CHAPTER: 24
I Become a Monk of
the Swami Order
Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30
"Master,
my father has been anxious for me to accept an executive position with the Bengal-Nagpur
Railway. But I have definitely refused it." I added hopefully, "Sir, will you
not make me a monk of the Swami Order?" I looked pleadingly at my guru. During
preceding years, in order to test the depth of my determination, he had refused this same
request. Today, however, he smiled graciously.
"Very
well; tomorrow I will initiate you into swamiship." He went on quietly, "I am
happy that you have persisted in your desire to be a monk. Lahiri Mahasaya often said: 'If
you don't invite God to be your summer Guest, He won't come in the winter of your
life.'"
"Dear
master, I could never falter in my goal to belong to the Swami Order like your revered
self." I smiled at him with measureless affection.
"He that
is unmarried careth for the things that belong to the Lord, how he may please the Lord:
but he that is married careth for the things of the world, how he may please his
wife." I
had analyzed the lives of many of my friends who, after undergoing certain spiritual
discipline, had then married. Launched on the sea of worldly responsibilities, they had
forgotten their resolutions to meditate deeply.
To allot God
a secondary place in life was, to me, inconceivable. Though He is the sole Owner of the
cosmos, silently showering us with gifts from life to life, one thing yet remains which He
does not own, and which each human heart is empowered to withhold or bestow—man's
love. The Creator, in taking infinite pains to shroud with mystery His presence in every
atom of creation, could have had but one motive—a sensitive desire that men seek Him
only through free will. With what velvet glove of every humility has He not covered the
iron hand of omnipotence!
The following
day was one of the most memorable in my life. It was a sunny Thursday, I remember, in
July, 1914, a few weeks after my graduation from college. On the inner balcony of his
Serampore hermitage, Master dipped a new piece of white silk into a dye of ocher, the
traditional color of the Swami Order. After the cloth had dried, my guru draped it around
me as a renunciate's robe.
"Someday
you will go to the West, where silk is preferred," he said. "As a symbol, I have
chosen for you this silk material instead of the customary cotton."
In India,
where monks embrace the ideal of poverty, a silk-clad swami is an unusual sight. Many
yogis, however, wear garments of silk, which preserves certain subtle bodily currents
better than cotton.
"I am
averse to ceremonies," Sri Yukteswar remarked. "I will make you a swami in the bidwat (non-ceremonious) manner."
The bibidisa or elaborate initiation into swamiship
includes a fire ceremony, during which symbolical funeral rites are performed. The
physical body of the disciple is represented as dead, cremated in the flame of wisdom. The
newly-made swami is then given a chant, such as: "This atma is Brahma" or "Thou
art That" or "I am He." Sri Yukteswar, however, with his love of
simplicity, dispensed with all formal rites and merely asked me to select a new name.
"I will
give you the privilege of choosing it yourself," he said, smiling.
"Yogananda,"
I replied, after a moment's thought. The name literally means "Bliss (ananda) through divine union (yoga)."
"Be it
so. Forsaking your family name of Mukunda Lal Ghosh, henceforth you shall be called
Yogananda of the Giri branch of the Swami Order."
As I knelt
before Sri Yukteswar, and for the first time heard him pronounce my new name, my heart
overflowed with gratitude. How lovingly and tirelessly had he labored, that the boy
Mukunda be someday transformed into the monk Yogananda! I joyfully sang a few verses from
the long Sanskrit chant of Lord Shankara:
"Mind,
nor intellect, nor ego, feeling;
Sky nor earth nor metals am I.
I am He, I am He, Blessed Spirit, I am He!
No birth, no death, no caste have I;
Father, mother, have I none.
I am He, I am He, Blessed Spirit, I am He!
Beyond the flights of fancy, formless am I,
Permeating the limbs of all life;
Bondage I do not fear; I am free, ever free,
I am He, I am He, Blessed Spirit, I am He!"
Every swami
belongs to the ancient monastic order which was organized in its present form by Shankara.
