Cleaning House and
Cleaning Hearts
Reform and Renewal in
ISKCON
A paper delivered at the Vaishnava Academy
conference held in Wiesbaden, Germany in January, 1994. Published in ISKCON Communications Journal,
No. 3 (January - June, 1994), pp. 43-52 (Part 1); and No. 4 (July - December,
1994), 25-33 (Part 2).
In 1971 I underwent the profoundly wrenching change
of becoming a member of the International Society for Krishna Consciousness,
leaving one life and embarking on another. I abandoned old associations to
immerse myself totally in the life of a tight-knit temple commune; I radically
restyled my exterior to complement my utterly changed interior. I became a
stranger in my own land.
I undertook such an arduous passage because I was convinced
that I was thereby effecting an ontological crossing: I was leaving the
material dimension for the spiritual, awakening from the nightmare of history
to the peace of eternity. ISKCON temples were embassies of the kingdom of God.
Although apparently located in maya’s realm, they were under direct divine
jurisdiction. There the powers of material conditioning and desire had no sway.
This is what I believed.
Looking back at that younger self of mine—twenty-six
years old at the time—I am appalled by his naiveté—“stupidity” would be
appropriate—and at the same time awed by his sacrificial commitment. Foolish
and ignorant though he was, I am more than ever convinced that, by the grace of
God, he made the right choice. That decision of my younger self is indeed the
spiritual capital on which I still live. My self-doubt, rather, is whether I
would at this time have the courage to make such a decision, knowing what I
know now.
What I know now, of course, is that transcendence is
not so easily attained, that history does not so easily release us from its
grasp. What I know now is that the line that separates the godly from the
ungodly is not congruent with the line dividing ISKCON from non-ISKCON. I know
now that, like most in this world, I am committed—in my case deeply
committed—to an institution that has done things that make me appalled and
ashamed.
I joined ISKCON in my youth, when ISKCON itself was
new-born. Over the last quarter-century both of us have matured together. I can
no longer be called by any stretch of the term a “youth”, nor can ISKCON be
called a “youth-religion.” Through struggle and difficulty ISKCON has
attained—has been forced to attain—concrete awareness of its own limitation,
and has, on the institutional level, enacted structures of self-criticism and
self-correction. I want to set before you what I think is the central problem
ISKCON has faced in that struggle. That problem arises out of both the internal
dynamics of its spiritual endeavor and of the historical situation it has found
itself in.
ISKCON aims at creating “pure devotees” of God, that
is to say, people who serve God without any personal motive and without any
interruption and who are free from all material desires. It is not thought in
ISKCON that this is an ideal we must all, inevitably, fall short of. On the
contrary, ISKCON has the ability to present this ideal as a practical aim to
its members and potential members in a extraordinarily vivid manner. Its
members internalize this ideal for themselves, an ideal that demands an
exacting and unremitting standard of purity in deeds, in words, in thought.
ISKCON says to people that pure devotional service,
though an extremely elevated condition, is an attainable goal. Whenever ISKCON
is powerful in recruiting new members and drawing from them a high level of
commitment, it is because it can preach this with great confidence. People join
and people remain because a very high ideal seems feasible of realization.
Much of the power with which ISKCON is able to
present this ideal as both a desirable and an achievable aim depends upon the
concrete, physical presence of a successful devotee who functions as an
exemplary model, a paradigmatic individual. This personage—the guru, or acarya (one who teaches by his own
behavior), not only embodies the ideal for all to see, but also delivers the
divine grace by which others can become similarly advanced. Thus the
institution itself requires devotees who appear to have realized the ideals.
The problem for ISKCON has been to deal
constructively with its own failures to live up to its ideals. Many more people
have been attracted to the principles of Krishna consciousness than are
actually able to follow them. Its more public shortcomings or scandals have
resulted from a somewhat protracted refusal or inability to recognize its
problems. In the minds of many devotees, they were simply not supposed to
happen.
The difficulty for ISKCON was exacerbated from the
beginning, however, by the marginal social position of most of the early
recruits. They were very young and very alienated, and in joining ISKCON they
because double dropouts—from mainstream society into the countercuture, from
the counterculture into ISKCON. At the same time, certain attitutes of the 60s
counterculture were retained and became part of the unofficial culture of
ISKCON.
