of March 9, 2004, and my presentation of the Spiritual
Exercises at the Vaisnava-Christian Dialogue of April 16, 2004, pretty much as
they happened. And I shall end with some of the dialogue that followed the
presentation or that came later in the weekend. I’ll also make what might be
called a “2012 Commentary” on one point raised in the dialogue, and I’ll label
it as such (as I shall any other such reflections as have occurred to me). The
text that we used is: The Spiritual Exercises of Saint Ignatius: A Translation and
Commentary, by George E. Ganss, S.J. (Chicago: Loyola Press, 1992). Passages will
be identified by, for example: (Ganss, 1), in the text or in an endnote, or quoted
when necessary for the present reader’s understanding. First, then, the letter
with which I introduced the readings on March 9.
(To the Vaisnava-Christian Dialogue Participants of 2004)
Dear Friends,
As for what to read on the topic of “Transformation in Christ

according to the Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius Loyola,” I’ve decided
to give you mainly the ‘Second Week’ of the Exercises, preceded and
163
followed by a few other parts which should help. So, I’ve included a
few pages explaining ‘The Structure of the Book’ (Ganss, 5-8); then the
twenty ‘introductory explanations’ Ignatius wrote (Ganss, 20-29); then
the title and the ‘Principle and Foundation’ of the first week (31-32);
followed by the entire second week (53-80); and from the fourth and
last week, the final contemplation ‘to attain love’ (94-95); and finally,
the ‘rules for the discernment of spirits’ (121-129).
Just two things I would ask you to hold in mind as you read: 1)
the ‘Spiritual Exercises’ is a handbook for the retreat director, not a
book primarily to be read (rather, to be ‘done’); and 2) on our theme
of ‘transformation’, keep in mind that the “Third Prelude” on page
56 is the grace which the retreatant asks earnestly for before every
contemplation and meditation of the second week, not just that first
one. (Text: “The Third Prelude will be to ask for what I desire. Here
it will be to ask for an interior knowledge of Our Lord, who became
human for me, that I may love him more intensely and follow him
more closely.”)
Other than that, happy reading to you, and I’m looking forward
very much to seeing you all again.
In God’s Love,
Jim Redington
(Here follows the presentation at the dialogue,

on the afternoon of April 16, 2004)
Christian Presentation—Transformation in Christ according to the

Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius Loyola
T hank you for the grace of doing this presentation. Let’s begin with
Ignatius’ ‘Prayer for Generosity’. Presenter: Dearest Lord, teach us to
be generous. Teach us to serve you as you deserve: to give and not to
count the cost; to fight and not to heed the wounds; to toil and not to seek
for rest; to labor and not to ask for any reward, save that of knowing that we
are doing your holy will, o my God. All: Amen.
What Do We Get in the Spiritual Exercises?

Answers: An ‘imitation of Christ’ spirituality (= ‘path’, or sadhana);
Spiritual Discipline and Transformation 165
based on a ‘will of God’ spirituality;

with an important ‘finding God in all things’ spirituality;
ALL based on a ‘love,’ or ‘love of God’ spirituality—a Bhakti.
And, by and large, it is experienced that God gives the grace that the
retreatant asks for, to a greater or lesser extent. So especially do those people
find who do the Exercises in their full, thirty-day form or their part-time but
year-long form.
Ways and Examples of Transformation

In the ‘Introductory Explanations’
#1 (p. 21) Definition of ‘spiritual exercises’: “By the term Spiritual
Exercises we mean every method of examination of conscience,
meditation, contemplation, vocal or mental prayer, and other
spiritual activities, such as will be mentioned later. For, just as taking
a walk, traveling on foot, and running are physical exercises, so is
the name of spiritual exercises given to any means of preparing and
disposing our soul to rid itself of all its disordered affections and
then, after their removal, of seeking and finding God’s will in the
ordering of our life for the salvation of our soul.”
#5 (22-23) “The persons . . . will benefit greatly by entering upon
[the Exercises] with great spirit and generosity toward their Creator
and Lord . . .”
#11, 12, 13, 16 (24-26) Discipline. Concentrate on this ‘week’ (of
the four ‘weeks’) only; pray the full hour, or more; go against an
attachment by praying and striving for its opposite. Strenuous
sadhana. In terms of rasa-theory, we have utsaha bhava in vira rasa,
i.e., great vigor or energy, in the warrior-hero’s mood. Much military
imagery is used by and about Ignatius. But the point here is a
disciplined, decisive and faithful will, no matter what figures of speech
might be used.
#20 (28-29) Seclusion. The second and third reasons for it show that
“graces and gifts” (= transformation) can very really be hoped for.
(Text: “Second, by being secluded in this way and not having our mind
divided among many matters, but by concentrating instead all our
attention on one alone, namely, the service of our Creator and our
own spiritual progress, we enjoy a freer use of our natural faculties
for seeking diligently what we so ardently desire. Third, the more we
keep ourselves alone and secluded, the more fit do we make ourselves
to approach and attain to our Creator and Lord; and the more we unite
ourselves to him in this way, the more do we dispose ourselves to
receive graces and gifts from his divine and supreme goodness.”)
#23 The “Principle and Foundation” (32) Very logical goal
orientation; puts strong emphasis on choice, commitment to our
“end” in life; discipline of “indifference” to other things helps us stay
with our choice. (Text: “To attain this it is necessary to make ourselves
indifferent to all created things . . . Consequently, on our own part
we ought not to seek health rather than sickness, wealth rather than
poverty, honor rather than dishonor, a long life rather than a short
one . . .”)
Second Week
#91 Kingdom of Christ (53-55) Call, or vocation, by a worthy earthly king,
then, all the more compellingly, by Christ. Sorry about the Crusade imagery!
“That I may not be deaf to his call” is the grace. Jesus’ call is known to be a
totally life-altering commitment, as with the apostles whom he first called.
Some editors place the Kingdom meditation just before the ‘second week,’ so
that it stands over it as a theme.
#101 Incarnation (56-57) Third Prelude: to know Christ more intimately,
love him more ardently, and follow him more closely—as we have heard. This
plea for grace drives the whole second week, and one could say it is the central
theme of the whole Exercises. It is the grace sought in every contemplation on
Christ’s life—ninety percent of the meditations from the second through the
fourth weeks. And, it is transformation in bhakti—love of God.
#110 (58-59) The Nativity contemplation is an excellent example of the
second week’s ‘Ignatian contemplations’. They are bhavana, ‘meditative
imaginings’ of what the characters in the sacred narrative are doing, and
inserting oneself, too, as in some Vaishnava bhavanas. “I will make myself a
poor, little, and unworthy slave, gazing at them, contemplating them, and
serving them in their needs, just as if I were there, with all possible respect and
reverence. Then I will reflect upon myself to draw some profit.”
#135 (64) Introduction to Election “4. While continuing our contemplations
of his life, we now begin to explore: in which state of life does the Divine
Majesty wish us to serve him?” Both processes—contemplation and exploration—
go on. The question might be put: in which way of life does God wish to
transform us?
#136 (65-67) Two Standards. On values. Note the “Colloquy” (intimate

speaking) with Our Lady (#147: “A Colloquy should be made with Our Lady. I beg
her to obtain for me the grace from her Son and Lord that I may be received
under his standard; first, in the most perfect spiritual poverty; and also, if his
Divine Majesty should be served and if he should wish to choose me for it, to no
less a degree of actual poverty . . .”) The transformation by imitation of Christ is
getting deeper.
#163 (71-72) Matter for the “election” is to start on the fifth day (of the
second week) because Christ is contemplated as leaving Nazareth then, and
going to the river Jordan to be baptized by John the Baptist—i.e., as having
made his election.
#165 (72-73) “Three Ways of Being Humble” is considered high perfection—
advanced love. Notice that the second way is already perfection according to
the Principle and Foundation (#23). The third way is imitation of Christ even in
its extreme negatives, and so it’s the highest love. It’s supreme bhakti; and it’s
like supreme bhakti in the form of the agony of separation (viraha), as in Jesus’
saying: ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me’ (Mark’s Gospel, 15.34)?
But it is, in my opinion, truly but only partly like that (i.e., a true but ‘transient
emotion’—cancalyabhava). It is really more a union, but in the negativities (i.e.,
joined with Christ in his sufferings and humiliations).
#169ff. (74-80) The “election” is complicated, but interesting. It is, of course,
the big choice, and so fits our theme of transformation. Otherwise, best to leave
the ‘three times’ and ‘two methods’ aside.
In ‘Fourth Week’
#230 (94-95) The “Contemplation to Attain Love”
I. Love based on gratitude, and culminating in a kind of

prapatti (‘total surrender’) in the prayer “Take, Lord, and
receive all my liberty, my memory, my understanding, and
all my will—all that I have and possess. You, Lord, have
given all that to me. I now give it back to you, O Lord. All
of it is yours. Dispose of it according to your will. Give me
love of yourself along with your grace, for that is enough
for me.”
II. Finding God in all things. Kind of an apotheosis of scholastic
philosophy, making bhakti out of routine (e.g.: “I will consider
how God dwells in creatures; in the elements, giving them
existence; in the plants, giving them life; in the animals,

giving them sensation; in human beings, giving them
intelligence; and finally, how in this way he dwells also in
myself, giving me existence, life, sensation, and intelligence
. . .”) Like a love-meditation on Lord Krishna’s vibhuti-s in
Bhagavad-Gita chapter ten. The culmination and end of the
Spiritual Exercises.
#313 (121-129) Rules for the Discernment of Spirits. These rules are for
figuring out what’s going on in one’s spiritual life. For instance, rules 3 and 4
(122) are important on consolation and desolation (these are in the rules for
Week 1—the purgative stage—but are used generally):
The Third . . . By consolation I mean that which occurs when some

interior motion is caused within the soul through which it comes to
be inflamed with love of its Creator and Lord. As a result it can love no
created thing on the face of the earth in itself, but only in the Creator
of them all . . . Similarly, this consolation is experienced when the soul
sheds tears which move it to love for its Lord . . .
The Fourth . . . By desolation I mean everything which is the contrary
of what was described in the Third Rule; for example, obtuseness of
soul, turmoil within it, an impulsive motion toward low and earthly
things, or disquiet from various agitations and temptations. These
move one toward lack of faith and leave one without hope and without
love.
Concluding Comment: By the Gospels and these Exercises, one’s further

life is envisioned as something to be transformed, by deeper and deeper
interior knowledge and love of Christ, into more and more complete imitation
of him. The most evident bhakti moods or relationships in this might be
‘servant/Master’ (dasyabhava) and/or ‘friend/Friend’ (sakhyabhava); but others
would not be excluded.
Some points raised in our 2004 Dialogue, and some 2012 Reflections
At the end of the above presentation, I asked John Borelli to tell us whether
he had just found the Spiritual Exercises transformative, since he had recently
finished doing them in their 30-day retreat form. But regrettably, I didn’t take
notes on his brilliant insights, and we broke for coffee/tea just after them.
So, the few points I will consider, based on my notes, came from Ravindra
Svarupa’s presentation, just afterwards, and from the two sessions of dialogue,
questions, and discussion that followed upon both our presentations.
Ravindra explained that, in Vaishnava theology, the soul actually has senses,
but they’re latent right now. Bhakti is to engage the senses in the service of the
Lord of the senses. Our senses are ordinarily impure—they must be purified
to engage in bhakti. This is very much like Ignatius Loyola’s ‘application of the
senses,’ ‘composition of place,’ etc., said Ravindra. Let me just explain Ignatius’
terms. First, perhaps, ‘composition of place,’ done in every meditation in the
Spiritual Exercises, is the use of the imagination to picture the location and action
in Jesus’ life which are going to be the subject of the meditation (and, in many
of the meditations, to place oneself in them). And ‘application of the five senses’
(page 60’s contemplation on the Nativity is a good example) is an exercise in
which one applies the five senses, one by one, to the material contemplated,
and then “. . . draws some profit from this.” Thus, one will see “by the sight of
my imagination” the place, persons, and actions, then hear them, then smell
the fragrance, taste “the infinite sweetness and charm of the Divinity,” and
finally, “so to speak,” touch, embrace or kiss the places where the persons are
or were, etc. I agree with Ravindra about the vivid and positive sensuousness of
both religious systems here.
Secondly, Sam Wagner and Ravindra Svarupa were the main discussants on
a question regarding “indifference” in Ignatius’ Principle and Foundation (#23,
p. 32), as to how it compares with some potential counterparts in the Bhagavad-
Gita. Ravindra made the point that detachment from the fruits of actions (often
called niskamakarma) is one thing, while samadarsana (‘seeing as equal’) is
another. As a devotee, one can see even a negative thing as a good coming from
the Lord. It’s according to whether it fits the service of God, explained Ravindra.
I would agree that Ignatius’ “indifference to all created things,” by which
we “choose only that which is more conducive to the end for which we are
created,” is a bit different from the Gita’s detachment from the fruits of actions,
although the two are close. But the ‘seeing as equal’ taught by Lord Krishna is, I
think, quite the same as Ignatius’ “ . . . we ought not to seek health rather than
sickness, wealth rather than poverty, honor rather than dishonor, a long life
rather than a short one, and so on . . .” What is for the Lord’s service is good.
Finally, there were a few lively discussions about the nature of the Spiritual
Exercises. In his presentation, Ravindra Svarupa said (approximately—these
are notes): I now understand the Spiritual Exercises. It has a brute force that you
don’t see in a Hindu bhakti system. A Kshatriya (‘warrior class’) mentality. [Like a
“boot camp,” someone said.] And in our discussion later that night, Ravindra said
it was “almost a brainwashing.” In response it was pointed out that the military
flavor and imagery of Ignatian spirituality was very often emphasized in Christian
evaluations of the Exercises as well. And I made the point that any profound
and long-lasting initiation into deep religious truth and sadhana required a
substantial but intelligent self-surrender by the retreatant, novice, devotee, or
whomever. I referred by way of comparison about ‘brainwashing,’ to an affidavit
I had written in 1977 against a proposed piece of legislation in New York state.
The International Society of Krishna Consciousness had asked me to write on the
issue. And I wrote that, as far as I knew as a scholar of Vaishnavism, ISKCON did
not “brainwash” its devotees. So, brainwashing may be something we come close
to, in the view of an outside observer, but don’t do. By the way, in the dialogue
this was not all as ‘earnest’ as it sounds here, and was delivered, and also accepted,
in good spirit. Freedom of religion has to allow people to go deep, though not
mindlessly.
2012 Commentary: Yes, the Spiritual Exercises is a Kshatriya spirituality,
developed by the would-be knight Ignatius (as Zen Buddhism is, at least in part,
a Samurai spirituality). Is there an example of Kshatriya spirituality in Hinduism,
even Vaishnava bhakti Hinduism? I’d say yes: the Bhagavad-Gita! It’s interesting how
both Hindu bhakti and Christianity (a bhakti religion) tend to downplay the military
and “boot camp” aspects of both these religious texts. But they’re there (remember
the appeal to Arjuna’s Kshatriya pride in chapter two, the disciplined self-denial of
the niskamakarma teaching of chapters two and three, and so forth). In hindsight,
my own emphasis on Week Two of the Exercises shows a downplaying of Week
One’s purgative, “boot camp” character. I’m not claiming any parity of such
emphasis in these two texts, but might chapters one to three be the Gita’s ‘boot
camp’?
May this Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue go well beyond fifteen more years!

The Crucifixion and the Rāsa Maṇḍala:
A Comparative Sketch of
Two Great Symbols of Divine Love
Graham M. Schweig
Ultimate Imagery of Divine Love
T he Catholic tradition within Christianity and the Vaishnava tradition

within Hinduism each celebrate an singular focal point of worship,
a supreme emblem of faith, and an ultimate image of divine love.
The imagery of each expresses what is most deeply cherished, and what is
considered to be most precious in each tradition, respectively. Each vision of
divine love contains the powerful elements of sacrifice in love, suffering in love,
and salvation in love. Each image arises out of a sacred narrative found in their
respective scriptures, which then in turn receive deep theological reflection
and explication. However, each tradition through its symbolism of supreme
love paints a picture of sacrifice, suffering, and salvation very differently and
distinctively.
In this brief presentation, it is the crucifixion for the Carmelite Catholics
and the Rāsa Maṇḍala for the Chaitanya Vaishnavas on which I will focus.
Specifically, from each of these traditions, I examine an older, very original
sample of the imagery and couple it with a later image that illuminates and
expands upon the earlier. For the crucifixion, which I will examine first, I only
briefly engage an early crucifixion icon from the Greek Orthodox Church but
concentrate on the cruxifixion drawing of John of the Cross. Focusing on the
latter allows me to highlight the elements of sacrifice, suffering, and salvation
in the crucifixion.
For the Rāsa Maṇḍala, my examination will emphasize the classical
depiction of the “great circle dance” and then its abbreviated imagery in
the portrait of the two figures of Rādhā and Krishna that are so commonly
worshipped in temple settings. Each of these displays of supreme love
contains the elements of sacrifice, suffering, and salvation, and in order to
discover this I will resort to narrative material that serves to contextualize
these images.
171
Figure 1. Attributed to Bernardo Daddi. The Crucifixion, c. 1335. Samuel H.

Kress Collection 1961.9.2, National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC.
The Crucifixion and the Rāsa Maṇḍala 173
The Crucifixion: Aesthetic and Theological Analysis

The history of the depiction of the crucifixion is extraordinarily rich and
complex. The sheer variety of depictions is tremendous. And one also finds
a great variety in the depictions of the Rāsa Maṇḍala imagery as well. The
variations and permutations of the imagery for the ultimate focal point in
worship attests not only to the ultimate importance of the image but also to its
infinite capacity to be personalized in its representation—two essential factors
that indicate the greatness of ultimate religious symbols of a tradition.
The depictions of the crucifixion in painting throughout its history almost
always shows a ground level, frontal view of the event. Whether the viewer is
placed farther or closer to Jesus on the cross, the depiction involves one of seeing
Jesus from a standing position looking slightly up at Jesus who is raised above the
ground on the cross. The view is usually one from being directly in front of the
cross, though there are some depictions from a three quarter view from one side
or the other, but always as if standing on the ground. Often the depiction of the
crucifixion is without anyone else standing by witnessing the the suffering Jesus
on the cross. It is just the viewer alone with Jesus in those instances. However,
we the viewer often join other onlookers who are grieving the loss of Jesus,
who, standing much closer, to the side or directly in front of Jesus, who visibly
feel the devestation of the event. In Figure 1, an early Greek orthodox icon, we
join onlookers who are crying out and grieving. Various figures have a nimbus
around their heads, as does Jesus, indicating their elevated holy status. Also
present are angels in midair, flying in the background. However, the little drawing
of the crucifixion by St. John of the cross presents us with a very different, yet
extraordinarily powerful expression that is worthy of our attention.1
The first feature which immediately stands out in the drawing is the unusual
perspective St. John provides for his viewer. (See Figure 2 on next page.) The cross
and the figure of Christ have a strong downward, one-point perspective from a
three quarter aerial view. One is virtually looking down from above, and slightly
in front of, the cross on to the left side of Christ. This angle of vision of Christ on
the cross immediately sets St. John’s drawing apart from all other representations
of the crucified Christ in the history of Christian art. The effect of this unusual
angle and perspective is dramatic: it gives the picture a great deal of tension.
While this angle of viewing the crucifix establishes the drawing’s drama,
there are other elements which contribute to its intensity. The cross itself
Figure 2. The Crucifix Drawing by St. John of the Cross. The original is preserved in
the Carmelite Monastery of the Incarnation, in Avila, Spain. 16th century.
leans so far to the right of the composition that it appears as though it were
about to fall backwards. One struggles to keep the cross upright while viewing
it. Most people, seeing the drawing for the first time, are compelled to turn
the picture on its left side to compensate for this strained angle.
At the same time, the strong downward force of the perspective and the
weight of Christ’s body, which is accentuated by his knees buckling under him
and his head hanging parallel to the ground, is in contrast with the dramatic
angle of the cross itself. Christ’s body is falling forward to the left of the
composition, pulling in the opposite direction from the backward leaning cross.
Christ’s outstretched arms add still further to the vexing tension which
vibrates through the composition. The spikes through the palms are large, with
the limits of strain in the arms portrayed by long tenden-like lines in them,
and drops of blood fall in the air. This tension created in the the arms is further
emphasized by the swollen chest, shoulder and back muscles, and the feeling of
the weight of Christ’s body as he is falling forward.
The lighting is, however, the most subtle and intriguing aspect of the
composition. The source of light appears to be above the cross, but, unlike the
viewer, is at a three quarter aerial angle from behind the cross. This lighting
from above and behind places Christ and the front of the cross in shadow. The
figure of Christ therefore is dark with lines indicating only general shape and
form. But the side and top surfaces of the cross receive the light from behind
Christ, whose head falls away from the light.
Certain responses are invoked by the work whether or not the viewer is familiar
with St. John’s writings. The work commands a new attention from the viewer.
The radically different angle from which the crucifix is seen emphasizes, perhaps
even more than other depictions of the crucifix, the intense suffering of Christ. The
angle causes Christ’s left hand, with the spike prominent, to be the part of his body
closest to the viewer. Again, the suffering of Christ is emphasized. And finally, this
angle causes Christ’s face to be hidden. All these features of the picture generated
simply by the angle would leave the viewer with a feeling of devastation.
Aside from the influence of angle, however, there is another powerful
element at work. This element is the interplay of light and shadow. The light is
coming from above and behind the cross from the right of the viewer. While the
light illuminates the sides and top of the cross, it leaves Christ’s form in shadow.
One’s vision is irresistably drawn, by the angle, down toward Christ’s darkened
form, and is simultaneously drawn toward the light reflected on the cross. This
illumination gives the viewer a subtle sense of relief from the utter despair
portrayed in the figure of Christ.
The power of this composition lies in the dynamic between the influences
of the angle of vision and the effect of light on the subject. What is the
signficance of this very vivid and dramatic portrayal of Christ’s suffering?
Why is the light coming from behind, and what is the source of this light? And
why is the viewer placed in this position in relation to Christ?
The full significance of this work must be understood in terms of St. John’s
mystical doctrine of divine love. Anyone who is aquainted with the extensive
writings of St. John of the Cross knows that he de-emphasized trinitarian
mysticism. But more importantly, he dwelt even less on the crucifixion of
Christ. In his writings he intricately describes the rigorous ascetic practices
of the mystical life, and the of the experiences of the divine union with
God. This perfection of divine union is characterized by a marriage between
the individual soul, who is always the bride, and Christ, who is the beloved
Bridegroom. This is known as “Bridal Mysticism,” which is central to St. John’s
teachings. Given this, why does St. John emphasize the crucifix through this
very vivid drawing?
St. John wrote very detailed and didactic treatises, but he also utilized
aesthetic forms for expressing his religious experiences. He wrote much poetry
which communicated divine matters in a way that mere prose could not; for all
his treatises are commentaries on his poetry. As for this drawing, it is known
to be the product of a vision. But he chose not to express this vision in poetry.
Apparently, the subject of this vision was better communicated through a
picture than through any verbal expression.
The work was obviously derived from inner religious experience; for its style
and composition are unique. It was not meant to be a public image, or even
an icon. Rather, it was the pure and simple expression of an esoteric vision,
shared only with his fellow spiritual aspirants. Therefore, if we are to interpret
this drawing, we must go to St. John’s works. In St. John’s prose or poetry, it is
rare to find anything which relates the crucifixion to his doctrine of the divine
marriage. But we do find three small stanzas in one of his less known poems.
Here, Christ is speaking to the Father:
Your great power will be seen

