The psychological meaning and significance of God in bhakti:

Reflections on the poems of Sant Tukaram.

Anand C. Paranjpe
Simon Fraser University

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The very idea of exploring the meaning of the concept of God, and that
in the poetry of a seventeenth century Marathi saint-poet, would appear to be
a total anathema in the eyes of psychologists trained in contemporary Western
psychology. First, it may be thought that anything called God would have no
place in the “secular” enterprise of “science.” Didn’t the great mathematician
Laplace declare that there was no need of the God hypothesis to explain the
mechanics of the universe? Friedrich Nietzsche even declared the Gad is
dead, did he not? Is it not true that rationalism and science have shown that
faith in God is meaningless and unnecessary? And what about Richard
Dawkins (2006) who has recently shown how the idea of God is simply a
delusion? Hasn’t Victor Stenger (2008) recently demonstrated, like Laplace
before him, that God is a failed hypothesis? Against this background, for
those who are committed to do psychology as a “science” it would simply be
unnecessary for psychology to bother about God.
However, the silent but widely prevailing aversion among a majority of
contemporary psychologists for God, or any such idea connected with
religion, is part of the historical burden following from the Western origins of
modern psychology. Founded in late nineteenth century in an attempt to turn
psychology fashioned after “science”, modern psychology has inherited the
sense of alienation from religion that began with Galileo’s Inquisition by the
Church in seventeenth century Rome. Indeed, serious controversy over the
Christian concept of God started by way of the fight between orthodoxy and
various forms of heresy during the early years of Christianity (see Jones,
1969, pp. 60-71) and continued through the late medieval times in the form of
the bitter controversy between faith and reason (Jones, 1969, pp. 196-206).
Closer to the beginning of modern psychology, there are two major landmarks
in the history of the enmity between science and religion that have been
particularly influential. The first one of the two involved Copernicus’ theory
that the earth revolved around the sun, which offended the opposing belief of

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the Church. The second was Darwin’s theory of evolution which contradicted
the Biblical view that God created the world and various species including
humans some 6000 years ago. While the Church is reconciled with the
heliocentric view of the universe favored by science, the feud over the theory
of evolution continues in the name of “intelligent design”. Modern
psychology as commonly practiced around the world today is marked by
disdain for religion is not unconnected with the still continuing feud between
science and religion. However, this is the burden of the history of Western
psychology, and not of psychology as it developed in India and other parts of
the East.
In the Indian subcontinent psychological thought and techniques such
as meditation developed over millennia in close association with religious and
spiritual pursuits. Hinduism, Buddhism and Jainism developed their
distinctive views of God. Indeed, both Buddhism and Jainism are atheistic, as
is the Sāṁkhya system which provides the basic concepts in the Bhagavad-
Gītā. Like science they do not need the hypothesis of God. All these traditions
have differing sets of beliefs on a variety of issues. However, beliefs-as-such,
whether about God or about many other issues, do not provide the
foundations of these religious traditions. Also, none of the many religious
traditions of India have established institutions like the Inquisition to protect
their foundational beliefs against disbelievers. As a result, psychological
insights that developed within their context did not have to face the
consequences of the science-religion conflict as modern psychology does.
Many of the psychological insights and techniques that developed in
India are shaped by the four major pathways to self-realization – often called
yogas – that developed within the Upaniṣadic tradition of the Hindus. Thus,
jñāna-yoga, or the path of knowledge emphasizes cognitive functions, karma-
yoga or path of action emphasizes volition, bhakti-yoga or the path of
religious devotion relies on the transformation and intensification of various
emotions towards God, while Patañjali’s dhyāna-yoga has developed methods
for controlling the processes of mind. It should be easy to see that these
pathways relate to the psychological processes of cognition, conation,
emotion, and mentation. The focus of this essay is on emotion and their
transformation in bhakti yoga, the path of religious devotion.
It is easy to find saints who successfully practiced bhakti yoga; indeed
it is difficult to choose among them, since there are so many great ones to
choose from. The seventeenth century Marathi saint-poet Tukaram is widely

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acclaimed to be one of them. One of the reasons to choose him as target of
this study is that in his extensive set of poems, called abhaṅgas, he speaks
candidly about himself: his background, his tribulations in life, the course of
his spiritual development (sādhanā), his views about God, and his ordinary as
well as extra-ordinary experiences. Also, there is extensive literature
analyzing and explaining his poetry (Ranade, 1933; Pangarkar, 1920/1998;
Paranjape, 1950). In the remainder of this essay I wish to provide an account
of the views of God expressed in the poetry of Sant Tukaram. Through
paraphrases of many of his poems I expect to show that what Tukrarm means
by God is radically different from the Biblical view of God, which has been
contradicted by discoveries and theories of science. Moreover, in a discussion
to follow the overview of Tukaram’s ideas of God, I would like to show how
they are grounded in a number of insights about various psychological issues
that developed in the history of India over centuries. Indeed, the story of
Tukaram’s life and his search for God provides a unique window on the
unique contributions of Indian psychology in understanding a set of important
issues.
The psychological issues relevant to this context include: the nature of
emotion and its transformation, the nature of self, self/other relationship, ego
and ways of overcoming the ego, nature of the higher states of consciousness,
and an ideal human condition attainable through the experience of such states.
These issues are subject matter of psychology – unless of course one is firmly
committed to a behaviorist view of psychology that adopts reductionist views
of emotion and denies the very existence of consciousness. I will begin my
account of Tukaram’s views with a brief sketch of his life so as to provide a
historical and cultural context that provide the framework within which his
ideas developed.

Who was Tukaram?

It is widely and unequivocally recognized that Tukaram was one of the
greatest among accomplished devotees, one who had received the highest
possible level of self-realization. He was born in 1598 in a family of Kuṇbīs, a
community of land tillers. As a member of one of the “lower” castes he did
not receive any training in Sanskrit, the classical language accessible mostly
to the upper castes of Brahmins and some Kshatriyas. However, he became
familiar with the Bhagavad-Gītā, which is said to present the quintessence of
the ancient Upaniṣads, through its Marathi translation by Sant Jñāneśwar

