'Causeless Mercy: Nirhetuka Krpa'

The term 'causeless mercy' appears numerous times in Srila Prabhupada's writings and yet Prabhupada never identifies a Sanskrit equivalent for the term. As a general idea it stands in somewhat of a marked contrast to the traditional thrust of the Gita which postulates a Supreme Deity who reciprocates to his devotees to the degree that they have surrendered to him. In this respect, Bhagavan's intervention is not to be construed as 'without cause' but rather as a direct and compassionate response to the intense feeling of separation a devotee feels in the absence of his Lord. Now, the idea of 'causeless mercy' is a problematic distortion of the aforementioned dynamic in so far as it suggests that, at least in some respects, the degree of a devotee's surrender is immaterial or irrelevant. If it is true to say that God, on occasion, bestows his grace on those utterly undeserving of it (after all this is what 'causeless mercy' means) and through such a bestowal renders such recipients worthy of liberation, then this suddenly raises the uncomfortable question of how God could be so partial in his dealings with humanity. In other words, if the idea of 'causeless mercy' is true, then the partiality of God must be accepted; the problem, of course, is that the Gita (9.29) explicitly refutes the suggestion that God could be impartial.

I began by pointing out that Prabhupada never identified a Sanskrit equivalent for his idea of 'causeless mercy'. This has led some to suggest that the term owes its origin to Christian theology where ideas of 'grace' etc. are ubiquitous. Though Prabhupada may never have identified a Sanskrit equivalent for the term under examination, such an equivalent does indeed exist, and it exists in the corpus of pre and post Ramanuja Sri Vaisnava literature. The Sanskrit term 'nirhetuka-krpa' is designed so as to capture the scenario wherein God's grace flows spontaneously towards the devotee. This flow of grace, however, is nirhetuka, that it to say, it is without cause (hetu). So it seems as if this idea of causeless mercy is very much present in the theology of the Sri Vaisnava tradition. However, upon closer examination, the proposition that God's grace flows, without cause, to undeserving recipients, appears to belong more to the realm of devotional expression than theological truth. What I mean to say here, is that, often devotees, in their genuine humility, perceive themselves as undeserving recipients of grace; this is a realization born of humility and intense love and should not therefore be construed as necessarily true in a theological sense. My argument here receives, I feel, support from the poetry of the Alvar saints. As Srinivasa Chari points out in his excellent book on the subject, the hymns of the Alvars often convey the idea of nirhetuka krpa: in these hymns the authors typically portray themselves as recipients of undeserving grace. Interestingly though, they often, in the same hymns, attribute their success in devotional life to  what they perceive to be as insignificant expressions of devotion (i.e. the [unintentional] chanting of God's sacred names). In the latter scenario, of course, the bestowal of grace is not entirely without cause or 'nirhetuka'. There is so much more to say on this subject and a full treatment of the topic would be incomplete without an examination of the great theological divide between the Vadagalai and Tengalai schools of Sri Vaishnavism.

India: The Road Ahead

I’ve always enjoyed reading Mark Tully’s political commentary on India and I think his books provide a balanced and honest insight into the changing political and social landscape of the country. ‘India: The Road Ahead’, is his latest book on the subject and what follows is my review of some of its chapters.

The first chapter provides some useful insights into the Maoist insurgency that continues to threaten India’s civil society and internal security apparatus. Tully’s approach to the problem is nuanced, identifying as it does, a range of issues that underlie the Maoist problem. More specifically, his own journey to Chhattisgarh, a particular hotbed of political violence and instability, proves how resistant the Maoist problem is to simple analysis.

