Elementary and Advanced Learning

Teaching and Teachers

Srila Prabhupada, teaching

by Michael Dolan/B.V. Mahayogi

In the early stages of an art we may get help from a number of teachers at the elementary level. For example, in the early days of the Rock band “The Grateful Dead,” Jerry Garcia wanted Phil Lesh, a trumpet player, to join the band. But they didn’t want a trumpet player. They needed a Bass guitarist. Lesh had never played the guitar so he agreed to join on the condition that Garcia would give him some lessons.

In his book, Searching for the Sound, Lesh reports that when he arrived at Jerry Garcia’s house for the lesson, Garcia instructed him as follows. : “See this guitar, man? The bottom four strings on the guitar are tuned the same as the four strings of the bass, so borrow a guitar from somebody and practice scales on it until you can get down here and we’ll start rehearsing.”

Phil Lesh

Lesh comments, “It was almost as if he didn’t want to influence the way that I approached the instrument so that I could come to it with only my own preconceptions as baggage.”

On the basis of that first lesson, Phil Lesh went on to become one of the greatest bass guitarists in the history of Rock.

The point is that we don’t need a virtuosos for entry level instruction. Elementary lessons may be given by anyone more advanced than we are. In fact, at the entry level of any subject, we often lack the capacity to ask the deeper questions that only a true master is capable of. The instruction will be based on our level as well as on our need and urgency. A soldier about to be sent into battle cares more about survival skills than about how to wear his uniform. A captain will be concerned with tactics, a general with strategy and policies.

As we grow and advance we want more specific answers on questions both theoretical and practical. As we become more expert in a subject, we want help from an expert master. In the advanced stages of any art we want an advanced teacher. Even a virtuosos wants a master class, where he may solve technical problems, understand the depth of his art and draw on the expertise and knowledge of a more realized master.

Close touch with a realized master in a master class may not be possible over a prolonged period of time. It may only be a short exposure. But even a limited exposure with a great soul may be enough to release miracles.

Krishna inspiring Brahma

Lord Brahma, the creator of the universe, and the founder of the Brahma-Madhva-Gaudiya sampradaya transmits the gayatri mantra after hearing the flute-song of Śrī Kṛṣṇa. He does not spend years studying in an ashram.

Brahma inspiring Narada

His protegeé, Narada hears the chatu-shloka Bhagavatam from Brahma in a single conversation. Nārada transmits divine inspiration to Vyāsa, when that great composer of the Mahābharata is lost in meditation. In a few words, Nārada tells Vyāsa that his lack of clarity about the glories of Bhagavan Śrī Kṛṣṇa is the reason for his despondency. In the end he advises that great sage as follows:

तद्-वाग्-विसर्गो जनताघ-विप्लवो यस्मिन् प्रति-श्लोकम् अबद्धवत्य् अपि

नामान्य् अनन्तस्य यशो ऽङ्कितानि यत् शृण्वन्ति गायन्ति गृणन्ति साधवः

tad-vāg-visargo janatāgha-viplavo yasmin prati-ślokam abaddhavaty api nāmāny anantasya yaśo 'ṅkitāni yat śṛṇvanti gāyanti gṛṇanti sādhavaḥ

“On the other hand, that literature which is full of descriptions of the transcendental glories of the name, fame, forms, pastimes, etc., of the unlimited Supreme Lord is a different creation, full of transcendental words directed toward bringing about a revolution in the impious lives of this world's misdirected civilization. Such transcendental literatures, even though imperfectly composed, are heard, sung and accepted by purified men who are thoroughly honest.”

Narada inspiring Vyasa

Nārada explains to Vyāsa that he need not be a perfectionist. Even if his realization is incomplete, his sincerity will shine through. Even if his syntax and grammar are imperfect, his attempt is laudatory.

Vyāsa’s effort is the great treatise of the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam which glorifies Krishna in every verse. While he did not sit at the feet of Nārada and study his teachings with the intimate personal association of his gurudeva, he accepted the inner principle of his message and was guided by that substance. For this reason, Vyāsa is considered as the next link in the chain, the appropriate successor in the Bhagavat-parampara, the crooked line of teachers and preceptors that brings that message to us today.

The proper follower of Vyāsa was considered by Chaitanya Mahāprabhu to be Madhva, who defended the personalist conception of Vyāsa’s Bhagavad-Gita. It is for this reason, among others, that He chose to take sannyāsa from Ishvara Puri, since he was a follower of Madhavendra Puri, a great Vaishnava saint in the line of Madhva.