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(1275-1296). Similarly, he learned about the Bhāgavata Purāṇa, the oldest
sourcebook of the bhakti tradition, though its Marathi translation by Saint
Eknāth (c. 1530-1599). He was deeply influenced by several other saints,
particularly Saint Nāmadev, (c. 1270– c. 1350), and Saint Kabīr (c. 1440 – c.
1518). His poems were written up by a couple of scribes, and their writings
have been copied and preserved in several manuscripts. An authoritative
collection of Tukaram’s abhaṅgas was edited by P.M. Lad, and popular
edition called Tukārāmbāvāncyā abhaṅgāncī gāthā (hereinafter simply
referred to as the Gāthā) was first published by the government of
Maharashtra in 1950. Using this edition, selected poems have been
paraphrased here into English by the author of this paper, and the number of
poems cited are from the 1973 edition of the Gāthā.
Several works on Tukaram’s biography are available in Marathi (e.g.,
Mahipati, 1974; Pangarkar, 1920/1998) and at least one in English (Abbott,
1980). His father ran a grocery shop, which he asked Tukaram to take over
when he was just a teen ager. Although Tukaram ran the shop astutely, and
also worked as a money lender, his habitual generosity often depleted his
coffers. A severe drought led Tukaram to bankruptcy and loss of face in the
community. His first wife died for want of proper nutrition during the
draught, and his second wife was a nag like Socrates’s legendary wife
Xanthippe. Such adverse conditions led Tukaram to strong feelings of
resignation (vairāgya). As inheritor of a tradition of six generations of
worship of Lord Viṭṭhal of Pandharpur, Tukaram had become involved with a
life of worship and devotion since his childhood. At the age of 21 he rebuilt a
temple of Viṭṭhal (also called Viṭhobā) that had dilapidated, and started to
spend long periods of time in singing and dancing at the temple. Often he
would leave his village and spend days and nights meditating in mountains in
the vicinity. In one of his poems (368) Tukaram writes that one day a saintly
person called Bābājī Caitanya appeared in his dream and gave him a mantra
with three names of Lord Viṣṇu, namely Rāma, Kṛṣṇa and Hari to chant. In
one his poems (4354) Tukaram says that at the end of fifteen days and nights
of meditation he had what may be called a “peak experience” (sākṣātkāra
jālā). As he sat in a Yogic posture (āsana), he met with God Viṭhobā in His
formless condition, resulting in firmly resting his mind in “para-brahma” –
which is the word designating ultimate reality according to the Advaita
philosophy.

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It may be briefly mentioned that there is a long tradition of bhakti that
extends far beyond the six generations of Tukaram’s ancestors and the
Varkari tradition which started in the thirteenth century. The tradition of
devotion (bhakti) goes back to the ancient Ālvārs (or Azhwārs) of south India
to around 4200 BCE - 2700 BCE. From that hoary past, there has been an
uninterrupted continuation of the tradition of bhakti with branches and
regional variations continuing to appear till this day.i The poems of Tukaram
provide a lucid expression of what he means by God.

Tukaram’s view of God

Even as Tukaram’s views of God were naturally shaped by the tradition
in which he grew up.ii Regardless of what the beliefs he may have acquired
during the course of his socialization, his view of God were deepened and
solidly founded on his personal experiences as he advanced on his spiritual
path (sādhanā). Through the many candid autobiographical accounts scattered
in the collection of his poems, it is possible to glean some idea about the
nature of his practices, although his progress cannot be charted in a sequential
time line. After Tukaram rebuilt his family’s temple of Viṭhobā at the age of
21, he started to spend more and more time in singing devotional songs and
the temple, and he would move to nearby hills and spend time alone in
meditation, often for several days at a time. In one his poems (2481) Tukaram
says how he preferred being away from the family and other people in the
village, and engage into “a dialogue with himself” (manāśī saṁvāda). In
another poem (4354) he says that at the end of fifteen days and nights, when
he sat in the right posture (āsana), and meditated with focus on God, he met
with God Viṭhobā in His formless condition (nirākāra). His mind then firmly
rested (vṛtti sthirāvalī) in “para-brahma”.
It is interesting to note that Tukaram specifically mentions sitting for
meditation (dhyāna) in a posture, which provides a hint of a practice typical
of Patañjali’s dhyāna-yoga. Also, his use of the term para-brahma, which is a
term at the core of the Advaita Vedānta system, we may see the influence on
him of Advaita philosophy – although he specifically says that he was not
satisfied by the Advaita (3754). The fact that he describes meeting his God in
His formless state is particularly interesting, given that he was focused on
worshipping God very much in the form of an idol shaped like a human being.
Indeed, it is quite clear that he viewed God as formless. Thus, at one point
(1858) Tukaram describes God as infinite (ananta), without any form (arūpa),

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sign (alakṣaṇa), or qualities (nirguṇa), and is characterized only by Existence
and pure consciousness (saccitā). Such a description shows that he was
speaking of a highly abstract and impersonal principle of ultimate reality
presented in Advaita Vedānta, which stands in sharp contrast with the practice
of idol worship central to the bhakti-yoga. Just in case there is a doubt
whether Tukaram was speaking of a formless God in a nonchalant way, we
find him declaring his faith in the formlessness of God. Thus, he says (in
1561), nobody should listen to anybody who says that God is not (the
formless) Brahman. Then again, he is equally clear about how and why the
essentially formless God would appear in various tangible forms. In the same
poem (1858) where he addresses God as infinite (ananta), without qualities
(nirguna) and so on, Tukaram clarifies that he does not know how to
approach a formless Brahman, and thanks Him for appearing in tangible
forms for the convenience of His devotees.
Readers may see here a basic logical problem in simultaneously
conceiving God in mutually contradictory terms: without as well with form.
This is a complex issue, which can be more meaningfully discussed after
taking into consideration the various ways in which Tukaram approaches God
in a human form, and more specifically after taking into consideration his
views of idol worship. At this point, however, we may turn to an account of
the various ways in which he approaches Viṭṭhal portrayed in the form of a
standing human form made of black stone with His consort Rakhumābāī
standing on his left.

Tukaram’s complex relationship with God in a human form

Before we turn to Tukaram’s poems in which he addresses God, it
would be useful to sketch the historical and cultural background which shaped
this relationship.iii Even a cursory look at the cultural history of India
indicates that the concepts of God and of the nature of human relationships
with Him/Her (or It) have evolved over the millennia. The gods of the ancient
Vedas were primarily personifications of various aspects or forces of nature,
such as Uṣas the goddess of dawn, Vaurṇa as god of the rains, Marut of the
wind and so on. In the ending period of the composition of the Vedic texts,
the interest of the Upaniṣadic sages turned to more “philosophical” issues,
such as Brahman as ultimate reality, the nature of self, and the relationship
between the two. Although, as noted, the history of devotion to Kṛṣṇa goes
back some four millennia BC, the great popularity of Kṛṣṇa is owed mainly to