The place and treatment of Dalits or former ‘untouchables’ in the Indian social fabric forms the subject of the second chapter. Again, Tully’s approach here is nuanced, resisting as he does, the temptation to view the issue solely in terms of a conflict between caste-conscious Hindus and Dalits. India’s Constitution officially prohibits caste discrimination, but as Tully in this chapter demonstrates, India’s continued [mis]treatment of Dalits leaves much to be desired. The chapter reveals the potency of education as a powerful force for change in Indian society; the growing number of Dalits enrolling in educational institutions serves to empower the community, granting them an important voice in the political and social realm. There is also, as the chapter aptly illustrates, growing evidence to suggest that the Dalit community are now ‘fighting back’, at least in the sense of resisting mistreatment and fighting for the rights that the constitution guarantees for them. National icons and leading figures often play prominent roles in the betterment of oppressed minorities and tend to exert indelible influence in the self-consciousness of an oppressed group. Tully’s second chapter demonstrates that the Dalits are no exception to this trend; Dr. Ambedkar, for instance (one of the leading architects of India’s constitution) serves as a moral guide, preceptor, role model and even god for the entire Dalit community of India. The growing influence and prominence of Dalit politicians is also empowering the community politically and has finally given them their long-lost right to political expression. India’s government does seem to be taking the issue of caste discrimination seriously and it appears as if change is, slowly but surely, arriving.

Tully’s fourth chapter deals with the politically contentious issue of India’s secularism. Secularism lies at the heart of India’s constitution and has indelibly affected the trajectory of Indian politics post-Independence. The intense diversity of India’s religious landscape, in effect, means that secularism was India’s only realistic option; any alternative (such as a Hindu India) would invite social and political alienation (of India’s religious minorities) and generate communal tension and disharmony. India’s secular credentials, however, leave a lot to be desired. On the one hand, those parties that parade themselves around as custodians of India’s sacred secularism (read the Congress Party!) have, rather ironically, done more to damage the secularist ideal than any of their ideological opponents. The BJP and the Sangh Parivar, for their part, have also contributed, no doubt, to the occasional dismantling of India’s secular fabric by communalizing societal tensions through exploiting Hindu sympathies. Interestingly, Tully’s third chapter demonstrates, quite incisively, how the nature of India’s ‘vote bank’ politics problematizes its attempt to secularize political and social discourse. India’s political discourse must move beyond the basic and misleading dichotomy, popularized by many in the Congress ranks, between a Congress-backed secularism and a BJP-backed communalism; it impoverishes the intellectuality of the political realm and hinders progression on the societal front. The Congress Party, in particular, must strengthen their commitment to secularism by introducing a degree of consistency in the way they apply the ideal; a secularism that recedes to the background when it comes to issues relating to minority groups is a pseudo-secularism at best. The BJP, for their part, have little choice but to reconsider their alignment with the Hindutva movement if they are serious about broadening their political support base for the upcoming general elections.

India’s exciting progression towards economic super-power status is the result of a favourable combination of a number of important factors including; congenial demographics, a functioning democracy and a strong and stable civil society. If, however, I were asked to identify one factor, without which India’s economic growth would be seriously hindered, I would have to select the nation’s proficiency in English. In this increasingly globalized world, literacy in English bestows a wealth of opportunities, both commercial and personal, without which growth on the global stage would simply be unobtainable. India’s growth story is often compared to that of China’s; this comparison is misleading for a number of reasons, not least because, any attempt to compare both countries inevitably ignores the great political, cultural and demographic differences that separate both countries. Having said that, as things stand, China’s economic growth appears to be accelerating at a higher pace than that of India’s and at least for the foreseeable future, there is little reason to expect any alteration to this status quo. There is, however, one yardstick on which India does fare better than China; that is, of course, in its proficiency in English. India’s attraction to English heightened as a result of the emergence of India’s outsourcing industry; suddenly there was a greater recognition among Indians that English was the language of upward mobility and interestingly enough, this aspiration for English is now cutting across income classes all over India. Remarkably then, in such a short period of time, English in India has gone from being perceived as a ‘colonial relic’ to a language of international business and a powerful key in opening up geographical borders and gaining access to markets.