Madhva himself did not study in the ashram of Vyāsa. He is said to have been inspired by a vision of Vyāsa, in much the same way that Vyāsa was inspired by a vision of Nārada, Nārada by a conversation with Brahma and Brahma by hearing the flute-song of Krishna himself. The Bhagavat-parampara is the line of inspiration. Without inspiration, then, there can be no line, however well-conceived the succession appears to be.

Vyasa inspiring Madhva

Finding a real master, one who is defined by his inspiration and dedication, is no small task. And if one is fortunate enough to have such association, one must do his utmost to honor it.

As the poet Coleridge said,

“Weave a circle round him thrice

And close your eyes with holy dread,

For he on honey-dew hath fed

And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Śrīla Prabhupāda did not spend years in an ashram studying with Bhaktisiddhānta Saraswati. He met him on a few occasions and took his teachings seriously. He went on to found an international movement for Krishna consciousness.

Chastity to the guru does not imply clinging to his dhoti and following him everywhere. The idea of chastity means being faithful to the principles he has taught and the message he has lived.

More advanced students understand this principle deeply. We must accept and honor the guru principle whenever and wherever it appears. We must draw inspiration wherever we may find it. Even a virtuoso is humbled and inspired by listening to the morning concert of the songbirds. Even the accomplished dance-master draws inspiration from the sprinting of a gazelle. Chastity to the guru’s message, then, does not mean slavish fanaticism or blind faith in a repeated formula. It implies an even deeper faith and wisdom; the ability to see the teachings of my guru embodied in the words and deeds of others--to see my guru everywhere. Curiously, just as we may accept help from many teachers at the elementary level, we may also profit by studying with many teachers at the advanced level.

This is described in the Eleventh Canto of the Śrīmad-Bhagavatam, chapter seven beginning with 11.7.32. An avadhuta explains as follows.

श्री-ब्राह्मण उवाच

सन्ति मे गुरवो राजन् बहवो बुद्ध्य्-उपश्रिताः यतो बुद्धिम् उपादाय मुक्तो ऽटामीह तान् शृणु

śrī-brāhmaṇa uvāca
santi me guravo rājan bahavo buddhy-upaśritāḥ
yato buddhim upādāya mukto 'ṭāmīha tān śṛṇu

“The avadhuta brāhmaṇa said: My dear King, with my intelligence I have taken shelter of many gurus, many spiritual masters. I have learned something from each of them and so have achieved mukti. Thus I walk the earth. I will tell you now, my king, of all these different gurus.

I have learned from the earth and from the air.

The sky I have taken as my guru.

Water is my guru, as is fire.

I have learned many things from the moon and the sun and the sea.

I have studied with the pigeon and the python.

The moth, the honeybee, the elephant and the honey thief have taught me about temptation and karma, lust, seduction and fate.

I have learned lessons from the deer who is seduced by the flute and the fish drawn to his bait. The prostitute Piṅgalā has taught me the value of patience and hopelessness. I have studied and learned from the birds and children.

In my studies as I wander the earth I have learned lessons from virgins, from arrowsmiths, from snakes and spiders and wasps. By accepting all these as my gurus, I have learned the science of the self.”

In this way, we can understand that wisdom and maturity in accepting the guru’s teachings implies the ability to see his teachings embodied in the words and deeds of others, including even the earth and sky but also especially wise teachers and devotees.

The Courage to Teach

On Teaching and Teachers

by Michael Dolan/ B.V. Mahayogi

Continuing with the ideas expressed in the last post, there is an interesting paradox in the act of teaching.

Any teaching involves ego, since the teacher adopts the position of knowing something.

But what if the teaching is about how to get rid of the ego? How to teach the art of giving up the ego?

As soon as anyone says, “I know how to teach,” and accepts the business of being guru, he is indulging in a kind of ego, what is called in Sanskrit as acharaya-abhiman. But this is unavoidable.

Teaching is an action of compassion, or it should be. Teaching should never be about ego-gratification. Adopting the pose of “teacher” means accepting the teacher-student relationship. So a teacher must drop the mantle of “mystic” and wear the “teacher hat,” at least as long as he is “in class.” Of course, a true acharya is always “in class,” since he is expected to teach by example. The word acharya means, “One who teaches by example.” He may also teach by precept, but his example is expected to match or even exceed his precept. This puts a special strain on the spiritual teacher, since he is forced to wear the “teacher hat” 24 hours a day.

An ordinary school teacher can go home at the end of the day and be a musician or work on writing his novel. He may have a social life with friends or a romantic life which he pursues outside of school.