When A. C. Bhaktivedanta Swami—later known to his
disciples by the honorific tittle “Srila Prabhupada”—began preaching in New
York City in the second half of the 60s, he characterized Krishna consciousness
by a hendiadys that became something of a catchphrase: Krishna consciousness,
he said, is “simultaneously easy and sublime.” The combination seems unlikely,
for the easy is usually common and ordinary, and the sublime, difficult of
realization. Yet in presenting this unlikely conjunction, Srila Prabhupada was
quite faithful representing his received Vaishnava (monotheistic, devotional)
tradition from India.
That tradition, called “Gaudiya Vaishnavism” had
attained its distinctive identity in sixteenth century Bengal, as a reformed
branch of a much older Vaishnava tradition. This reformation was the
achievement of Shri Chaitanya Mahaprabhu (1486-1533). Somewhat like his
European contemporary, Martin Luthur, Mahaprabhu stressed a direct, intimately
personal relationship with God, unmediated by the traditional priestly offices
and ritual formularies, and Mahaprabhu was vigorous in extending this
relationship to everyone, even the outcastes, the untouchables, and the fallen.
These two tendencies were consonant with Vaishnava
tradition in general. Vaishnavism had always propounded, as the highest
salvation, a relationship with a transcendent person, whom it viewed as
ontological higher than the undifferentiated Brahman attained by a mysticism of
negation (Bh.G. 14.27). And
Vaishnavism had always extended spiritual enfranchisement to traditionally
disenfranchised people (Bh.G. 9.32).
Mahaprabhu developed both tendencies further. He taught, and practices, the
process of entering into a relation with God in his most private and
confidential feature.
According to Gaudiya Vaishnava theology, God has
both a public and a private face. When he manifests his power and majesty (aisvarya), he is known as Narayana and
is served perforce in awe and reverence. However, when he sets aside, as it
were his lordship, and allows his beauty and sweetness (madhurya) to overpower his majesty, he is known as Krishna, the
all-attractive. In order to enjoy intimate exchanges of love, Krishna causes
his confidential devotees to forget that he is God, so that they may serve him
in a fraternal, parental, or conjugal mood. The attainment of such intimate
service, Chaitanya taught, is the highest achievement of spiritual life. That
achievement was not at all relegated to a future life: pure devotees could
fully experience such ecstatic relationships even in this existence. The
correct practice of devotional service results in direct experience of the
divine (paresanbhava)(S. Bh. 11.2.42). The person of
Mahaprabhu himself underwent the extreme physiological alterations (sattivka-bhava) that accompanied such
ecstasies.
The other side of Chaitanya Mahaprabhu’s endeavor
was to extend this relation with Krishna to all, included those considered
degraded and uncultured by birth or habit. Some of his most prominent followers
came from beyond the pale of orthodox Hinduism. For instance, Thakura Haridasa,
whom Chaitanya made the exemplar (acarya) of chanting the divine names,
was born a Muslim, and his great lieutenants Sanatana and Rupa Goswami had
become outcastes by serving as ministers in the Turkish government of Hussain
Shah. This liberality was an affront to the position and prerogatives of the
hereditary caste Brahmins, who were shown scriptural text a pure devotee, no
matter how low-born, is superior to the most well-qualified, but non-devoted,
Brahmin (S. Bh. 7.9.10).
Mahaprabhu could justify his liberal policy by
citing Vaishnava texts that claimed the practices of devotional service to
possess such spiritual power as to elevated to the highest position of Vedic
culture, untouchables (sva-paca) (S. Bh. 3.33.7)and aboriginal peoples (S. Bh. 2.4.18). Furthermore, the
specific devotional practice of congregation chanting of the names of God,
which Chaitanya made the centerpiece of
his reform movement, was natural and pleasing and required no prior
qualification whatsoever. Yet it posses immense purifying potency.
Thus Chaitanya Mahaprabhu offered direct entry into
what amounts to the private life of God, and, by virtue of a process
practicable by all, could liberally extend that offer to low as well as the
high, the ignorant as well as the learned, the unworthy as well as the worth,
the fallen as well as the saved. All this Srila Prabhupada’s encapsulated in
his conjunction “easy and sublime.”