Because it is a formal order, with an unbroken line of saintly representatives serving as
active leaders, no man can give himself the title of swami. He rightfully receives it only
from another swami; all monks thus trace their spiritual lineage to one common guru, Lord
Shankara. By vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience to the spiritual teacher, many
Catholic Christian monastic orders resemble the Order of Swamis.
In addition
to his new name, usually ending in ananda, the
swami takes a title which indicates his formal connection with one of the ten subdivisions
of the Swami Order. These dasanamis or ten
agnomens include the Giri (mountain), to which
Sri Yukteswar, and hence myself, belong. Among the other branches are the Sagar (sea), Bharati (land), Aranya (forest), Puri (tract),
Tirtha (place of pilgrimage), and Saraswati
(wisdom of nature).
The new name
received by a swami thus has a twofold significance, and represents the attainment of
supreme bliss (ananda) through some divine
quality or state—love, wisdom, devotion, service, yoga—and through a harmony
with nature, as expressed in her infinite vastness of oceans, mountains, skies.
The ideal of
selfless service to all mankind, and of renunciation of personal ties and ambitions, leads
the majority of swamis to engage actively in humanitarian and educational work in India,
or occasionally in foreign lands. Ignoring all prejudices of caste, creed, class, color,
sex, or race, a swami follows the precepts of human brotherhood. His goal is absolute
unity with Spirit. Imbuing his waking and sleeping consciousness with the thought, "I
am He," he roams contentedly, in the world but not of it. Thus only may he justify
his title of swami—one who seeks to achieve union with the Swa or Self. It is needless to add that not all
formally titled swamis are equally successful in reaching their high goal.
Sri Yukteswar
was both a swami and a yogi. A swami, formally a monk by virtue of his connection with the
ancient order, is not always a yogi. Anyone who practices a scientific technique of
God-contact is a yogi; he may be either married or unmarried, either a worldly man or one
of formal religious ties. A swami may conceivably follow only the path of dry reasoning,
of cold renunciation; but a yogi engages himself in a definite, step-by-step procedure by
which the body and mind are disciplined, and the soul liberated. Taking nothing for
granted on emotional grounds, or by faith, a yogi practices a thoroughly tested series of
exercises which were first mapped out by the early rishis. Yoga has produced, in every age
of India, men who became truly free, truly Yogi-Christs.
Like any
other science, yoga is applicable to people of every clime and time. The theory advanced
by certain ignorant writers that yoga is "unsuitable for Westerners" is wholly
false, and has lamentably prevented many sincere students from seeking its manifold
blessings. Yoga is a method for restraining the natural turbulence of thoughts, which
otherwise impartially prevent all men, of all lands, from glimpsing their true nature of
Spirit. Yoga cannot know a barrier of East and West any more than does the healing and
equitable light of the sun. So long as man possesses a mind with its restless thoughts, so
long will there be a universal need for yoga or control.
The ancient
rishi Patanjali defines "yoga" as "control of the fluctuations of the
mind-stuff." His very short
and masterly expositions, the Yoga Sutras, form
one of the six systems of Hindu philosophy. In contradistinction to Western philosophies,
all six Hindu systems embody not only theoretical but practical teachings. In addition to
every conceivable ontological inquiry, the six systems formulate six definite disciplines
aimed at the permanent removal of suffering and the attainment of timeless bliss.
The common
thread linking all six systems is the declaration that no true freedom for man is possible
without knowledge of the ultimate Reality. The later
Upanishads uphold the Yoga Sutras, among the
six systems, as containing the most efficacious methods for achieving direct perception of
truth. Through the practical techniques of yoga, man leaves behind forever the barren
realms of speculation and cognizes in experience the veritable Essence.
The Yoga system as outlined by Patanjali is known as
the Eightfold Path. The first steps, (1) yama
and (2) niyama, require observance of ten
negative and positive moralities—avoidance of injury to others, of untruthfulness, of
stealing, of incontinence, of gift-receiving (which brings obligations); and purity of
body and mind, contentment, self-discipline, study, and devotion to God.