But a spiritual teacher is expected to live the example 24 hours a day, constantly teaching. He may not discard the “teacher hat” and take up the mantle of mystic, for this will not be understood by his students. Gaura Kishore Das Babaji Maharaja refused students for this very reason. He was not interested in the ego of teaching. But if no mystics accept the role of teachers we will be deprived of guidance.

Deep compassion dictates that a realized soul reaches out to those who are spiritually impoverished to give them a helping hand, even at the risk of becoming famous and acquiring great ego gratification. So the acharya is faced with the daunting task of overcoming acharya-abhiman even while accepting the teaching role.

Disciples or students, at the same time, demand authenticity. They want a true mystic as guru. Unfortunately, because of the reasons outlined above, mystics prefer not to teach. Some students are absolutely determined to find the most retired of mystics and convert him into a teacher. This way, they can claim a true “Uttama-adhikari” or “ultimate-qualified” or “confirmed genius” guru as their master. Wanting to claim the highest-qualified guru as teacher, is, of course, another ego trip.

In a sense, it doesn’t matter if a confirmed genius of the highest order tells me not to eat the blue crayons, or if it is merely a simple kindergarten teacher. The confirmed genius conveys none of his virtuosity when demonstrating to his violin student how to play a scale.

Beethoven was a notoriously bad piano teacher, for he lacked the basic patience to deal with a beginner fumbling on the keys. The mad genius, deaf in his last days, would scream at his students and humiliate them. A lesser virtuouso might lack the genius of a Beethoven, and yet have the patience to work with children.

So, in a sense, it doesn’t matter if the person who first leads me on the path is coming from the highest spiritual platform. He may simply be an adequate teacher who knows about the path from a higher master. The important thing is that I am being shown the path. We need not insist that the path-finder be a famous cartographer. We may make much progress with a humble teacher.

The humility of the master, however, does not diminish the respect we owe him. Respect for the teacher is important for the student; if he values the teacher, he will value the education. So it is that we do our best to respect those who have the compassion and courage to teach.

Místicos, Gurus y Mentores

Místicos, Gurus y MentoresMaestros y Crayolas

Por Michael Dolan, B.V. Mahayogi

traducido por Teresa Loret de Mola (Tapanandini D.D.)

Sridhar Maharaja hace una clara diferencia de que el trabajo del maestro es distinto al del místico. Los místicos no enseñan.

Enseñar involucra muchas disciplinas.

Uno no sólo ha de ser un erudito en lo material, sino que también ha de tener la voluntad de exponerse a sí mismo a los recién llegados y principiantes quienes desafiarán todo.

El ensañar involucra el ego.

En Sánscrito hay una palabra especial para esto: es llamada “acharya-abhiman” significa “Ego de maestro”.

Los seres humanos son animales sociales. Tenemos una compasión natural. Cuando vemos perdido a alguien, queremos enseñarle el camino.

Pero si alguien está perdido y le señalamos la dirección correcta, estamos tomamos la posición de maestro. “Es por ese camino” decimos, pero ahí hay ego envuelto.

Aquí en México frecuentemente veo turistas en las esquinas consultando un mapa. Me siento tentado a intervenir y decir, “¿Está usted perdido?” Deje que le ayude. Es por ahí”. Pero he aprendido a no meterme. Con los años me he dado cuenta que esos turistas han pagado mucho dinero para estar perdidos. Han pasado por lo traumático de comprar boletos en línea, reservar hoteles, cruzar por los chequeos de seguridad y volar a un país extranjero sólo para saborear justo este momento: no tener idea de en dónde están. Para eso pagaron, por la sensación deliciosa de no saber exactamente en dónde estás. ¿Quién soy yo para destruirles el momento? ¿Por qué he de tratar de guiar a alguien que disfruta estando perdido?

Pero en ocasiones la situación es más drástica y la única solución compasiva es tomar el rol de maestro. Y en ese rol, a veces necesitamos insistir para que el estudiante acepte la guía.

He notado que hay una gran diferencia entre los cuatro y los cinco años de edad. El psicólogo del desarrollo, Jean Piaget se especializa en esas diferencias. La teoría del desarrollo cognitivo de Piaget sugiere que los niños se mueven a través de cuatro etapas distintas de desarrollo mental. Sus teorías se enfocan no sólo en el entendimiento de cómo el niño adquiere el conocimiento, sino también en el entendimiento de la naturaleza de la inteligencia.

Hay una gran distinción en lo que él llama desarrollo “sensorio-motor” que ocupa a niños mayormente entre 2 y 4 años, y lo que él llama el desarrollo “pre-operacional” que empieza entre los 3 y los 7 años.