However, it must be stressed that “easy” did not
mean “cheap.” The “easy” process was supposed to make one fully qualified for
the sublime position. The verifiable symptom of advancement in chanting is the
the disappearance of lust, greed and anger from the heart; full qualification
for the higher stages of devotional service is complete absence of all material
desires (virakti). For example, the
conjugal pastimes of Krishna cannot be understood by anyone still affected by
mundane sexual desire. Chaitanya Mahaprabhu’s liberality did not stop him from
setting and enforcing very strict standards of conduct among his followers.
This particular mixture of elements, transmitted
quite faithfully by Srila Prabhupada to America, did much to determine the
inner tensions that produced the dynamic of ISKCON’s development in the West.
The demotic thrust of Vaishnava teaching provided
theological justification for Srila Prabhupada’s coming to the West—for, by
orthodox Hindu standards, all Westerners are ipso facto untouchables. Even so, Srila Prabhupada had initially
envisioned his mission as directed toward the West’s political and cultural
elite. Several years before his missionary journey, Srila Prabhupada had
written in his English translation and commentary on Srimad Bhagavatam [League of Devotees: Vrindaban and Delhi , 1962],
that the work was “a cultural presentation for the re-spiritualization of the
entire human society” (i), “meant for bringing about a revolution in the
impious life of a misdirected civilization of the world” (259). At that time,
however, he envisioned such a cultural revolution as coming from above:
We are confident if the transcendental
message of Srimad Bhagwatam is received only by the leading men of the world,
certainly there will be a change of heart and naturally the people in general
will follow them. The mass [of] people in general are so to say tools in the
hands of the modern politicians and leaders of the people. If there is a change
of heart of the leaders only, certainly there will be a radical change in the
atmosphere of the world siuation [sic].
(261)
As it turned out, the American establishment proved
quite immune to the attractions of Krishna consciousness, but Srila Prabhupada
unexpectedly found a sympathetic reception among the hippies—“the spoiled
children of society,” as he once called them (S.Bh. 4.12.23, purport)--who had emerged as a group in the year of
Srila Prabhupada’s arrival. Srila Prabhupada was often to note that the hippies
were “our best customers” (Letters to Gaurasundara dasa, 1969, and to
Satsvarupa dasa, 1971), “immediate candidates of our Krishna Consciousness”
(letter to Govinda dasi, 1969). The reason for such receptivity, according to
Srila Prabhupada, was that “the youth in the West have reached the stage of vairagya, or renunciation. They are
practically disgusted by material pleasure from material sources” (S. Bh. 6.16.26, purport).
In a 1971 Bhagavad-gita
lecture Srila Prabhupada said that “these American boys” are
fed up with this materialistic way of life.
They want something spiritual. But because there is no such information, there
is no such leader, they are becoming hippies, frustrated and confused. And
because here is something substantial, they are taking it. This is the secret
of success of this Krishna Consciousness movement.
In spite of having “reached renunciation,” American
youth, for want of spiritual direction, disastrously took refuge in sex and
drugs. The hippies appeared to Srila Prabhupada as “morose” (S.Bh. 4.25.11, purport),”distressed, “
“wretched,” “unclean,” “without shelter or food,” (S.Bh. 4.25.5, purport), “irresponsible and unregulated” (S.Bh. 5.6.10, purport), “lying idle,
without any production,” (Bhagavad-gita lecture,
1976), and so on. While the counterculture at one point made something of an
icon of Srila Prabhupada, he himself remained vigorously opposed to its
standards and practices and frequently exhorted his follows to renounce all
allegiance to it. This, for example, is from a letter of 1969 to Hayagriva
dasa:
Anyway, we should be very much careful [not]
to publish anything in our paper which will give impression to the public that
we are inclined to the hippy [sic]
movement. In our papers nothing should be published which has even a small
tinge of hippy ideas. I must tell you in this connection that if you have any
sympathies with the hippy movement you should kindly give it up.
It is surprising that Gauidya Vaishnavism could have
been transplanted into the modern West at all. Yet it should not be
surprising—especially to those acquainted with the history of religions—that
its earliest American followers should have largely been drawn from radically
marginalized and alienated youth. Although Srila Prabhupada may have hoped for
a hearing from the establishment, he accepted the receptivity of the hippies as
providential, and relied on the potency of the holy name, vigorously preached,
to achieve the requisite effect. And indeed, the movement increased with
extraordinary rapidity.