And Your justice and wisdom.
I will go and tell the world,
Spreading the word
Of Your beauty and sweetness
And of Your sovereignty.
I will go seek My bride

And take upon Myself
Her weariness and labors
In which she suffers so;
And that she may have life

I will die for her
And, lifting her out of that deep,
I will restore her to You.2
If we interpret St. John’s drawing of the crucifix in light of these few verses,
then the mystery of his work is revealed. As these verses plainly express,
Christ, the Bridegroom, wants to relieve the bride, or the soul, of her suffering
by taking it upon himself. And in doing so, he restores her to the Father.
The viewer of this work is verily the bride, who is looking on from above
at the tortured Bridegroom, and who is compelled in the direction of the
light source, being restored to the Father. The picture, even more than
these revealing verses convey the absolute suffering and sacrifice of Christ,
expressing his intensity of love for the bride. While the bride experiences
feelings of grief and separation, the light provides a sense of the presence of
the Father to whom the bride is restored. Thus the crucifix for St. John is an
expression of the intensity of love that the Bridegroom has for the bride as she
enters the inner life of God.
The Rāsa Maṇḍala: Aesthetic and Theological Analysis

As the event of the crucifixion is the climactic event of the Jesus story in the
biblical New Testament, so the formation of the great circle, or maṇḍala of
dancers—Krishna with the cowherd maidens of Vraja, or the Vraja Gopikās—is
the climactic event within the ultimate story, known as the Rāsa Līlā (the “play”
or līlā of the “circular dance” known as the rāsa), within the Bhāgavata Purāṇa.3
(See Figure 3 on next page.) Again, there are endless depictions, with all their
variations, for this most celebrated vision of the Rāsa Maṇḍala. And the Rāsa
Maṇḍala and its manifestation in the two divine figures of Rādhā and Krishna
function as the ultimate vision of divine love, the very focal point of worship, as
the crucifixion is for so much of Christianity.
The word rāsa indicates a certain ancient dance form which is comprised
of the circular formation of many female dancers, whose hands or arms are
interlocked with one another in a chain-like manner, and around whose necks
the arms of their male dance partners are placed. In the līlā or play of Krishna’s
rāsa dance with the Gopīs, however, it is Krishna who duplicates himself from
the center of the rāsa circle by virtue of his divine power and becomes the sole
male partner for each and every Gopī.
The dance takes place in the paradisal forest of Vraja in which the lotus
flowers, full fruit trees and honey bees come alive during the enchanting night,
when this divine dance is performed under the full moon of the autumn harvest
season. Indeed, the colors that fill the scenery are those of autumn. The viewer
of any depiction of the Rāsa Maṇḍala can immediately grasp the joyous occasion
of the event. Though the event occurs at night under the full moon, the dancers
are always very colorfully adorned and luminously glowing from the arena of
the forest setting. The viewer witnesses from an angular ariel view the full circle
of the Vraja Gopikās as they dance, each experiencing the exclusive attention of
Krishna. It is almost as if the viewer, in effect, joins the other distantly depicted
celestial beings floating in the sky who joyously witness the performance while
they also sing, play instruments, and shower flowers down upon the dancers.
We, the viewer, have joined the audience that is most often depicted in artistic
renderings of the Rāsa. The narrative informs us that they sing songs of love
in harmony with Krishna and in chorus, as the percussive sounds of the bells
on their ankles and belts tingle, while their bracelets clang to the rhythmic
movements of their forms, and celestial beings shower flowers down, joining in
with song and drumming from the heavens.
The formation of dancers in a circle or maṇḍala is loaded with symbolic
significance. A circle has no beginning or no end, both in time and space,
and thus expresses what is unending and eternal. There is no limit as to how
many dancers may join this circle. Just as in geometry a singular point can be
inserted between any two points that constitute the circle, indefinitely, over
and over again, there is no limit to how many dancers may join the eternal
circle of the Rāsa dance. The space within the circle projects a feeling of a
closed and exlusive intimacy, while the space outside the circle is open to and
inclusive of everything and everyone. This simultaneously existing concavity
and convexity of the circle points to the synergistic necessity of both, and a
feeling of closedness and openness in the Rāsa, which speaks to the exclusivism
and inclusivism, respectively, in a relationship of supreme love with the divine.
Moreover, the Rāsa Maṇḍala promotes a balanced sense of individuality that is
fully supported by a powerful sense of community and unity.
The circle of the Rāsa is not just any circle, but a circle of dancers that
is is one of dynamic sacred movement. Note that around the heads of all
Figure 3. The Wondrous Circle of the Rāsa Dance: Rāsa Maṇḍala. Painting by Krishna
Priya in Jaipur, State of Rajasthan, India (2001). Opaque watercolor, silver, and
gold on handmade jute and cotton board (31 ½” by 23 ½”). Composition designed
and commissioned by and located in the private collection of the author.4
the female dancers as well as the duplicated forms of Krishna is the glow of a
nimbus, which indicates the transcendent and holy state of this event and the
personages within it. This event is otherworldly, yet also feels like a paradisial
part of this world.
The circle of the Rāsa is not static. It revolves around the circle’s centerpoint,
indicated by the circular movement of dancers. Krishna became the very
centerpoint of the circle when the Vraja Gopikās linked arms with one another
surrounding him. Then, as it were, Krishna adds to the circle of Gopīs his own
centrifugally duplicated forms to attend each Gopī in the dance. But invariably,
almost always, the viewer does not see Krishna standing at the center alone,
as the Bhāgavata narrative describes him. Rather, Krishna is almost always
depicted as standing there along side of his goddess consort, Rādhā, the most
beloved among all the Vraja Gopikās. It is far more the exception than the rule
to find Rādhā missing at the center of the Rāsa Maṇḍala.
The presence of a singular Vraja Gopikā, identified as Rādhā, is a radical
departure from and addition to the Rāsa Līlā’s passage wherein the Rāsa
Maṇḍala is described in detail. There is not even a hint of any other figure
accompanying Krishna in such descriptions. This discrepancy between the
narrative and artistic expressions points to the theological vision of the
Chaitanya school of Vaishnavism, the school that is responsible for the natural
expectation on the part of almost every Hindu to find Rādhā with Krishna at the
center of the Rāsa.
Put in the simplest terms here, the school explains that the Vraja Gopikās
who make up the circle of female dancers are but the embodiments of Rādhā’s
emotions. Thus, the whole Rāsa Maṇḍala is simply a portrait of both Rādhā
and Krishna: the Vraja Gopikās, each as a particular embodiment of Rādhā’s
emotions, are themselves partially duplicate forms of the goddess Rādhā
herself, and Krishna’s duplicate forms standing with each one of the Gopīs are,
of course, ways in which Krishna lovingly attends to each and every emotional
display of Rādhā. While the narrative of the sacred text centrifugally sends
multiple duplications of Krishna out into the circle of female dancers, the
interpretive eye of the Chaitanya theological school centripetally projects from
the Vraja Gopikās into the very center of the circle with Krishna the goddess
Gopī, Rādhā, from whom all the other Gopīs originate.
How can Krishna be without his greatest beloved, Rādhā, at the center
of the Rāsa Maṇḍala? Impossible, says the Chaitanya school. Thus, the Rāsa
Maṇḍala is an expanded form of the divine couple, as I have spelled out in
previous work I have done. And the standardized, intimate depiction of Rādhā
and Krishna standing together united in divine love is essentially a condensed

form of the Rāsa Maṇḍala. When gazing or contemplating the divine figures
of Rādhā and Krishna, cultivated worshippers see all the Vraja Gopikās and
all the duplications of Krishna; and when gazing upon the imagery of the Rāsa
Maṇḍala, worshippers see a portrait of the two divine figures.
The standard portrait of both Rādhā and Krishna can be seen in Figure 4. By
standard, I am referring to both the image’s artistic and ecclesiastical contexts.
Both Krishna and Rādhā are standing, facing forward with their gazes toward
the viewer. Now the viewer has a direct frontal view of the divine figures, in
contrast to the ariel view of the Rāsa Maṇḍala. In the rendering of the divine
couple shown in Figure 4, one easily observes the emphasis on the loving
couple, not only by Rādhā’s loving posture that favors Krishna’s form, but also
in the various traditional and conventional motifs of loving couples employed
in painting, such as pairs of birds, a pair of calves, a tree with a vine wrapped
around it, etc.
In contast to the divine figures of Rādhā and Krishna who are dancing within
the circle of the Rāsa, here in the standard portrait they are standing closely to
one another as if calling out to the viewer. Indeed, Krishna, while holding a flute
up to his mouth with both arms, stands with one foot casually crossing over the
other stationary foot. This pose of Krishna, with its flowing bodily curvature, is
known as his very lovely and attractive “three-fold bending form.” It is with the
music of the flute that Krishna calls souls to himself and his yearning heart, the
very music he makes to attract the Vraja Gopikās out of their homes to be with
him in the forest to perform the Rāsa dance. It could perhaps be conjectured
that when Krishna is closely present with Rādhā and also playing the flute, that
the divine couple is calling us, the viewer, to them. It is as if they are calling
viewers to join them in the eternal dance of the Rāsa.
Western and Indian scholars alike have viewed the amorous or even “erotic”
imagery of the Rāsa Līlā allegorically as the soul’s passion to be united with
God, and some take it as a form of mystical eroticism. Still others fear that its
impassioned expressions might promote a degrading form of religion. The
Vaishnava devotee, however, to this day, embraces the episode as the perfect
picture of God’s most intimate self, in the most profound revelation of divine love.
Comparative Reflections: Sacrifice, Suffering, and Salvation

The view afforded by the artistic rendering of these greatest symbols of
divine love send powerful theological messages to the viewer. The viewers
of St. John’s crucifixion and the Rāsa Maṇḍala experience a viewpoint that is
aerial. Such an aerial view dramatically draws the viewer closer to the arena of
salvation. With the former, the viewer is being lifted up into the realm of light
in which God dwells. With the latter, the viewer is being lifted up to view the
full circle and splendorous sight of the Rāsa dance, as an invitation to enter it,
to participate in it, and ultimately to be drawn into it. The frontal view of most
crucifixion depictions and the conventional frontal vew of the divine couple
is both confronting and beckoning at the same time. Both call the viewer into
engagement with the event of redemption, salvation, and elevation.
The contrasts between the two great images and their respective surrounding
altar-like supporting narratives are dramatic and telling. In the Christian
context, it is God that makes the sacrifice, while in the Vaishnava context, the
soul makes the sacrifice. In the former, God sends his only son, and when he
does, he is tortured, he suffers, and dies a most agonizing death. In the latter,
God as Krishna does not sacrifice, but the Gopīs who do. They leave home and
effectively die to the world, sacrificing all social norms, and they even relinquish
their physical bodies to be with Krishna, undergoing a kind of death. Both
expressions of sacrifice are ultimate, total, and necessitate death as a means
to a salvific end. Both speak to the ways in which the power of divine love is
boundless and ultimately cannot be contained by anything in this world.
The greater narrative of the Christian symbol begins in the divine realm
with God sending his only begotten son to this world, and then returns to
the divine realm via the resurrection. Again, it is God doing all the work
here. In contrast, it is the soul that begins in this world, as a Gopī does in
her home, undergoes a transformative death that gives the soul a spiritual
body to be with Krishna in the Rāsa, and then the soul returns to this world,
as the Gopīs do at the end of the Rāsa event. In the Vaishnava instance,
all the work is being done by the soul. The former displays the power of
God’s love through his grace, and the latter displays the power of the soul’s
love through her devotional passion. The fomer displays God’s power of
love to become weak and meek like a human, and the latter discplays the
soul’s power of love to become elevated to the divine so as to participate
in the inner life of God. It is God who initiates the gift of grace to humans
through Jesus. It is also God who out of a divine yearning calls all souls to his
heart through the sounding of the divine flute. But in the former, souls are
absolved of their sins and suffering by God’s sacrifice, whereas in the latter,
souls are absolved of any suffering and even worldly happiness by their own
sacrifice and intense passion in their love for the divine.
Figure 4. Rādhā and Krishna in Vraja Scenery. Ivory miniature 5 3/4”

x 3 5/8”. 19th century. Artist unknown (initials CK appear on bottom
right corner). Miniature in the collection of the author.
Both traditions infuse in the hearts of their worshippers an intense

longing for the divine, but in very different ways. In the suffering that Jesus
undergoes, worshippers suffer with Jesus. Some Christians may even feel or
experience his wounds or desire to do so. There is a profound sense of the
suffering in Jesus’ sacrifice that is powerful enough to save souls from sin.
This longing and grieving for Jesus is a powerful, divinely uniting force for the
Christian and the crucifixion in compelling ways stimulates this relationship.
In my analyses of the Rāsa Līlā, I have shown that there are nine phases or
characteristics of divine love: (1) awakening (2) anticipation (3) meeting (4)
conflict (5) separation (6) devastating loss (7) reunion (8) rejoicing, and (9)
returning. The formation of the Rāsa Maṇḍala occurs during the eighth phase,
rejoicing in the triumph of love. I believe that these phases can be observed as
occurring in the Jesus narrative as well. The crucifixion, for example, would be
occurring at the sixth phase, devastating loss and grief in the experience of God’s
absence and an intense longing to be with God and to be saved by God. But the
existence of the sixth phase, as with any other phase, depends on the existence
and experience of the other phrases. And thus, within the devastating loss
expressed in the crucifixion is the rejoicing in the triumph of love through the
ressurection. In love, one cannot have one phase without the others, at least to
some minute degree. Within the rejoicing in the triumph of love expressed in
the Rāsa Maṇḍala is the devastating loss when being separated from Krishna or
the inability to find Krishna, as is narrated in the story line of the Rāsa Līlā.
Finally, it must be acknowledged that these remarks are only a “sketch,” and
volumes could be written on the subject matter at hand. In closing, it should
be pointed out that in the image of the crucifixion there is an expression of
suffering and loss not just on the part of humans for the divine, but also on the
part of the divine from within the divine, that is, God for his only begotten son.
The contemplation on devastating loss in the form of the depths that suffering
takes in the crucifixion in unexcelled, fueling the meaning and power of the
resurrection. On the other hand, it must be observed that the Rāsa Maṇḍala is
a celebration of the power of love, not just over the hearts of humans, but also
over the heart of God. God becomes subsumed even by the love coming from
souls, and this is expressed by the Rāsa dance itself. Krishna is known to have a
bluish complexion, and the Vraja Gopikās golden. The narrative of the Rāsa, in
a key verse, points out that Krishna’s complexion changes to an emerald green
color, yet the complexion of the Vraja Gopikās does not change. Mixing the
complexions of both, the blue of Krishna and the golden of the Gopīs, produces
the secondary color of green. But it is significant that it is Krishna’s complexion
that changes and not that of the Gopīs, thus expressing how even the divinity
can be transformed by the power of the soul’s love.
Endnotes
1. Much of my analysis of St. John’s drawing of the crucifixion here in this essay
is taken from my published chapter, entitled “Imagery of Divine Love: The Crucifix
Drawing of John of the Cross,” in Carmelite Studies VI: John of the Cross, edited by
Steven Payne, OCD (Washington, DC: ICS Publications, 1992), 162-166.
2. St. John of the Cross, Romance 7, “The Incarnation,” verses 9-11 The Collected
Works of St. John of the Cross, trans. Kieran Kavanaugh and Otilio Rodriquez with an
introduction by Kieran Kavanaugh (Washington, DC: Institute of Carmelite Studies
Publications, 1964), 731.
3. Rāsa Līlā (also known as rāsa-krīḍa) is the name of particular līlā or, a special
dance of divine love between the supreme divinity Krishna and his divine cowherd
consorts, the Gopīs. The Rāsa Līlā, as it is described in the Bhāgavata Purāṇa, is especially
treasured by the Chaitanya (or Gauḍīya) school of Vaishnavism as the highest and most
sacred revelation of God’s love. In modern times, the phrase rāsa līlā can also refer to
dramatic and musical performances of the many other childhood līlās of Krishna that are
performed in and outside of India.
The complete episode of the Rāsa Līlā, including the events that lead up to Krishna’s
dance of divine love, is often referred to as the rāsa-līlā- pañcādhyāyī, the “five chapters of
the Rāsa Līlā,” comprised of chapters twenty-nine through thirty-three from the tenth
book of the Bhāgavata text. Although the episode is found in less theologically rich and
poetically elaborate forms within the Harivaṁśa and Vishnu Purāṇa, the Bhāgavata version
has been the most celebrated and honored source of the Rāsa Līlā. Especially for the
Caitanya school of Vaishnavism, for whom this episode is held as the most sacred and
ultimate culmination of all other līlās of Krishna, the Bhāgavata is the authoritative text.
For a complete study and translation of the Rāsa Līlā chapters of the Bhāgavata, see
my Dance of Divine Love: The Rāsa Līlā of Krishna from the Bhāgavata Purāṇa: India’s Classic
Sacred Love Story Introduced, Translated, and Illuminated (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton
University Press, 2005).
4. Frontispiece for my book, Dance of Divine Love.
The Word Became Flesh: The Dynamic Humanity of Jesus
Edward L. Shirley
J esus was a man who lived, died, and, according to his early followers, was
Resurrected.1 In the Gospels, Jesus asks his apostles who people say he is.
After hearing a variety of answers, ranging from the generic “one of the
prophets” to the specific “John the Baptist, back from the dead,” he asks them
“But who do you say I am?” Mark, the earliest gospel, portrays Peter saying
simply “You are the Messiah,” (Mark 8: 29? but Matthew, written perhaps 20
years later, has Peter saying “You are the Christ [that is, the Messiah], the Son
of the Living God.” (Mt 16:11) Dermot Lane has outlined four distinct stages
of Christological reflection (focusing on the phrase “Jesus is Lord”) in the
formation of the New Testament literature itself, running from “Eschatological
Prophet” (the bringer and ruler of the Kingdom) to the Word made flesh
(“Lord” now indicating divinity). Each new stage was precipitated by historical
shifts, whether the spread of the Gospel to new populations (Hellenistic Jews
and Gentiles), or the fall of Jerusalem and destruction of the Temple in 70 A.D.2
The post-New Testament Christian community continued to ask this ques-
tion, and continued to offer responses.3 From Clement of Rome (perhaps con-
temporaneous with the Gospel of John) through the Apostolic Fathers, into the
Apologists and early theologians like Tertullilan and Irenaeus, the on-going
significance of Jesus to the Christian community was reflected upon, discussed,
and debated. This was expressed in metaphors such as a building crane, hoist-
ing stones with the rope of the Holy Spirit; the Word coming from Silence; and,
with Tertullian, the language, if not a complete theology, of nature and person.
I cannot go into detail about these debates, and, indeed, do not have to for
a good portion of this assembled group. However, because this is a dialogical
encounter with Vaishnavas, perhaps not familiar with said development, I will
offer a summary of the issues at stake. In its simplest form, the question centers
around the relationship between the humanity of Jesus, on the one hand, and
whatever is his relationship with the Father, on the other. Many positions were
proposed by one group or another. The following is a brief summary of those
187
proposals. Many of these proposals had a variety of specific forms, only a few of
which will be mentioned.
1. Jesus was simply a human being, albeit an extraordinary one,
through whom God works. This form was often called “Adoptionism,” because
it proposed that at some point in his life, Jesus was “adopted,” i.e., chosen and
empowered by God.
2. Jesus was a divine, or at least, purely spiritual being, who only
appeared to be human. This view was held by diverse groups such as the
Docetists (he “appeared” to be human) and the Gnostics. Often their view of
Jesus was colored by a dualistic mindset that saw matter, and therefore the
body, as evil in and of itself. Sometimes the creation of matter was attributed to
a lesser, or even evil, being, whom the Jews worshipped as “God.” That, in itself,
was problematic to the mainstream of the Christian community, given both the
generally-held Christian view that the God of the Jews was, indeed, the Father
of Jesus, and that Creation was the work of that God, who declared it “good.”
3. Jesus was the incarnation of the Logos, which was the first Creation,
and, thus, a higher reality than the rest of Creation, though not actually divine.
This was the view of the Arians. Interestingly, in Arius’ view, Jesus was neither
divine, nor, strictly speaking, fully human.
4. Jesus was a divine person who certainly had a human aspect, but his
divinity swallowed up, as it were, his humanity. This is the view that seems to
have been held by the Monophysites, who claimed that after the Incarnation,
there was only “one nature” in Christ.4
5. Jesus was human with the Divine Word riding around inside him.
Jesus’ humanity cooperated with the Logos, with whom it shared a moral but
not metaphysical unity. This was the view of Nestorius.
6. Jesus was, at the same time, both fully human and fully divine.
Irenaeus, for example, argued this, maintaining that given both the Christian
doctrine of monotheism and the Christian doctrine of salvation as becoming a
new Creation, and being made partakers in the Divine Life, the Savior must be
both divine (only God can create and give divine life), and human (God must be
truly, and not simply metaphorically, united with humanity.
These debates reached turning points with the first four Ecumenical Councils:
Nicea, Constantinople, Ephesus and Chalcedon. Nicea and Constantinople, of
course, held in 325 and 381, respectively, declared Jesus to be consubstantial
(homoousios) with the Father, and thus set the direction for understanding
the Godhead as a dynamic Trinity of interrelated modes, or “Persons.”
Ephesus (431) and Chalcedon (451) were more directly connected with our
The Dynamic Humanity of Jesus 189
question here, ultimately declaring Jesus to be one Person (hypostasis and

