Demanding God

Demanding God
Dayanand Bharati — Gurukulam
September 14, 2012

Sri Nellai Kannan is one of my favorite Tamil speakers and writers. Rarely can one find a combination of deep scholarship and such effortless ability to communicate it to everyone. Another admirable quality in Kannan is his straightforwardness—even on controversial issues where others might hesitate, he speaks with disarming clarity and conviction. His views are grounded in authentic sources, and few can disagree with the foundations on which he builds his arguments.

So when he speaks in Sun TV on the morning program Suriya Vanakkam, especially on topics related to Tamil literature, I do not want to miss it. With his usual eloquence and memory, he draws from a vast range of Tamil works—bhakti poetry, classical literature, epics, and proverbs. His mastery of the Kamba Ramayanam and Tirukkural is unquestionable.

Recently (September 13 and 14), he spoke on spirituality (āṉmīgam). Although I agreed with most of what he said about the marks of true spirituality, I differ on a few points—particularly on the way he uses the lives of saints as the basis for what common people ought to do.

Kannan emphasized that we need not ask God for anything, because “She already knows our needs.” God has already decided our parents, relatives, circumstances, and daily requirements. Even if we ask for something, God will not grant what is “not required for our life.” Who can disagree with such a statement about divine providence?

Yet quoting the saints as the universal standard seems to me a form of idealism. On September 14, when he continued the same topic, he quoted Siddhar poems—Sivavakkiyar, Pattinathar, and others—highlighting the vanity of idol worship and the necessity of single-minded devotion. But for me, all saints are exceptions, not examples that ordinary people can realistically follow. Common people carry the burdens of daily life—struggles that saints themselves stepped away from in their spiritual journeys. It is from the lives of these ordinary people that saints emerged as exemplary souls. They are exceptions to the common pattern and aberrations to the orthodoxy.

People venerate saints, quote them, praise their songs—but rarely follow their instructions. Their ideals remain admired but not imitated.

The fact that saints are exceptions becomes obvious when we observe how little the average devotee knows about them. Among the 63 Nāyaṉmārs, people usually mention only a handful—Appar, Sundarar, Sambandar, and Māṇikkavācakar. Among the 12 Āḻvārs, Andal and Periyāḻvār are widely remembered. This is not unique to Hinduism. Ask a Christian to name all 12 disciples of Muktinātha (Jesus); many cannot. We know Prophet Muhammad, but most cannot name his wife or successors. I know the name ‘Ali’, but I do not even know his exact relationship with the Prophet.

Does this mean the teachings of saints are unimportant? Not at all. Their lives are valuable sources of inspiration. But rather than criticizing common people for not living up to saintly ideals, we should encourage them not to give up, even if such idealism remains distant. Saints inspire me whenever I feel discouraged, but I cannot pretend that their extraordinary lives are practical models for ordinary life.

Even saints did not always live the ideals projected from their own teachings. Consider Sundarar, the Saiva saint known as Thambiran Thozhar—“Friend of God.” Unlike the idealized picture of a desire-free saint, Sundarar repeatedly demanded not only necessities but even luxuries for himself and his wife:

13. Nāgaikkāroṇar

பண்மயத்த மொழிப்பரவை சங்கிலிக்கும்
எனக்கும் பற்றாய பெருமானே!
மற்று யாரை உடையேன்?
உண்மயத்த உமக்கு அடியேன் குறை தீர்க்க
வேண்டும், ஒளிமுத்தம், பூணாரம்
ஒண்பட்டும் பூவும்
கண்மயத்த கத்தூரி, கமழ்ச் சாந்தும் வேண்டும். — Sundarar
(From Vēṅkaṭam Mutal Kumari Varai*, T. M. Baskara Thondaiman, 2009, Vol. 3, p. 141.)*

Sundarar requests pearls, jewels, silk garments, flowers, kasturi, and perfumes. He asks for gold, paddy, and other material items in many hymns across various pilgrimage centers. If saintly idealism is offered as the universal standard, why omit the saints who asked God for things?

My disagreement with Sri Kannan is therefore not merely about quoting saints, but about quoting only those saints who appear to support one’s argument—while ignoring others who prayed quite differently.