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a post-Vedic text called the Bhāgavata Purāṇa. In it, Lord Kṛṣṇa is shown as
an adopted son of Nanda and Yaśodā growing up as a rambunctious and
mischievous but most lovable child, as a friend of the children of the
cowherds, and most of all as a lover of the milkmaids. A tradition of worship
of Kṛṣṇa as a child or a lover (even for transvestite men) has been part the
Indian religious tradition ever since. In the Epic Mahābhārata Kṛṣṇa is
portrayed as a statesman in his older age, and his relationship with Arjuna as a
friend, philosopher and guide is immortalized in the Bhagavad-Gītā. The
Rāmāyaṇa portrays the hero Rāma as an ideal brother, husband, king, hero,
leader, and so on. Together they portray God in not just a human form, but
more specifically in various roles common in social life. Thus, a devotee may
view his God in any of the variety of role relationships in which He or She are
portrayed. Equally there is a tradition of devotion to a formless God. Against
this background, Tukaram may be viewed as influenced by several of his
forebears. Thus, while Sant Kabīr primarily worshipped a formless God
(nirguṇī bhakti), Jñāneśwar viewed Viṭṭhal as both formed and formless (see
Jnaneshwar, 1976, poem no. 5). While Sant Mīrābāī saw Kṛṣṇa exclusively as
her lover, Tukaram saw Viṭhobā not in one but simultaneously in several
social role relationships.
Thus, Tukaram addresses God (2607) as his mother (māūlī), his elder
(vaḍīla) as well as younger brother (dhākulā). In another poem (516) he says
that Kṛṣṇa is his mother, father, sister, brother, uncle, friend, and a guru who
would offer him safe passage through life’s troubles. Crafting such a
multiform relationship opens up a rich and nuanced emotions that one
commonly experiences in varied role relationships in daily life. Thus, in an
interesting poem (3666) he says: God, are you trying to hide from me like a
man in deep debt trying to hide from a collecting agency knocking on the
door? Given that for some years of his life Tukaram was working as a money
lender, he may have encountered feelings associated with a rather unique
social relationship, and he puts his God in this context. At one point (1859) he
tells God that he has realized how He has been receiving all the service form
His servant and giving nothing in return. So he warns God not to play games
with him; for as a person born and raised in the community of business people
(i.e., the Wāṇī community) he knows well how to deal with such clients.
Clearly Tukaram does not always put his God on a high pedestal, treating him
often like an equal. In fact there is a series of poems (2988-3019) in which

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Tukaram talks about a fight with God. The following is a paraphrase of some
of his poems describing his “fight” with God:

Dear God, you should know it very well that devotees like us have no
other friend than you (2988). You are truly a thief (cor) (2993). Sitting
somewhere in your village on the banks of the river Gomatī, you pull
all the strings, treating me like a puppet in the hands of a puppeteer
(2993). I am surprised to find out that you do not treat everybody
equally; to some you treat with feasts while starving others. If you do
not like some of your children, why did you produce them in the first
place? (3001). You, the Formless, have turned out to be a heartless
rogue (naṣṭa). After I lost my parents, I was put in the hands of my
elder brother. But was it in return for all my love for you (bhakti) that
you took him away? You have virtually destroyed me. You are not only
heartless but a shameless (nirlajja) (3007). You are a knave (kapaṭī),
for [in taking away my brother] you took away a blind man’s cane
(3005). You have virtually destroyed my family; my children hardly
have a home for their shelter. It has now come to a point that I should
either kill you or kill myself (jīva ghyāvā kiṁvā dyāvā) (3006).

Making it worse, there was no court of appeal to go to find justice under these
conditions. So Tukaram even threatens his God to take Him to the court of the
Saints; only they could discipline Him! (3012). In the final analysis, like a
powerless boy wronged by a powerful bully, Tukaram turns to the use of the
best swear words in his repertoire. One can get away with such name calling
either in the absence of the target, or in a fright with a good friend. Clearly
Tukaram had developed an intimate friendly relationship with his God. Once
an equalitarian relationship is established it should not be surprising to result
in friendly teasing and poking fun.
A poetic genius, Tukaram is never short of using metaphors to express
himself. Thus, in one place (533) he says that a lotus cannot enjoy its own
fragrance; it is for the bee to enjoy it. Like that, he tells God, only your
devotees like me know the sweetness of your love, not you! Only we, your
devotees, know how sweet it is to chant your name. But my dear Lord, you
don’t even know your own name, let alone the sweetness of its chanting. Then
he adds more metaphors, saying that even as a mother has not much value for
milk of her own breast, only her baby knows how sweet it is. Similarly,

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Tukaram says, it is only we, the devotees, know the value of your love; you
don’t! God, you are like the shell that contains within itself a wonderful pearl,
but does not even know it is there, let alone appreciate its beauty. Thus, by
comparing himself with a tiny bee and a powerless baby, Tukaram puts
himself in a position of advantage over his God.
In an equalitarian relationship the balance of power can easily shift on
either side. Tukaram imagines himself in a position of advantage over God in
various ways. For example, in one of his poems (2262) Tukaram imagines a
situation where he is bargaining with God. All that I can put on the table, he
says, is my full attention and all my mind and heart, but what can you give me
in return, he asks God. Knowing that he is dealing with the wealthiest party in
the universe, Tukaram hints at shamelessly (nilājiri) blackmailing Him by
refusing to get out once he gets in His sanctorum (2267). In another poem
(2055) Tukaram puts himself in a lowly position: I am helpless, he says to
God, you are the most powerful; then compares himself with a tiny stream
and God with the mighty ocean. Then again in the very next poem (2056), he
poses as a meek borrower asking for a loan with arms spread out; let’s make a
deal, he says, I chant your name, you give me happiness. Like a hard
bargainer trying to win big in return for a penny, Tukaram jocularly puts
himself in a position of advantage over his Lord. But at times Tukaram puts
himself at a lower position of great disadvantage. Here are some examples.
In one of his poems (3590) Tukaram says I am just a dog at your door;
please don’t beat me up! Extending the metaphor of a dog, he says (1814) that
he is like a pet dog that brushes his body against his master’s feet; seeing that
the master is dining, it goes near the master with its tail wagging, hoping that
the master would rather throw some crumbs at him rather than getting angry
with him. At one point (1724) Tukaram asks devotees set out on a pilgrimage
to convey his message to God. Please don’t forget me, my dear God, he says,
this is a humble request to you from your servant. I am a mere broom at your
door for sweeping the dust. My mind and body is merely a shoe in your foot,
a spittoon into which you may spit; I am simply your feces.” A reader may
think of this as an expression of not just humility, but grotesque and
embarrassingly excessive self-degradation. What sense can we make of such
an extreme debasement? One way to understand this is to see it as a step
toward a complete effacement of one’s ego. In that process, all feelings of
pride must be set aside. Some saints – Sri Ramaṇa Maharṣi among them –
justify begging door to door for food as a way of shedding one’s pride.

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Indeed, the effacement of one’s ego is an essential feature of not only bhakti-
mārga, but other pathways to self-realization such as jñāna-mārga and
karma-mārga.
Regardless of severe self-abnegation on occasions, Tukaram develops a
deeply intimate relationship with God such that he can get away with poking
fun at Him. For example, in one of his poems (4051) Tukaram warns
everybody never ever to go to Pandharpur, the abode of his dear Lord
Viṭhobā. There is a ghost that lives there, he tells them; it haunts and zaps
anybody who dares to visit there. He is saying this from his own experience,
Tukaram assures. For, he says, since the last time he visited Pandharpur, he
died, never to be born again! There is of course a poetic trick here; not being
born again is the hallmark of the highest achievement of ultimate release from
the agony and suffering common to human life. Regardless of the back
handed compliment to God that Tukaram implies in this poem, he
nevertheless ends up calling Him a fiendish ghaul (bhūta moṭe)! Instead of
asking for a long life as many people do, he talks about dying at the hands of
his Lord. Indeed there is much intriguing talk about his own death in
Tukaram’s poems.