prosopon), uniting two complete natures (physes) trying to give expression
to the mysterious relationship of unity and distinction (acintyabhedābheda?)
between the integral humanity and integral divinity of Jesus: in his divinity, he
is everything the Father is, without being “Father,” and in his humanity, he is
everything we are, except for sin and the tendencies toward sin.5
Many of the earliest Fathers spoke of Christ as both Illuminator and Example.
Humans, they reasoned, needed illumination, not only because as humans,
God was completely beyond our ability to comprehend, but also because sin
had blurred our intellect. They said Christ was an example of what human life
was supposed to be about. Hence, he was seen in his humanity as a model of
authentic human life, and as the cause of our ability to so live.
It is clear that the mainstream of Christian thought, and, for our purposes,
the whole of Catholic Christianity, came to the conclusion that Jesus is the full
Incarnation of the Divine Word, that is, God’s Self-Expression, which is, in Itself,
God, as human. Thus, Jesus is seen to be more than simply a “God-realized”
human, more than the epitome and apex of what human beings are called to
be. He is seen to be more than simply the full flowering of the Presence of God
within Creation. He is seen as somehow also being the actual Presence of God
in human history: Emmanuel. In Christ, Christians proclaim, God has entered
human history as one of us: that human history is God’s own history.
Contemporary theologians have identified two approaches to Christololgy:
ascending Christology (a.k.a., “Christology from below”), and descending
Christology (a.k.a., “Christology from above”). Again, for the sake of our
dialogical partners, I will explain the significance of these approaches. Ascending
Christology begins with the historical Jesus, and, looking at his life, asks how
one sees God in action. This is the earliest approach to Christology, beginning,
obviously, with Jesus, who lived and taught, ate and drank, laughed and wept,
died and rose. Descending Christology, on the other hand, begins with the
divinity of Jesus, and asks how this divinity manifests itself as human. Using
this very simple shorthand, one could say that the Gospel of Mark, which views
Jesus as the Eschatological Prophet who will usher in the Kingdom of God,
is an example of ascending Christology, and that the Gospel of John, which
begins with the Logos, who “is with God, and is God,” and who “became flesh,”
is an example of descending Christology. Since the Council of Chalcedon,
Christological reflection took a definite “descending” emphasis, asking how the
Infinite Logos could, in fact, become anything, including flesh. The humanity of
Jesus tended to be defined totally in light of this descent, sometimes losing
a recognizable humanity in the process. For example, medieval theologians,

often using the term hypostasis (person) in a univocal rather than analogous
way, tended to see Jesus as a divine Person who had a human nature. This had
implications for the knowledge and consciousness of Jesus: being divine, he
was omniscient. As human, he enjoyed complete infused knowledge, that is,
“poured in” directly from his divinity, yet also had “acquired” knowledge, that
which is learned through experience or teaching. Karl Rahner, a twentieth
century Catholic theologian, upon whose thought this paper is based, referred
to this as a “crypto-monophysitism,” for it often tended to blur the significance
of the real humanity. Indeed, medieval theologians sometimes speculated
that any one of the Divine Persons could have become incarnate (thus, the
Incarnation tells us nothing of the inner workings of God), and that whatever
Divine Person did incarnate, could have become some other creature than
human. Thus, the Incarnation did not tell us anything specific about either the
properties of the Logos nor of what it means to be human.
Renewed interest in study of Scripture and the Fathers, particularly the
development of higher criticism among Scripture scholars, has helped to begin
to address this imbalance. Unfortunately, some theologians, in their enthusiasm
for a newly rediscovered “ascending” Christology, have run aground of an at
least crypto-Nestorianism: a tendency to so over-emphasize the humanity of
Christ that one could get the impression that he is “only” a human being who is
chosen and moved by the workings of the Spirit.
This paper is not a detailed analysis of the dangers of imbalance on either
side of the equation, nor is it an attempt to answer once and for all the
precise way in which two distinct “natures” (to use the classical term) are,
or can be, united on one “person.”6 Nor is it a detailed exploration of the
Christology of Karl Rahner. It is, however, an exploration of what it means
for Christ to be truly human, particularly as seen from the standpoint of
Rahner’s theological anthropology. This discussion is shaped, in part, by
the question posed by my colleague, Ravindra Svarupa, of the International
Society for Krishna Consciousness: “What does it mean for the Lord to
become a devotee?” particularly as seen in the life of Sri Caitanya, and
stands as a reminder of how interreligious dialogue must remind us to
return to our own theological roots, and, in the words of Nostra Aetate, albeit
in a different context, “to examine more closely” the implications of what
we have said in the past.
Rahner’s Christology: Summary

Though Christology is not the foundation of Rahner’s system, it does play a
central role in his thought, as Rahner himself stated that Christology stands at
the center of all other mysteries of the faith, for they are all revealed there.7 It
is on the basis of Rahner’s understanding of grace, presented in the previous
chapter, that his Christological writings can best be appreciated.
Though a major article from the early 1950’s indicated that Rahner was
aware of the difficulties the traditional approach to Christology was facing,
it was not until the late 1950’s and early 1960’s that he began to treat the
issue with any detail. Some initial articles raised the question of how the
immutable Word of God could actually become human: This is the period where
he concentrated on Christology from above.8 Some early writings also dealt
with the devotion to the Sacred Heart as the center of the humanity of Jesus. It
is within this context that Rahner developed his theology of the “real symbol.”
Later Rahner turned to questions raised by the more independent position
of Scriptural exegesis, which in heavily discounting the Gospel of John as a
historical source, eliminated the traditional source of much descent Christology.
It is at this point that Rahner, without repudiating his earlier positions, began
to develop his ideas of an ascending Christology, in which he focused on the
issues of Christology within an evolutionary worldview and the knowledge and
consciousness of Christ. And finally, in his last major work, Foundations of Christian
Faith, Rahner attempted to synthesize these two earlier phases.
Rahner holds that there are two basic types of Christology, both of which
can be expressed in either orthodox or heterodox manners, which exist in
relationship to each other; in fact, quite often one finds them in a hybrid state.
Rahner calls them the “Saving History Type” and the “Metaphysical Type.”9
The Christology of Saving History begins with the fact that the eye of the
believer, in his experience of saving history, falls upon Jesus in his human
reality: the fact that God is gracious to humans despite our refusal becomes
definitively and unsurpassably clear to the experience of faith in Jesus. Jesus,
then, is not simply an utterance of God to humanity, but is the definitive,
unsurpassable and victorious, that is to say, eschatological utterance.
Hence, Jesus cannot be just another prophet or religious leader; on the
contrary, from this starting point, one can arrive at the faith expressed in
the Chalcedonian statements, provided that they themselves are correctly
understood.10 The point of departure, then, is the human Jesus and the
Resurrection in which his fate was brought to its conclusion. In Jesus is
experienced the fact that the mystery of humanity, which is not for humans
themselves to control, is hidden in God. “Jesus in his human lot is the (not
a!) address of God to man, and as such eschatologically unsurpassable.”11
In this type of Christology, then, Jesus is seen in the context of the individual
human’s quest for salvation in the concrete conditions of his life; there is no
connection to the cosmos or saving history. Any transition to the metaphysical
type of Christology could at most be arrived at on the basis that the Spirit given
through Jesus signifies the self-communication of the absolute God to humanity
as he is in himself.
When speaking of the second type, Metaphysical Christology, Rahner uses
the term “metaphysical” in its broadest sense, and not simply to designate the
classical Western philosophy of being. This type is marked with two special
characteristics:
1. A markedly descending Christology which is more than simply the
inversion of the first type. This characteristic emphasizes the pre-existence of
the Logos, Jesus’ relation to the Father, and so forth. The Logos descends from
heaven, assumes a human reality of his own in such a way that the Logos claims
as his own the history which he himself has shaped and molded.12
2. The second characteristic implies a doctrine concerning the cosmic
and transcendental significance of the Incarnation: the Logos created the
world, and the Incarnation is the highest point of the relationship of the
Logos to the world. Creation, then, is the enabling condition for the kenosis
of the Logos in the Incarnation: humanity is that which comes to be to the
extent that God utters Godself. The Incarnation is, then, the supreme moment
of the history of the cosmos and of humanity.13
Thus, it can be seen, that Rahner’s transcendental Christology and
Christology within an evolutionary framework, which are generally classified
as components of Rahner’s ascending Christology (in the sense he uses the
terms in Foundations, and as defined by McDermott), are actually part of the
metaphysical type of Christology. Again, it is good to keep in mind Rahner’s
caution of the ambiguous use of the terms “ascending” and “descending.”
Let us now turn our investigation to specific points of Rahner’s Christology.
I shall only briefly describe Rahner’s descending Christology, focusing on his
treatment of the Real Symbol. And though Rahner himself does not offer a
complete anthropology, I will offer brief parallels from modern social sciences
with regard to the dynamism of the human person.
Theology of the Real Symbol

“The Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1: 14). This verse contains
three words, which, for Rahner, contained the keys to understanding the full
impact of the Incarnation: Word, became, and flesh. For it is precisely the Word,
and no other divine hypostasis, that Incarnated in Jesus. This Word, immutable
by virtue of divinity, really became something; and that something is precisely
flesh , that is to say, a human reality.
Rahner addresses the question of why the Logos becomes flesh. Some strands
of medieval theology, in a desire to maintain the equality of the Three Divine
Persons, maintained that any one of the Three could have become Incarnate.
In fact, many theologians speculated as to whether God could have incarnated
in some other form than human. The fact that it was the Logos that became
human was not intrinsically connected to the place of the Logos within the
Godhead, nor to the role that humanity plays in the economy of salvation.
Rahner, on the other hand, maintains that it is precisely the Logos, and
only the Logos, that can become Incarnate, and that said Incarnation must be
human. To understand this, we must examine Rahner’s theology of the Real
Symbol. No theology is complete, Rahner maintains, unless it is also a theology
of the symbol, of the expression. Here Rahner turns to his understanding of
the Trinity as the ontological background for such a theology. Though he does
not work out the precise connections, he says “It is enough for our purpose to
point out very simply that the theology of the Logos is strictly a theology of the
symbol, and indeed the supreme form of it...”14
“The Logos is the ‘word’ of the Father, his perfect ‘image,’ his ‘imprint,’ his
radiance, his self-expression.”15
But this means that the Logos is the ‘symbol’ of the Father, in the very sense
which we have given the word: the inward symbol which remains distinct
from what is symbolized expresses itself and possesses itself.16
Rahner maintains that every being possesses plurality as an intrinsic element

of its unity. This plurality constitutes itself in such a way that that which is
distinct and originated (that is, derivative) is in agreement with its origin, and
hence has the character of expression or “symbol” with regard to its origin.
Thus, the first axiom might be stated more fully: “Being is of itself symbolic,
because it necessarily ‘expresses’ itself.”17
Here the reader can also be referred to Rahner’s theology of the Economic
and Immanent Trinity: in the offer of God’s self-communication to humanity
and the free human acceptance of that offer, God becomes present in
history in the mode of the Logos. Thus, the fact that the Logos-made-flesh is
God’s eikon in the economy of salvation is a reflection of the role within the
Immanent Trinity as the Father’s self-expression. Thus Rahner can maintain
that one can understand the Incarnation only if one understands the Logos as the
Immanent expression of the Father, and one can understand the Logos only if one
understands the Incarnation and the identity of the Immanent and Economic
Trinity.18 In this case, the Logos as the symbol ad extra in the Incarnation would
be simply the continuation of its function within the Trinity itself.
It is because God ‘must’ ‘express’ himself inwardly that he can also utter
himself outwardly; the finite, created utterance ad extra is a continuation of the
immanent constitution of ‘image and likeness’--a free continuation, because its
object is finite--and takes place in fact ‘through’ the Logos (Jn 1:3), in a sense
which cannot be determined more closely here.19
This, of course, has even further implications for the humanity of

Christ, for if the humanity, as discussed previously, is in fact the self-
disclosure of the Logos himself (so that when God exteriorizes himself
the result is the humanity of the Logos), then
It follows from what has been said that the Logos, as Son of the Father, is
truly, in his humanity as such, the revelatory symbol in which the Father
annunciates himself, in this Son, to the world—revelatory because the
symbol renders present what is revealed.20
Significance of the Real Humanity

What is the nature of this humanity, then? The Council of Chalcedon declared
that Jesus is true human, and, indeed, Rahner states, “God is man, this really tells
us something about God himself.”21 But what precisely does this tell us? How
are we to develop our understanding of the significance of this humanity? In
classical and medieval theology, human nature was conceived in terms of body
and soul. If Jesus is truly human, he must have everything that is necessary for
humans to be human, and that would be body and soul.
However, the question of what is meant by body and soul is somewhat prob-
lematic, even without the questioning of traditional Hellenistic metaphysics
during the European Enlightenment in the 18th and 19th centuries. Today, our
view of what it means to be human has expanded. This does not necessarily
mean an abandonment of “body-soul” language, but it does mean that tradi-
tional understanding must be expanded. Today, no anthropology could even
pretend to be complete without taking into account the natural and social
sciences. Thus, some anthropologies look at the human person as physical,
psychological, sociological, political, historical, and many other adjectives.
Rahner, in his theological anthropology, begins with the human person as
historically constituted.
Humanity as Faced with the Infinite Mystery

Rahner begins with concrete human existence in the world. Each person is a
particular historical persons with a particular historicity: born with particular
parents, as a particular ethnicity and sex, raised in particular circumstances, all
in a particular time and place, with particular experiences that help to form who
we are. There is no “place,” as it were, for human beings to encounter them-
selves or the Divine outside of this realm. There is no “Neoplatonic” escape to a
non-created realm, even within the mind, for human beings are formed within
their concrete historicity.
Let us use some concrete examples. It is clear that our physical being is ini-
tially formed through the union of sperm and egg. In the Christian worldview,
each individual person is unique in his or her own historical situation. Had
another sperm entered the egg, or had another egg been present in the womb,
the unique combination of sperm and egg that is you (barring identical twins)
would not exist.
Likewise, we know that our mental and emotional sides are also formed by
the world around us. It is now recognized that the physical and emotional well
being of the mother affects the child in the womb. When born, a child comes
into a concrete situation: whether the child is raised by birth parents, adopted,
or in foster care; whether there are siblings or the child is an only child; the
relationship of the parents: loving, combative, divorced; rich, poor, middle class;
all of this goes into the mix we call the human person.
While Rahner begins with our historicity, he also maintains that we are
free beings. Rahner’s argument for human freedom is based on the fact that
humans have discovered their own historical causation. For example, Marx
identified historical and economic factors that form human consciousness.
Freud identified internal psychological forces over which we have, evidently,
no control. No less a person as B. F. Skinner maintained that there was no such
thing as human freedom, that if he knew all of the factors that influenced a
person, he could predict their every move.
Rahner counters with the argument that to recognize our causation indicates
that somehow we are more than that causation: if we were only rats in a maze,
we could not discover the fact that we were rats in a maze. To discover our
causation means that we somehow also transcend that causation.
Rahner maintains that any change in one’s relationship to the world
simultaneously involves a change in the self, who one is becoming. Some changes
are thrust upon us, as for example, the presence of siblings. Other changes are
products of our own choices. When we choose a new relationship with the world,
we are choosing, according to Rahner, who we shall become.
Let me, again, use an example. If we are driving down the highway, and see
someone in need of help, our choices include (1) stop and help; (2) call for
help; (3) pass them by, without helping; (4) point and laugh. When we make
that choice, Rahner maintains that we are choosing, perhaps without realizing
it, to transcend our limitations or to become self-enclosed. As we continue
to make choices throughout our lives, choices become easier, based on past
choices, and, ultimately, we choose whether to be a person open in love and
transcendence or to become a self-enclosed person.22 Thus, from a Christian
standpoint, our historical choices end with death, and we are the person we
chose to become. There is no external “judgment”: we are persons united to,
or alienated from, others.
For Rahner, the “goal” of self-transcendence is not some finite reality. Rahner
accepts Aristotle’s contention that human beings are a drive to know, that is, to
experience. However, every experience, every “answer,” is accompanied by a
simultaneous arising of a new question. Perhaps this question is articulated no
more fully than simply, “Is this all there is?” If we are true to this inner drive,
which constitutes who we are, our ultimate goal, according to Rahner, is not
simply a continuous series of finite experiences, but is oriented toward the
Infinite Horizon of Mystery. Take, again as an analogy for this drive, walking.
As we walk, we “bump into” objects: walls, rocks, trees, and so forth. However,
if we are true to an infinite drive to walk, we are oriented toward the horizon,
a horizon that can never be reached: it is always beyond. Beyond the finite
experiences of beings lies the Infinite Horizon of Being Itself.
This Infinite Horizon, which can never be captured in finite experience, is
what Christians mean by the word “God.” Human persons are, in their very
constitution, beings oriented toward the Infinite Horizon.
At the same time, we cannot, Rahner says, simply identify ourselves as
this drive, as though we were identical to that drive. If it were us, or if we
were that drive, pure and simple, there would be no freedom to choose self-
enclosure. Therefore, this drive toward the Infinite is, at the same time,
something like our innermost reality, while at the same time, being something
other than what we are. This drive, Rahner maintains, is an invitation to
participate in the reality of the Infinite. This drive, both at our core and beyond
us, is, Rahner maintains, what Christian tradition calls “grace.” Unlike scholastic
theology, which identified grace as a tertium quid , given by God, to create
a change, an effect in us (Aristotle’s category of efficient causality), Rahner
maintains that the gift is, in fact, the Giver: God’s offer of God’s own Self, that
works within us, not as an efficient cause (causing an effect other than itself),
but “more like” what Aristotle called “formal causality” (like that which drives
an acorn to become an oak). Sometimes Rahner’s idea is identified as “quasi-
formal causality”: God’s offer of Self, to which we are invited to say “yes”
becomes the deepening of our unity with God.
To the extent that one says, “Yes” to this offer, the Infinite Mystery becomes
part of one’s concrete human existence. Since an invitation is only such if there
is a real possibility of acceptance, a complete yes would mean the full Presence
of the Infinite Mystery in human history. If we are honest with ourselves, we
must acknowledge that we are not complete “yeses” to this offer. We are, for
the most part, a combination of yes and no. Rahner says we must search human
history to see if there has ever been such a yes.
This is what Christian tradition says of Jesus. In his divinity, he is the fullness
of God’s offer of self-communication. In his humanity, he is the full acceptance
of said offer. This has traditionally been called the hypostatic union, the union
in the one hypostasis, Person, of two distinct natures: human and divine. Rahner
reinterprets this doctrine as the union of full offer and full acceptance. Thus,
Rahner says, the hypostatic union stands as at least the asymptote toward which
human persons are oriented. The difference between Jesus and us, Rahner
says, is that while he is both the offer and the acceptance, we are not the offer.
Whether Rahner actually accomplishes what he hopes is beyond the scope of
this paper. However, at the very least, we should register no surprise if Rahner’s
position raises more questions. This is something that Rahner has already told
us must be the case.
Christology in an Evolutionary Worldview

Hebrews 1:1 says that God has spoken in many and partial ways in the
past, through the prophets, but “in these, the last days, he has given us a
son.” The theme of the “fullness of time” is important for the Christian
understanding of Jesus. Christian theologians since the 18th century have
talked about the distinction between human history and salvation history:
Geschikte and Heilsgeschikte. Because of Rahner’s theological anthropology, in
which the dynamism of human existence is constituted by God’s offer of self-
communication, human history is salvation history. In fact, Rahner himself
acknowledges that his position may be closer to the traditional Franciscan
approach to Christology than the traditional Thomistic approach: Christ is
the fullness of Creation itself. In this view, one might do a sort of Christian
“midrash” of John 1:14, and say “The Word was becoming flesh.”
The question can now be raised as to how exactly to envision this relationship
of the Incarnation to Creation, particularly in light of the contemporary
scientific view of the evolution of human life: if Christ is related to the whole of
Creation, and if that Creation has come about through an evolutionary process,
then there is a necessity to develop a theological interpretation of that process
in light of the Incarnation. This, in fact, is one of Rahner’s most significant
contributions to the field of Christology, and it is, in fact, this approach which
characterizes his so-called ascending Christology.
The history of the cosmos as described by natural sciences is seen as the
homogeneous history of matter, life and humanity. This one history does
not exclude, but includes differences in nature. In this history, the lower
evolves to the higher, the lower preparing the way for the higher by the
development of its own order and reality. In this evolution, it moves toward
the boundary line (which is seen only in retrospect, and even then without
any clear resolution) in its own history, which it then crosses in actual self-
transcendence.23
Humans are the self-transcendence of living matter, for the history of nature
and spirit forms an inner graded unity, which develops toward humanity
and continues in humanity as its own history. This history is conserved and
surpassed in humans and reaches its proper goal with and in the history of free
spirit. Since human history still includes the natural history of living matter,
it is always supported, even in the midst of freedom, by the structures and
necessities of the material world. Therefore, since humans are not simply
observers, but participators as well, human history is also the history of the
alteration of the material world.
The goal of natural history corresponds to human transcendence into God,
who is infinite Mystery, and hence the goal of natural history remains hidden
from natural human powers. Insofar as it is the history of free spirit, it is also
posed in freedom, like human history, as the history of guilt and trial. However,
insofar as it is also embraced by the grace of God, according to Christian belief,
the history of the cosmos as a whole will find its own consummation despite,
in, and through human freedom.24
Rahner criticizes the natural scientific view of humanity as a temporary
accident of nature, which will one day again be swallowed up by a nature
which is indifferent to its existence. Such a view, he says, ignores the fact that
humanity is the product of nature (and thus contradicts not only metaphysics
and Christian thought, but also natural science itself).25 Rather, the ability of
nature to become present-to-self has become a reality in humans. This cosmic
self-consciousness is given in a unique way in each individual, even if only
incompletely.
For in his corporeality, every man is an element of the cosmos which
cannot really be delimited and cut off from it, and in this corporeality he
communicates with the whole cosmos in such a way that through this
corporeality of man taken as the other element of belonging to the spirit, the
cosmos really presses forward to this self-presence in the spirit.26
This self-presence in spirit of the individual human has a still-continuing

history, taking place in the history of the individual and humanity as a whole
in self-present act, both individually and collectively. Though at times it
seems that nothing final will emerge from this history because the process
seems to dissipate itself, this seeming dissipation is only because at present
it is impossible to see the whole picture. Indeed, the very notion of evolution
implies a final goal, since evolution indicates a tendency, without which
there would have been no beginning. The goal is the immortality of the soul,
understood in the sense that it is the process by which the cosmos finds itself,
and not as an escape from the material world.27
The self-transcendence of the cosmos in humanity toward its own totality
and foundation finds its final consummation when the spiritual creatures
receive the ultimate self-communication of its ultimate ground itself, that is,
the self-communication of God in grace and glory as its consummation.
God does not merely create something than himself—he also gives himself
to this other. The world receives God, the Infinite and ineffable mystery,
to such an extent that he himself becomes its innermost life.28
This takes place when the absolute ground of the human individual’s reality
becomes directly interior to him, who is grounded by it: “The end is the
absolute beginning.”29
If the history of the cosmos is basically a spiritual history--the desire to

become conscious of itself and of its cause—then the direct relationship
to God in his self-communication to his spiritual creature, and in it to
the cosmos in general, as the goal which corresponds to the meaning
of this development, is basically an indisputable fact, provided that this
development is allowed to any degree at all to reach its own absolute goal
and is not merely moved by it as something unattainable.30
Christ as the Apex of Human Evolution