No es que los niños más grandes nada más piensen más rápido, sugiere. En cambio, hay diferencias cualitativas y cuantitativas entre el pensamiento de un niño versus un niño mayor. Piaget divide esto en etapas y grados.

Durante la etapa que llama, “sensorial-motora”, la cual es la etapa  más temprana de desarrollo cognitivo, los infantes y niños pequeños adquieren conocimiento a través de sus experiencias sensoriales y la manipulación de los objetos. Los niños atraviesan un dramático período de crecimiento y aprendizaje. Conforme los niños interactúan con su medio ambiente, constantemente hacen descubrimientos acerca de cómo opera el mundo.

Están aprendiendo cosas importantes como madre y padre y rojo y azul y la lluvia. Aprenden la diferencia entre el arroz, la avena y el cemento de goma. Están aprendiendo que papá ama a mamá pero que a veces se enojan. Aprenden que el Tío Roger no es Darth Vader y la Tía Molly huele a cebolla y a vino tinto. En esta etapa de vida, no están preocupados con los sistemas simbólicos. Los símbolos no tienen significado.  No pueden entender el valor del alfabeto o los números escritos. Recordemos que la mayoría de los adultos son iletrados hasta la edad media y en muchas sociedades aún hoy leer está prohibido. Así que las letras no tienen ningún significado para los niños. A lo que quiero llegar es a que los niños de 4 años siempre se comen las crayolas. He visto a incontables madres que llevaban a sus hijos al kínder en donde solía trabajar. Tras dos semanas solían preguntar si el pequeño Orlando ya podía leer. Ellas sabían que el pequeño Orlando era un genio a nivel de Einstein o Mozart. Cuando aconsejaba paciencia, ellas se enojaban. ¿Cuánto tardaría?

Recuerden que como una civilización, colectivamente, tomó miles de años llegar al punto en donde la mayoría  pudiera leer. Pero haciendo eso a un lado. Los niños de cuatro años como regla no tienen interés en la lectura. No están muy ocupados en aprender acerca de la realidad en el nivel sensorial-motor como para preocuparse de las operaciones simbólicas.

Pero como maestro era mi deber aceptar niños de 4 años junto con los de 5, 6 y 7 los cuales ya manejaban bien las operaciones. Ellos sabían los números y los colores en inglés y les gustaba cantar, bailar el Hikey Pokey, jugar a las etiquetas y dibujar imágenes con las crayolas. Los niños de 4 años, sin embargo, siempre intentaban comerse las crayolas.