The next
steps are (3) asana (right posture); the spinal
column must be held straight, and the body firm in a comfortable position for meditation;
(4) pranayama (control of prana, subtle life currents); and (5) pratyahara (withdrawal of the senses from external
objects).
The last
steps are forms of yoga proper: (6) dharana
(concentration); holding the mind to one thought; (7)
dhyana (meditation), and (8) samadhi
(superconscious perception). This is the Eightfold Path of Yoga which leads
one to the final goal of Kaivalya
(Absoluteness), a term which might be more comprehensibly put as "realization of the
Truth beyond all intellectual apprehension."
"Which
is greater," one may ask, "a swami or a yogi?" If and when final oneness
with God is achieved, the distinctions of the various paths disappear. The Bhagavad Gita, however, points out that the
methods of yoga are all-embracive. Its techniques are not meant only for certain types and
temperaments, such as those few who incline toward the monastic life; yoga requires no
formal allegiance. Because the yogic science satisfies a universal need, it has a natural
universal applicability.
A true yogi
may remain dutifully in the world; there he is like butter on water, and not like the
easily-diluted milk of unchurned and undisciplined humanity. To fulfill one's earthly
responsibilities is indeed the higher path, provided the yogi, maintaining a mental
uninvolvement with egotistical desires, plays his part as a willing instrument of God.
There are a
number of great souls, living in American or European or other non-Hindu bodies today who,
though they may never have heard the words yogi
and swami, are yet true exemplars of those
terms. Through their disinterested service to mankind, or through their mastery over
passions and thoughts, or through their single hearted love of God, or through their great
powers of concentration, they are, in a sense, yogis; they have set themselves the goal of
yoga—self-control. These men could rise to even greater heights if they were taught
the definite science of yoga, which makes possible a more conscious direction of one's
mind and life.
Yoga has been
superficially misunderstood by certain Western writers, but its critics have never been
its practitioners. Among many thoughtful tributes to yoga may be mentioned one by Dr. C.
G. Jung, the famous Swiss psychologist.
"When a
religious method recommends itself as 'scientific,' it can be certain of its public in the
West. Yoga fulfills this expectation," Dr. Jung writes. "Quite
apart from the charm of the new, and the fascination of the half-understood, there is good
cause for Yoga to have many adherents. It offers the possibility of controllable
experience, and thus satisfies the scientific need of 'facts,' and besides this, by reason
of its breadth and depth, its venerable age, its doctrine and method, which include every
phase of life, it promises undreamed-of possibilities.
"Every
religious or philosophical practice means a psychological discipline, that is, a method of
mental hygiene. The manifold, purely bodily procedures of Yoga also mean a
physiological hygiene which is superior to ordinary gymnastics and breathing exercises,
inasmuch as it is not merely mechanistic and scientific, but also philosophical; in its
training of the parts of the body, it unites them with the whole of the spirit, as is
quite clear, for instance, in the Pranayama
exercises where Prana is both the breath and the
universal dynamics of the cosmos.
"When
the thing which the individual is doing is also a cosmic event, the effect experienced in
the body (the innervation), unites with the emotion of the spirit (the universal idea),
and out of this there develops a lively unity which no technique, however scientific, can
produce. Yoga practice is unthinkable, and would also be ineffectual, without the concepts
on which Yoga is based. It combines the bodily and the spiritual with each other in an
extraordinarily complete way.
"In the
East, where these ideas and practices have developed, and where for several thousand years
an unbroken tradition has created the necessary spiritual foundations, Yoga is, as I can
readily believe, the perfect and appropriate method of fusing body and mind together so
that they form a unity which is scarcely to be questioned. This unity creates a
psychological disposition which makes possible intuitions that transcend
consciousness."
The Western
day is indeed nearing when the inner science of self-control will be found as necessary as
the outer conquest of nature. This new Atomic Age will see men's minds sobered and
broadened by the now scientifically indisputable truth that matter is in reality a
concentrate of energy. Finer forces of the human mind can and must liberate energies
greater than those within stones and metals, lest the material atomic giant, newly
unleashed, turn on the world in mindless destruction.