Tukaram’s enigmatic expressions about his own death

In one of his poems (24) Tukaram says: I have already been dead
before dying. And it is after my death that I was able to do as I wish. See, he
says, this is a most wonderful thing with me! In another poem (2348) he says:
My death has died. It has made me immortal. Surely such expressions are
confusing; they may even appear to be meaningless blabber. However, his
language is poetic, using interesting symbolism. At times Tukaram explains
the underlying symbols, which help understand what he is talking about.
Thus, for example, his idea of his own death is explained in one of his poems
(2668) in a vivid description of the common format of a ritual at the time of
the cremation still common among the Hindus. Each step of the somber ritual
is symbolized as a step in a spiritual aspirant’s progress toward the goal of
liberation. For instance, it is common practice to use dried cow-dung cakes as
fuel in preparing the funeral pyre with tinder to ensure that the stack of wood
starts burning quickly. Against this background he talks of using intense
feelings of renunciation like cow-dung cakes in funeral pyre in ending his
identification with the body. Then the fire is compared with knowledge of the
true self that would “burn” and destroy the ego. In the same poem he goes on
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to describe the common funerary ritual in which the survivor of a deceased
person circumambulates the funeral pyre, breaks the earthen pitcher on his
shoulder with a piece of rock, allowing the water to flow over his own body.
The symbolism here is fairly transparent: the pitcher stands for the body; its
breaking indicates that it is no longer useful to contain water; while water
represents the principle of life “contained” in the body while living – which is
now fully transferred to the next generation. What Tukaram is trying to
suggest through all this symbolic expression is that his identification with the
body, name, family, and so on – or his ego identity, in other words – is all
eradicated.
In another poem (1403) where he refers to the scene of the cremation
ground Tukaram talks about chasing a corpse with a stick in hand. Why
would anyone want to chase away a motionless dead body? Such talk sounds
so bizarre! What makes such talk more intriguing is that he is implying that it
was his own corpse that he was chasing. A casual reader can easily miss the
symbolic meaning of the stick, unless it is recognized the word corpse is often
used to belittle the often exaggerated value of one’s body. I must confess that,
despite repeated reading of this poem and contemplating the meaning of the
idea of the stick, it had not made any sense to me. One day, however, I
discovered its meaning and significance when I stumbled over the comments
penciled in the margin by the enlightened owner from whom I had borrowed
that copy of the Gāthā. The stick, it was explained, is a symbol for a wise
discrimination between what is permanent and what is impermanent in regard
to the self (nitya-anitya viveka). The reference here is to a part of the Advaitic
method of meditation which asks the spiritual aspirant to recognize that the
self-as-subject, which is experienced in the state of pure consciousness, is the
true Self, and not the body, social roles, reputation and other such aspects of
the self-as-object.
Once the symbolism underlying the use of the word “stick” is thus
explained, it become easy to make sense of other intriguing expressions. In
another poem (1337) for example, Tukaram says: I have been born from my
own womb (mīca maja vyālo, poṭā apuliyā ālo). All my prayers have been
answered; no desires remain unfulfilled. Good for me that I died at that time.
As I look both ways, I realize that Tuka (short for Tukaram) is the same as he
always was. Speaking of being born from one’s own womb would sound as
nonsensical as chasing one’s dead body – if not even more so. Here, once
again, the symbolism is grounded in the ideas of the Advaita philosophy.

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What is meant is that the individual self (ātman) is born of the Supreme Self
(paramātman). In other words, he is talking about the identity of the ātman
with paramātman; there is no problem in saying that he is “born from” Him
since two are one and the same. Indeed, the apparently casual reference to
“looking both ways” makes a good deal of sense, since the Advaitic method
of meditation asks a spiritual aspirant to critically examine one’s self-images
both ways, those which are remembered from the past life, as ways imagined
in the future. Through deep and relentless contemplation one may recognize
that images that were once cherished and strongly identified with for some
time were eventually abandoned: like the idea of mama’s darling little boy
which must be abandoned as one grows up and so on. Likewise, looking
ahead into one’s future, the image of a happily retired old man may have to be
abandoned if and when failing health robs happiness. Thus, Tukaram, looking
at both past and future realizes the ephemeral nature of continually changing
images of the self, and further realizes that, while such images come and go,
the true Self, of which they are born, survives.
We may now take a close look at one more poem which throws some
light on what Tukaram seems to have found a “true” Self that is not subject to
a cycle of “birth and death” across the life cycle. Thus (in 2669) Tukaram
says:
I saw my own death, and what a spectacle it was! The whole universe
was filled with joy from top to bottom. Once upon a time I was fraught
with egoism; and it is by abandoning the ego that such abundance of
joy has followed. As I am now shrunk from that [once inflated] ego, I
have fully rested my mind on Nārāyaṇa, my God, and have found an
abode in Him.
It is indeed very difficult to correctly translate the beauty, sense, and force of
the original Marathi words, but the paraphrase as just given would make it
clear that what Tukaram means by his own death is complete overcoming of
his ego. In yet another poem (993) Tukaram writes equally intriguingly about
“gulping his own corpse” while at the same time explaining what is implied in
a different, and perhaps better, way. There he says:
Tuka is tinier than an atom and yet vaster than the skies. I have gulped
my own corpse – realizing that the reality of the body is illusory. I have
transcended the trilogy of knower, knowledge and the object of
knowledge. A light is now lit in the pot. What is left of me, now, is
only in service of others.

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To understand the cryptic and enigmatic poetry of Tukaram it helps to know a
bit about the traditional insights he expresses in his own inimitable ways. In
the paradoxical expression of being simultaneously tiny and vast, he is
echoing an account of the true Self as provided in the Kaṭha Upaniṣad (2.20).
In the famous dialogue between the young Naciketas and Yama, the god of
death, the boy says that he has no use for what the god of death is prepared to
offer in return for a promised boon. The boundless wealth, powerful kingdom
on earth, and young damsels prettier that heavenly nymphs, are all perishable;
they cannot give him permanent bliss which he is seeking for. When pressed
for his demand for eternal bliss, Yama says it can be attained only through the
knowledge of the true Self, which is “tinier than an atom and vaster than the
skies” (aṇoraṇīyan, mahato mahīyān).
In a manner of speaking, boundless wealth and objects of pleasure can
only keep a big ego endlessly inflating with success, with periodic deflation
with defeats and losses. As traditional wisdom of India suggests, the desire for
pleasure can never be completely sated through objects of pleasure; rather the
objects of pleasure can only increase desires – like fire inflamed by adding
fuel.iv Tukaram turned inward to a life of contemplation, ultimately to a
transcendental experience of Samadhi, the highest state of consciousness. As
explained by the Māṇḍūkya Upaniṣad, the experience of such a state reveals
the true nature of the Self, or the self-as-subject, of which measureless bliss is
the very nature. Tukaram may have practiced meditation according to
traditional lines in search of realization of an unchanging foundation
underlying the continually changing images of the self. Such contemplation,
the tradition avers, leads to a deconstruction of the ego, which is composed of
one’s favored self-images of the present. As in the case of Tukaram’s account
of his successful attempts at meditation, one lapses into a higher state of
consciousness called Samadhi, a state lacks the three-fold structure of the
common wakeful state into a knower as distinguished from an object of
knowledge and a cognitive-emotive state we call knowledge that connects the
subject with the object.