Entonces, como maestro, era mi deber decirles, “No se coman las crayoas”. Por supuesto, se supone que tú no debes hacer eso, pues se usa un lenguaje negativo. Se supone que debes decir, “Las crayolas son para colorear”, lo cual es lenguaje positivo. Pero en la práctica, opera algo así como “Sácate eso de la boca, ahora. Pero tan pronto como sacas la crayola roja de su boca, continúan con la verde. Están convencidos de que la crayola verde tendrá un sabor distinto a la roja. No lo tiene. Ambas saben a barro salado. Yo lo sé. Mi punto es que cualquier maestro ha de enfrentar el problema de cómo y cuándo dar instrucción. Ahora, yo no sé si alguna vez han enseñado en el kínder, pero los niños se resisten a que se les quiten las crayolas de la boca. Les gusta morder. Pero en realidad lo que están diciendo es. “¿Quién eres tú para enseñarme?” Acharya-abhiman es cuando el maestro dice, “Soy el maestro. Sé lo que es bueno para ti. Las crayolas no son buenas para ti. Deja que las saque de tu boca”. Pero todo acto de enseñanza involucra una cierta presunción de que el “Maestro sabe mejor”. Los místicos elevados, los maestros últimos, los uttama-adhikaris no hacen tal presunción. Ellos ven el mundo en perfecto balance ya que viven en samādhi, balance perfecto. Dhi significa inteligencia, sobriedad, sabiduría, samā significa, ecuanimidad, balance. Samādhi es vista de forma distinta por los distintos grupos de yoga, pero en el sentido clínico significa balance perfecto. Ver el mundo en balance perfecto. Un místico genuino ya se halla ahí. Un maestro sabe lo que es el balance y se interesa en mostrarte cómo opera. Un místico ve que aún tu falta de balance es una parte de la armonía general y no siente necesidad de enseñar. Cuando veo a un turista perdido sé que está disfrutando experimentar el estar perdido, lo que lo conduce al gozo del descubrimiento. Si le muestro en dónde está perderá para siempre el momento cuando se gire y se dé cuenta en dónde está exactamente. Destruiré su momento de descubrir. Este es un acto de violencia innecesaria. También, debido a que soy un gringo, un americano “blanco”, cualquier información que yo les provea humillará al gringo perdido. Preferirá por mucho practicar su quebrado español con un nativo quien le dirá, “Dé la vuelta, es justo ahí”, lo cual conducirá a una hermosa amistad. En ocasiones el “ego de maestro” es innecesario. Podemos dejar que la gente encuentre por sí mismo su camino. Pero un guía espiritual es quien conoce el camino hacia la verdad más elevada. En un mundo de ciegos, su visión, aunque sea imperfecta, se destaca. Puede guiar a los ciegos. Puede guiar a quien está perdido. Y una vez que se convierte en guía, no puede abdicar. Ciegos y perdidos lo buscarán. Así es que en ocasiones grandes místicos que no tienen interés en enseñar se convierten en maestros. Algunos místicos tienen suficiente compasión para decir. “No comas las crayolas” y pronto quedan atrapados en la posición de maestros. Otros maestros están en una misión: “Ven conmigo te prometo tierras”, dicen. “Es por ahí. Deja todo y sígueme”. Siempre hay un riesgo en seguir a un maestro. Tal vez nos conduzcan hacia la senda equivocada. Pero tras una cierta cantidad de experiencia, uno ha de ser capaz de reconocer, a qué se parece la senda correcta. Y si uno anda demasiado en la senda incorrecta, uno ha de darse vuelta. Yo le pregunté a Sridhara Maharaj acerca de esto y me dijo que era como montar un tren. A veces sucede que cuando tenemos prisa no  o no conocemos el camino podemos subirnos al tren equivocado. Pero si contamos las paradas y prestamos atención, entenderemos que estamos yendo en la dirección equivocada. En ese momento, necesitamos bajar del tren y cambiar el curso. Necesitamos ir en busca del tren que nos lleve de vuelta a la dirección correcta. Aquí en México, hay un libro popular llamado “Inglés sin Maestro” el cual enseña a la gente a hablar inglés sin maestro. Nunca he sabido de un método que tenga éxito. Pero entonces de nuevo es difícil progresar sin escuchar al maestro. Lo sé de hecho, porque soy particularmente obstinado y resistente a cualquier consejo. Estoy decidido a hacer las cosas de la manera más difícil. El otro día convertí un problema menor de cañería de la cocina y lo convertí en una catástrofe de plomería mayor. Armado solamente con un desatornillador y un par de alicates, convertí la cocina en una zona inundada que haría que las víctimas del huracán Katrina sacudieran la cabeza y lloraran. “Hágalo usted mismo” es a menudo un boleto de ida hacia el desastre. Los maestros pueden mostrarte una forma más fácil. Al fontanero le tomó 20 minutos y una pieza de 20 pesos de plástico arreglar el problema. Pero es tan difícil escuchar a los expertos. Por lo cual seguimos comiendo crayolas. La azul es mi favorita. Pero no se las coman.

Mystics, Gurus, and Mentors

Teachers and Crayons

by Michael Dolan

Śrīdhara Mahārāja makes it clear that a teacher’s work is distinct from that of a mystic.

Mystics don’t teach.

Teaching involves many disciplines.

One must not only be erudite in the material; one must have the willingness to expose one’s self to newcomers and beginners who will challenge everything.

Teaching involves ego.

In Sanskrit there is a special word for this: it’s called “acharya-abhiman.” It means “Teacher-ego.”

Humans are social animals. We have natural compassion. When we see someone lost, we want to show them the way.

But if someone is lost and we point out the right direction, we are taking the position of teacher. “It’s this way,” we say, but there is ego involved.

Here in Mexico I often see tourists on the street corner consulting a map. I’m tempted to intervene and say, “Are you lost? Let me help you. It’s this way.” But I have learned to stay out of it. I have realized over the years that these tourists have paid a lot of money to be lost. They’ve gone through the trauma of buying tickets online, reserving hotels, going through security checks and flying to a foreign country just to savor this exact moment: they have no idea where they are. This is what they paid for; the delightful sense of not knowing exactly where you are. Who am I to destroy the moment for them? Why should I try to guide someone who enjoys being lost?

But sometimes the situation is more drastic and the only compassionate solution is to take on the role of teacher. And in that role, sometimes we need to insist that the student accepts guidance.

I have noticed there is a big difference between four years old and five years old. Developmental Psychologist Jean Piaget specialized in noting these differences. Piaget's theory of cognitive development suggests that children move through four different stages of mental development. His theory focuses not only on understanding how children acquire knowledge, but also on understanding the nature of intelligence. There’s a big distinction between what he calls “sensory-motor” development that occupies children mostly between 2 and 4 years old, and what he calls “pre-operational” development that begins between 3 and 7 years old.