However, the breadth and depth of India’s English-language capability may turn out to be a mixed blessing. It would be imprudent to deny the fact that this capability has conferred on India, advantages and benefits that have been indispensible to its sustained and impressive growth over the last decade or so. The issue, as Tully writes in his seventh chapter of the book, is that India’s greed for English may come at a cost to the nation’s existing repertoire of languages, which could soon be wiped away if steps are not taken to ensure their preservation. The chapter is interesting since it demonstrates the crucial role that language plays in the cultural identity and self-consciousness of a region.

Aesthetic Vedanta: Review

Aesthetic Vedanta occupies a unique place in the literary heritage of Eastern spirituality; beautifully composed and poetically rendered, Swami Tripurari provides us with a soul-stirring and emotionally rich insight into one of the world's most profound religious metaphors- the Rasa Lila or the Dance of Divine Love. 

Sandwiched between two theologically rich chapters of philosophy is an evocative rendering of the Rasa Lila. The prose and poetry is lucid and fluid, pregnant with meaning and religious symbolism. Replete with extensive footnotes, the thoughtful translation makes accessible an entire tradition's insight into one of India's most enduring religious narratives. Moreover, the lucidity and simplicity of the translation empowers the text aesthetically and imbues it with a poetic power that can otherwise be lost in more literal translations.

The two chapters on philosophy provide readers with a sophisticated theological apparatus through which they can navigate expertly through the text and its myriad themes. More importantly, the 'theologizing' that goes on in these chapters prevents a sort of crude misinterpretation of the narrative since it brings to light the spiritual purity, selfless nature and sanctity of the passionate love being written about.
This is, of course, not a text for everybody but for those sincere souls who find themselves in love with the Bhakti traditions of India, this book is a masterpiece.

Brahman, Paramatma, Bhagavan

 vadanti tat tattva-vidas

tattvaṁ yaj jñānam advayam

brahmeti paramātmeti

bhagavān iti śabdyate

‘Knowers of reality declare that reality to be nondual consciousness, called ‘Brahman’, ‘Paramatma’, and ‘Bhagavan’. (S.B.1.2.11)

This verse that forms the subject of my post today occupies a very important position in the theology of Gaudiya Vaishnavism. Explicating the verse here then should enable us to penetrate more deeply into the realm of Gaudiya theology and should render more accessible and comprehensible some of the finer and more intricate aspects of the tradition’s philosophy. Anybody familiar with Srila Prabhupada’s books knows that he often translated the Sanskrit term ‘Bhagavan’ as the ‘Supreme Personality of Godhead’; moreover, his books reveal an obvious preference or bias towards what, he terms, the ‘personal aspect of Godhead’. These idiosyncrasies often startle first-time readers who, on occasion, can be put off by the passionate and forceful tenor of some of Srila Prabhupada’s comments and purports. However, an elucidation of this verse should grant us a more detailed insight into Prabhupada’s way of thinking and should render far more persuasive and coherent his celebration of bhagavad bhakti and his apparent condemnation of impersonal worship or monistic theology.

In one sense, this verse poses few conceptual problems; it appears, quite simply, to be saying that the ‘nondual consciousness’ or, as Prabhupada translates it, the ‘absolute truth’ can be known either as ‘Brahman’, ‘Paramatma’, or ‘Bhagavan’. These three terms should be familiar to anyone with even a passing interest in Eastern Indian spirituality. In fact, these terms are often used interchangeably in the Sanskrit scriptures of India and therefore figure prominently as popular names of God or the Absolute Truth in Indian religious discourse. There are some religious traditions (notably, Sripad Ramanuja’s Sri sampradaya) that understand this verse in precisely this way; in other words, for these traditions the salience of this verse lies in its acceptance of all three terms (‘Brahman’, ‘Paramatma’, and ‘Bhagavan’) as legitimate names of the Absolute.