Tukaram speaks of the death of God

It would indeed the hard to believe that a great worshipper of God like
Tukarm could have ever imagined, let alone declared, that God is dead. Yet at
one point (2349) he says, quite clearly, that God may very well exist for
whoever believes in Him, but as far as he is concerned, God is dead (māze

13
lekhī deva melā, aso tyālā asela). The idea of God’s death sounds strange –
even ludicrous – coming from a man who dedicated his whole life in
worshipping Him. This is even more enigmatic as the talk about his own
death, and a close examination is needed to understand what it means. Here
we can turn to some of Tukaram’s expressions which are apparently quite
confusing, but still may provide some insights into his views. Thus at one
point (1840) he says that God robbed Himself at His own abode, and turned
Himself bankrupt. The thief was living in his own home, really, and finding
the right moment, he finished the robbery. Indeed, who robbed whom, and
what is it that was lost? Elsewhere (3188), again, he declares God’s
bankruptcy. I should not say anything further than that, he continues to say,
one should look into one’s own mind to see what this means. What he says in
another poem (2801) would appear to provide a clue about the solution to this
enigma to be found in one’s own mind. There he addressed God saying that
You are what is left when the mind is dissolved (tukā mhaṇe mana mure,
maga je ure te ci tū).
If viewed from the vantage point of contemporary psychology, the idea
of the “dissolution” of the mind would seem to be as meaningless as the idea
of God’s death. However, viewed in light of the history of Indian psychology,
this would make perfect sense. According to Patañjali’s Yoga aphorisms, it is
possible to slow down the flow of thoughts in one’s mind to a point that, the
flow completely stops. It is at that point that the true Self manifests itself in
experience (Patañjali, 1.3). Such self-induced stoppage of the processes of the
mind is called the destruction of mind (manonāśa) in the language of the
Advaita (see Dasgupta, Vol. 2, pp. 251-52; also Vidyaranyasaraswati in
Jīvanmukti-viveka, Chapter 3.). Upon reaching this stage in the course of
spiritual development, an aspirant (sādhaka) is said to enter into the highest
state of Samadhi, and directly experience the unity between the true Self
(Ātman) and the Supreme Self (Paramātman or Brahman). Tukaram speaks of
such an experience in his typical style using metaphors. Thus, he says (in
2484): God, like salt put in water gets completely dissolved and becomes
inseparable from water, I have become completely immersed in you. Even as
a piece of camphor brought near a flame becomes one with the flame and
nothing about the camphor is left behind, you and I have become one single
flame, he says to God.
The basic point here is that the devotee and the deity are a dialectical
pair. Each pole of the binary pair not only gives meaning to the other, the two

14
totally depend on each other. When the two poles join together to become
one, their co-dependency ends, and so does the appearance of the separate
existence of both elements of the pair. In other words, the devotee and the
deity are born together when the twain is created – or cognitively constructed
– by the devotee’s imaginative mind. So when the mind is brought to a
standstill through yoga, both devotee and the deity disappear – or “die” – at
the same time. Thus, idea of God’s death is the counterpart of the idea of
Tukaram’s own death.

Tukaram’s views of idol worship

Insofar as idol worship is quite central to Tukaram’s approach, it is
useful to examine his views about idols. The idol he worshipped, namely that
of Lord Viṭhobā in a temple in Pandharpur, is made of stone, and there are
many references in his poems about idols made of stone or other materials
such as metal or wood. For example, in one of his poems (2270) he says that
the steps on which you tromp with your feet are made of stone, even as the
idol you worship is also made of the same material. What then makes for the
difference, he asks himself. His answer is that it is the feeling behind the idol
that makes all the difference. The Marathi word he uses in this context is
bhāva, which commonly means emotion but has a connotation wider and
more complex than the English words such as feeling and emotion. It also
implies love, attachment, and deep feelings of reverence. In another poem
(4006) he clearly says that the idol is only an image (pratimā rūpa), one
simply believes that a piece of stone in the image of God Viṭṭhal (mānuni
pāṣāṇa viṭṭhala rūpa). One who thinks of an idol as a mere piece of stone, can
get nothing more from it, he says (2829). God has no shape, no figure; only
we, the devotees, give Him some tangible form and shape so that we can see
and worship him in that form (261). We can sculpt a stone in the image of
Lord Viṣṇu, but the stone does not become Viṣṇu, he says. While the prayer
offered to Viṣṇu goes to Viṣṇu, the idol continues to simply be a piece of
stone (262). Damn the person who says that Viṭṭhal (or Viṣṇu) is just a piece
of rock, says Tukaram (mhaṇe viṭhalā pāṣāṇa, tyāce tonḍāvarī vahāṇa, 4366).
And then again, he says, why should there be no God in an idol made of
stone, metal or wood, if He is indeed everywhere (immanent)v in the
universe? (308).
Tukaram is very clear that it is we, human beings, have created God,
not the other way around. It is because we, the distressed devotees turn to

15
you, that you have become a redeemer God, says Tukaram; otherwise you
would be sitting somewhere, all alone with nobody to even recognize your
existence (3389). Even as darkness manifests the beauty of a shining light, a
golden setting beautifies the diamond, poison helps recognize the value of an
elixir, so do we, the devotees, bring value to you, says Tukaram to God.
Never short of metaphors, in one of his poems (758) Tukaram mocks at God
saying that it is only because we, the devotees, are sinners that you are the
redeemer; indeed we come first, and you come into the picture only
afterwards. Even as a philospher’s stone would be a mere piece of rock
without a piece of iron to turn it into gold, you would be nothing without
devotees to pray and worship you. Leave aside the poetic metaphors, what
Tukaram sees in God is the reciprocity of relationships in dialectical pairs
where each side gets its meaning from the other; the concept of deity is
meaningless without that of the devotee as its counterpart. Indeed, the
dialectical nature and mutuality of devotee-deity relationship is the very
corner stone of Tukaram’s view of God. This is radically different from the
idea of a unilateral relationship imagined in Abrahamic religions between
God as the Creator and humans as his creation.