Older children do not just think more quickly than younger children, he suggested. Instead, there are both qualitative and quantitative differences between the thinking of young children versus older children. Piaget divides these differences in stages and gradations.

During the so-called “sensory-motor” stage, which is the earliest stage of cognitive development, infants and toddlers acquire knowledge through sensory experiences and manipulating objects. Children go through a period of dramatic growth and learning. As kids interact with their environment, they are continually making new discoveries about how the world works.

They are learning about important things like mother and father and red and blue and rain. They are learning the difference between rice, oatmeal, and rubber cement. They are learning that Daddy loves Mommy but sometimes they get angry. They are learning that Uncle Roger is not Darth Vader and that Aunt Molly smells like onions and red wine.

In this stage of life, they are not concerned with symbol systems. Symbols have no meaning. They cannot comprehend the value of the alphabet or written numbers. Remember that most adults were illiterate up to the middle ages and in many societies even today reading is forbidden. So letters have absolutely no meaning for children.

What I’m getting at is that 4-year old kids always eat the crayons. I’ve seen countless mothers drop off their children in the kindergarten where I used to work. After two weeks they would ask if little Orlando could read yet. They knew little Orlando was a genius on the level of Einstein or Mozart. When I advised patience, they would get angry. How long would it take?

Remember that as a civilization, collectively, it took thousands of years to get to the point where most people could read. But leaving that aside, 4 year old children as a rule have no interest in reading. They are too busy learning about reality at the sensory-motor level to care about symbolic operations.

But as a teacher it was my duty to accept the 4-year old kids in the same classroom as the 5,6, and 7 year olds who were doing pretty well with operations. They knew their numbers and colors in English and liked to sing songs, dance the Hokey Pokey, play tag and draw pictures with crayons. 4-year olds, however, really don’t get crayons at first. It takes a few sessions. And in the first session, they always try to eat the crayons.

So, as a teacher, it’s my duty to tell them, “Don’t eat the crayons.” Of course, you’re not supposed to do that, since it uses negative language. You’re supposed to say, “Crayons are for coloring,” which is positive language. But in practice, it works out to “Get that out of your mouth, now.” But as soon as you get the red crayon out of their mouth, they’re on to the green one. They’re convinced that the green crayon will taste better than the red one. It doesn’t. They both taste something like salty clay. I know.

My point is that any teacher must face the problem of when and how to give instruction. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever taught kindergarten, but children resist having crayons removed from their mouths. They like to bite. But what they are really saying is, “Who are you to teach me?”

Acharya-abhiman is when the teacher says, “I’m the teacher. I know what’s good for you. Crayons are not good for you. Get that out of your mouth.”

But any act of teaching involves a certain presumption that “Teacher knows best.” The highest mystics, the ultimate teachers, the uttama-adhikaris make no such presumptions. They see the world as perfectly balanced since they live in samādhi, perfect balance. Dhi means intelligence, sobriety, wisdom. samā means same-ness, balance. Samādhi is seen differently by different yoga groups, but in a clinical sense it means perfect balance. To see the world in perfect balance. A true mystic is already there. A teacher knows what balance is and is interested in showing you how it works. A mystic sees even your imbalance as part of the over-all harmony and feels no need to teach. When I see a lost tourist I know he is experiencing the joy of being lost, which leads to the joy of discovery. If I show him where he is he will lose forever the moment when he turned around and realized exactly where he was. I will destroy his moment of discovery. This is an unnecessary act of violence. Also, since I am a Gringo, a “white” American man, any information I might provide will humiliate the lost gringo. He would far rather practice his broken Spanish with a native who will tell him, “Turn around. It’s right there,” which will lead to a beautiful friendship.

Sometimes the “teacher-ego” is unnecessary. We can let people find their own way.

But a spiritual guide is one who knows the way to higher truth. In a world of the blind, his vision, however imperfect, stands out. He can lead the blind. He can guide the lost. And once he becomes a guide, he cannot abdicate. The blind and the lost will seek him out. So it is that sometimes great mystics who have no interest in teaching become teachers. Some mystics have enough compassion to say, “Don’t eat the crayons,” and soon become trapped in the position of teachers.

Other teachers are on a mission: “Come with me to the promised land,” they say. “It’s over there. Leave everything and follow me.”

It is always risky to follow teachers. They may lead us down the wrong path. But after a certain amount of experience, one may be able to recognize what the right path should look like. And if one goes too far on the wrong path, one has to turn around.