Rahner presupposes the purpose of the world is God’s self-communication to it.
He presupposes that the world dynamism, which is placed by God in the heart
of the world, is always meant as the beginning and first step toward this self-
communication and its acceptance by the world. The spiritual subjectivities
of the cosmos signify freedom. Once this is presupposed, it is possible to also
presuppose that the history of the self-consciousness of the cosmos is also the
history of the intercommunication of these spiritual subjects, with the result
that they become more intimate to each other (otherwise becoming present to
self would separate and not unite). Thus, there is a common history, and God’s
self-communication given to the human race is historical.31
Human persons, who possess a transcendental hope for their individual
and communal fulfillment, must look to history to see if such a hope has been
realized. The historical person who comes in space and time and signifies the
beginning of God’s absolute self-communication which inaugurates this self-
communication for all people as something irrevocable and as a sign this is
happening, Rahner gives the title “Savior.” Christians proclaim that this Savior
is precisely Jesus of Nazareth.
This does not mean that God’s self-communication to the world begins in
time only with Jesus (and certainly Christian belief maintains that it did, in fact
exist before him). Rather, this is the person in whom the process of God’s self-
communication comes irrevocably as a whole; in him this self-communication
reaches its climax, equally both as an offer and acceptance. This is the Event in
which the history of the self-communication of God realizes its proper nature
and in which it breaks through.
Just as any historical movement exists in virtue of its end even in its beginning,
so, too, with the history of this self-communication, even when it takes place
before it is made irrevocable in the Savior.
The whole movement of this history lives only for the moment of arrival at
its goal and climax—it lives only for its entry into the event which makes it
irreversible—in short, it lives for the one whom we call Saviour.32
Now it becomes possible to see what is meant by the hypostatic union, and
the Incarnation of the Logos, and how it fits into the evolutionary world
view. The Savior is the historical moment of God’s saving action exercised
on the world, a moment which is part of the history of the cosmos itself in
its climax (and not simply God’s acting on the world). This is what is meant
by the Christian dogma “Jesus is true human” (truly part of the earth,
“born of woman”).33 Jesus is just like us in his spiritual, human and finite
subjectivity, that is to say, the recipient of God by grace.34
The Logos, then, assumes the unity of human nature: “In Jesus, the Logos bears
the matter just as much as the soul, and this matter is a part of the reality and the
history of the cosmos.”35 Even traditional theology, Rahner points out, held that
after death, the Logos had a different relationship to his body, but not a looser
one.
His taking hold of this part of the one material-spiritual world-reality may
quite legitimately be thought of as the climax of that dynamism in which the
Word of God who supports everything, supports the self-transcendence of
the world as a whole.36
Creation, then, is a part-moment in the process of God’s coming into the

world. Creation and Incarnation are not two disparate, adjacent acts of God
ad extra, but are two moments and phases of the one unique process of God’s
self-renunciation and self-expression in something other than Godself. Though
Rahner does not deny that God could have constituted their relationship
otherwise, he points out that such a view can appeal to a very ancient
tradition of Christocentricity.37 Hence, it is not necessary either to assume
the Incarnation to be a second thought, as it were, on God’s part, conditioned
by the Fall, nor to view the Redemption as simply become a repair job to fix
something which has always been basically good; Christ then loses his eternal
function if it is in fact the prior goodness of the world which supports him, and
not he who gives the world its foundation and completion. But, Rahner states,
this approach divides the goodness of the world from its need for redemption.
Rather, the world can be redeemed precisely because as good it is capable
of redemption. Though this could have been done in some other way than
the Incarnation, “in fact he did so by becoming himself what was in need of
redemption.”38 This is the only Redemption we know.
Rahner, then, holds to the pre-lapsarian intent of the Incarnation, thus
following the Scotist school: the Incarnation is the most original act of God,
and not merely an act of restoration. Though sin and guilt color the Redemption
(which they must as part of human history), they do not simply make the
Redemption “necessary.” Since the offer of God’s self-communication (on account
of Christ) is not conditioned by sin, it becomes necessarily the offer of forgiveness
and victory over guilt. It is not Christ’s actions that cause God’s will to forgive, but
God’s will to forgive that determine Christ’s actions.39 Nor should redemption
be thought of as a legal transaction or a “non-reckoning” of guilt; it is the
communication of divine grace, taking place in the ontological reality of God’s
self-communication.
This addresses one side of the Christological question, that is, Jesus as true
human, as truly a part of the history of the cosmos. The final consummation,
the self-transcendence of spirit into God, must be conceived as something
which happens to all spiritual subjects, at least in intent. Insofar as Christianity
understands grace and glory as the direct self-communication of God, it also
professes this unsurpassable consummation belongs to all humans and angels.
But what of the other side of the question, that is, Jesus as true God? Where does
the uniqueness of the hypostatic union fit in here? Is the hypostatic union simply
a higher stage in which the gift of grace to spiritual creatures is surpassed, or is it
a peculiar moment in the process of granting grace which cannot be thought of
without the hypostatic union taking place on account of it?40
If the Incarnation is the absolutely proper and new stage in the hierarchy of
world realities, which surpasses the others, yet without being itself necessary
for these lower stages, one of two things could follow. Either it remains the
climax surpassing all other worldly realities (still fitting the evolutionary world
view) or one must abandon the idea that it is the climax of the development
of the world, and it no longer fits the evolutionary schema. However, Rahner
points out, it is difficult to see how the Incarnation could be the highest stage,
the goal of the world, without the aid of the theory that the Incarnation is
already an intrinsic element and condition of the general gift of grace.41
Whenever God—by his absolute self-communication—brings about man’s
self-transcendence into God, in such a way that both these factors form
the irrevocable promise made to all men which has already reached its
consummation in this man, there we have a hypostatic union.42
To the objection that the self-communication of God in grace and glory

is possible without the hypostatic union, Rahner responds, “For in us this
communication is possible and effected precisely by this union and
acceptance as it occurs in the hypostatic union.”43 In other words, in Christ,
God’s self-communication takes place for all. Unless this mediation is also the
divine reality itself, it is only a transitory and unsurpassable stage of human
development.
Hence, if the reality in which God’s absolute self-communication is pledged
and accepted for the whole of humanity and thus becomes ‘present’ for us
(i.e., Christ’s reality) is to be really the final and unsurpassable divine self-
communication, then it must be said that it is not only posited by God but
is God himself.44
This human reality belongs absolutely to God, and this is what is meant
by the hypostatic union. The difference between Jesus and us, then, is not
what is pledged (that is, grace), but the fact that Jesus is God’s pledge to us;
we, however, are not in turn the pledge, but recipients of the pledge.45 The
unity between the pledge and the one who pledges cannot be merely moral,
for it is an irrevocable unity.
It means this and, properly speaking, nothing else: in the human reality
of Jesus, God’s absolute saving purpose (the absolute event of God’s self-
communication to us) is simply, absolutely and irrevocably present; in it
is both the declaration made to us and its acceptance—something effected
by God himself, a reality of God himself, unmixed and yet inseparable and
hence irrevocable. This declaration, however, is the pledge of grace to us.46
Conclusion
This exploration of Rahner’s Christology is, admittedly, and unavoidably, a
truncated exploration. We have only briefly touched on his treatment of why
and how the immutable Logos can become anything. Fuller explorations of a
wider variety of factors that constitute human historicity are needed. The theo-
logical reflection on the significance of human evolution must be examined in
closer juxtaposition to a strictly biological treatment. In other words, a fuller
dialogue with natural and social sciences is necessary. However, in general,
Rahner can help elucidate the question posed in this particular dialogue: if Jesus
is, in fact, the Incarnation of the Eternal Logos, this must tell us something
about human nature, in general, and give us an insight into the humanity of
Jesus, in particular. If human persons are designed (dare I say “hardwired”?) for
self-transcendence, invited into transforming union with the Infinite Mystery
that is God, then Jesus must, by definition, be the exemplar of that full human-
ity. Whereas classical Christology used the term “full human nature” to mean
that whatever is authentically human, Jesus must “have,” from a Rahnerian

point of view, we can ask whether Jesus is, in fact, the only fully human person.
Endnotes
1. I won’t address, at this point, the varied understandings of what this term might
mean, especially since I am focusing on the dynamic humanity of Christ during his
historical lifetime.
2. Lane, Dermot. The Reality of Jesus, chapter 6.
3. By “post-New Testament,” I do not mean to imply the full formation, either as
individual works or as a body of literature) known as “the New Testament.”
4. I say “seems to have been held,” since there is some debate about what the
Monophysites meant by formula “mia physis tou logou theou sesarkomene,” used
by Cyril of Alexandria, who opposed Nestorius (and, who got it, unwittingly, from
Apollinaris, who denied the full humanity of Jesus). Monophysites do not claim to follow
Apollinaris, but instead, claim to be faithful to the words of Cyril.
5. It is interesting to note that the Chalcedonian formula defined the unity and
diversity of the natures in negative terms: “without confusion, without change, without
division and without separation.” [Just a personal note: it would be interesting to
compare this with the Indic method of neti, neti: “not this, not that.”
6. No theological system can ever hope to capture the entirety of the Mystery
of God revealed in Christ, and it is my suspicion that this dogma is one of the places
where there will be no final answer. Jesus’ question, “Who do you say I am?” continues
to shape Christian reflection, though always in dialogue with conciliar (and even
theological) teachings of the past. Karl Rahner, asked to contribute an essay for the
1500th anniversary of the Council of Chalcedon in 1951, entitled it “Chalcedon: A
Beginning.” Every new answer opens further questions. It has always been that way,
will always be that way. That is because we must use, in Thomas Aquinas’ famous
reminder, analogies to point to the theological truths we are trying to convey. Though
some analogies are more appropriate than others, even the best analogy cannot hope to
capture the reality of the Infinite Mystery.
7. McDermott, “The Christologies of Karl Rahner,” Gregorianum 67/1 (1986): 87.
8. Rahner, “Two Basic Types of Christology,” TI, vol. XIII, Theology, Anthropology,
Christology, trans.David Bourke (New York: Crossroad, Seabury, 1975), 213-214. The terms
“from above” and “from below” are used here in the sense given by McDermott, and by
Rahner himself in Foundations of Christian Faith. For a note on the ambiguity of the terms,
see below.
9. Idem, “Two Types of Christology,” 213-214. Rahner refers to the “Saving History
Christology” as an ascending Christology and the “Metaphysical Christology” as a
descending Christology. Rahner admits the ambiguity of the designations of “from
above” and “from below,” for the “rising up” can be seen as being under the impulse of
the initial “downward” movement of God, and, he says, even the classical Christology
of the Chalcedonian formula, which appears at first glance to be a metaphysical type, is
probably, upon closer examination, of a mixed type.
10. Ibid., 215.
11. Ibid., 216.
12. Ibid., 217.
13. Ibid., 218-219.
14. Ibid.
15. Ibid., 236.
16. Ibid.
17. Ibid.
18. Idem, Foundations , 215.
19. Ibid., 236-237.
20. Ibid., 239.
21. Idem, “Thoughts on the Theology of Christmas,” TI , vol. V, Later Writings , trans.
Karl-H. Kruger (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 1975; New York: Seabury, 1975), 29.
22. Interestingly, this corresponds to recent brain studies, suggesting that repeated
behavior creates particular neurological pathways in the brain, and that the alteration of
that habitual behavior creates new pathways. Thus, our choices really do affect who we
are.
23. Ibid., 167.
24. Ibid., 168.
25. Ibid., 169.
26. Ibid., 170.
27. Ibid., 171.
28. Ibid., 171-172.
29. Ibid., 172.
30. Ibid., 172.
31. Ibid., 173-174.
32. Ibid., 175-176.
33. It is precisely here that the Virgin Mary bears the most significance, for it is
from her that Christ received not only his “human nature” in the classical sense, but
through her that he assumed the whole of human history.
34. Rahner, “Evolutionary View,” 176.
35. Ibid., 177.
36. Ibid.
37. Ibid., 178.
38. Idem, “Current Christology,” 179.
39. Idem,”Evolutionary View,” 186.
40. Ibid., 179.
41. Ibid., 180-181.
42. Ibid., 182.

43. Ibid.
44. Ibid., 183.
45. Ibid. See also Foundations, 202.
46. Ibid., 183-184.
On the Bed of Arrows:
Vaishnava Theodicy Beyond Karma
Gopal K. Gupta and Ravi M. Gupta
I n the Mahābhārata, Vidura tells Dhṛtarāṣṭra the story of a man who found
himself in a dense, dangerous forest teeming with beasts of prey. The man
shuddered with fear and ran from these animals, only to be met by a large,
frightful woman standing with outstretched arms. Running blindly in any
direction, the man eventually fell into a deep chasm and ended up hanging
upside down, caught in the creepers and vines growing from its sides. He was
menaced by a large snake and by a twelve-footed elephant at the bottom of the
chasm, while rats chewed away at the vines holding him from certain death.
And yet, there was a silver lining—a beehive laden with honey hung from the
branch of a tree above. Honey dripped from the hive and landed upon his
face. Intent on drinking more of that honey, the man never gave up hope for
prolonging his life.
This, says Vidura, is our condition in this world. In the journey of our life,
we try our best to avoid disease and suffering (the beasts of prey), only to run
headlong into the arms of old age (the frightful woman). As we fall headlong to
our death (the snake), our lifespan is eaten away by the passing days (the rats)
and months (the twelve-footed elephant). But far from realizing our precarious
predicament, we stay busy trying to satisfy limitless desires for petty pleasures
(drops of honey), oblivious to the passage of time. “The wise know life’s course
to be even such,” Vidura concludes. “Through that knowledge they succeed in
tearing off its bonds.” (Ganguli 11.6).
Various versions of this story are found across Indic traditions,1 and they
remind us of a crucial point: any Vaishnava (or for that matter, Indic) theo-
dicy must begin with an assumption of the word’s inherent miserableness.
There is little expectation that the world should have been a better place, or
that misery is something that should take us by surprise. This, after all, is the
nature of the beast; should we not expect a serpent to be poisonous?
Nevertheless, Vaishnavas, like most other human beings, have asked why
serpents must be poisonous and why the world must have the problems it does.
207
And so the Problem of Evil raises its head in both philosophical and ethical
contexts. In the former context, the problem is often characterized in terms of
ignorance or illusion: if “all this is Brahman” as the Upanishads declare, then
how do we explain the existence of ignorance? Where does illusion exist, if not
in Brahman, the perfect ground of all being? And so the Vedānta-sūtra (2.1.34-
36) provides one of the earliest responses to the problem of evil in Indian phi-
losophy by placing the responsibility for suffering squarely on us, the individual
person. It is the living beings’ karma, their own actions, which lead to our tem-
porary suffering and enjoyment. But did God not create the living beings and
begin their cycle of karma? The Vedānta-sūtra answers in the negative—all living
beings are beginningless, and activity is their everlasting characteristic, regard-
less of whether it is performed in a liberated or conditioned state. Saṅkara
explains that action and creation have the relationship of a seed and a tree: a
seed produces a tree which produces another tree, without beginning (280).
Baladeva Vidyābhūṣaṇa similarly emphasizes that the flow of karma is begin-
ningless, just like Brahman and the living beings themselves (269). Vācaspati
Miśra adds that God’s deference to the law of karmic reaction is a “freely chosen
self-limitation,” to allow for human free will and freedom (Clooney, 536).
The Bhagavata Purāṇa reaffirms this doctrine of beginningless activity. In
its narrative of Purañjana, for example, the Bhāgavata suggests that some
souls, who are originally with God, fall and reincarnate in this world due to
their own actions. When Purañjana reincarnates as Queen Vaidarbhī and is
overwhelmed with grief due to her husband’s death, Krishna approaches
her in the guise of a brāhmaṇa. Krishna speaks of himself and the queen
as friends who have wandered together, far from their original home:
“Do you remember yourself as having an unknown friend and that you,
becoming attached to earthly pleasures, left me in search of some place?”
(4.28.53).2 The Bhāgavata here suggests that souls acted originally with God,
with whom they enjoyed a relation of friendship, until some of them will-
fully gave up his company in order to enjoy the pleasures of this world. “O
Friend! You left me and, with your heart set on carnal pleasures, went to
earth” (4.28.55).3
And yet, while one may posit karma as philosophical resolution to the Prob-
lem of Evil, it hardly provides a resolution to the evidential problem, to the
human experience of suffering. After all, why must we suffer this much? Why
doesn’t the Lord seem to care? Why isn’t the escape any easier? Indeed, the
Bhāgavata Purāṇa does not see karma as an adequate solution to the problem
of suffering. It admits that just as it is difficult to ascertain the cause of a forest
Vaishnava Theodicy Beyond Karma 209
fire, which may be due to lightning or the rubbing of sticks, so also “the cause
of living beings’ acquiring and losing physical bodies is difficult to understand”
(10.1.51). In particular, the Purāṇa ponders what John Bowker calls, the “Hindu
problem of Job” (Sutton, 411).4
On the Bed of Arrows

The Bhāgavata Purāṇa begins as a continuation of the Mahābhārata’s central nar-
rative’s conclusion. After the battle of Kurukṣetra, Yudhiṣṭhira, who has ascend-
ed to the throne, is in a condition of immense agony, overcome by guilt, regret
and loss. Accompanied by sages, his brothers and Krishna, Yudhiṣṭhira proceeds
to the now-quiet battlefield to seek consolation from Bhīṣma, the powerful
grandsire of the Kuru dynasty, who is lying on a bed of arrows that had been
shot through his body. Indeed, all the survivors of the terrible battle were dis-
traught by the great loss of life, but the Bhāgavata specifically draws attention
to the suffering of Yudhiṣṭhira because he was the son of the god Dharma, the
very embodiment of righteousness. Surely the Pāṇḍavas, who understood the
intricacies of dharma and lived by them, were the least deserving of suffering.
The Purāṇa expresses this sentiment in the words of Bhīṣma who shows great
sympathy for the Pāṇḍavas’ misery: “Oh sons of Dharma! Alas how painful! How
unjust! You, who have always taken shelter of brāhmaṇas, dharma and Acyuta
(Krishna) do not deserve to live such a miserable life” (1.9.12).
The Pāṇḍavas had undergone immense suffering. As children they lost their
father and were harassed by their cousins. Their wife was humiliated and they
were banished to the forest for thirteen years. In the end, they lost all their chil-
dren, dear friends, relatives, and teachers in the battle. Their mother, Kuntī, lost
her husband at a young age and raised five children on her own.
Bhīṣma rejects the idea that the Pāṇḍavas’ distress is a product of their
past karma. Indeed, throughout the Bhāgavata’s narrative, the Pāṇḍavas’ good
character and spotless reputation are emphasized. Here Bhīṣma points out
that although the Pāṇḍavas always lived righteously, they nevertheless had to
undergo great distress. How could such pure-hearted persons be afflicted by so
much injustice? The doctrine of karma makes a person singularly responsible
for his or her own fate. Bhīṣma, however, finds such a view of suffering to be
unsatisfactory and proceeds to ponder other causes of suffering.
Time as the Cause of Suffering

Bhīṣma suggests that time may be responsible for Yudhiṣṭhira’s suffering:
And I think that whatever unpleasant has happened to you is brought about
by time (kāla), under whose influence the entire world along with its rulers are
carried, just as clouds are carried by the wind (1.9.14).
As a manifestation of Krishna or Vishnu, time is held responsible for the

creation and destruction of all the worlds. Although time brings about the
beginning and end of everything, time itself has no beginning or end (11.3.8,
1.8.28, 3.29.45, 4.11.19). The Bhāgavata personifies time as Sudarśana, the wheel-
weapon of Vishnu, which is often eulogized with prayers (9.5.3-11). As this
wheel turns, says the Bhāgavata, it takes away the lifespan of all beings, from
the demiurge Brahma down to a blade of grass (5.14.29). The motif of time as
a wheel that crushes everything is a powerful and persistent image within the
Bhāgavata Purāṇa.
As a destructive force (kāla-śakti), time operates on everyone and ultimately
lays to ruin all the efforts of men and women (10.16.49). The cold hand of time
in the form of death abruptly cuts a person’s ambitions and accomplishments
(10.70.26; 3.9.17). Like a strong current, time carries all alike in its stream and
like wind sweeping away clouds, straw, cotton and dust, it brings people togeth-
er, causes friction between them, and then deftly separates and sweeps them
away (8.17.27; 10.82.43-44).
The wheel of time acts on “those who are not devoted” to Bhagavān and is
death for the sinful (5.17.18), but it does not affect liberated souls who have
become immortal and thus transcend the barrier of time. The Bhāgavata also
extends this privileged position to godly souls on earth. Time has no power over
Bhagavān’s devotees: “My weapon, Winkless Time, does not affect them, as I am
their beloved Lord, friend, son, preceptor, relative, and their very life” (3.25.38).
Several narratives in the Bhāgavata show that devotees of Bhagavān are unaf-
fected by time and death. Dhruva is a prime example of such a devotee. When
death approaches him at the end of his life, Dhruva uses death’s head as a foot-
stool to board an airplane to his abode, the eternal polestar (4.12.30).5
Undoubtedly Yudhiṣṭhira was a dear devotee and relative of Bhagavān
Krishna, so how could time affect him? Bhīṣma recognizes this problem by ask-
ing rhetorically, “Can there be calamity in the presence of King Yudhiṣṭhira,
the son of Dharma; Bhīma, the club-holder; Arjuna, the carrier of the Gāṇḍīva
bow; and above all, Krishna, the well-wisher?” (1.9.15). This verse resonates
with the Bhagavad Gītā’s final text (18.78), which declares that victory, morality,
power and fortune always accompany Krishna and Arjuna. Thus, Bhīṣma seems
to reject time as an explanation for the Pāṇḍavas’ suffering, and turns next to
destiny.
Destiny as the Cause of Suffering