Tukaram’s view of praying to God

It is most common to see that when people pray to God, or worship an
idol, they often ask for something or other, mostly for some tangible benefits
such as wealth, success in business or examinations, and so on. In one of his
poems (329) Tukaram pokes fun at such people saying, if God could answer a
woman’s prayer to give her child, then what would she need a husband for? In
the same poem he says that if doctors could always cure any disease, would
they pray God for help? But what about praying to God for liberation or
mokṣa? Should they not ask Him for that also? Tukaram’s clear and emphatic
answer is no, they not ask Him even for mokṣa. For, he says, mokṣa is not a
gift that God is free to bestow on anybody as he would please (2325). What
one needs to do first to attain mokṣa, he says, is to give up all attachments to
objects of the senses. What is implied in this brief answer is a traditional view
that it is desire for pleasures can never be fully sated; one who owns ten
homes wants a hundred, a billionaire wants to be a multibillionaire and so on.
Expectations always exceed gain, and therefore success, no matter how great,
is laced with dis-satisfaction. One can be completely happy only when one
overcomes all desires. This idea is a throwback on the story of Naciketas from

16
the Kaṭha Upaniṣad mentioned before. Also, it is no different from Buddha’s
view of attaining nirvana by extinguishing all desires.
What all this means is that to be happy one must at least stop being
covetous, and learn to gradually reduce one’s emotional investment or ego-
involvement in objects of desire. In one of his famous poems (4219) Tukaram
expresses this idea in his inimitable style by portraying the character of an old
woman, who for once in her life, starts on a pilgrimage to the holy town of
Pandharpur, the abode of God Viṭṭhal. However, as soon as she steps out of
the door, she looks back to remind her daughter-in-law not to waste milk and
curds, and goes on to a long list of instructions: to do this little thing and that,
to be careful in using the kitchen utensils such as the grind stone, and a
hundred other things in the household in which her ego is involved. Finally
she suspects that behind the plan of her pilgrimage there must be a plot by the
“other woman” in her life. She would surely take advantage of her lonely
husband during her absence. With this thought, the woman decides against
going to the pilgrimage, and turns back even before reaching the village
boundary. Parables are an ancient way of effectively transmitting ideas; here
Tukaram conveys the wrong reasons behind going on pilgrimages and
engaging in idol worship.
Tukaram was clearly scornful of people getting ego involved in many
things, and prayed to God for getting them. In one place (2793) he clearly
says that God likes those who do not ask anything from anybody – let alone
from Him. In a few thousand poems full of prayers, it is hard to find even a
single instance where Tukaram asks God for any tangible reward, or for the
fulfilment of any earthly desire. Yes, he does bitterly complain about the
death of his dear brother and about the many calamities his family had to face.
Moreover, he angrily charges God as being responsible for such treatment to a
sincere devotee like himself, and yet he does not ask Him for any
compensation. Against this background, one may ask: What is it, then, he kept
incessantly praying for, throughout his life? All that he kept of asking for was
God’s undiminishing love, and more specifically, for His embrace (aṅga
saṅga) in a one-on-one meeting. He wanted God to appear in front of him in a
concrete form in all his splendor so he could actually see Him (darśan) with
his own eyes and physical embrace Him. God, it appears, answered such
prayers of his; indeed, there are a few of his poems (1596, 1597, 4072,) in
which Tukaram describes his “vision” of Lord Viṣṇu. The Lord arrives riding
on the Celestial Eagle, His usual vehicle, clad in brilliant golden robes,

17
wearing magnificent ornaments around his neck and in his ears, carrying His
weapons – the disc, and the mace – in His hands.
It would not be surprising if psychologists today reading about such a
“vision” might think of it as some kind of a hallucination – and even wish to
make some inferences about Tukaram’s mental state! Moreover, there are
legends describing miracles in Tukaram’s life that would make many readers
suspicious: legends about the floating of his notebook out of water after being
immersed under water under orders of religious authority, bringing a dead
child back to life, and finally, Tukaram’s bodily ascension to heaven on the
backs of Viṣṇu’s Celestial Eagle. Here I would set aside the issue of visions
and miracles that are bound to be controversial, and turn to Tukaram’s views
of God’s place in relation to the world.

Tukaram’s views about God’s relationship with the world.

We may recall that one of the ways in which Tukaram justifies idol
worship is by saying that God’s presence in an idol cannot be denied since He
is in everything and everywhere in the universe. In other words, Tukaram
views God as a principle that is immanent in the entire universe. Whether God
is immanent and/or transcendent is an issue that is not unique to Hinduism; it
is equally part of debates in the history of Christianity.vi While the pluralistic
traditions of Hinduism allow varied opinions on such issues – including
agnostic and radically atheistic – Tukaram seems to adopt a view of God as
both immanent and transcendent. As noted, Tukaram viewed God as creation
of the human mind, in sharp contrast with the Biblical view of God as the
Creator. The idea of God being created by human minds helps makes sense
about the innumerable forms of idols in Hinduism that reflect varied forms of
imagination by zillions of men and women through centuries.
At one point (2346) Tukaram says that only God would know how the
universe came into existence; he would rather leave such issues for Him to
deal with, and not arrogate himself with pretending to know the answer. This
view seems to be in line with the view expressed in the well-known hymn of
the Ṛg Veda (10.129) called the Nāsadīya Sūkta. To put it simply, in this
hymn the sage who composed it speculates about the genesis of the world,
and wonders if the gods could answer his question. The sage then concludes
that the gods could not have answers to questions about what happened at the
origin of the universe since they also must have come about some time after
the beginning. In other words, the tone of this ancient speculation is agnostic,

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and it continues to be reflected in Tukaram’s poems as in many other
writings. (For a more detailed discussion of this issue, see Rao & Paranjpe
2015).
We may also recall that according to Tukaram liberation (mokṣa) is not
a gift that God could bestow on any one as He pleases. In this regard Tukaram
is essentially echoing the view of God (devah) from the Śvetāśvatara
Upaniṣad (6.11) as a karmādhyakṣa. This means that God is one who
impartially oversees the distribution of good or bad consequences of actions
without having any authority to interfere with the Law of Karma – a cosmic
system that automatically ensures the just distribution of rewards and
punishments.

Tukaram’s behavior in family and society

In his distinctive pithy style Tukaram expresses guidelines for proper
behavior by saying that helping others counts for merit and hurting means sin
(puṇya para-upakāra, pāpa te parapīḍā, 1027). And true to his impeccable
integrity, he walked the talk; rather he practiced before preaching. In his
biography of Tukaram Pangarkar (1920/1998, pp. 80-84) summarizes his
constantly helping behavior. He would habitually acquiesce to do anything
that anybody around him would ask him to do: help carry a load on his back,
tend cattle, groom a horse – all without any expectation whatsoever.
Pangarkar cites some specific examples of Tukaram’s generosity. Once,
having heard that he was invited by a farmer to drink sugarcane juice at his
crusher, Tukaram’s wife Jijābāī asked him to bring home a bundle of sticks of
cane. Indeed the farmer gifted him a sizable bundle to take home. However,
kids on the street asked to give them some and he obliged, leaving very few
for his own children. This was only a minor instance compared to many
others. After his bankruptcy in the groceries business when nobody would
give him any loan, Jijābāī borrowed from her brother a couple hundred rupees
to invest in a business venture. Tukaram did earn a sizeable profit from the
ensuing venture, but one the way back home when a needy fellow asked for
help, Tukaram gave away all he had, profit plus capital. Jijābāī naturally got
upset with this behavior. Her reaction was worse when her husband gave
away her garment to a beggar at the door. When she came out from her bath
and found that her only remaining garment was given away with nothing left
to wear, it only added fuel to her fire.