I asked Śrīdhar Mahārāja about this and he told me that it was something like riding a train. Sometimes it happens that when we’re in a hurry or we don’t know the way we get on the wrong train. But if we count the stops and pay attention, we will understand that we’re going in the wrong direction. At that time, we need to get off the train and change course. We need to seek out the train that goes back in the right direction.

Here in Mexico there’s a popular book called “Ingles sin Maestro” which teaches people to speak English without a teacher. I have never known this method to succeed. But then again it is difficult to make progress without listening to the master. I know this for a fact, for I am particularly stubborn and resistant to any advice.

I am determined to do things the hard way. The other day I took a minor problem with a quarter-turn tap in the kitchen and turned it into a major plumbing catastrophe. Armed only with a screw-driver and a pair of pliers I turned the kitchen into a flood zone that would make the victims of Hurricane Katrina shake their heads and cry. “Do-it-yourself” is often a one-way ticket to disaster. Teachers can show you an easier way. It took the plumber 20 minutes and a 20 peso piece of plastic to fix the problem.

But it’s hard to listen to the experts. Which is why we still eat the crayons. Blue is my favorite. But don't eat the blue crayons.

Notes on Teaching

The Ultimate Teacher

I have seen it repeated in different forums that one should only accept the highest, most realized devotee of Krishna. In the technical parlance of Gaudiya Vaishnavism the word uttama is used. Uttama in Sanskrit is the root of the word “ultimate.”

Adhikar means “qualification.” So Uttama-adhikari means the “ultimately-qualified.”

The idea is that one should only take instruction from the uttama-adhikari, the ultimately-qualified, given that there are 3 kinds of truth-seekers or devotees of God Krishna: beginner (kanistha), medium (madhyama) and ultimate (uttama).

Kanistha or beginning truth-seekers have some faith. But their faith is green. In beginners, faith is soft and confused. Sometimes it is “blind faith.” Such truth-seekers are distracted by different goals and are not entirely dedicated. In the beginner, faith is easily acquired but easily discarded. A beginner may be ready to give everything for a newfound faith, only to be shocked by a scandal, or swayed by an argument into giving up his faith.

Madhyama or medium qualification means that one’s faith is not easily swayed. There is practice, wisdom and experience that confirms faith on a personal level. A “medium” truth-seeker can defend his faith from different points of view, based on personal experience, practical wisdom, and the knowledge gained through study of the scriptures and the guidance of a spiritual master. A “medium” qualification is sufficient for teaching.

Teaching is a peculiar occupation. Sometimes the best teachers know little about their subject but are expert in infecting their students with a curiosity about the subject. They have not learned everything; they have not mastered their field, but they have enough of a spark to ignite a fire in the hearts of their students.

It is said that those who can do and those who can’t teach. Many a common piano teacher has inspired a student to go on to become a great virtuoso. The teachers at the school room in Stratford-upon-Avon who taught “small Latin and less Greek” according to Ben Jonson, produced a Shakespeare. Many a great student was inspired by an ordinary teacher.

Teaching is hard work, and successful teachers work hard to create a proper learning environment for their students. Great teaching really less to do with great knowledge and expert skills than with one’s attitude towards students and and the subject being taught. 

Virtuosity is not an essential aspect of great teaching. Andrés Segovia is revered as one of the greatest guitarists of the 20th century. The classical guitar virtuoso was notorious as a bad teacher, famous for bullying and destroying his students at master classes. He was a brilliant guitarist, but unfit as a teacher. According to John Williams, one of his protégées, He had no patience and no empathy for his students and reduced them to tears. A recent book reveals that Williams remembers Segovia making his students copy his every inflection – demands that Williams believes "undermined any sense of personal ownership of a piece. It was as if Segovia had… ordained that there was but one valid transcription, one interpretation and one fingering of anything in the repertoire and they were his own.

Williams felt that, perhaps because of this, he never played his best for Segovia and that many of the maestro's students would have been better if they were not so constrained."

Virtuosos in sports also fail to make great teachers. In hockey, Wayne Gretzky, famous as the 'Great One' is considered by most hockey followers to be the best player in hockey history.

But the nine-time MVP, four-time Stanley Cup champion and leading scorer in NHL history never led his team, the Phoenix Coyotes to the playoffs in four seasons behind the bench. He stepped down as coach shortly before the start of the 2009-10 season with the team mired in a bankruptcy court hearing and bidders indicating he would no longer be associated with the team after it emerged from bankruptcy.

My point is that virtuosity is not only nonessential in teaching, it may even be a disqualification. One of the most important qualifications for a teacher is empathy. Since virtuosos focus solely on their own achievements and skills they often discard empathy as a valuable part of life. In sports, especially, empathy may be poison. After all, the object is to win.