It may seem strange that someone like Prabhupada,
with a message so essentially traditional and conservative, should have
attracted such radicalized youth. What was his appeal? His sustained and
systematic critique of modern material civilization, undertaken from a spiritual
perspective, resonated strongly with his young hearers’ own disillusionment.
But the deep attraction, in my judgment, was Srila Prabhupada’s ability to
implant in us an extraordinary hope: He was able to establish the ideal of
sainthood as a viable goal of life, a practical vocational aim. Young western
men and women became convinced that they could attain direct experience of God
in this life. Srila Prabhupada made it very clear that such an achievement
demands an uncompromising standard of purity, and yet his followers became
convinced that, in spite of their own past actions and present conditioning,
they could be elevated under Srila Prabhupada’s tutelage to that requisite
standard of purity.
Srila Prabhupada’s success in establishing his
beachhead in the counterculture soon produced problems within his movement. His
early followers were young, immature, untrained, and inexperienced. Many of
them had suffered mental, moral, and spiritual disorders as a result of their
sojourn in the counterculture, if not in post-war America itself. In short,
Srila Prabhupada constructed his movement out of dubious raw material. He was
convinced that his efforts were a matter of spiritual life or death, and he was
animated by a sense of extreme urgency. In a raging storm one must construct a
shelter with whatever comes to hand. Later, architects may criticize. Indeed,
Srila Prabhupada knew very well the defects of his handiwork. In the mid
seventies, a certain ISKCON leader showed me a letter that Srila Prabhupada had
sent him. As I recall it, Srila Prabhupada, writing about his difficulties in
managing his movement, had made the striking statement: “Krishna did not send
me any first-class men. He sent me only second and third-class men.” Another
leader told me Srila Prabhupada had written to him in nearly the identical
language. (I should note that I have not been able to find either letter in the
present archive collection of Srila Prabhupada’s correspondence.)
The movement’s early explosive growth created a
further problem. New people, without much material or spiritual maturity or
even training, had to assume positions of leadership and responsibility. For
example, I moved into the temple in Philadelphia in January, 1971, and by
October I had been made President, with twelve or fifteen devotees under my
material and spiritual care. My qualifications were that I was a bit older than
everyone else, that I had held down regular jobs, that I had three years of
post-graduate education. But I had never managed anything or anyone, and
spiritually I was still very much occupied with my own struggles. The
disciplined world of spiritual life was completely new to me, and I was only
beginning to absorb the heritage Srila Prabhupada was giving us. But there was
no one else to do the job, so I received on-the-job training with no immediate
trainer.
I can hardly remember my performance without
shuddering. I think that this was rather typical of ISKCON at the time.
Another difficulty arose from the inter-generational
warfare of that era. A contempt for
society and its institutions was a countercultural trait that was absorbed into
ISKCON in the early days (and in some parts remained for a long time). As a
result, devotees were often unnecessarily hostile to and confrontational with
established authorities, (including their own parents); when those authorities
responded in kind, it only confirmed one’s worst estimation. In some cases, the
countercultural hostility became combined with elements extracted from Krishna
consciousness philosophy to produce a virulent antinomianism—something you will
hardly find in, say, the Bhagavad-gita.
This antinomianism later produced the disaster in the West Virginia New
Vrindavan community.
Yet with all these early difficulties the movement
still grew and developed, and even in the most trying times an extraordinary
degree of spiritual discipline was available to those who sought it.
One could say, in retrospect, that Srila Prabhupada
should have put the brakes on the expansion of his movement, held back his
preaching, until his leaders could be properly trained by him. One could say
that he was doing a very risky thing. I am sure he knew the risks, but from his
perspective it would have been inconceivable not to respond as energetically as
possible to the God-given opportunity to save souls. The positive results would
be eternal, the bad temporary. For my own part, I am deeply grateful for the
risk he took in allowing the rapid expansion of ISKCON with all its attendant
hazards and shortcomings. It saved me.
It seemed to his early
followers that Srila Prabhupada offered them something unavailable in the
religions they had been raised in. Beyond presenting mere “book knowledge” of
God (jnana), he offered direct
spiritual experience of God (vijnana),or
“realized” knowledge. Bhakti-yoga a
spiritual discipline that aims to alter or “purify” consciousness through
deliberate cultivation so that the divine can become immediately present to it,
become a fact of direct perception (pratyaksa.