Bhīṣma states: “Therefore, this [suffering] is all due to the power of providence
[daiva]” (1.9.17). In the Bhāgavata Purāṇa, the cause of human suffering is fre-
quently identified as daiva, destiny or fate. The text presents destiny in a variety
of ways, three of which occur most frequently. Destiny often refers to 1) the
results of previous actions (karma), 2) the inevitable progress of time, and 3) the
will of the gods or Bhagavān. We find many verses where daiva directly refers
to the fruit of one’s past actions. “Those who are naturally disposed to hurt the
feelings of others wound them by harsh words. Such persons are doomed by
providence (daiva)” (4.6.47). Another reference is found in the seventh book:
“. . . it is due to providence (daiva) that creatures are brought together and
separated in accordance with their respective karmas” (7.2.21).6 Daiva is also
used in the sense of time—a power which reverses all human endeavor. “They
who by day have their senses absorbed in doing worldly actions, and go to sleep
with minds full of different desires, get their sleep disturbed every moment, and
their endeavors after their objects are frustrated by fate (daiva)” (3.9.10). Finally,
daiva also often refers to the will of God: “It is Bhagavān who brings living
beings together and then separates them” (10.82.42).
As we have seen, Bhīṣma rejects karma and time as possible causes for
Yudhiṣṭhira’s suffering, and so the remaining possibility here is the will of God.
God as the Cause of Suffering

Since God himself frequently accompanied Yudhiṣṭhira, only He could be
the ultimate cause of Yudhiṣṭhira’s suffering. In verse 1.9.16, Bhīṣma implic-
itly implicates Krishna: “Oh King! No one can fully understand the intentions
of this [Krishna]. As a matter of fact, even learned people who desire to fathom
it become perplexed.” But if Krishna was the cause of Yudhiṣṭhira’s suffering,
why did Bhīṣma not say this from the beginning? Commentators suggest that
it would have been indecorous for Bhīṣma to directly point to Krishna as the
cause of the Pāṇḍavas’ suffering. Since Krishna was personally present during
the conversation, Bhīṣma blamed the Pāṇḍavas’ suffering on time and destiny.
They agree that Bhīṣma’s intent, however, was to say that “this improper situa-
tion has arisen because of Vishnu, the mover and maintainer of the whole uni-
verse” (Viśvanātha, 1.9.12).
Bhīṣma indicates that no matter how much one tries to understand the plan
of God, who is supremely independent, it is an impossible task: “Even though
great philosophers inquire exhaustively, they are bewildered” (1.9.16). At this
point in Bhīṣma’s monologue, Viśvanātha raises a pertinent question: since

Krishna was actually present before Bhīṣma and the Pāṇḍavas, why did they not
simply ask the Lord about his plan? Viśvanātha answers his own question:
Even if asked by Bhīṣma, the Lord will not speak, but instead will evade him...
Even if he [the Lord] says something, he still bewilders everyone. Therefore his
plan is to be followed, but is not subject to inquiry (Viśvanātha, 1.9.18).7
Viśvanātha adds that Krishna confuses everyone, particularly by his oblique

speech. In Book Eleven, Krishna announces that even the Vedas speak elusively
and answer questions indirectly. “The Vedic seers and mantras deal in esoteric
terms, and I am also pleased by such confidential descriptions” (11.21.35). Nev-
ertheless, Viśvanātha admits that although “no one can understand or interfere
with the plan of Krishna,” one is still drawn to inquire (Viśvanātha, 1.9.16).
Inquiry is necessary. Does God want to give us suffering? Does he want to give
us joy? Does he want to give us suffering and joy? It cannot be the first option,
because his quality of being affectionate to his devotee would be cancelled. It
cannot be the second, because we have not seen any happiness. It cannot be
the third option because that would be a contradiction to his kind nature. It
is finally decided that no one can solve the problem by inquiry (Viśvanātha,
1.9.16).
Although no one can know the plan of the Lord, Bhīṣma urges one to accept
that plan when it unfolds, because “his plan is perfect.” “There never has been
any change in Krishna’s mind or his actions, because he is the soul of all, impar-
tial, without a second, free from pride, and free from all sins” (1.9.21). Bhīṣma is
confident that although the Lord may cause distress, he always acts for the ben-
efit of all, and especially for the benefit of his pure-hearted devotees.
The Bhāgavata affirms that the supremely independent Lord uplifts his
devotees in the way that he feels best for them. A devotee understands that
the happiness and distress he or she undergoes while performing bhakti is the
special mercy of the Lord. This point is made explicit in many passages: “Just
as a father, out of his own accord, looks after the good of his child, you person-
ally also do what is good for us” (4.20.31). Viśvanātha comments, “The Lord
certainly knows what is best for me, even if I don’t know. Karma and time have
no effect on a devotee, so this is Krishna’s personal arrangement for me. Out
of his mercy, Krishna sometimes gives me happiness and sometimes gives me
distress” (Viśvanātha, 10.14.8). By giving temporary distress, Krishna frees his
devotees from the actual cause of distress—namely their forgetfulness of God.
Suffering drives a righteous person to remember and take refuge in God. That
remembrance forever frees the devotee from repeated birth and death in this
world (11.2.49).
The Bhāgavata Purāṇa is so deeply convinced about the soteriological pur-
pose of suffering that it even portrays devotees asking God for more suffering.
After the Kurukṣetra battle, Kuntī, the Pāṇḍavas’ mother who witnessed the
demise of her entire dynasty, asks Krishna for this rather unconventional
benediction: “May calamities befall us at every step, O Teacher of the world,
if in these calamities we are blessed with Your sight, which eliminates the
possibility of our seeing another birth [and death]” (1.8.25). Calamity serves
as a powerful aid in helping the Queen become free from temporary worldly
attachments so she can constantly remember the Lord. “May my mind be
continuously drawn in love to you and not be attached to any other object,
just as the water of the Ganges forever flows into the sea” (1.8.42).
The Bhāgavata often describes suffering as a burning (tāpa) which puri-
fies the soul, as “gold, when smelted by fire, gives up its impurity and
again takes on its own form” (11.14.25). The practice of bhakti burns off
any remaining selfish desires (kāma) due to past karma and allows souls to
experience the sweetness and beauty of Krishna and join his eternal play
(līlā) in the spiritual realm (10.29.10). When the devotees’ love for Krishna
and other living beings is constant and selfless, they experience “limitless
and unending happiness,” and Bhagavān becomes controlled by their affec-
tion (Viśvanātha, 10.29.10). He chooses to serve them, as he did in the case
of the Pāṇḍavas. Viśvanātha states that Krishna’s first expression of mercy
“bears the fruit of tormenting pain.” His second wave of mercy causes an
“extraordinary shower of sweet bhakti-rasa to rain down” on his devotees,
and then Krishna promises that “I give mercy in the form of my very self”
(Viśvanātha, 10.88.9).
Conclusion
The Bhāgavata does not tire of portraying the human condition as one domi-
nated by suffering despite the best of intentions. In one such portrayal, the
sage Śuka explains an extended metaphor of a merchant caravan (5.14), in
which a group of merchants, determined to make money by collecting wood
to sell in the city, venture into a dense forest full of tangled vines. There
the merchants are attacked by rogues, thieves, and jackals, and before long
a breeze makes some dry trees rub together and start a forest fire. As they
flee in fear, they are scorched by the fire, their feet are pierced by thorns
and stones, and they are faced with a steep mountain pass.
Śuka explains that the merchants represent the souls (jīvas) who are origi-
nally with God. As the merchants leave their home to make money, so the jīvas
leave God’s kingdom to find pleasure in the temporal world. The forest’s tangled
creepers are likened to the jīvas’ desire for profit, praise, and prestige. Intent
on fulfilling their selfish desires, the jīvas traverse the path of saṁsāra, which is
treacherous like a mountain pass. They burn in the forest fire of miseries, and
their uncontrolled senses, like rogues and thieves, constantly harass them. All
the jīvas’ endeavors are obstructed by numerous thorn-like difficulties, ultimate-
ly rendering them fruitless.
But unlike the Mahabhārata’s forest metaphor, with which we began this
essay, Śuka’s metaphor has a potentially happy—and distinctly Vaishnava—
ending: After experiencing immense tribulations, the jīvas can betake them-
selves to the path of the Lord’s devotees and resort to the lotus-like feet of
Lord Hari (Krishna)—those “feet which pacify all the afflictions and agonies
of saṁsāra” (5.14.1). And so it is that the caravan of merchants (human-
ity) can return to “the starting point of this journey (God) which, the sages
say, is the terminus to the road of saṁsāra” (5.14.38). The Bhāgavata urges
its readers to see that the soul’s envelopment in matter is a temporal and
temporary experience with a beginning and an end, which the soul under-
goes only once as a necessary step in its spiritual evolution.8 When the soul
remembers its eternal relationship with the Lord, and takes refuge in him, it
gains the greatest freedom, even in suffering, and after death returns to its
original home beyond matter.
Thus the Bhāgavata Purāṇa presents a message of hope—a message we find
in the metaphor of the merchant caravan and in Kuntī’s prayers to Krishna:
although calamities may befall us at any moment, “the sight of Krishna will
occur, ending the repetition of worldly existence” (1.8.25; Valpey, 276).
Indeed, even after being shot with dozens of arrows, and seeing his entire
dynasty destroyed, the Bhāgavata portrays Bhīṣma as being undeterred in
his devotion for Krishna. “Oh protector of the earth, Yudhiṣṭhira! Look at
his compassion on his staunch devotees that Krishna himself has appeared
before me, when I am giving up my life” (1.9.22). Bhīṣma’s sentiment is
indicative of the Bhāgavata’s overall response to the problem of suffering,
namely to celebrate “devotional heroism,” the facing and conquering of
unavoidable suffering through intensified devotion (Valpey, 275).
Endnotes
1. For a Jain account, see Embree (59-61).
2. Translations of the Bhāgavata Purāṇa in this essay are based largely on Ganesh
Tagare’s translation.
3. Commentators such as Śrīdhara Svāmī and Viśvanātha Cakravartī have suggested
that the reason for Purañjana’s fall is inexplicable (see commentaries on Bhāgavata
4.25.20).
4. The authors are especially thankful to Dr. Kenneth R. Valpey for his helpful
comments on this essay.
5. Vishnu resides in Dhruva’s planet and thus it is deathless. In the Bhāgavata’s
cosmology, all the constellations revolve around the polestar, mirroring the classic image
of the Sudarśana revolving around Vishnu’s index finger (5.14.29). Just as Vishnu, the
hub of Sudarśana, is deathless, so also the polestar is unaffected by the sweep of time that
moves the universe.
6. Several writers have assumed that the realm of daiva is completely separate from
karma. O’Flaherty (1980), for example, writes, “Karma is clearly distinguished from fate
(daiva); the latter is often used to explain otherwise inexplicable occurrences which even
karma is regarded as inadequate to justify” (19). Similarly Jarow states, “Fate, like death,
is immutable and works above the level of the individual” (59). It is difficult, however, to
uphold such a clear distinction between karma and daiva in the Bhāgavata.
7. All quotations from Viśvanātha Cakravartī’s commentary are drawn from the
translation by Bhanu Swami (2004).
8. This necessary step, the Bhāgavata reminds us, is one that is permitted by the
Lord but not desired by him. “Your māyā carries on the creation, preservation and
destruction of the universe, though not desired by you . . .” (5.18.38).
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Prabhupāda. Los Angeles: Bhaktivedanta Book Trust.
Bhāgavata Purāṇa. 1983. Bhāgavata Purāṇa of Kṛṣṇa Dvaipāyana Vyāsa, trans.
G. V. Tagare and ed. J.L. Shastri. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass.
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Second Ed. New York: Columbia UP.
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Second Ed. New Delhi: Mushiram Manoharlal.
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Banarsidas.
Valpey, Kenneth R. 2009. “The Bhāgavatapurāṇa as a Mahābhārata Reflec-
tion.” In Parallels and Comparisons: Proceedings of the Fourth Dubrovnik Interna-
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Koskikallio. Zagreb: Croatian Academy of Sciences and Arts, 257-278.
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trans. Bhanu Swami. Vrindaban, India: Mahanidhi Swami.
Reflections on the
Vaishnava Christian Conference
The Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue: A Reflection
Sara M. Adams (Śraddhādevi dāsī)
W hen I first received an invitation to attend the Vaishava-Christian

Dialogue in Potomac, MD in 2007, I felt both anticipation and
apprehension. Having just finished a degree in Theology from
Harvard Divinity School, I had experienced my share of interfaith dialogues,
both formal and informal. Connecting with people of other faiths can be
incredibly enriching—it provides opportunity to extend beyond one’s routine
social encounters and learn more about “the other” while simultaneously
enhancing one’s own faith. It breaks down boundaries, generates friendships,
and increases appreciation as we see each other more in terms of fellow human
beings rather than beings belonging to different camps.
Still, however, I had my doubts. There was the initial trepidation of sitting
at the same table as my mentors—scholars and practitioners on both the Chris-
tian and Vaiñëava side with much more knowledge and experience than I—an
intimidating factor for a reserved young woman fresh out of graduate school.
However, beyond this initial unease was a more pressing question, “What is the
point of this dialogue?”
Each interfaith dialogue takes on its own flavor. Some intend to find ways
to work together beyond religious boundaries to produce tangible community
service projects, some are simple opportunities for people to get to know one
another, while others aim to illustrate the likeness of each tradition with the
shared desire to bring about a semblance of world peace, one dialogue at a
time. While these goals are undoubtedly noble and valuable, I always hoped for
deeper theological engagement—to explore the foundation of why we do what
we do and to discuss the teachings of God across religious lines.
The Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue did not disappoint. Each gathering roots
itself in theology—presenting one text from each tradition as the launching
pad for the weekend’s discussion. On most occasions one Christian and one
Vaishnava participant begins the dialogue by presenting a paper on the text
and topic at hand. The discussion then opens to the table of participants and
219
meanders its way across, around, and through the assigned topic, often taking
us to unexpected destinations. The dialogue does not stop at theology, however.
We discuss its practical application, we take meals and worship together, and
we get to know each other as individuals.
What is the end result? Although some practitioners outside of the dia-
logue may want us to report that the Vaishnavas are taking to Christianity
or the Christians to Vaishnavism, that is not the case, nor the goal. Neither
is it the goal to smooth over our differences and solely focus on commonali-
ties. The Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue has developed beyond the restraints
of merely two traditions in dialogue. It has created a third community—a
community of serious practitioners who share a desire to discuss and dis-
cover God. Out of this, deep respect and friendship has formed, both for
each other and for the two traditions.
From my experience, the Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue is a viable
model for other interfaith dialogues. The mix of theological engagement,
shared worship, and discussion of practical application provides a solid
foundation for mutual understanding, personal growth, and long-lasting
friendship. I feel honored to take part in the Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue,
I value the relationships that have developed out of it, and I look forward to
more years of dialogue to come.
The Quiet Revolution in Potomac
Vineet Chander
E very faith tradition, I think, has its divine troublemakers. These are
the prophets and reformers, the always courageous and sometimes
outrageous souls who upset the status quo and dare us to shift paradigms.
They lead us in—to borrow a phrase from one of my teachers—a “revolution in
consciousness.”
One such revolutionary from my own tradition (the Chaitanya Vaishnava
tradition within devotional Hinduism) was a 19th century theologian named
Bhaktivinode Thakur. As cited elsewhere in this volume, among his other
accomplishments Bhaktivinode championed a radically progressive view of
interfaith understanding. “If one has occasion to be at the place of worship of
another,” he wrote, in a passage that has become something of a mission state-
ment for contemporary Vaishnava interfaith dialoguers, “one should think:
‘The people here are worshiping my Lord, but in a different way. Because of my
different training, I cannot fully comprehend this system of worship. However,
through this experience, I can deepen my appreciation for my own system of
worship. The Lord is only one, not two. Therefore, I offer respect to the form I
see here and pray to the Lord in this new form that He may increase my love for
Him in the form to which I am accustomed.’”*
I mention this to suggest that, in writing these words, Bhaktivinode
planted a seed into the rough, uneven soil of turn-of-the-century Bengal.
I believe that, more than one hundred years later and a couple of oceans
away, this seed flowers every Spring in a quaint, quiet retreat center in
Potomac, Maryland. And although the dialogue began in Boston, I think it
is most fitting that it has found its home in Maryland at the precise time
that the celebrated cherry blossoms are making their yearly debut. There,
like a perennial that still manages to surprise us with its beauty every year,
* The original is in Bengali, Bhaktivinode’s native tongue, so popular translations tend to differ in
minor ways. The one I rely upon is found on pp. 9-10 of Bhanu Svami (transl.), Sri Caitanya-siksamrita
(New Delhi: Brhat Mrdanga Press SKCBT, 2004).
221
twenty-something people of faith from both Christian and Vaishnava back-

grounds gather together for two days to put Bhaktivinode’s revolutionary
concept into practice.
The Rockwood Manor’s serene, placid atmosphere; the nourishing refresh-
ments (from herbal teas and organic trail mix, to rich Indian curries and
irresistible samosas, to the now-legendary scrambled paneer breakfast); the
ease with which participants sit around a non-descript rectangular conference
table armed with legal pads and ballpoint pens—all of this might disguise the
magnitude of what takes place at this dialogue. Make no mistake: in such an
innocuous setting, in their own quiet way, participants in this dialogue are taking
part in a revolution.
Gathering together to share a meal and spiritual conversation is, of course,
laudable in itself. Still, I feel that there are two aspects to this “quiet revolution”
that make it particularly significant.
First, the participants walk the finest of lines in a way that I have rarely
seen done before. They appreciate the universal beauty of one another’s faiths
while still living in an awareness (and one might even say an embrace) of the
particularity of their own faith and that of the ‘other’. Nobody at the table
would deny the commonality of experience that begins to emerge there. At
the same time, nobody at the table would seek to be (or compel their dialogue
partners to be) anything but what they are. The result is a tension of sorts,
but it is a tension that generates a heartfelt excitement about learning from
the other to enrich one’s own spiritual life. It is not uncommon, for instance,
to hear the sounds of multiple pens frantically scratching against paper to jot
down a particularly profound or striking or provocative thought uttered by
one of the other participants. The Vaishnava at the table might take something
that a Christian has said and find a way to connect it to her own faith; likewise,
a Christian may take an idea from the Vaishnava understanding to enhance
his relationship with Christ. It is rarely spoken, but one also gets the sense
(humorous at times) that there is a fair amount of what Swedish theologian
Krister Stendahl called “holy envy” going on, along with good-natured plans
to “steal” one another’s ideas for liberal tweaking and use in sermons and
Bhagavatam discourses later.
To walk this line, dialogue partners must eschew a two-fold temptation. The
first is that of sectarianism—the urge to dig one’s theological heels in, close
oneself to even the remotest possibility that the other has any real access to the
Truth, and approach dialogue as a chance to “prove” one’s faith. The second,
perhaps more subtle but just as harmful, is that of syncretism—the tendency
The Quiet Revolution in Potomac 223
to gloss over (or even purge out) that which makes our faith experiences
different and theological positions unique, in order to create some amorphous,
nebulous sense of oneness. In choosing the path of dialogue, understanding,
and mutual appreciation over either one of these temptations, participants
suggest something truly groundbreaking: that learning about how the Divine
interacts with the other strengthens one’s faith in one’s own tradition.
Here, I see resonance with the advice Bhaktivinode shares in the aforemen-
tioned passage. It is, perhaps, most evident during the portion of the dialogue
that invites participants to share in a joint (though not combined!) worship
service such that they can each literally “be at the place of worship of another.”
But if we take the act of speaking about God as a form of worship—as many
Christians and Vaishnavas do—then his words carry weight for the dialogical
part of the gathering as well.
Secondly, I feel that the Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue embodies a certain
healthy integration of intellect and devotion—of the head and the heart, if
you will—that is all too rare in faith communities generally, and rarer still in
interfaith settings. Participants in the dialogue are theological heavyweights.
They tend to speak articulately, are well-informed and well-read, and often
reference obscure texts in such a thorough way that a casual observer might, at
first glance, mistake the dialogue for a breakout session at the yearly American
Academy of Religion convention. (Since many of the participants are, in fact,
members of the academy and frequent contributors to the AAR, this is hardly
surprising.) Nonetheless, if our hypothetical casual observer were to stick
around long enough, he or she might also discover the amount of heartfelt
devotion that participants bring to the table. They speak of their own faith
experiences and realizations in candid, sometimes brutally honest terms. No
matter how fascinating the topic, or intellectually rigorous the discussion, the
dialogue invariably becomes personal, and participants encourage one another
to draw from deep within. They freely dispense with anecdotes and personal
narratives, laugh together, and—on a few occasions, at least—share tears.
The fact that this combination of thought and feeling runs throughout the
dialogue seems to indicate that something larger (and, perhaps, transcendent)
may be at work. Such depth and self-honesty simply cannot be faked. I believe
that the dialogue itself is surcharged with it, and has become, in a very real
sense, a shared sacred space for participants. It is even reflected in the sartorial
choices participants make: tweed blazers, silk saris, monks’ robes (East and
West)—all seem to mingle freely in a fluid, graceful mash-up of scholar and
practitioner.
Here too, I think the spirit of Bhaktivinode is alive and well. He was,
according to many biographers, that perfect combination of head and heart.
He was a man of this world—a husband and father, a government magistrate,
and a Hindu apologist in an India ruled by the British and hurtling towards
modernity. Much of his writing was directed towards the intellectuals and
progressive thinkers of his day. At the same time, Bhaktivinode was a renowned
and unabashed devotee of the Lord, and his poetry in praise of Krishna is sung
faithfully in temples to this day. These songs often center around the feeling of
Vaishnavism, and evoke a strikingly intimate sense of one’s relationship with
God. If anyone could reconcile intellect and devotion, and do justice to both, it
was Bhaktivinode. Seen in this light, his statement about interfaith takes on an
additional importance. He advises us to understand intellectually that “because
of my different training, I cannot fully comprehend” the faith of the other, but
also invites us into the realm of the heart-space, believing that “through this
experience, I can deepen my appreciation for my own system of worship.”
In reflecting on the Vaishnava Christian Dialogue, and in describing its par-
ticipants, I have used the pronoun they, but I must confess I have been blessed
with a seat at this table too. At times I have been more of a quiet observer; at
others, I have been a vocal participant. I have experienced the joy of shared
understanding, and have been deeply moved by the process. I have also been
humbled; I have become acquainted with the taste of my own foot planted
firmly in my mouth, and have felt the growing pains and pangs of doubt or
uncertainty that often accompany paradigm shifts. Above all else, I have
encountered my Lord, a dark-hued and charming cowherd boy named Krishna,
in ever-new forms . . . and it has only increased my love for Him in the form to
which I am accustomed.
I can attest: the revolution marches—beautifully, quietly—on.
The Value of Imbalance in Interreligious Dialogue
David Buchta
B alance is often, and rightly, seen as a crucial virtue in interreligious

