Watertight Compartments

Sundar Singh and Baron Von Hügel

When Sundar Singh visited England, I wrote a letter to Baron von Hügel about him and sent a copy of Mrs. Parker’s book, requesting an appointment. When we called on him, I noticed that the Baron had carefully read the book and marked several points for discussion. One of his questions was whether Sundar Singh had any interests outside religion, and what he did when he felt too depressed to engage in prayer or contemplation. Sundar Singh replied that he had never experienced such feelings and that his life had no other side interests.

In the Baron’s book, Essays and Addresses, he refers to this conversation: “I was surprised and disappointed when, some fifteen months ago, that deeply sincere Indian convert, the Sadhu Sundar Singh, told me that, never since his conversion thirteen years before, had he ever suffered one moment of spiritual dryness. I believe, with a very experienced psychologist and philosopher friend of mine, that this opinion indicates a strange lack of self-knowledge, perhaps also of what is precisely meant by such dryness, on the part of this devoted Christian” (p. 299). The Baron’s main point, in the context of a discussion on prayer, was that a healthy spiritual life requires one to live on two levels of action and interest. He gave the example of Jean Nicholas Grou, whose spiritual writings remained fresh because he only wrote on religious subjects when the spiritual light was within him; at other times, he focused on classical studies.—A. J. Appasamy, A Bishop’s Story, CLS, Madras, 1969, pp. 25–26.

My reflection is not on Sadhu Sundar Singh’s lack of “spiritual dryness” or his singular focus on religion, nor on the need for “self-knowledge” emphasized by the Baron. Instead, I’m struck by Jean Nicholas Grou’s division between moments of spiritual light and its absence. Though the Baron doesn’t use terms like “spiritual/religious” and “secular,” it seems he is implying this dichotomy. I’ve always questioned such artificial divisions that compartmentalize life.

In Hinduism, life is not divided into strict categories of the “secular” versus the “sacred.” Even many secular activities are considered sacred. While Hinduism recognizes the four Purusharthas—dharma (righteousness), artha (wealth), kama (desire), and moksha (liberation)—it doesn’t separate them into rigid compartments. Life is centered on dharma, which serves as the criterion to legitimize the other three. However, the concept of dharma itself is fluid, as it is contextually defined and varies based on one’s caste and stage of life according to Varnashrama dharma. Even Varnashrama dharma is open to interpretation, making it far from an absolute concept.

Similarly, I’m uncertain whether Muktiveda divides life into watertight compartments. While it speaks of the conflict between the “spirit” and the “flesh,” this doesn’t imply a strict division between spirituality and the mundane. My understanding, though I am not a theologian, is that this conflict refers to the tension between our creation in the image of God and the reality of our fallen nature.

Perhaps the West, in its separation of religion and state, also created this artificial division. Thankfully, my Indian heritage allows me to live life more holistically, seeing spirituality in even the most mundane activities and integrating spiritual practice into daily life. Even when I write so-called secular poems, they are part of my spiritual journey. While I’ve categorized my poems into Bhakti Theology Songs and Secular Songs for reference, they are not opposites but part of the same continuum. As Krishna says in the Gita [9:27], “Whatever you do, whatever you eat, whatever you offer in sacrifice, whatever you bestow as a gift, whatever you do by way of penance, offer it all to Me.” Similarly, Sevanand in I Corinthians 10:31 says, “Whether you eat or drink, or WHATEVER YOU DO, do all to the glory of God.”

25-08-2021