See Bh.G. 9.2). This systematic aim
at experiential results gives bhakti-yoga
a common feature with modern material science, and indeed Srila Prabhupada
often used the word “science” to translate vijnana.
As the tittle of a popular ISKCON book puts it, bhakti-yoga is “the science of self-realization.”
The practice of the science
of self-realization requires that one make oneself the subject of an experiment
in the progressive purification of consciousness, an experiment that entails a
fairly rigorous program of spiritual practices (sadhana) which includes rising each day before dawn to spend the
first four or five hours in intense devotional exercises (“the morning
program”). During this time, two hours is set aside for individual chanting on
beads in fulfilment of a daily commitment to repeate the hare-krsna-mantra in this way 1,728 times as a minimum.
Furthermore, one has to
strictly observe four prohibition. The first prohibition against eating meat,
fish, or eggs means, in its strictest understanding, that one ought really to
eat only food that has been sanctified by first being prepared for and offered
to Krishna. The prohibition against taking intoxication means eschewing
even the mild anodynes like tea and
chocolate. The injunction not to gamble is meant to excludes partipating not
only in wagering and games of chance but also in time-wasting amusements like
sports, cinema, television, and similar diversions. Finally, the injunction
against illicit sex forbids not only sex outside of wedlock, but even within
marriage if it is not restricted to procreation; for that purpose, sex can be
engaged in one time in a month, within the period of the woman’s fertility. The
goal is to get through life with a minimum of involvement in sex, and not only in
deed, but in speech and thought as well.
Srila Prabhupada called
these rules “the regulative principles of freedom” (Bh.G. 2.64, purport). He made it starkly clear that
self-realization and sense-gratification are mutually exclusive, and he refused
to compromise on this matter. His followers tended to attribute the
lifeless,dispirited condition of the routinized religions of their childhood
precisely to institutional accommodations to sense-gratification. Consequently,
the very stringency of ISKCON’s regulative principles became a hallmark of
ISKCON’s validity and acted as an attractive, rather than repellent, factor.
In addition, the emphasis on
stringent practice was closely linked in the movement to an charismatic
outpouring of enthusiasm, manifest especially in sankirtana, group chanting of the names of God while dancing to the
rhythm of drums and cymbals, either within a temple or in public places. This
central practice—sankirtana is said
to be the yuga-dharma, or
dispensation for this age—illustrates the ability of devotional activities to
produce an intense concentration of consciousness through the expressive
engagement of the senses and feelings—a fundamental principle of bhakti-yoga. The compelling energy
generated by sankirtana, which easily
engenders a contagious enthusiasm and a sense of exaltation, is greatly boosted
in the participants by the affective channeling caused by the asceticism of the
regulative principles. Conversely, the ability of devotional activities like sankirtana and Deity worship (arcana) to engage one’s feelings and
senses made adherence to the principles not an exercise in barren abnegation
but rather a natural displacement of material activities by spiritual ones.
At any rate, young people
vigerously committed themselves to the regulative principles of Krishna
consciousness with great self confidence,and they rallied around the principles
as kind of shibbolith, a distincitive validating feature of ISKCON that set it
appart both from other religious movements from the East and from the
mainstream demonimations of the West. Indeed, an American Gallup-poll survey of
new religious movements took note of ISKCON’s reputation for having the highest
standards—and at the same time the worst relationships among members. A
knowledgeable observer would be able to perceive the close connection between
these two features.
ISKCON has always been
extremely powerful in causing its members to internalize an extremely high
ideal: Each person ought to be a “pure devotee,” one totally engaged in God’s
service without any personal motive and with interruption. Such a standard was
visibly exemplified in the person of Srila Prabhupada himself. Initiated
devotees, who must strictly follow the regulative principles, are to conform
themselves to that ideal, if not out of spontaneous affection, at least out of
dutiful obedience to the commend of scripture and guru.