Prayer has many dimensions. Presenting only one view cannot do justice to the full range of human–divine relationships.

Māṇikkavācakar says:

வேண்டத்தக்க தறிவோய்நீ வேண்டமுழுதுந் தருவோய்நீ
வேண்டும் அயன்மாற் கரியோய்நீ வேண்டி என்னைப் பணிகொண்டாய்
வேண்டி நீயா தருள்செய்தாய் யானும் அதுவே வேண்டினேன் அல்லால்
வேண்டும் பரிசொன் றுண்டென்னில் அதுவும் உன்றன் விருப்பன்றே. —

Kuzhaittappaṭṭu, 6

“You know my needs; you provide all that is needed; you are rare even for Brahma and Vishnu; you called me into your service; you granted your grace unasked; I asked nothing more; and if I need something, even that I leave to your choice.”

Does this mean Māṇikkavācakar is more mature than Sundarar, who asks for gold and jewels? For me, these represent different modes of bhakti.

Māṇikkavācakar has dāsabhāva-bhakti (devotion as a servant).
Sundarar has sakhya-bhāva-bhakti (devotion as a friend).

Fortunately, our tradition recognizes multiple forms of devotion—navadhānā-bhakti¹. Human relationships have many layers: a father can be a friend, a friend becomes a brother, a wife plays many roles. Likewise, our bhakti changes with our need, mood, and stage in life. Each form is mature in its own way; the difference is in kind, not degree.

For me, prayer is not merely “demanding” things from God. It expresses intimacy. God knows our needs—but She also delights when we ask. If deciding is God’s right, asking is ours. A child may list all the gifts she wants for her birthday. The parents may not give all, but the list itself strengthens the relationship.

Sri Kannan also quoted Pattinathar on the absence of single-minded concentration during worship:

கையொன்று செய்ய விழியொன்று நாடக் கருத் தொன்றெண்ணப்
பொய்யொன்று வஞ்சக நாவொன்று பேசப் புலால்கமழும்
மெய்யொன்று சாரச்செவியொன்று கேட்க விரும்புமியான்
செய்கின்ற பூசையெவ் வாறுகொள் வாய்வினை தீர்த்தவனே.

My hand does one thing,
my eyes wander toward another,
my mind thinks of something else,
my tongue speaks false and deceitful words;

my body longs for other pleasures,
and my ears desire to hear something different —
With such a state, how will You accept this worship of mine,
O Lord who has removed all my karmic bondages?”**

Kannan interpreted this as the worshipper’s mind wandering and his chanting becoming false. But to me, this is idealism. Our brain is multi-functional by design. Even saints cannot maintain unbroken mental focus unless they have mastered all eight steps of Patañjali Yoga². God understands our limitations and accepts our worship with compassion, not irritation.

Even in ordinary conversations with our family, we know their minds drift elsewhere without affecting the relationship. Likewise, God does not demand a perfect mind. Pattinathar, in fact, condemns his own shortcomings here—not others’. The poem is a confession, not a criticism.

Ideals inspire—but they do not transform ordinary life overnight. Saints may inspire us, but they are rarely practical models for our daily struggles.

See further in my article on Prayer.

Dayanand Bharati.  Gurukulam.

September 14, 2012.

Footnotes

1. On the numerous classifications of bhakti (ranging from 3 to 36 types) and the commonly recognized ninefold navadhānā-bhakti—śravaṇam, kīrtanam, smaraṇam, pādasevanam, arcanam, vandanam, dāsyam, sakhyam, ātmanivedanam—see Vijay Nath, Purāṇas and Acculturation: A Historico-Anthropological Perspective, Munshiram Manoharlal, New Delhi, 2001, pp. 173–174.

2. On the difficulty of dhāraṇā, dhyāna, and samādhi in Patañjali’s yoga and the requirement of holding the mind immobile through twelve restrained breaths, see Thomas McEvilley, The Shape of Ancient Thought: Comparative Studies in Greek and Indian Philosophies, Motilal Banarsidass, Delhi (2008), p. 180.