dialogue. Participants coming from different religious traditions hope
to meet on neutral ground in a discourse which can thus be clearly
distinguished from proselytization or, worse, subjugation. And yet, the very
diversity that underscores the value of such dialogue makes absolute balance
and symmetry impossible and even undesirable. Although facing many of the
same issues in the contemporary world, different religious traditions have
developed in varying social and historical circumstances and are characterized
by distinct concepts, practices, and emphases in their approach to encountering
the divine. These differences make it important for participants in inter-
religious dialogue to learn about each other. They also entail different sets of
strengths. The distinct inheritance of each tradition allows their respective
contemporary adherents to learn from each other without the subordination of
one tradition to another.
For the past four years, I have had the fortunate opportunity to participate
in the Vaishnava-Christian dialogue held annually in Potomac, Maryland.
The Christian and Vaishnava participants at this dialogue are some of the
most warm-hearted, deeply devout and thoughtful people I know and the
mood is one of friendly sharing amongst fellow worshippers from different
traditions. Yet, despite the best efforts of the organizers, significant imbalances
characterize the dialogue.
The very name of the dialogue shows asymmetry in the specificity of the
traditions represented. A number of Christian denominations, including Cath-
olic, Presbyterian, Lutheran, and Methodist, are represented. By contrast, all but
one of the regular Vaishnava participants are Gaudiya Vaishnavas and are, or
have been, affiliated with the International Society for Krishna Consciousness
(ISKCON). Most of the Vaishnava participants are adult converts, many having
been raised in Christian families. And yet the Christian participants are not less
familiar with Vaishnavism than the Vaishnava participants are with Christianity:
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many of the Christian participants specialize in interfaith dialogue and a few are
scholars whose research specialization focuses on Vaishnavism. There is also an
unfortunate gender imbalance within each tradition. There are only a few women
amongst the dialogue’s regular attendees—an imbalance that I hope will be
rectified in the future.
For myself, however, the most significant imbalance is a positive one and one
that would likely characterize any Vaishnava-Christian dialogue: the different
relationship each tradition has with the modern, secular academy. Christian
traditions have developed side-by-side with the modern academy. While this
relationship has had its share of tensions, Christian thinkers have been compelled
to think about their own beliefs and practices against the background of
modernity, addressing issues of contemporary relevance and taking into account
epistemological presuppositions that characterize secular scholarship. These
presuppositions include the acceptance that works of sacred literature, to which a
prete-human origin has been traditionally ascribed, are in fact products of human
history. On the other hand, while there have been some important Vaishnava
engagements with modernity (such as that of Bhaktivinoda Thakura), these have
not been as sustained and thorough and have occurred primarily outside of the
academy. Thus, they have not as thoroughly addressed the incongruities between
inherited teachings and secular scholarship.
My own introduction to the Gaudiya Vaishnava tradition occurred at
around the same time as my first exposure to the academic study of religion
and Sanskrit language and literature as an undergraduate student. The
practices of Gaudiya Vaishnava bhakti (devotion) and the writings of that
tradition’s theologians have been the primary source of religious inspiration
in my own life, so that I identify myself as a Gaudiya Vaishnava. Yet, many of
the tradition’s teachings cannot be reconciled with historical and philological
evidence. For the tradition to remain relevant in the contemporary world, I
see it as necessary to significantly reinterpret, if not completely set aside,
such teachings. By contrast, I have found a literalist and even fundamentalist
approach to scripture to be predominant within ISKCON, the institution
within which I initially encountered the Gaudiya Vaishnava tradition. For this
and other reasons, I no longer consider myself a member of the institution,
although I still find value in the opportunities for communal worship which
ISKCON provides.
The Vaishnava-Christian dialogue has provided an invaluable forum for
thinking about the Gaudiya Vaishnava tradition in the modern world. While
the Gaudiya Vaishnava tradition has fewer resources to draw upon for such a
The Value of Imbalance in Interreligious Dialogue 227
project, the Vaishnava participants are some of the most thoughtful and open-
minded adherents of the tradition. I have found my discussions with Christian
participants to be especially rewarding. I have learned not only from how they
have addressed important issues within their traditions, but also from how
they might address issues and what they find to be of value and relevance
within my own.
Last year’s (2011) dialogue, on the theme of romantic love in sacred
literature, was especially valuable in this regard. Breaking with the dialogue’s
usual format, four talks were given: Vaishnava and Christian readings of both
the biblical Song of Songs and Jayadeva’s poem on the love of Rādhā and
Krishna, Gitagovinda. Graham Schweig’s Vaishnava reading of the Song
of Songs highlighted the richness of the analysis of divine love within the
Gaudiya Vaishnava tradition, drawing parallels between the biblical text and
Srimadbhagavata’s narrative of Krishna’s dance with the young cowherd
ladies, the rasa-lila. James Wiseman’s Christian reading showed a willingness
to reconsider interpretations of the Song of Songs that had previously
been deemed as heretical, a reading which emphasized the importance of
sacramentalized human love.
This willingness to revisit issues addressed previously in one’s tradition and to
respectfully but clearly disagree with one’s predecessors is a valuable model for
contemporary Gaudiya Vaishnavas. Vaishnava traditions are full of examples of
teachers contradicting their predecessors. However, as is seen throughout much
of premodern Hinduism, the delicacy with which this is done often obscures the
fact that there is a real disagreement. While an important lesson can be learned
from the respect with which Vaishnava teachers have related to their predecessors,
religious discourse within modern, secular societies seems to require a more
frank acknowledgement of divergences from tradition. Wiseman’s talk, and the
numerous casual conversations that spring up during the dialogue weekends,
provided examples of how to critique the inheritance of one’s own tradition
without devaluing and disrespecting it. Their reinterpretation of tradition was
not a revisionist whitewashing of problematic issues, but a frank and informed
acknowledgement of such problems together with a contemplation of how the best
that their tradition has to offer can be made relevant to the world in which we live.
My own Vaishnava reading of Gitagovinda focused on the importance of
a non-literal reading of the text informed by the principle of Sanskrit poetics
to which Gaudiya Vaishnava theologians have made substantial contributions.
Gerald Carney prefaced his Christian reading of Gitagovinda by acknowledging
his concern that Vaishnavas might take exception to it. However, he went on to
offer a deeply moving interpretation that extracted a broad message of divine love
from the specifics of Gitagovinda without denying the particular appeal these
specifics would have for a Vaishnava audience.
Similarly, without denying the value of the specifics of the intellectual dis-
course, the Vaishnava-Christian dialogues have been characterized by a broader,
underlying mood of friendship beyond those specifics between people who
see themselves, despite differences in traditions, as sharing a common goal of
connection with the divine.
Thoughts on our Many Years
of Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue
Rukmini Walker
“Out beyond ideas of wrong doing

And right doing,
There is a field.
I’ll meet you there . . . ”
T his past November in San Francisco at the American Academy of Religion

Conference, there was a panel entitled, “What’s Wrong with Hindu
Theology?” Dr. Reeta Sherma began her thoughts with this quote from
Jelaluddin Rumi. I was struck by her reference, especially in that context, in
a discussion of Hindu and Christian ways of doing theology. At that time, I
thought, yes, this is my experience of our many years of Vaisnava Christian
dialogue.
Away from the noise that’s so prevalent in the world’s public square, there is
such a field. Our dialogue has been a treasure in that field, over the last fifteen
years. We are all serious practitioners of our own traditions: many of our group
are monastics, several are professors, priests, ministers, three initiating gurus
have attended over the last few years, and some of us are married, or lay people.
We would probably all say that we’re deeply enriched by the practices of our
own traditions on a daily basis. That’s a given.
But, in this dialogue, we are enriched, and sometimes challenged in wholly
different ways. The atmosphere is one of respect, intellectual honesty and
curiosity, and reverence for the scriptures and teachers of the each other’s
tradition. The gifts we receive from these holy people outside our own flock,
or sanga, are precious; in an unexpected, deeply nourishing way; intellectually,
of course, but also in a deeper, more profound way. I want to say, in a game
changing way, in a culture changing way.
To see the depth of knowledge, realization and holiness in these people of
another great tradition, feeds my reverence for the multifaceted prism that is
the mystery of the unlimited Supreme Godhead, Whom I know as Sri Krishna. It
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corrects my own spiritual myopathy, and explodes the tiny universe of my own
thinking. It’s doing what I most like to do, with those whom I most like to do it.
I didn’t expect to share such resonance with people outside of our Vaishnava
sangha. This dialogue has turned my understanding of sangha on its head.
Often our discussions become electric, not with polemical argument, but with
the synergy of people passionate about topics of divinity. At those times, I often
think of the people in our own communities, leaders and lay people alike, who
don’t understand what we do here, or why we dialogue. They are Christians and
Hindus who carry burdens from both sides of colonialism: the embarrassment
[or lack of it!] of the “white man’s burden,” the searing family tales of the 1948
Partition between India and Pakistan, and the part “the other” had to play in it all,
to name a couple of specifics, and, of course, just plain sectarianism, in general.
History is full of those stories: the stories of such thinking, and its harsh
repercussion. But there are other stories; often they are the ones untold.
Kenneth Cracknell once quoted a British Christian minister living in India in
the 18th or early 19th Century. This gentleman apparently shared the kind of
dialogue we experience, when he exclaimed, “We will have another Alexandria,
on the banks of the Yamuna!”
An old aphorism is sometimes used in India: that in order to chop down a
tree, one must take a branch from that very tree, and join it to the sharp blade
of an ax. Perhaps to chop down the immense tree of sectarianism in the world
today, we each need to offer [an olive?] branch to join to the sharp blade of real
wisdom, the wisdom of the saints and sadhus.
This analogy also seems meaningful in reference to the success of our group,
in that each member is reverent to, and knowledgeable about the tradition
of the other: by lifelong study, by travel, by cultural immersion, and through
deeply personal intercultural or inter-religious friendships.
We’re a small group: only that number that can fit around a large table, about
twenty or so. It’s a square table, but I think of it as a Round Table. We have no
audience, although people often ask to sit in as an audience. Once a filmmaker,
who was making a documentary about Abrahamic and Asian traditions in
dialogue, came to film us with his oversized camera. He used a bit of it, but he
was, frankly, disappointed to not see more tension, more disagreement, the
stuff of reality TV, I suppose.
We share another reality, a reality that is unseen, but deeply felt by us all.
Of course, sometimes there are misunderstandings, such as when one tries to
define the other tradition by the terms of one’s own tradition. With respect,
there’s correction, and we get back on track.
Our Many Years of Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue 231
It’s sometimes said that we don’t remember days, but rather, we remember
moments. And again, moments at home in sanga with other Vaishnavas are
a given. But these moments in the field of our dialogue with Christian friends
have been precious in unexpected, luminous ways. These are a few of those
moments for me:
. . . I learned to cherish the candid, of this world/not of this world nature

of the late William Cenkner, and his stories about living in a community of
brothers silently jabbing each other over the wins and losses of their favorite
sports teams. About what it meant to be vulnerable, living near death, and what
it means when your community is praying for you.
. . . Our times hearing the wisdom of the late, gentle Judson Trapnell, and
his work on Father Bede Griffiths, who bridged each of our worlds with such
wisdom. He spoke on John of the Gospels, and on Bhakti. And he left Rose, Grace
and Maria when he left this world untimely at such a young age.
. . . When Frank Clooney explains that dialogue is about religious

communities reaching beyond their own established boundaries. And when
he arrived at our dialogue in Washington, after leaving an event in his honor
at his own center at Harvard, because of a commitment he had made to us the
previous year.
. . . When John Borrelli speaks about the wisdom of nostra aetate, and about
the many twists and turns that enrich his work in the field of interfaith
dialogue.
. . . When David Rodier would reflect on his deference for the great
Vaishnava luminary, Rupa Goswami.
. . . When Gerald Carney speaks with reverence about Sri Vrndavana Dham,
about the holy Yamuna, the temple of Sri Radha Raman, and his friends and
mentors there. And about how the Brajavasis have affectionately dubbed him,
“Gulabi Baba,” after they doused his white hair with pink color during Holi.
. . . When Susan White, being asked about her experience of the presence of
God, quoted a favorite poet. She spoke of being like a lover standing under the
balcony of his lover: sometimes he thinks he sees the curtain move to open a
bit, but then again, maybe not . . .
. . . When Jim Reddington speaks from his book, The Grace of Lord Krishna;
about his travel to India with his students; and his study with the teachers of
the Vallabha Sampradaya.
. . . When Ed Shirley speaks so lucidly about the incarnation of Christ.

And when he puts it up on Facebook that he’s in Maryland, with his Hare
Krishna friends, attending a production of the Wizard of Oz, performed by
their grandchildren.
. . . When Jon Paul taught us how to see with introspection the holy and
the unholy in the “secular salvation” of the shopping mall of America’s
marketplace.
. . . One year our topic was Love and Fear. A young Vaishnava scholar, David
Buchta, spoke brilliantly about the nuances of the secondary rasas of fear and
ghastliness; and Philip Simo opened his heart to us. Alone, in the church, he had
heard a divine voice telling him, “Philip, don’t be afraid. Live the Gospel!”
. . . When Carole Crumley taught me that we are the guests the mystics talk
about; that we play this music for our Host; and that everything today is for the
Host.
“satatam kirtayanto mam, yatantas ca drdha vratah . . .” We expect to be

nourished at home. But when the warm hearth of home is found in the
home of another pilgrim on the path, there is another rasa, a different rasa
of sweetness: a treasure in the field, a pearl beyond price.
Reflecting on our Journey
Gerald Carney
T his Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue has developed into a model of how

learning and prayer can establish a path of interreligious sensibility
that goes beyond mutual understanding and respect to a deeper level
of interpersonal solidarity.
We have learned together . . . The strategic decision, around the time of

our third meeting, to focus our dialogue on texts that illustrate our diverse
religious experiences and responses to a single theme, gave a pivotal
direction to our annual conversations. Entering deeply into the thought
and experience of the Vaishnava traditions allowed me to return with an
enhanced understanding of Vaishnava faith and life, but it also allowed me
to look at my Catholic Christian tradition with clearer vision. This process
of deep reading at the core of another religious tradition embodies what
John S. Dunne called “passing over and coming back,” entering into another
living tradition with sympathetic understanding, seeing the world from that
perspective, and then returning enriched to our own tradition with new
insight and resources. But the fact that we were reading our own Christian
sources at the same time and on the same theme meant that this process
was also a form of comparative theology and comparative spiritual life and
practice, with discussion touching not only on what I think and believe but
also on what I do and how that experience transforms my life.
We have prayed together . . . Each year we display core symbols of our faith
traditions and, on Saturday morning, we pray together. Prior to prayer, we
explain ourselves, showing how icons and the cross focus Christian spiritual
life and belief; how images of Krishna, Chaitanya, and guru lineage embody
a visual theology of Vaishnava tradition. We tell about how we pray, how
our beliefs and images in practice transform our lives. Then we pray,
finding inclusive prayer forms, moving beyond explanation and observation
233
to the deepest level of participation that is possible and appropriate, leaving

freedom for each individual’s comfort and conviction: Vaishnava bhajan,
kirtan, puja, satsang; Christian hymns, chants, scripture reading, preaching,
contemplation. This movement beyond parallel prayer to praying together
is always tentative and respectful, but I have felt our prayer has become
more personal over the years, with leaders feeling free to share the core of
their tradition with colleagues who have become friends.
We have journeyed together . . . Every year or so, at the end of our dialogue
meeting, we provoke an identity crisis: who are we anyway, what have we
become, what do we do? Easier to say what we are not: we are not an academic
seminar, with quarterly or monthly meetings of stable membership; we have not
been tasked by religious organizations to craft principled statements; we surely
don’t engage in detached religious study. As our long and insightful introductions
show, we are committed believers, dedicated as Christians and Vaishnavas
to living out that commitment in a broader ecumenism, choosing to live our
religious faith in the presence of one another, during the dialogue and in personal
lives and careers. Over the years we have become friends and have shared our
milestones and struggles. Some of our deepest exchanges happen neither in
discussion nor formal prayer but in dinner conversations or while strolling
through the unfolding spring day. Interreligious hospitality is sacramental, a
sign that creates what it symbolizes. This dialogue process shows how we have
experienced friendship and understanding across religious boundaries and
how that experience has been richly transformative for our faith and for our
communities. It can be a model that encourages and challenges others to find
their own path of understanding, prayer, and friendship.
My own journey . . . I have had the special privilege of being both an insider and
outsider to Vaishnava traditions. Deeply committed as a lay Roman Catholic
Christian, I have been both professionally and personally a participant observer
in Gaudiya Vaishnava faith and life for over forty years. In the fall of 1971, fresh
from reading the New York magazine article on “Who is Harry Krishna and why
are they doing those strange things on 34th Street,” I researched a seminar
paper at the ISKCON temple on Henry Street in Brooklyn, on the tension
between order and ecstasy in the Hare Krishna movement. My dissertation
dealt with the emerging theology of the early Caitanya movement which
found expression in the emotional sensibility of devotional drama. I devoted
parts of two decades of academic work to uncovering the story of an early
Reflecting On Our Journey 235
Vaishnava missionary to the West, Premananda Bharati. My three-decades-long

friendship with Shrivatsa and Sandhya Goswami and my respectful relationship
toward Purushottam Goswami allowed me to experience the contemporary
core expression of Vaishnava devotion as well as to identify with the struggle
to sustain the religious sites of Vraja against environmental and commercial
threats. Our annual dialogue is an opportunity for me to give back the gifts I
have received and to be enriched by friendships old and new.
Reflection: Christian/ Vaishnava Dialogue
Rev. Carole A. Crumley
T he first time that I participated in the Christian/Vaishnava dialogue

weekend, I had been suffering from a debilitating viral cough. I had seen
my internist who, after weeks of my non-stop coughing, had given me an
antibiotic. It didn’t work. Lung x-rays were clear. The doctor didn’t know what
else to do. My immune system would have to shake it off.
Trying to boost my immune system, I visited an acupuncturist several
times. The last visit was the very morning that our dialogue began. Days
later, I learned that the acupuncturist thought this cough might be a strain of
tuberculosis that had reemerged in our area. She was extremely concerned.
After consulting her colleagues, she had called my home and left a message
urging me to see my doctor again. But I wasn’t home.
I had gone to the dialogue weekend, glad to be present but feeling that my
contribution would be minimal. I couldn’t really speak without coughing and I
was worn out with the effort. In our opening circle, I mentioned this explaining
the extensive supply of cough drops by my side.
I don’t remember the topic we discussed now. But I do remember the joy of the
conversation, the delight in exploring faith traditions from different perspectives,
and especially the delicious food provided by the Hare Krishna Hindu Temple.
That night I slept soundly for the first time in many months.
When I woke up in the morning, I didn’t cough. At breakfast, I didn’t cough.
When asked how I was feeling, I could only say, very tentatively, the cough
seemed to be gone. Not really believing it was so, I waited all day for the demon
cough to reappear. It didn’t come back that day and never has since.
To my mind a miraculous healing happened. I’ve wondered how. Was it
the acupuncture finally kicking in? Or was it the intellectual stimulation, the
communion of like-hearted colleagues and friends, the food infused with
prayer, the shared desire for God that was the final heart-strengthening
medicine my body needed? I like to think the dialogue was the answer.
There are many contemporary ills to which Interfaith dialogue is seen as an
237
answer. While we have a more complex and uncertain world than ever before,
it is also one more alive with possibilities for inter-dependence and positive
change. Today’s global village invites us into a deeper interfaith dialogue so that
we can listen to how others see the world. It invites us to join hands across faith
lines to make the world a better place. Together we can be a strong force for
good. It opens our hearts to receive the beauty, poetry, music, dance and art of
other traditions expanding our aesthetic appreciation and joy.
In a sense, interfaith dialogue is a thread that weaves through the traditional
spiritual paths known as the good, the true and the beautiful. Ultimately, it
brings all of these pathways together into a dialogue of the Holy where we seek
the Holy One in our diverse ways. Such dialogue leads into a whole, healthy, full
spiritual life for all. It is what the world needs now.
Our annual Christian/Vaishnava dialogue is a taste of these possibilities and
joys, built on deepening friendships and understanding. In it we engage in the
cosmic dance of dialogue that is both local and global, practical and theoretical,
academic and mystical, healing and reconciling. May it be a blessing for our
world which so hungers for this goodness.
Reflections on Five Years
of Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue
Jon Pahl
G rowing up in a small town in Wisconsin in the 1960s and 70s, in a

religiously conservative family, it was not on my horizon to join with
“Hindus” in dialogue and worship. “They” were people “we” sent
missionaries to convert. I knew from age 7 that I wanted to be a Lutheran pastor,
and sometimes I even imagined traveling to an exotic place like India where
I might convert “heathens” to the one, true faith in Jesus Christ. Being such a
missionary seemed to me at the time like the highest adventure a human could
have. My engagement with the Vaishnava tradition has, I am happy to report,
expanded my horizons about adventure.
My first encounter with Hinduism, and the Vaishnava tradition, came when
I took a class on “Hinduism” while in Seminary in Columbus, Ohio. By then
my undergraduate theology and history majors had opened up my mind a bit.
My Professor, Blake Michael, had studied the Vaishnavas at Harvard and (as
a practicing Methodist) knew how to translate the tradition for Christians. I
loved the class. In the course of it, I produced for my own benefit a “Glossary of
Hindu Terms” that I then memorized. Those terms have come in handy in the
Dialogue, where they are common coins of the realm!
My first visit to an ISKCON Temple was in Chicago, about 1990. Several of
my colleagues at Valparaiso University, where I taught prior to moving to
Philadelphia, had been taking students to the Chicago Temple for years. I decided
to do the same—and embarked with a small group of first year honors students on
a “road trip” that was both bewildering yet comforting. I remember very vividly
the shock of my students (many of whom were from families like mine) at the
deities on the altar; I also remember enjoying a rich conversation over Prasad. I
also took note of the washing machine marked “for Deity Use Only!,” and have
since written an entire book (Shopping Malls and Other Sacred Spaces: Putting
God in Place) inspired by the idea of “clothing” God (and then, naturally, washing
God’s clothes!) One of the students from that class has actually gone on to become
a Lutheran minister, and to complete his Ph.D. in history here in Philadelphia.
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I returned to the Chicago Temple at least annually after that. I only