It is only naturally to
expect that it would take a great and often long struggle for young men and
women, brought up in the lax and permissive moral climate of urbanized, secular
America, to live up to their newly-professed standard. Yet such difficulties
were not to be easily acknowledged in the early culture of ISKCON. The
shibbothitic role played by the regulative principles, and the fact that taking
initiation vows was the only acceptable means of socialization within ISKCON,
made strict following the regualtive principles a sine qua non of alliegence to Srila Prabhupada. At the same time,
members who were themselves fairly new looked for validation by seeking and
producing swift conversions, conversions that entailed, in the devotee’s mind,
complete breaking away from outside society and total immersion with the
culture of an ISKCON temple.* Naturally, the temples became filled with
premature and tentative candidates, who were under great internal and external
pressure to profess a degree of commitment far in excess of the reality.
Further, a lack of mature devotees, who had passed successfully through the
trials of spiritual development, left most of the movement without experienced
practical guides and counselors. All these factors combined to produce in the
movement an inability to deal in a healthy and constructive manner with the
spiritual failings and failures of its members. Those problems could hardly
even be acknowledged, let alone discussed.
The climate of ISKCON in
those days strongly discouraged any frank and open confession of difficulty in
following the principles. This was true not only on the institutional level,
but quite often on the personal one as well. For example, when soon after
joining the temple I confided my own normal problem in a slightly senior
devotee, hoping for some forgiveness,
practical advice, sympathy, and encouragement, my confessor showed alarm,
astonishment and anger; becoming aloof and stern, he simply pronounced the
judgment that I “could not be a devotee.” Such experiences seemed to have been
all-too typical. Concealment became the dominant mode of reaction. Devotees
became isolated from each other, and real fellowship was baffled. Forms of
concealment that are the unfortunate by product of any religious group with a
high demand for sanctity surfaced within ISKCON: bluffing, hypocrisy,
intolerance, fanaticism, punctiliousness, fault-finding, and the substitution
of minor for major virtues.*
A steady stream of devotees
joined the movement, and a steady stream left. In ISKCON jargon, they
“blooped,” fell back into illusion. All too often the exit senario went
something like this: A devotee would simply disappear in the middle of the
night, without any warnng. Sometimes this removal would be proceeded by a
period of withdrawal and depression, but sometimes there would be no clue at
all. A close inquiry would then disclose a few devotees who had ascertained that
the “blooped” devotee had been having problems following the principles. He
could not bring himself to admit it, and his sense of isolation and guilt drove
him in silence from the community.
In the early days, each such
departure tended to created a community crisis. It rocked the faith of many
members, whose own hold on Krishna consciousness was none too strong. There was
sometimes covert envy of the “blooped” devotee. By his or her leaving, the
community felt betrayed. Often a communal post-mortem would spontaneously take
place, in which the faults and shortcoming of the departed devotee were
analysed and condemned to the point in which the members felt more secure about
themselves and their values.
To the bewilderment and,
frequently, annoyance of the temple residents, many “blooped” devotees did not
utterly vanish. Instead, they would maintain some sort of contact with some
temple members or with a network of other former temple residents. Such blooped
devotees would attend the Sunday feast and other public functions. They were
about, just on the perifery. One devotee once refered to them as “the shadow of
ISKCON.” ISKCON’s name for such a person was “fringie,”—a term one no longer
hears. Because of the anger and resentment many temple devotees felt toward the
“fringies”, their treatment was often unfriendly, and they were subject to
cutting or sarcastic remarks of the temple residents. At best the temple
devotees were indifferent, because “you could not preach to fringies.”
Preaching meant in this context to persuade someone to join the temple
community, and the fringies were inoculated against such appeals.
They maintained an
allegiance to Krishna consciousness, but had stabilised themselves on what the
temple residents considered an unsatisfactory platform, for the most part
compromising to some degree with one or more of the regulative principles and
participating in a reduced or irregular program of devotional activities. The
population of fringies steadily increased over the years, but ISKCON leaders and
temple devotees did not acknowledge any duties or obligations toward them, nor
concede much validity to their continuing allegiance. They represented failure,
and the establishment wanted simply to disown them. Only over the last five or
seven years, at different rates in different locations, has the ISKCON
leadership began to acknowledge the “fringies” as “our people,” as a genuine
congregation to whom the temple should minister.
The belated recognition of a
congregation illustrates the unwillingness to confront the fact of a wide
spread failure of its member to maintain a long-term commitment to its own
standards of spiritual purity. But the movement as a whole had to face the
problem when the fall-down of a number of senior members who had taken on the
role of initiating gurus after Srila Prabhupada passing away in 1977 finally
lead to a crisis.