The Gaudiya understanding of this verse is however rather different insofar as it has much more to say about the juxtaposition of these three different names of God; in many ways, the hermeneutical difference in approach here is what adds so much originality and novelty to Gaudiya theology. Professor Ravi M. Gupta succeeds remarkably in my view in articulating the Gaudiya approach to this verse in his excellent book on the subject entitled, ‘The Caitanya Vaisnava Vedanta of Jiva Goswami’. Much of what I write here is an attempt to express his insights in as comprehensible a way as I can.  

The first point to note here is that the selection of names in this verse is clearly not arbitrary. All three terms refer, quite exclusively, to the absolute truth and therefore cannot be construed to be referring to any object other than the ‘non-dual consciousness’ or God. In his philosophical treatises, the Sandarbhas, Jiva Goswami, a prominent architect of Gaudiya theology, points out that there is a degree of intentionality in the order in which the three names appear; in other words, there is nothing random, according to Jiva, about the fact, for instance, that ‘Brahman’ is mentioned first in this verse, and ‘Bhagavan’ last.

Gupta makes this point particularly well in his book and therefore it’s worth quoting his extract in full here. He writes: ‘The Bhagavata Purana is indicating a hierarchy of forms from Brahman to Bhagavan, based on the degree of revelation. Bhagavan is the complete manifestation of the nondual reality and, indeed, identifiable with it. In him, all the inherent energies of the Supreme are clearly visible. Then, depending on the degree to which the fullness of the Lord’s glory is hidden, he is known as either Brahman or Paramatma. When Bhagavan’s energies are manifest in a partial way, mainly in regard to directing material nature and the living entities, he is known as Paramatma- the inner controller, inspirer, and support of the cosmos. When his attributes are totally unmanifest, he is known as Brahman- the undifferentiated, unqualified, and impersonal Absolute’.

Bhagavan, as I hope is clear by now, refers to the personal manifestation of God. In other words, replete with form, qualities, character and personality, Bhagavan serves as the highest, most intimate manifestation of the Godhead. This theistic drive in support of Bhagavan as the highest and most complete manifestation of the Godhead should not be misconstrued as an attempt to anthropomorphize the Absolute; basic cosmology and experiential practice point towards a personal force behind our cosmos and Bhagavan is simply the concretisation of that force. 

There is a tendency in Indian religious discourse, particularly so in the realm of Vedanta, to commence discussions on this topic with the presumption that Brahman (or the impersonal Absolute) is the starting point- in other words, depending on whether one conceives of the Absolute as having quality or lacking quality, the Absolute appears respectively as either Brahman or Bhagavan. Implicit, however, in this line of reasoning is the suggestion that, somehow or other, to get to Bhagavan, you must inject a range of attributes to Brahman so that prior to the injection, Brahman exists utterly undifferentiated and without quality. For the Gaudiya’s, however, Bhagavan or the personal Absolute is the starting point in their conceptualization of the Supreme. Bhagavan, according to Jiva, as the most complete manifestation of Godhead, incorporates the other two features of the absolute, Paramatman and Brahman, so that meditation on or worship of Bhagavan includes the worship of the two alternative manifestations of God. Krishna himself, makes this point in the Gita when he reveals to Arjuna his position as the substratum or basis of Brahman: ‘brahmano hi pratisthaham’.

In many ways this helps to render more intelligible Prabhupada’s decision to translate Bhagavan as the ‘Supreme Personality of Godhead’. Srila Prabhupada’s translation here is not arbitrary or archaic but reflects the tradition’s theological conceptualization of Bhagavan as the highest, most complete manifestation of the Absolute. Therefore, by equating Krishna with the ‘Supreme Personality of Godhead’ (Krsnas tu bhagavan svayam), Prabhupada (and the Bhagavatam for that matter) is trying to point out that Krishna is the Supreme Godhead himself and not merely a derivative manifestation of an impersonal Absolute. 