gradually discovered The Bhagavad Gita and the depth of the tradition. I do
wish I had more time to read in the primary sources. I now teach the Gita (in
translation, alas!) in a class at Temple University, and in a class at Lutheran:
The Philadelphia Seminary, where I have taught since 2000. I am grateful for
the contributions of many Philadelphia Temple devotees who have joined me in
class for dialogue about the Gita.
It’s the Seminary that has facilitated my participation in the Dialogue. Our
campus is just down the street from the Philadelphia Temple. I was delighted,
on my first interview in Philadelphia, to discover a Krishna temple in the
neighborhood! It seemed providential. I quickly found a friend and mentor in
Ravindra Svarupa Das. One of the joys of participating in the Dialogue has been
the car trip to/from Philadelphia, in the company of Ravindra, Sraddha Devi
Dasa, Dvijamani Das, and whoever else happened to be with us. The trip usually
turns into a dialogue of its own.
One of my favorite memories of the Dialogue is a comment made in passing,
I suspect, by Garuda. We were talking about sacred space, which led to a
discussion about the after life, and Garuda lamented how much pressure there
would be “if we only had one life.” That’s when I realized that this wasn’t just an
academic exercise, but had to do with the most crucial matters of life and death
and after-life.
There are three central insights I’ve gained from the Dialogue that I can
highlight in this forum. The first is about reading texts. Growing up, I didn’t
read texts “literally;” I imposed upon the Christian Scriptures a scientific
hermeneutic that distorted the text badly. I wanted the Bible to be “true,”
and “true” meant scientifically verifiable. What my encounter with the
Vaishnava tradition, and especially with the Gita, has taught me, is that truth
is many-layered. The truth of the Gita doesn’t have to conflict with the truth
of the gospels; in fact, the truths can mutually illuminate each other (without
necessarily harmonizing). The truth of texts goes beyond science.
This seems to me a vital lesson. In the wake of the Fundamentalist movement
in American Christianity, and of deconstructionism (which is a fundamentalism
of a different stripe) it is no longer the intention of terms in texts that matters—
the living truth of the literal meaning of the text (in the original languages)
and in its contexts (original and contemporary). What matters is the text as
fetish; the text as incantation; the text as inerrant, inspired, and a sign of one’s
righteous, blessed status that one can use as a club against somebody else.
Holy texts in this way of reading become not prayers addressed to a living God,
Five Years of Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue 241
but escapist (if not callous or craven) attempts to appear pious in an effort to
hold onto (or to claim) some power. To read in this way is to turn texts into
what Ernest Becker called “the vital lie” that grounds the denial of death.
Such reading of texts produces the kind of escapist fantasy and irresponsible
eschatology that is found in the Left Behind series and in much of Christian
apocalypticism, and is also found (so I’ve heard) in some Hindu nationalist
movements. Such “literal” readings of texts promotes the kind of superstitious
cant found in solemn assemblies that wish for the material blessings of God
but refuse to engage seriously in economics or social policy. And as the recent
documentary Flight from Death has documented effectively, when people are
caught up in fetish worship to preserve their culturally generated vital lie, they
will gladly die and kill, innocently even, on its behalf.
The second insight that the Dialogue has taught me, then, is about America:
we’re changing. I knew this intellectually; I’ve read Diana Eck’s A New Religious
America, and I’ve been aware that since 1965 immigration patterns have been
changing. But the Dialogue has acquainted me with that change on the level of
lived experience. It’s been fascinating to note how richly and deeply connected
to India ISKCON has become in the past two decades. Of course, the same is
true of Christianity in America. The last two Deans of the Seminary where I
teach have both been natives of India! This change is behind a great deal of
fear—much of it only indirectly expressed, in contemporary America. Much of
the focus, of late, has been on Muslims. But through conversations and worship
experiences like the annual Vaishnava-Christian dialogue, strangers become
friends and enemies become compatriots. Communicating this truth—that
change can make us stronger--is part of the responsibility of each person who
participates in the gathering (and those who just read about it). We benefit from
the differences between us when they foster what Rabbi Jonathan Sacks called
“the dignity of difference.” This commitment to public theology—where we
give reasons for what we believe in ways that are in principle open to all people
as citizens, is a vital contribution of the Dialogue, as I see it.
The third insight is about our shared appreciation for nature, and the non-
violence that might stem from it. One night after the sessions were over, I
joined Ravindra, Sraddha, Dvija, Venkat, and others on a night-time hike in the
woods. We talked, and laughed, and prayed, and walked in silence amid the
beauty of the trees and crunch of the ground under our feet. It was holy. And
it persuaded me then, as it continues to do today, that our shared inheritance
of the “field of truth” poses for us the greatest battle, the greatest adventure,
we could possibly face. Our traditions share a history of hostility and conflict;
Christianity and its missionary-soldiers especially. Yet we are cousins. We have

to fight, then. We will fight. But we can fight together, seeking to convert each
other (and ourselves), using the means that nature gives us as interpreted
through the fragile symbols of our human frames and civilizations. We share
the inheritance of nature—a grace that is wholly unmerited, yet as necessary
as it is beneficial. Our texts, our dialogues, our debates, take root in this same
nature: they are “pressed trees,” as the Ojibwa novelist Louise Erdrich puts it.
And yet such power they convey! And so, this tragedy of the futile sacrifices we
offer might just be enough. There are many paths to peace. They are one. And
we walk them together.
A Dialogue of Friendship
Samuel Wagner
I first learned of the Vaisnava-Christian Dialogue as a graduate student at The

Catholic University of America. Dr. William Cenkner was my advisor as I was
studying the religions of India. I recall him telling me, in the spring of 1998,
that he would be attending a local Hindu-Christian dialogue. Dr. Cenkner didn’t
mention much else about it (nor did I ask). However, I was envious that I would
not be attending!
I had the good fortune of hearing of the dialogue again soon thereafter. In
the summer of 1999, I began my employment with the Secretariat for Ecu-
menical and Interreligious Affairs (then co-sponsor of the Vaisnava-Christian
Dialogue) at the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB). At that
time, Dr. John Borelli was the Associate Director for Interreligious Dialogue. I
recall being intrigued that he was (also) attending a local Hindu-Christian Dia-
logue that was co-sponsored by ISKCON. Unfortunately, the position that I held
when I was first hired did not allow me to attend dialogue meetings. It wasn’t
until the spring of 2002, when Dr. Borelli was Interim-Executive Director of
the Secretariat, that I finally got a chance to attend one of the meetings. I had
recently been promoted to Assistant to the Executive Director, and Dr. Borelli
gave me permission to attend if I completed the Secretariat’s budget before the
Friday of the meeting (I did!).
When I walked into the conference room at Rockwood Manor that afternoon
in 2002, I was greeted by Dr. Borelli and Dr. Cenkner. Dr. Borelli then introduced
me to Jerry Carney, and informed me that what I would be seeing here was
unlike any other dialogue of the Secretariat. At the time, I was unsure of what
exactly he meant. However, after having been a part of this group for about
ten years, I now know what he meant. This dialogue is not simply a gathering
of academics and theologians, but, rather, at its heart it is a meeting of friends.
Christian friends, and Vaishnava friends, who though their religious beliefs may
differ greatly, even radically, come together once a year to speak intimately
about that which matters most to them: God.
243
Other members of the dialogue are perhaps better equipped to reflect on

the theological significance of these meetings than I am. However, what I
would like to reflect upon is this notion of a dialogue between friends. There
have been, and continue to be, many participants who choose to return to this
annual spring meeting year after year, sometimes traveling a great distance,
for no other reason (e.g., academic or financial incentive) other than to be part
of these intimate discussions about understanding God. It seems to me that the
members of this group benefit from these meetings on a variety of levels. First,
that of intellectual and theological interest, second, the level of friendship, and,
third, there is a spiritual benefit. A Christian visitor to the dialogue once com-
mented to me that it was unlike typical ecumenical and interreligious meet-
ings that he had attended in that it had a retreat-like atmosphere. In fact, for
many (if not most) in the dialogue group, this dialogue meeting has became, in
essence, an annual spring retreat.
In 2005, I was presented with an opportunity to travel to India. Providential-
ly, four months prior to the trip, I was invited to stay in Vrindavan by Srivatsa
Goswami, who was visiting Fr. Francis Tiso at the Secretariat. While in India, I
stayed at Srivatsa Goswami’s ashram, Jai Singh Ghera, for five days. During my
time in the famous pilgrimage town, I was able to see, first hand, the living,
breathing Gaudiya Vaishnava faith as it has been traditionally practiced in India
for hundreds of years. I visited many temples during my stay, but one particular
temple stood out: Radha Damodar Mandir. Through the Vaishnava-Christian
Dialogue meetings, the names of Rupa Goswami and Jiva Goswami had become
very familiar to me. So, when I visited Radha Damodar Mandir, and saw their
Samadhi Mandirs (tombs), these two individuals instantly became, for me, dis-
tinctly real historical figures.
As a Lutheran, I had visited many places in Germany throughout my child-
hood that are of historical significance (for example, I was Confirmed in Worms,
home of the famous 1521 “Diet of Worms” where Martin Luther defended
himself in front of the Holy Roman Emperor, Charles V). Thus, on a certain
level, I was easily able to appreciate the historical roots of the modern Gaudiya
Vaisnava moment. To most of us in the United States, this movement, known
as the International Society for Krishna Consciousness, or “Hare Krishnas,” is a
relatively new presence on the American religious landscape. However, from a
global perspective, the movement, in terms of age, in fact parallels Protestant-
ism as a product of the 16th century.
Visiting Vrindavan not only made famous teachers of Gaudiya Vaishnavism
real, but it also brought the stories of Krishna to life, as so many stories take
A Dialogue of Friendship 245
place in, or around, Vrindavan. As luck would have it, I visited in August at the
time in which the Raslila was being celebrated. Each year, actors at Jai Singh
Ghera perform Raslila plays acting out the life of Krisna every morning (the life
of Chaitanya is acted out in the evening). Thus, in addition to watching these
plays each morning (which, in a sense, reminded me of the variety of Passion
Plays depicting the life of Christ), I awoke to some form of “Hare Krishna, Hare
Krishna, Krishna Krishna, Hare Hare, Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Rama Rama, Hare
Hare”—the Maha Mantra—being sung from the stage.
In the years after Dr. John Borelli left the Secretariat, I found myself in
a position of providing a sense of continuity on the organizational end of
the meetings and working more and more closely with Anuttama Dasa, the
ISKCON co-organizer. As time passed, staff changes, budget restrictions,
and USCCB restructuring required the Secretariat to eventually suspend
co-sponsoring the dialogue. However, I continued to attend on behalf of the
office until my departure in 2009. Presently, I attend the meetings repre-
senting only myself, thus simply as a Lutheran (ELCA) Christian. I consider
my involvement with the Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue to have been a great
blessing. Further, I am honored to have been in a position to work on this
publication project, together with Anuttama Dasa, for the past five years with
the hope of making this publication a reality.
Book Review
Christ and Krishna: Where the Jordan Meets the Ganges (New York,
FOLK Books, 2011), 140 pp., by Steven J. Rosen
Review by Vineet Chander
C hrist and Krishna. Much has been said about these two figures. From
rigorous academic comparisons of their narratives, to New Age attempts
at synthesizing their teachings, to wildly speculative conspiracy theories
that they were, in fact, the same historical person—the more cynical among us
might conclude that nothing more can (or should) be said about this subject.
Fortunately, author and scholar Steven J. Rosen is not one to let cynics get
in the way of exploring what beckons to be explored. The result is Christ and
Krishna: Where the Jordan Meets the Ganges (FOLK Books, 2011), a refreshing
and engaging look at devotional Christianity and Vaishnava Hinduism in
conversation. The book’s diminutive size (a concise and readable 140 pages) and
casual tone belie its powerful impact; it is as informative as it is informed, and
as moving as it is grounded in impeccable scholarship and thoughtful analysis.
Of course, this is hardly surprising to those who are familiar with Rosen’s work
and qualifications. A versatile writer, he is as comfortable authoring a textbook on
Hinduism (Essential Hinduism, Praeger, 2008) or editing a well-respected academic
journal (The Journal of Vaishnava Studies, which he founded) as he is musing on
the parallels between Star Wars and the Ramayana (The Jedi and the Lotus, Arktos
Media, 2010). Moreover, Rosen gets interfaith. He served for many years as the
director for interreligious affairs for the New York chapter of the International
Society for Krishna Consciousness. As a Jewish-born practitioner of a tradition
with roots in India, Rosen also has a unique (if not complicated) lens through
which to peer at both Abrahamic and Dharmic faiths.
In fact, my first encounter with Rosen’s work came when, as a High School
student perusing a bookstore in my native New York City, I chanced upon a short
247
book on interfaith dialogue he co-authored. The book, called East-West Dialogues

(FOLK Books, 1989), featured transcripts of conversations between Rosen and
the Rev. Alvin V.P. Hart, head chaplain at St. Luke’s Roosevelt Hospital. As I read
through the book, I became thrilled that such dialogue actually happened—and in
my own backyard, as it were. Coincidentally, many years later my own vocational
journey would find me serving as a chaplain at St. Luke’s Roosevelt Hospital as
well. As the only Hindu in a program that was largely dominated by and rooted in
a Christian model of pastoral care, I dug up my old copy of East-West Dialogues (by
now, well-read and dog-eared) to help me navigate through the experience.
If Rosen and Hart lay the foundation in East-West Dialogues, Rosen builds
on that foundation in Christ and Krishna in order to explore intersections and
parallels between the two faiths on a deeper level. This is laudable for a number
of reasons. In the present review, I’d like to focus on three things about Christ
and Krishna that particularly struck me: Rosen’s stylistic choice to present the
book as a dialogue between old friends; his straightforward and courageous
tackling of uncomfortable issues; and his sensitivity to religious feeling as a
valid aspect of interfaith dialogue.
I feel that one of the book’s greatest strengths is the way in which Rosen
frames the dialogue itself. By presenting the exploration of these two faiths
as a fictional conversation between two childhood friends—Father Francis
(Frank) and Saragrahi Maharaj (Swami)—whose lives have led them to embrace
commitments to different faiths, Rosen immediately and naturally draws us
away from the theoretical and into the realm of the personal. Employing a
narrative involving characters makes for more engaging reading, of course,
but it does much more. It also conveys the awareness that truly meaningful
interfaith dialogue doesn’t take place on the level of religions in conversation, as
much as it does on the level of people in conversation.
This awareness seems to be on the rise. Many of us have experienced,
especially in the last five to ten years, a palpable shift in the way people of
faith now view interfaith dialogue. Increasingly, the institutional, formal and
doctrine-driven approach that dominated the field in previous decades seems
to be giving way to the personal, informal, and relational model. Rosen is able
to show the obvious benefits of such an approach through Frank and Swami’s
interactions. As readers, we benefit from the theological insights and wisdom
that Rosen writes into their dialogue, but we also get an invaluable glimpse
into the context within which that dialogue takes place. We witness them eat
together and walk together; we eavesdrop on them as they laugh while sharing
their childhood memories; in an especially poignant scene, we find them gazing
Book Review 249
out at the vastness of the Ganges river and waxing philosophical, coming to
terms with the bittersweet truth that their paths have called them in different
directions. All of this is, at least according to some of us, is a critical part of what
it means to “do interfaith” in the real world, and Rosen captures it beautifully.
Secondly, I feel that Christ and Krishna is admirable for its boldness
in addressing, head on and unapologetically, thorny issues that often go
untouched in Hindu-Christian dialogue. For instance, Rosen writes Frank as
a former Hindu who converted to Christianity, and has Swami raise the issue
of his conversion at the very outset of their dialogue, early in the book. How
refreshing and courageous! Rosen could have easily avoided the uncomfortable
conversation altogether. He could have had Swami remain silent on his friend’s
choice, or could simply have written Frank as someone born into Christianity
to begin with. Instead, he chooses to call out the “elephant in the room”, and
offers us an important learning opportunity in the process.
Far too many of us steer clear of issues like proselytizing and conversion
while engaging in interfaith dialogue, afraid of offending the other or opening
a proverbial can of worms. We keep our true feelings to ourselves, privately
maintain our prejudices and reservations, and timidly dance around the
issue. It may be polite, but it usually rings hollow and keeps our dialogue on a
superficial, even artificial level.
Rosen, on the other hand, reminds us that deep, meaningful dialogue demands
that we ask the uncomfortable questions of one another. He demonstrates how
this can be done in a spirit of respect and sensitivity, perhaps drawing on his
own experiences as a convert (albeit one who went from West to East). Rosen is
similarly evenhanded in his tackling of other, difficult issues. Through the course
of the dialogue, he has Frank and Swami touch on a number of issues—idolatry,
polytheism, and vegetarianism, to name but a few—that typically make Hindu-
Christian dialogue particularly challenging.
A third way in which Christ and Krishna excels is in its sensitivity to the
role that religious feeling and experience plays in interfaith dialogue. The
two protagonists of the book are, as Rosen presents them, veritable scholars
of their own traditions and religion in general. They are obviously educated
and thoughtful theologians. At the same time, they are also deep feeling
practitioners—as comfortable speaking from the heart-space as they are
sharing their intellectual wisdom with one another. Rosen demonstrates,
through these characters, that interfaith dialogue is enriched when participants
can share their feelings along with their theological viewpoints or stances.
Sadly, this embrace of the validity of religious feeling is all too rare in much
interfaith dialogue. By writing the characters in the way he does, Rosen gently
nudges us towards a more holistic and integrated view of faith and interfaith
dialogue. In this respect, we might see another layer of meaning behind Rosen’s
titling his book Christ and Krishna.
The book is less about comparing these two Deities, perhaps, than it is about
the meeting of two practitioners who have fallen so deeply in love with Christ
and Krishna respectively, that they can’t help but share their stories with one
another. Swami and Frank are, one might argue, at their dialogical best when
they are expressing to one another just what it is about Christ or Krishna that
has turned each of their lives so wonderfully upside down.
These strengths notwithstanding, I would be remiss to not articulate one
area in which I felt this book could have been stronger. I hope that the author
might consider incorporating this feedback in making revisions for any
subsequent re-prints of the book, or if Frank and the Swami should meet again
(as I hope they will) in a sequel.
As I stated earlier, one of the strengths of the book is that Rosen depicts
Frank and Swami as deep thinking, mature men of faith. Their conversation
is informed by their traditions and spiritual practices, but also by their
remarkable ability to recognize the Divine even outside of their own traditions.
At times, however, this may be to a fault; they are so exemplary in their
spiritual maturity that we sometimes lose the “humanness” of the characters.
They become distant figures, and we (the flawed readers) may feel that we are
so far removed from that elevated stage that we cease to connect with them.
To cut against this possibility, Rosen might have included a few more scenes in
which we get to glimpse Frank and Swami experiencing struggles or hitting a
brick wall or two in their dialogue.
Rosen offers a few such detours, but only sparingly and cautiously;
moments of tension are too quickly and politely resolved. As many of us
have experienced, however, dialogue with a member of another faith
(especially an old friend or family member who has undergone a radical
conversion experience) can be joyous and fascinating . . . but it can also
involve feelings of frustration, alienation, and painful challenges to
one’s paradigm. Seeing the two characters act some of this out—even in
the smallest of ways—might have helped us to see ourselves more in them.
To be fair to Rosen, this may be a bit of an unrealistic expectation for a
book of this size and written for this purpose. To flesh out Frank and Swami
as fuller, more sympathetic characters would require Rosen to write the
book more as a novel than a fable.
Book Review 251
A final point: as I read Christ and Krishna, I couldn’t help but remember
another book I had read a few years ago that bears some superficial similarity
to this one. Ravi Zacharias’s New Birth or Rebirth: Jesus Talks With Krishna
(Multnomah Books, 2008) is also a concise, lively, and readable exploration
of Hinduism and Christianity. Like Rosen, Zacharias also employs the device
of parable or imagined conversation (though in his case, the conversation is
between the two divine personalities themselves, rather than their devotees) to
convey theological and philosophical points. However that may be all that these
two books truly have in common.
While Rosen’s predilections and leanings are clear from his work, he does
not play favorites in the same way that Zacharias does. He allows his readers
to think for themselves. Whereas Rosen uses the medium to try to give each
tradition a personal voice and convey a sense of balance and mutual respect,
Zacharias does quite the opposite—taking the opportunity to expose the
spurious teachings of Krishna (or, more accurately, his straw-man caricature
of Krishna) as inferior to the salvation offered exclusively by Jesus. A thorough
critique of New Birth or Rebirth requires it’s own review, but suffice it to say
that as a Hindu chaplain, Vaishnava practitioner, and frequent participant in
interfaith dialogue, I find that book morally troubling, academically dishonest,
and deeply offensive. It may be presented as “comparative religion” or cloaked
in pseudo-intellectual language to soften the blows, but at its core Zacharias’s
book betrays a triumphalism, bigoted agenda.
I bring this up, only because it helps me to recognize that Steven Rosen’s book
is fueled by an agenda of its own. Thankfully, however, Rosen’s agenda seems to
be one of furthering understanding and inspiring meaningful dialogue. This he
accomplishes by shining light on commonality while acknowledging—and even
celebrating—that which each tradition holds as unique. And this is, perhaps, the
highest compliment I can pay to Christ and Krishna. To put it bluntly: if books like
the one by Zacharias spew the poison of sectarianism and prejudice, Rosen’s book
provides the most effective and fitting antidote to that poison. This alone should
make Christ and Krishna: Where the Jordan Meets the Ganges required reading for
anyone serious about interfaith today.
Christ and Krishna
Where the Jordan Meets the Ganges
T ’his book offers insight into the mystical aspect of the religious
journey. Its intent is to highlight the harmony of spiritual
truth, not the divisiveness that often separates religious traditions.
This is achieved through the
medium of a story—a dialogue
between two friends, both born
and raised in India. One is a
wandering mendicant in the
Vaishnava-Hindu tradition
and the other a Jesuit theo-
logian. Together, they unlock
the mysteries of their respec-
tive traditions, showing both
similarities and differences. In
the ultimate analysis, how-
ever, their paths embody an
overarching oneness, allow-
ing them to speak in terms of
nonsectarianism and universal
spirituality.
In keeping with the current “Vaishnava-Christian” theme of JVS, our

readers are offered a special discount on this new interreligious volume:
•Originally $14.95, it is now avaialble to JVS readers for $10.00

(add $2.00 for postage and handling, $5.00 outside the U.S.)
•Checks (drawn on U.S. banks only) or international post office

money orders should be made payable to: Folk Books
and sent to: The Journal of Vaishnava Studies
P. O. Box 108
Nyack, NY 10960 USA
Contributors
Francis X. Clooney, S.J., joined the Divinity School in 2005. He is