19
It would be useful to give a few more example of his behavior to give a
proper picture of Tukaram’s lack of covetousness and helping others while
courting poverty. When at the age of 21 Tukaram had suffered serious
setbacks and had a strong sense of resignation, he decided to destroy all the
promissory notes given to the family by his father’s creditors. When his
younger brother Kānhobā complained against this decision, Tukaram quietly
gave him his half of the inherited asset, and dumped his share in the river.
Also, when King Śivājī came up with a sumptuous gift of gold coins, apparels
for all family members, and so on, Tukaram gracefully declined the generous
offer. In a series of poems (1887 through 1897) he points out that he has no
need for wealth, and that he totally relies on God who ensures that the
minimum needs of his family are taken care of.
There are many instances of Tukaram’s kindness, compassion and
forgiveness. He was kind and forgiving even to his worst detractors. During
one of his visits to the neighboring village of Lohagaon he was invited to a
feast at the home of one his followers. The hostess was actually frustrated
since she did not like the fact that her husband was spending too much time
listening to Tukaram’s discourses neglecting his business and duties at home.
So, pretending to give him a warm water bath as a special honor for the guest,
she poured boiling water on his body. In one of his poems (1318) Tukaram
candidly expresses the pain from scalding hot water poured on his skin. He
prays God for relief, but has no unkind words for the perpetrator. A couple of
examples show how he was not only forgiving but also very kind to his worst
detractors. Thus Mambājī, a fellow villager who was a poet and accustomed
to give discourses to a small band of followers, felt jealous of the increasing
reputation of this upstart “rival.” This led him to cause all sorts of trouble to
Tukaram and to his family and cattle. Instead of acting against all the
mischief, Tukaram went to the extent of pressing Mambaji’s feet when the
latter was in pain. He was equally forgiving to Rameśwar Bhatta, the learned
Brahmin who ordered Tukaram to throw his manuscript in the river since the
teaching of traditional wisdom was an affront to the monopoly of the
Brahmins. The short end of the long story is that Tukaram not only forgave
him, but eventually Rameśwar became his follower.
Tukaram’s compassion went well beyond the people he helped and the
enemies he forgave; this is illustrated by his behavior toward animals, birds
and even insects. Thus, he would rather carry a load on his back than putting
it on his already burdened donkey. Once after his bankruptcy when he was

20
unemployed, a farmer offered him the job of guarding his farm by standing on
a raised platform and dispelling birds by hurling stones by a slingshot.
Tukaram refused to hurl stones saying that the birds have equal right to take
their share, and after all the birds were not taking any grains to their nests and
hoard them as humans do. Needless to say that his employer was upset
because the birds finished much of the crop. In another instance Tukaram was
upset that birds would not take the grain he offered on his extended hand.
Seeing this as a sign of the lack of kindness in himself, he continued to stand
motionless till the time the birds sat on his body and ate from his palm. Also,
he would not ward off stinging bees and mosquitos from his body. In short,
Tukaram’s behavior displayed not only altruism, but a high level of
compassion.

DISCUSSION

The first thing to note after all that is said before is that Tukaram’s
view of God is radically different from the Biblical view of God. Frist of all,
there is nothing in his thoughts that would contradict the findings of science.
He, like his forebears, would not be concerned with issues such as the
structure of the solar system envisioned by Galileo, the hypotheses and claims
set up by physicists from Laplace through Stenger, or theories of biology
from Darwin to Dawkins. As well, Tukaram’s agnostic view about the origin
of the universe, which echo the perspective of the ṚgVeda, do not think of
God as the Creator or the universe. This approach side steps the problem of
having to hold Him responsible for the evil and suffering in the world He
created. It is true that Tukaram sometimes blamed God for the calamities he
faced in life, but that was more of a complaint about God’s lack of love for
his devotee than about a cosmological role ascribed to Him. More
importantly, Tukaram’s explicit understanding that God is the creation of
humans than the other way around opens up a totally different perspective on
the relationship between God and humans. Tukaram insists that God is a
matter of believing (mānuni) and feeling (bhāva), which means that it is a
matter appropriate for a psychological investigation. If this is correct, then the
disdain of psychologists in India toward God and religion can only be
understood as a sign of blind following of Western psychology; it has nothing
to do either with God as understood in the Indian tradition, or with
psychology’s claim to be a science. As noted, psychological insights and

21
techniques developed in the history of India mainly in the context of the quest
for spiritual self-development and studies in philosophy and aesthetics –
unlike in modern psychology where they were inspired by physiology,
biology and other natural sciences. Against this background, I propose to take
a close look at the concepts and theories of Indian origin that help explain
Tukaram’s idea of God and his pursuit of bhakti. After that I will attempt to
discuss relevant issues from the perspective of related concepts in modern
psychology.

Theories of bhakti in the history of Indian psychology

As in the case of Tukaram, bhakti is primarily a matter of practice; he
was least interested in concepts and theories. But there were scholars in the
bhakti tradition who did not share such disdain for analysis and theorization.
Indeed, bhakti has been a topic for theorizing and philosophizing for a long
time. A concise but comprehensive overview of the abundant literature on
perspectives on bhakti is provided by S.N. Dasgupta (1922/1957). In Volume
3 and 4 of his History of Indian Philosophy he provides an authoritative
account of the extensive rich literature on bhakti starting with the Bhāgavata
Purāṇa, and major works of prominent thinkers including the ancient Ālvārs,
and late medieval Ramanuja, Madhva, Vallabha, and Caitanya along with
their numerous followers. It is commonly understood that the bhakti-mārga
focuses on emotions, and suggests ways for transforming emotions to attain
supreme joy through self-realization.
Against the background of the diversity of philosophical perspectives,
it is neither necessary nor desirable to place Tukaram in a particular slot.
Although I have found the conceptual framework of the Caitanya tradition
useful in understanding Tukaram, I am not suggesting that he “belongs” to the
Caitanya tradition. As clarified by Pangarkar (1920/1998, pp. 164-166), there
is neither any historical evidence, nor a common philosophical basis, for
thinking of Tukaram as belonging to the Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava tradition. Indeed,
I have not even once come across in Tukaram’s Gāthā the concept of rasa,
which is at the core of the Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava view of bhakti. The reason for
my use of the concepts and theories of that tradition is that they help in
interpreting many of Tukaram’s ideas in terms their psychological
implications with a focus on emotion and ways of its transformation. But
before I discuss the Gauḍīya Vaiṣava theory of bhakti, I wish to sketch a
historical background of the view of God and of bhakti especially for readers