To recapitulate, all three aspects of Godhead, ‘Brahman’, ‘Paramatma’, and ‘Bhagavan’, are members of a single reality and yet these aspects differ insofar as they reflect or make visible the perfection and fullness of the Supreme as Bhagavan. Where Bhagavan’s fullness or complete glory is partially manifest, that manifestation is known as Paramatma (the object of worship for the yogis); where Bhagavan’s attributes are completely unmanifest, he is known as Brahman (the object of inquiry for the jnanis). Since Brahman and Paramatma are both incomplete apprehensions of the absolute reality, Gaudiya theologians have argued passionately about the superiority of bhagavad upasana or the worship of Bhagavan. In other words, if Krishna is, as Prabhupada comments, the ‘last word of the Absolute Truth’, then it follows that engagement in Bhagavan’s worship supersedes both inquiry into Brahman and meditation on Paramatma.

As a final point, this verse is also significant in that it can be construed as celebrating and embracing plurality; by embracing and incorporating the three different manifestations of the Absolute as members of a single reality, the verse paves the way for greater tolerance among different schools of thought. It does this, of course, my making it quite clear that, regardless of the manifestation in question, the substance being perceived, for instance, by the yogis, jnanis and devotees, is non-dual in nature; in other words, as Prabhupada so eloquently puts it, ‘less intelligent students of either of the above schools sometimes argue in favour of their own respective realization, but those who are perfect seers of the Absolute truth know well that the above three features of the one Absolute Truth are different perspective views seen from different angles of vision’.

Newsweek: 'The War We Abandoned'

I came across this article by Peter Beinart in my latest Newsweek magazine. It was so well written and to the point that I had to share it. Here it is: 


http://www.thedailybeast.com/newsweek/2012/07/29/the-u-s-started-the-war-in-iraq-it-s-time-to-finish-it.html
The U.S. Started the War in Iraq. It’s Time to Finish It.
Want to know why the world so often distrusts America? Because we’re a nation of amnesiacs. Our leaders get all hyped up about the need to remake some country halfway across the world, a country whose political pathologies, we are told, violate American values and menace American security. The American press joins in, the American people get dragged along, and next thing you know, American missiles are raining down on the place.

The tyrants flee; some other folks take over, and they seem like a big improvement at first. Then the locals grow unhappy with our presence; they begin killing U.S. soldiers in attacks that shock Americans and prompt an angry debate about getting out, which America eventually does. And then it’s done. The curtain goes down, the show is over, and barely anybody in America pays any attention to country X anymore. Public conversation, in fact, quickly moves on to countries Y and Z, where evil rulers or civil strife may or may not pose an intolerable threat to American values and American security. Of all the tools used to conduct American foreign policy, perhaps none is as pervasive as the Etch a Sketch.

So it was that last week terrorists killed more than 100 people in Iraq—a country that obsessed us just a few years ago—and barely anyone in America seemed to notice. The Obama adminstration issued a one-sentence statement. Prominent Republicans didn’t even do that. Neither Sean Hannity nor Bill O’Reilly mentioned it on their TV programs. The New Republic, which supported the war during my time as editor, didn’t mention the attacks either. The Weekly Standard, to its credit, did, noting that “whatever one thinks of the war in Iraq, the simple fact of the matter is that without some U.S. combat forces on the ground America has no ability to fight AQI [al Qaeda in Iraq] and affiliated groups directly.” All of which may well be true. But the opening clause—“whatever one thinks of the war in Iraq”—is oddly agnostic for a magazine that campaigned relentlessly for Saddam Hussein’s overthrow between 1997 and 2003.