The qualification for teaching, then, is not to be on the highest platform of perfection, but to be able to empower others, to see the good in others and bring it out, the power to polish a lump of coal until it becomes a diamond. A good teacher does not look at mud and think, ¨this is mud. It´s filthy. I cannot touch it.¨ A good teacher looks at the mud and sees a perfectly crafted ceramic vase. He knows how to bring the art out of the mud.

This does not exclude virtuosos from the teaching process. A great violin teacher also take pleasure in teaching solfeggio and basic scales to beginners. But by the same token a casual observer who drops into the classroom will conclude that the teacher is a mediocre violinist, or why would he be playing ¨twinkle twinkle little star.¨

Everyone naturally claims that their guru is on the highest platform. But the very function of teaching belongs to the madhyama-adhikari. The definition of a ¨medium¨ level of faith is that one can defend his point of view with arguments, examples, and personal wisdom. The role of a teacher is to explain, to give arguments, to help others. The role of a spiritual virtuoso is to climb to the zenith of mysticism, a feat which can rarely be communicated to others. The role of a spiritual teacher is to give guidance; this can only be done through argument, precept and practice.

The uttama-adhikari may present himself as an avadhut, a mystic beyond egoistic consciousness. The behavior of an avadhut is a riddle. It is impossible to follow the example of a spiritual virtuoso like Nityānda Prabhu, since we lack the tools to interpret his behavior.

It is the business of a teacher to be critical, to make distinctions, to say this is correct and this is incorrect. The uttama-adhikari however sees everything in absolute harmony and balance. He fails to make critical analysis for this reason. He is no longer interested in criticism. He sees only divinity everywhere. Every wave is favorable.

Śrīdhara Mahārāja, in the course of this teachings, made an interesting point. In a lecture given on the 18th of August in 1980 he explains:

Only from the madhyama-adhikārī, or middle stage, intermediate stage, that is only fit for discharging the duty of the Ācārya.

When uttama-adhikārī [devotee in the highest stage] comes to take the position of the Ācārya, he has also to come down to the position of madhyama. Inspired by the order by the Lord, uttama-adhikārī comes down to the position of madhyama-adhikārī and then he makes disciples.

Because in the uttama-adhikārī proper, there is feeling, universal angle of vision that everything is adjusted with the Supreme Absolute, he does not see that a part is revolting. The revolting portion is not seen in his eyes. That everything is perfectly adjusted, this is uttama-adhikārī.

And the madhyama-adhikārī sees that this is proper adjustment and that is maladjustment, and from the maladjustment they should be taken to proper adjustment. This is madhyama-adhikārī.

So Guru is always madhyama-adhikārī. Whether he comes down from uttama-adhikārī or is a bona fide madhyama-adhikārī. But it is the duty of the madhyama-adhikārī because he sees two things: divinity and non divinity. This is madhyama-adhikārī. So the work of Guru is the work of the madhyama-adhikārī.

He makes it clear that a teacher’s work is distinct from that of a mystic. The uttama-adhikari or highly realized soul may be absorbed in bhakti without ever feeling the need to get on a soap-box and preach. He doesn´t call out atheists and agnostics or nonbelievers, since he sees everyone harmonized in the infinitely favorable waves of divinity.

And so it is that many of the greatest devotees of Krishna and Chaitanya Mahāprabhu are not preachers. Hari Dās Thakur took the name of God Krishna millions of times and scarcely had any breath left over to explain and analyse his faith. Gaura Kishore Das Babaji lived under an overturned boat on the banks of the Ganges and avoided teaching.

Once again, the point that Śrīdhara Mahārāja makes is that teaching is distinct from realization. The role of teacher is distinct from that of mystic. A great mystic may say nothing at all or speak in riddles and parables. A great teacher is not afforded such a luxury. Teaching involves a different skill set, a different mentality, and a different approach than personal realization.

Teachers may be polemic, as was Śrīla Prabhupāda. Śrīla Prabhupāda challenged cops and hippies, Christians and Jews, Yogis and scientists, to take up Krishna Consciousness. He called out the hypocrites and exhorted all to take to the holy name. This does not mean that he was not an uttama-adhikari. It means that out of compassion he devoted himself to teaching.

Taking a Break.

Dear friends:

You may have noticed that I haven't posted anything here in a while. I'm taking a bit of a break from the blog, whilst working on the second part of the Paradise Hotel time travel story and an update on the Mahabharat project. I'll be back soon with all new material.  Until then, Gaura Hari Bol.