All these gurus were sannyasis, those who had taken final and
supposedly unbreakable vows of celibacy and renunciation, and their lapses from
the standards was the crowning event in what had been a continuing failure rate
of those who had taken sannyasa vows, a rate that approached 90%.
In 1969, three householder couples very successfully launched the Hare
Krishna movement in London. Impressed by the way that householders could
preach, Srila Prabhupada enouraged marriage as a matter of policy. He explains
his position in this 1971 Bombay Bhagavad-gita lecture (March 29):
Om Visnupada Paramhamsa
Parivrajakacarya Asttotara Sata Srimad Bhaktisiddhanta Sarasvati Maharaja
Prabhupada [Srila Prabhupada’s spiritual master]: He was creating more brahmacaris and sannyasis for preaching work, but I am creating more grhasthas [applause], because in Europe
and America the boys and girls intermingle so quickly and intimately that it is
very difficult to keep one brahmacari.
So there is no need of artificial brahmacaris.
. . .
So married life is called grhastha-asrama. It is as good as sannyasa-asrama. Asrama means where there is bhagavad-bhajana
[glorification of God]. It doesn't matter whether one is sannyasi or one is grhastha or
a brahmacari. The main principle is bhagavad-bhajana. But practically also,
I may infom you that these married couples, they are helping me very much . . .
.For practical example, I may say that one of my Godbrothers, a sannyasi, he was deputed [in the 1930s]
to go to London for starting a temple, but three or four years he remained
there, he could not execute the will [of his spiritual master]; therefore he
was called back.
Now, I sent [three] married couples. All of
them are present here. And they worked so nicely that within one year we
started our London temple, and that is going on very nicely. [applause]
So it is not the question of a brahmacari, sannyasi or grhastha......
One who knows the science of Krsna and preaches all over the world, he is guru,
spiritual master. It doesn't matter. So in Europe and America I am especially
creating more grhasthas, families, so
that they can take up this movement very seriously and preach, and I am glad to
inform you that this process has become very successful. Thank you very much.
[applause]
Then, when I joined ISKCON
it was assumed that everyone would become married, and indeed, devotees were
urged to do so. Marriages were arranged, usually without courtship, and each
had to be approved by Srila Prabhupada. But as early as 1971 Srila Prabhupada
was becoming concerned, as shown by this letter of July 5th to Hridayananda,
one of his leaders:
So
far as R-------- getting himself married, you must first discuss with him that
this marriage business is not a farce, but it must be taken very seriously.
There is no question of divorce, and if he will promise not to separate from
his wife, then my sanction for the marriage is there; otherwise not. Recently
too many couples have been drifting into Maya’s waters, and it is very
discouraging. So if he will agree on these points, then you can perform the
marriage with my blessings.
Srila Prabhupada’s
discouragement with the outcome of marriages continued to increase. Finally, in
1974(?), Srila Prabhupada simply refused to sanction any further marriages. (In
my temple, there were no marriages for nearly a year, and then they were
performed under my local sanction with a civil ceremonies.)
During the same period,
householder life became radically devalued in ISKCON. Srila Prabhupada’s
policy, stated in the letter of 1970, seemed to change as a result of his
discouragement. Throughout the movement, male devotees were now urged to remain
brahmacari (celibate). Married life was denigrated. The number of men initiated
in to the sannyasa asrama increased
dramatically. A genuine desire for transcendence, often co-mingled with a urge
to acquire prestige and advancement within the institution, had propelled most
of these young men into a rash and improvident heroics. The persistence of
desires they could neither acknowledge nor control produced in some began to
generate intolerance and fanatism. The climate in the movement began to turn
ugly: Some of these sannyasis embarked
on preaching campaigns against householders and even more so against women,
whose life in the movement at this time became extremely trying. In 1976, in
North America householder temple presidents and a powerful organization of
perapatetic sannyasis and brahmacaris
clashed in a conflict that Srila Prabhupada called a “fratricidal war.”
As one would expect, many of
these young sannyasis found it impossible to maintain the standards of the
asrama in the long run. There was a steady and growing exodus.In most cases, an
extreme sense of disgrace and shame, amplified by the open condemnation of the sannyasi community itself, propelled
them into exile into the fringe or beyond.