Parkman Professor of Divinity and Professor of Comparative Theology.
After earning his doctorate in South Asian languages and civilizations
(University of Chicago, 1984), he taught at Boston College until
coming to Harvard. His primary areas of scholarship are theological
commentarial writings in the Sanskrit and Tamil traditions of Hindu
India, and the developing field of comparative theology, a discipline
distinguished by attentiveness to the dynamics of theological learning
deepened through the study of traditions other than one's own. He has
also written on the Jesuit missionary tradition, particularly in India, and
the dynamics of dialogue in the contemporary world. Professor Clooney
is the author of numerous articles and books, including most recently
Comparative Theology: Deep Learning Across Religious Borders (Wiley-
Blackwell, 2010). He also recently edited The New Comparative Theology:
Voices from the Next Generation (Continuum, 2010). His current major
project, tentatively titled “He Has Made Darkness His Hiding Place,” is
an exercise in dramatic theology, exploring the absence of God in accord
with the Biblical Song of Songs and the Hindu Holy Word of Mouth
(Tiruvaymoli). He is a Roman Catholic priest and a member of the Society
of Jesus. Since 2010, he is also the director of the Center for the Study of
World Religions at Harvard Divinity School.
John Borelli is Special Assistant for Interreligious Initiatives to the

President of Georgetown University. He served at the Secretariat for
Ecumenical and Interreligious Affairs of the U. S. Conference of Catholic
Bishops for 16 years and Interim Director from 2001-2002. He staffed
three ongoing dialogues with Muslims, one with Buddhists, and other
interreligious projects, including with Anuttama Dasa the Vaisnava-
Christian dialogue. He also staffed ecumenical dialogues with Orthodox
253
Christians and with Anglicans. A consultor to the Vatican’s Pontifical

Council for Interreligious Dialogue from 1991-2007, Borelli now also serves
as the U. S. Jesuit Conference’s Coordinator for Interreligious Dialogue.
He completed his doctorate with a dissertation on Vijñānabikshu, at
Fordham University, teaching full-time there during his final year and for
11 years at the College of Mount St. Vincent (New York City). Besides over
180 articles in the past 35 years, he has edited two books and co-authored,
Interfaith Dialogue: A Catholic View, with Archbishop Michael L. Fitzgerald
(SPCK/Orbis Books, 2006).
Anuttama Dasa is the Director of Communications for the International

Society for Krishna Consciousness (ISKCON), a monotheistic Vaishnava
Hindu tradition. He has served as a member of ISKCON’s International
Governing Body Commission (GBC) since 1999, and is currently one of
three members of ISKCON’s GBC Executive Committee. Dasa served as
President of ISKCON temples in Denver, Colorado, and Washington, D.C.,
and was founding Board Member of Children of Krishna, an organization
created to assist victims of abuse. He was twice Vice President of the
Religion Communicators Council (RCC), a New York based interfaith
organization, and serves on the Board of Religions for Peace. He also
serves as Trustee of the Bhaktivedanta College, ISKCON's first accredited
College, located in Belgium. He travels extensively teaching seminars
on Communications and Leadership. He and his wife, Rukmini, live in
Rockville, Maryland.
Graham M. Schweig is a scholar of comparative religion who focuses

on the religions of India. He is a specialist in love mysticism, yoga
philosophy, and bhakti traditions. He did his graduate studies at Harvard
University and the University of Chicago, receiving his doctorate in
Comparative Religion from Harvard. Schweig taught at Duke University,
was Visiting Associate Professor of Sanskrit at the University of Virginia,
and is a regularly invited lecturer at the Smithsonian Institution. He is
currently professor of philosophy and religious studies and director of
the Asian studies program at Christopher Newport University, on the
Virginia peninsula. His book, Dance of Divine Love: The Rāsa Līlā of Krishna
from the Bhāgavata Purāṇa, was published by Princeton University Press
(2005), Bhagavad Gītā: The Beloved Lord’s Secret Love Song, was published by
Harper Collins Publishers (2007), and most recently the edited volume,
Contributors 255
A Living Theology of Krishna Bhakti, by Tamal Krishna Goswami, published

by Oxford (2012). Two other books are forthcoming from Columbia
University Press: The Bhakti Sūtra: Nārada’s Concise Teachings on Divine
Love, and Bhagavad Gītā Concordance: Comprehensive Word Reference.
Kenneth Cracknell is President Emeritus of the Cambridge Theological

Federation where he also taught Comparative Religion in the University.
He has served in the USA as Professor of Theology and Global Studies,
Brite Divinity School, Fort Worth, Texas. For ten years he was director
of interfaith concerns for the British Council of Churches in London and
has also been a long-time consultant for the interfaith work of the World
Council of Churches. He has been associated with ISKCON since 1984.
His most recent book on interfaith relations is In Good and Generous Faith:
Christian Responses to Religious Pluralism (2006). He is married to Susan J.
White and now lives in Vermont.
Klaus K. Klostermaier (born 1933 in Munich, Germany) is a researcher

on Hinduism and Indian history and culture. He obtained a PhD in
philosophy from the Gregorian University in Rome in 1961, and another
in “Ancient Indian History and Culture” from the University of Bombay
in 1969. He joined the Department of Religion at the University of
Manitoba (Canada) in 1970 and he is the recipient of numerous academic
awards. In 1986 he was elected “Distinguished Professor.”He was
nominated in 1998 a Fellow of the Royal Society of Canada, and was
made Head of the Department of Religion at the University of Manitoba
(Canada) from 1986 to 1997 (and director of its “Asian Studies Center”),
1990–1995. He was the Director of Academic Affairs at the Oxford
Centre for Hindu Studies from 1997–1998. A festschrift in his honour was
published in 2004. He has spent ten years in India and has researched
primary sources in languages like Sanskrit, Hindi, Pali, Latin, Classical
Greek, German, Italian and French.
Tamal Krishna Goswami (1946-2002) was one of the closest and most
influential disciples of the founder of the Hare Krishna Movement,
A. C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupāda. Goswami was a monk, an
author, and a world teacher who was interested in delving deeply into
the bhakti theology of his own tradition in order to enter further into
interfaith exchanges. Before his untimely death in 2002 at the age of

56, he became a student of theology at the University of Cambridge,
under the tutelage of Julius Lipner. Goswami’s academic training at the
University of Cambridge, his thirty years’ experience as a practitioner
and teacher, and his extensive interactions with Prabhupāda as both
personal secretary and managerial representative, afforded him a
unique opportunity to understand and illuminate the theological
contribution of Prabhupāda. Goswami’s final work was his nearly
completed doctoral dissertation, which has been put into final book
form and published by Oxford University Press, New York, under
the title of A Living Theology of Krishna Bhakti: Essential Teachings of A. C.
Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupāda. Goswami proves that the voice of the
scholar-practitioner can be intimately connected with his tradition
while sustaining a mature critical stance relative to his subject.
Peter C. Phan is the inaugural holder of the Ignacio Ellacuría Chair

of Catholic Social Thought at Georgetown University and is the
founding Director of the Graduate Studies Program in Theology and
Religious Studies. He has earned three doctorates: Doctor of Sacred
Theology from the Universitas Pontificia Salesiana, Rome, and Doctor
of Philosophy and Doctor of Divinity from the University of London.
He has also received two honorary degrees: Doctor of Theology from
Catholic Theological Union and Doctor of Humane Letters from Elms
College. Professor Phan began his teaching career in philosophy at the
age of eighteen at Don Bosco College, Hong Kong. In the United States,
he has taught at the University of Dallas, TX; the Catholic University
of America, Washington, DC, where he held the Warren-Blanding
Chair of Religion and Culture; Union Theological Seminary, NY; Elms
College, Chicopee, MA; and St. Norbert College, De Pere, WI. He is
the first non-white to be elected President of Catholic Theological
Society of America. In 2010 he was awarded the John Courtney Murray
Award, the highest honor given by the Catholic Theological Society of
America for outstanding achievements in theology. His publications in
theology are wide-ranging.
Ravindra Svarupa Dasa (William H. Deadwyler) received a B.A. in

Philosophy from the University of Pennsylvania in 1966 and a Ph.D. in
Contributors 257
Religion from Temple University in 1980. In 1971 he became an initiated

disciple of Srila Prabhupada as well as the president of ISKCON’s
Philadelphia temple. He has also served as a writer, lecturer, and
researcher with ISKCON’s Bhaktivedanta Institute and as a writer and
editor for Back to Godhead magazine. In 1987 he was elected to ISKCON’s
ecclesiastical board, known as the Governing Body Commission. He has
published a number of articles about Gaudiya Vaishnava philosophy
and about ISKCON. Articles include “Radha, Krishna, Chaitanya: The
Inner Dialectic of the Divine Relativity” published in the Journal of
Vaishnava Studies; “Bringing the Lord’s Song to a Strange Land: Srila
Prabhupada’s Strategy of ‘Cultural Conquest’ and Its Prospects”
published in the anthology The Hare Krishna Movement: Forty Years of
Chant and Change.
James A. Wiseman, OSB, is a Benedictine monk at St. Anselm's

Abbey in Washington, DC, and in June, 2011 was elected abbot of the
monastery for an eight-year term. He is a member of the board of
Monastic Interreligious Dialogue and served as its president from
1994-1999. He was also a full-time member of the faculty of theology
at The Catholic University of America for twenty-seven years, having
retired from that position after being elected abbot. Abbot Wiseman
is the author of several books, including Spirituality and Mysticism: A
Global View (Orbis Books, 2006) and Theology and Modern Science: Quest for
Coherence (Continuum, 2002), and he co-edited several others, including
The Gethsemani Encounter: A Dialogue on the Spiritual Life by Buddhist and
Christian Monastics (Continuum, 1997), Transforming Suffering: Reflections on
Finding Peace in Troubled Times (Doubleday, 2003), and Light from Light: An
Anthology of Christian Mysticism, rev. ed. (Paulist Press, 2001).
Claire Robison is a doctoral student specializing in South Asian

religions and cultures in the Department of Religious Studies at the
University of California, Santa Barbara. Claire was trained in historical-
critical methods of studying religion, particularly in regard to Christian
and Hindu traditions, during her undergraduate at the University of
Oxford. She also completed a Master’s degree (M.Phil.) at the University
of Cambridge, where she focused on Vaishnava bhakti movements and
influential sants of sixteenth-century North India. Her research interests
include Vaishnava and South Asian Islamic traditions. She has been
involved with the Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue since 2006.
James D. Redington, S.J., Ph.D., is presently Senior Jesuit Fellow

for Interfaith Dialogue in the Office of Mission and Identity at St.
Joseph’s University, Philadelphia, and Adjunct Associate Professor of
Dialogue and Hinduism in the Department of Theology and Religious
Studies there. His doctoral and subsequent writings have specialized
on Vallabhacharya, founder of the Vaishnava “Path of Grace”
(Pushtimarga). Two books have resulted: Vallabhacarya on the Love
Games of Krsna (1983; Motilal Banarsidass), and The Grace of Lord Krishna:
The Sixteen Verse-Treatises of Vallabhacharya (2000; Indian Books Centre).
A Catholic priest, he has taught at Georgetown University, Arrupe
College (Harare, Zimbabwe), and the Graduate Theological Union
in Berkeley, and has happily been part of the Vaishnava-Christian
Dialogue since 2001.
Edward L. Shirley is a professor and Area Coordinator of Religious and

Theological Studies at St. Edward’s University. His doctorate is from
Fordham University. He has taught part time at other institutions, and
has given classes and presentations for numerous Church-affiliated
groups across the country. He has received numerous awards for his
teaching, including the University-wide Teaching Excellence Award
for 2008-2009.He is a member of the American Academy of Religion,
the Catholic Theological Society of America, and is the past secretary
for the Society for Buddhist Christian Studies. He has given a number
of presentations at professional conferences, and has published on a
variety of subjects, many of them in Secular Franciscan publications.He
has been actively engaged in interreligious dialogue, and is currently
the chair of the Ecumenical/Interfaith Committee for the Secular
Franciscan Order in the U.S.
Gopal K. Gupta is pursuing a D.Phil. in Religious Studies at Oxford

University. He holds a Master’s degree in Science and Religion from
Oxford, as well as a Masters in Electrical Engineering and Artificial
Intelligence from Boise State University. Gopal has taught courses in
Science and Religion at the College of Idaho and is a frequent instructor
with the University of Chester’s Religious Studies Open Learning
Contributors 259
Programme. At Oxford, Gopal is writing a dissertation on the concepts

of māyā and yoga in the Bhāgavata Purāṇa. His research interests
include conceptions of consciousness, nature and divine agency in
classical and contemporary Hindu thought.
Ravi M. Gupta is Associate Professor of Religious Studies at The College

of William and Mary. He holds a doctoral degree in Hindu Studies from
Oxford University and recently served as the Shivdasani Research
Fellow at the Oxford Centre for Hindu Studies. Ravi is the recipient
of three awards for excellence in teaching. He is the author of The
Caitanya Vaiṣṇava Vedānta of Jīva Gosvāmī: When Knowledge Meets Devotion
(Routledge, 2007) and co-editor of The Bhāgavata Purāṇa: Sacred Text
and Living Tradition (Columbia University Press, 2012). He is currently
editing a volume on Caitanya Vaishnava philosophy for Ashgate’s World
Philosophies series and co-authoring another book on the Bhāgavata
Purāṇa for Columbia University Press.
Sara M. Adams completed a B.S. in Religion as well as Environmental

Science from the University of Oregon in 2003 and a Masters of The-
ology from Harvard Divinity School in 2006. While at Harvard, she
focused on South Asian theology and Vaishnava traditions. Since 2006,
Sara has resided and served full-time at ISKCON's Philadelphia temple.
Her article “Jagannatha’s Journey” was published in the Fall 2008 Journal
of Vaishnava Studies.
Vineet Chander is the Coordinator for Hindu Life at Princeton Uni-

versity, a Religious Life Leader at the Lawrenceville School, and
Adjunct Professor at Farleigh Dickinson University. An attorney
and communications consultant, he previously served as the North
American Communications Director for the International Society for
Krishna Consciousness (ISKCON). His areas of specialty include the
Bhakti movement, models of pastoral counseling, and the ongoing
development of the Hindu-American diaspora community. His writing
has appeared in publications ranging from the Journal of Vaishnava
Studies to the George Washington University International Law Review, and
he has also served as a regular contributor to Beliefnet.com and the
Huffington Post. Vineet serves on the Board of Directors of The Bhakti
Center, a dynamic educational and community center rooted in the
practices and culture of the Chaitanya Vaishnava tradition in the heart

of New York City. He lives in New Jersey with his wife and daughter.
David Buchta is a doctoral candidate in South Asia Studies at the

University of Pennsylvania and Lecturer in Sanskrit Language and
Literature at Rutgers University. He has published papers in the Journal of
Vaishnava Studies and the Journal of Hindu Studies and is currently writing a
dissertation on the poetry of Rūpa Gosvāmin.
Rukmini Walker is involved in interfaith dialogue and women’s

spiritual empowerment. As a Vaishnava Hindu priest she often speaks
on Bhakti Yoga and the traditions of kirtan. She is the owner of the “As
Kindred Spirits” boutiques with three locations in the Washington, DC
Metro area. Before opening “As Kindred Spirits,” she lived and worked in
yoga ashrams as an artist and teacher in the US and India for twenty-five
years. She was initiated into the Chaitanya Vaishnava Sampradaya as a
disciple of Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada in 1968. The well-known
kirtan artist, Gauravani is her son. She lives in Rockville, Maryland with
her husband, Anuttama.
Gerald T. Carney is Elliott Professor of South Asian Religions at

Hampden-Sydney College in Virginia. Following doctoral work on
Vaishnava devotional drama as an expression of theological vision, Jerry
has done text and field research on devotional aesthetics, Vaishnava
theological systems, and the challenge of modern society to traditional
pilgrimage practice. He is completing a critical biography of Baba
Premananda Bharati, a Vaishnava missionary to the West in the early
20th century; a portion of this study formed the introduction to a new
edition of Baba Bharati’s Sree Krishna—the Lord of Love. Photographic
documentation of devotional practice has become an increasingly
central focus of Jerry’s late career, especially in contrasting the growing
commercialization of religious life with traditional forms. He lives in
Lynchburg, Virginia, with his wife, Dr. Ellen Deluca, and their son, Peter.
Carole Crumley is the Senior Program Director at Shalem Institute

for Spiritual Formation, an organization dedicated to nurturing
contemplative living and leadership in the Christian tradition. Her
Contributors 261
responsibilities include directing Shalem’s Clergy Spiritual Life and

Leadership: Going Deeper Program, an ecumenical program to nurture
the spiritual heart and leadership of congregational clergy. She also
serves as Senior Guardian for the Shalem Society for Contemplative
Leadership and Director of Shalem’s Young Adult Contemplative
Living and Leadership Initiative. She is an Episcopal priest and an
experienced pilgrimage guide to sacred and secular sites throughout
Europe, the Middle East and the U.S. Before joining the Shalem
Institute staff, she served for many years as Canon Educator at the
Washington National Cathedral.
Jon Pahl is Professor of the History of Christianity in North America

and Director of MA Programs for The Lutheran Theological Seminary
at Philadelphia. His Ph.D. is from the University of Chicago. Jon has
spoken with audiences from Ankara to Anaheim, and on media outlets
from the BBC to ABC. He is Chair of the American Academy of Religion
Study Group on Religions, Social Conflict, and Peace, and has published
numerous articles, columns, essays, and six books, including Shopping
Malls and Other Sacred Spaces: Putting God in Place and most recently
Empire of Sacrifice: The Religious Origins of American Violence. He is working
on a book with the tentative title “A Coming Religious Peace,” and is
actively engaged in inter-religious dialogue.
Samuel Wagner earned a M.A. with a focus on religions of India

under the supervision of Professor William Cenkner at The Catholic
University of America in 1999. He held the position of Assistant to the
Executive Director/Office Manager at the Secretariat of Ecumenical
and Interreligious Affairs at the United States Conference of Catholic
Bishops from 1999-2009. In 2008 he project-managed two papal events
for Pope Benedict XVI’s visit to the United States. For the past 20 years
he has been writing, recording and performing music. Following a trip to
Hyderabad, India in August 2005, he became a student of Indian Classical
Music and began learning the sitar. He is a member of the Evangelical
Lutheran Church in America, and is currently a stay-at-home father.
Vaishnava Temple
Music in Vrindaban:
the Rādhāvallabha Songbook
This book presents a special
collection of devotional music
and poetry in the Braj Bhasha
dialect of Hindi and in English
translation, along with audio
samples of many of the songs
and a wealth of annotations.
Within the context of the

Vaishnava worship of Krishna,
the Rādhāvallabha (“Dearest of
Rādhā”) tradition has created
these songs to serve as part of its
liturgy celebrating the irresistible
young Krishna’s life in Braja. The
108 songs here are arranged to
follow the year’s festival seasons,
from Holi in the Spring through
summer and monsoon seasons to
the Birth Festivals and Rāsa Dance
Available at of autumn. The Rādhāvallabha
Sampradāya (tradition) dates back
Barnes & Noble to the sixteenth century CE and
and Amazon.com! is one of the foremost bhakti
(devotional) movements in India
Also available from though it is relatively unknown
Blazing Sapphire Press outside of northern India.
The Hardcover $36.00

Song
Divine
or Bhagavadgītā
by C.C. Caleb
Softcover $18.00 Visit us at www.blazing-sapphire-press.com
Phone: (660) 665-0273

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International Advisory Board

Nirmal Narayan Gupta

Subscriber Information: The Journal of Vaishnava Studies is published two

Publishing Information: Manu­script submissions, ad­ver­tising, books for

Copyright ©2012 A. Deepak Publishing, Inc. The copyright of all printed

Francis X. Clooney, S. J./Prologue: Reflections on Vaishnava-Christian 7

John Borelli/ Why Hindu-Christian Dialogue: A Catholic Reflection 15

Anuttama Dasa/Thoughts on the History and Development of the 35

Graham M. Schweig/Vaishnava Bhakti Theology and Interfaith Dialogue 51

Kenneth Cracknell/Christian Theology and Interfaith Dialogue 69

Klaus Klostermaier/The Soul and Its Destiny: Christian Perspectives 91

Ravindra Svarupa Dasa/The Nature of the Self: A Gauḍīya Vaishnava 127

James A. Wiseman/Reflections on St. Bonaventure’s The Soul’s 133

Claire Robison/Metaphors of Transcendence: A Study of Spiritual Progress 147

Edward L. Shirley/The Word Became Flesh: The Dynamic Humanity 187

Sara M. Adams (Śraddhādevi dāsī)/The Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue: 219

Vineet Chander/The Quiet Revolution in Potomac 221

David Buchta/The Value of Imbalance in Interreligious Dialogue 225

Rukmini Walker/Thoughts on Our Many Years of Vaishnava-Christian 229

Gerald Carney/Reflecting on our Journey 233

Rev. Carole A Crumley/Reflection: Christian/ Vaishnava Dialogue 237

Jon Pahl/Reflections on Five Years of Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue 239

Samuel Wagner/A Dialogue of Friendship 243

Book Review 247

I n the mid-1960s, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel (1907–1972) articulated

In the Brahma-samhita (5.38), we find, premāñjana-cchurita-bhakti-vilocanena:

I am honored to contribute to this special issue of the Journal of Vaishnava

The Theological Problems and Possibilities

The Hard Work To Be Done

I first read these words of Nostra Aetate 2 with particular enthusiasm

to understand the mystery of Christ, ever present and revealing behind

Context and Resources for Vatican II

December 3, 1964, to an audience representative of the peoples of India, Pope

The next day, he told an audience of representatives of various religions:

Updating the Message of Nostra Aetate

Four days later in Madras on February 5, he cited Gandhi on the importance

And then, he cited another sage, one of Tamilnadu, Pattinattar: “Believe

Pope John Paul II returned to India in 1999. There on November 7 in New

needy, establishing justice where it is lacking, and restoring public virtue.

Why This Vaishnava-Christian Dialogue?

Studies. Networking with Hindu and Christian scholars with an interest in

W hile in Denver Colorado, my home from 1975 to 1993, I had my first

The Washington, D.C. Dialogues

I come to this dialogue in the mood of a pilgrim: “I know a little something

Why Vaishnavas Should Be in Dialogue

A. C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, Founder-Acarya of ISKCON, explains

Humility, pridelessness, non-violence, tolerance . . . accepting the importance

Humility and pridelessness are of central importance to self-realization and

Why ISKCON Should Be in Dialogue

ISKCON’s members are encouraged to be respectful to people of faith from

ISKCON affirms the responsibility of each individual to develop his or her

Dialogue offers a challenge to the faith to devotees of every tradition.

In this statement we find that ISKCON is “bullish” about dialogue. ISKCON

Institutional Benefits of Dialogue to ISKCON, and Beyond

In my experience, dialogue between Vaishnavas and Christians, in particular,

there are many different political parties, although everyone is meant to

In conclusion, I offer my gratitude to both my Vaishnava and Christian

Professor Ed Shirley’s Facebook page.

D ialogue holds a profoundly important place in the practices and

Publishing Information: Manuscript submissions, advertising, books for