So why should we still care about Iraq? First, because although al Qaeda terrorists detonated this week’s bombs, it was our invasion that created the chaos that has allowed them sanctuary; the blood is partly on our hands. Hours after the bombs hit, President Obama addressed the National Convention of Veterans of Foreign Wars, where he bragged that “I pledged to end the war in Iraq honorably, and that’s what we’ve done ... We brought our troops home responsibly. They left with their heads held high, knowing they gave Iraqis a chance to forge their own future.” The crowd applauded. Imagine yourself as an Iraqi, hearing Obama’s banal, self-congratulatory words on CNN while living the blood-stained future that America’s invasion helped you forge. Or imagine you heard Mitt Romney’s speech the following day that barely mentioned Iraq but declared that “throughout history our power has brought justice where there was tyranny, peace where there was conflict, and hope where there was affliction and despair ... Our country is the greatest force for good the world has ever known.” Think how you’d feel about the United States.

The second reason we should care is that America’s foreign-policy debate desperately needs some measure of accountability. I’m not suggesting that politicians and pundits who got Iraq wrong be banished from public life. (This standard would leave me looking for other work). But neither should they be able to flee the scene of the disaster. Imagine if every time Joe Biden or Hillary Clinton or John Bolton or John McCain or William Kristol was interviewed about military intervention in Iran or Syria, the interviewer began by asking what they’ve learned about the subject from their experience supporting the war in Iraq. Simply asking the question would inject a much-needed humility into our foreign-policy discussion. Asking might also make viewers wonder why they so rarely hear from experts who did not support one of the greatest disasters in the history of American foreign policy. Who knows? If Mitt Romney knew that his foreign-policy surrogates were going to have to own up to their record on Iraq, he might even think twice before stocking his foreign-policy team with Bush holdovers.

The Iraq War didn’t end just because our troops left a little more than six months ago. Hundreds have died, and the number is likely to rise. The war is ongoing and it’s horrific, and the least we owe the people whose country we pulverized is to notice. And if we do notice, perhaps we’ll be slightly better able to understand why the world doesn’t always see us the way we see ourselves.

India's Dying Goddesses: Environmental Degradation and Hinduism

My previous post alluded to a sort of schizophrenia that exists in the Indian (or shall I say Hindu) psyche; on the one hand, Indian religious practice reveals an affinity for the worship of feminine deities and yet, on the other, this affinity does not concretize itself culturally or socially in greater respect and regard for women. In many ways, India’s treatment of nature and the gifts that she provides reveals a remarkably similar mental fragmentation.

Hindus are known the world over for their tendency to deify nature and imbue it with consciousness and divinity. The metaphysical worldview popularized by Sripad Ramanuja in the twelfth century, goes so far as to regard the world as the body of God. This pantheistic vision (or more accurately, panentheistic vision) wherein divinity is seen to be present in every atom and molecule of this world, constitutes a radical departure from the strident dualism inherent in the Abrahamic worldview, which draws a clear and unalterable distinction between God and the material realm.

The heterogeneous nature of Hindu religious practice/theology means that there is very little that all Hindus agree on. Where they all do sing from the same hymn sheet, however, is in their admiration of and devotion to the sacred rivers of their subcontinent. The Ganga and the Yamuna, arguably two of India’s most prominent rivers, sustain the lives of millions of her inhabitants, providing essential water for myriad purposes. Their centrality to India’s national identity is explicable only, however, by looking at the theology and religious psychology that undergirds the devotion and admiration that they both receive from countless of India’s citizens.

The waters of the Ganga and the Yamuna feature prominently in the liturgical and ritual practices of Hindus. The sacred narratives in India’s religious literature have personified both rivers and assigned them each with a uniquely personal and idiosyncratic consciousness. This Indian tendency to deify nature provides a critical insight into the important role that consciousness plays in Hindu religious thinking; less abstractly, however, it reveals a poetic and artistic conception of this universe that stands in complete contrast to the rather arid Western view that perceives the world around us as constituting nothing but an impersonal permutation of matter.

 

You would have thought that this ‘artistic and poetic Hindu view of this world’ would have culturally conditioned Indians to treat nature with a heightened degree of respect. And, of course, if you go to India, you won’t be disappointed (at least in one sense). Take, for instance, the Ganga Arati that takes place every evening on the banks of the sacred river in the holy city of Haridwar. The visual spectacle on offer is a veritable feast for the eyes; pregnant with colour and ritual, the ceremony presents participants with a palpable sense of the divine.

This ‘palpable sense of the divine’, however, may soon become a thing of the past; Ganga’s mythical journey began in a bygone age when she was invited to consecrate the earth with the pristine and sanctifying beauty of her waters. Her sojourn has been a long and strenuous one; it seems to have taken its toll on her. The goddess has become frail, tired and weak; The River Ganges today ranks as one the world’s most polluted rivers, jeopardizing the lives of millions who depend on her for the very means of their sustenance. The rapacious nature of India’s consumerism is largely to blame for the environmental degradation that persists all over India. Huge amounts of commercial and industrial waste are pumped into the same waters that are venerated daily with such pomp and fervor. If this is not a schizophrenic mentality, then I don’t know what is!

I struggle to comprehend how it is possible to fragment your consciousness in such a way that you can continue to worship a river as a divine goddess and yet remain utterly indifferent to her physical condition. The onus, I think, is especially on the Hindu community to raise awareness of this issue and to try and mend and reform the ways in which they treat the sacred rivers of their land.

The goods news is that at least these problems are now being publicized. Of course, the Ganga, unfortunately, is not alone in her experience of mistreatment; for much of its 850-mile length, the Yamuna itself is one of the world’s most contaminated rivers (Yale University). Recently, a spate of protest movements have emerged in India in an attempt to persuade the government to bolster its efforts in addressing environmental degradation. Yale University itself, published a report last year detailing the extent of the problem at the Yamuna and provides encouraging evidence of how greater interaction between religious groups and scientific organisations can render far more effective, attempts to alleviate environmental problems.

Posted below is the Yale University report that I’ve just mentioned; it makes for an interesting read and I encourage you all to share it with your family/friends: http://environment.yale.edu/magazine/spring2011/the-yamuna-river-indias-dying-goddess/P0/

I want to end this post on a request. A few years ago, Professor David Haberman wrote a book entitled River of Love in an Age of Pollution: The Yamuna River of Northern India. The book was published by the University of California Press and is available to purchase on Amazon. The book itself makes for an incredible read; it outlines, in comprehensive detail, the relationship between ecology and theology and offers an insight into Hinduism’s response to the environmental problems of India. I have a tremendous amount of respect for Professor Haberman and I admire his work highly. If you have any interest in what I’ve written about today, please please go out and buy the book; you will not be disappointed I promise you. I read the book a few years ago and I absolutely loved it- if you’re concerned about India’s environmental problems and want to start somewhere- start with the book!

India's Problem With Women

India stands largely alone in its celebration of the feminine aspect of divinity; the goddess figures prominently in the religious landscape of the country and her divine manifestations permeate the religious consciousness of the nation in a way that marks India out for its devotion to the supreme feminine. Hindu theology itself paves the way for a sacred feminine archetype by regarding the goddess as the embodiment of all material energy, or Shakti. Interestingly, at least where puranic Hinduism is concerned, the gods themselves are often paired up with feminine counterparts who serve as the mediums by which devotees can approach their deities.

You would have thought, that culturally at least, all of this would have translated into a deep and profound sense of respect for women in India. Unfortunately, as the Guwahati molestation episode in the subcontinent makes clear, the treatment of women serves as a shocking and repugnant departure from the consciousness that guides the veneration of goddesses in India. The mentality that gives rise to such neglect and disregard of women appears to be so deeply embedded in the cultural and social fabric of the country that many legitimately question how far the country can succeed in reforming its ways.

The article below, from The Guardian, highlights the extent of the problem.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2012/jul/23/why-india-bad-for-women?newsfeed=true