22
who may not know much of that background. Reader familiar with that
background may skip the next paragraph and continue thereafter.
Historical accounts indicate that in the most ancient texts called the
Vedas the gods were primarily thought of as personifications of various forces
of nature: Uṣas the goddess of dawn, Vaurṇa as god of the rains, Marut of the
wind, and so on. In the ending period of the composition of the Vedic texts,
the interest of the Upaniṣadic sages turned to more “philosophical” issues,
such as Brahman as ultimate reality, the nature of self, and the relationship
between the two. The view of God in a personalized form may be traced as far
back as a couple thousand years BC to the Āvār poets who composed songs
praying Lord Kṛṣṇa. However, the great popularity of Kṛṣṇa is owed mainly
to a post-Vedic text called the Bhāgavata Purāṇa. In it Lord Kṛṣṇa is shown as
an adopted son of Nanda and Yaśodā growing up as a rambunctious and
mischievous but most lovable child, as a friend of the children of the
cowherds, and most of all as a lover of young milkmaids. A tradition of
worship of Kṛṣṇa as a child or a lover has been part the Indian religious
tradition till this day. In the Epic Mahābhārata Kṛṣṇa is portrayed as a
statesman in his older age, and his relationship with Arjuna as a friend,
philosopher and guide is immortalized in the Bhagavad-Gītā. Kṛṣṇa is
commonly viewed as an incarnation of Viṣṇu, the sustainer of the world in the
Hindu trinity along with Brahmā, the creator and Śiva, the destroyer. Viṭṭhal
or Viṭhobā, the form in which Tukaram worshipped him, is the same as
Viṣṇu. Another incarnation of Viṣṇu is Rāma, the hero of the Epic Rāmāyaṇa.
Rāma is portrays as an ideal brother, husband, king, hero, leader, warrior, and
so on. Together they portray God in not just a human form, but more
specifically in ideal forms of various roles common in social life. Indeed, the
main purpose of the Epics appears to be to present the culture’s ideals that
people could emulate in their life.
Aside from portraying the enchanting nature of the character of Kṛṣṇa
as he grew up in the care of his foster parents in the village of Vṛndāvana, the
Bhāgavata Purāṇa present a systematic account of the various practices of
bhakti. The following is a list of the nine forms of in which bhakti is supposed
to be practiced. (1) listening to the stories about God (śravaṇam), (2) singing
songs and chanting (kīrtanam), (3) remembering or repeating God’s name
(viṣṇoḥ smaraṇam), (4) offering foot-salutation (pādasevanam) (5)
worshipping by offering flowers, food, incense, etc. (arcanam), (6) offering
salutation and praise (vandanam), (7) offering service, or becoming his

23
servant (dāsyam), (8) Cultivating friendship or love for him (sakhyam), and
finally, (9) totally offering one’s self to Him (ātmanivedanam). That these
forms of the expression of bhakti persisted over centuries till the life and
times of Tukaram is indicated by the fact that the exact same list is repeated in
the work called the Dāsabodha (section 1.4) composed by a contemporary of
Tukaram called Swami Ramdas. Clearly all the nine forms of bhakti just
mentined were part of Tukaram’s practice of bhakti, and indeed, many of
these forms (particularly from 1 through 6) are part of the daily life of
millions of Hindus till this date.
It may be noted that the list of nine forms of bhakti is suggestive of a
hierarchy such that “listening” to stories of deities is the fairly superficial
practice in the sense that it involves the lowest level of ego-involvement. In
contrast, the last item on the list, namely “offering the self to Him” is the most
demanding of all. At any rate, the fact that a rather exhaustive list was
prepared, and further that a hierarchical order was suggested, indicates that
systematic conceptual framework concerning bhakti had started to emerge
centuries – even millennia – before Tukaram. There is another important point
we come across in the Bhāgavata Purāṇa that suggests a deeper understanding
of the nature of bhakti and how it works. Thus, the Bhāgavata Purāṇa (7.1.30)
suggests that it is not only intense love for God that counts in bhakti; even if
one approaches God with fear or hatred with full concentration and with great
intensity, then one can be redeemed just like a loving devotee would. This
point is illustrated in the Bhāgavata Purāṇa with two specific examples: First,
Kaṁsa, Kṛṣṇa’s uncle who was told by a prophesy that he will die at the
hands of Kṛṣṇa, was so scared of him that even before the birth of baby Kṛṣṇa
he started to see his nemesis everywhere. But the target of his intense and
single minded hatred being divine, Kaṁsa’s paranoia became uplifting rather
than sickening. The second example is that of another character in the story of
Kṛṣṇa, namely that of Śiśupāla, whose hatred for Kṛṣṇa led his to see the Lord
everywhere, and the result was equally positive. There is a clearly
psychological point in all this: what matters most is the full and total
concentration of the mind, aided by intense emotions and focused on a single
object. This, it is suggested, can bring about a positive transformation of the
individual.
It should be clear that bhakti yoga is a path for spiritual development
that emphasizes emotions even as jñāna- and karma-yoga focus on
respectively cognition/knowledge and volition/action. Although in regard to

24
bhakti it is mainly love directed to God is normally implied, as just noted in
rare instances other emotions could also achieve the same goal.
Notwithstanding such focus on emotions in the tradition of bhakti, it not in the
context of religious devotion that psychology of emotion developed. It is
fairly well recognized that the credit for pioneering the systematic study of
emotions goes to Bharata’s treatise on dramatics called the Nāṭyaśāstra. Over
the centuries that followed Bharata, numerous scholars developed concepts
and theories about the nature of emotions and their transformation. At this
point we will turn to core concepts and theories that were developed within
tradition of Bharata, and thereafter turn to the work of Rūpa and Jīva
Goswami who explained the nature of bhakti on the foundations laid by
Bharata and his followers.

The theory of emotion in the tradition of Bharata’s Nāṭyaśāstra

Bharata Muni (often just called Bharata) wrote a treatise called the
Nāṭyaśāstra, meaning the science of drama, sometime around two centuries
before or after the beginning of the Common Era. The purpose of the treatise
was to provide instruction to actors, playwrights, stage managers, singers,
dancers, and all those engaged in the production of plays and other
performing arts. Since the expression of emotions is an important part of
staging a drama, Bharata did not only a detailed analysis of the expression of
emotions to help actors in effectively portraying various emotions, but also
developed a theory of emotion and its transformation. He identified eight
basic emotions such as fear and sorrow, which he thought were common to
humans and animals, and suggested that their experience tended to be longer
(sthāyi) compared with thirty three relatively transitory (vyabhicāri) and
therefore minor emotions such as shame and jealousy. In addition to making a
comprehensive list of emotions, he pointed out that the expressions of
emotions followed both the biological make up as well as social conventions.
Bharata’s comprehensive coverage of a wide range of emotions, the depth of
his analysis, as well as his attempt to locate their roots, indicate his scientific
bent of mind.
One of Bharata’s simple and yet very important insight was that, when
effectively presented in drama or dance, unpleasant emotions such as fear or
disgust usually lose their unlikeable character. If indeed that was not the case,
people would not only watch tragedies and “enjoy” the sobbing and crying of
the actors – but even pay to watch such a display. In Bharata’s view, the

25
power of dramatic portrayal of emotions to make even unpleasant emotions
enjoyable implied the transformation of emotions into their corresponding
aesthetic moods, which he called the rasas. Bharata insisted that it is only the
eight basic emotions that could be transformed into corresponding rasas; thus
a drama could not be effectively based on “minor” emotions such as jealousy.
Although the concept of rasa, a unique contribution to the study of aesthetics
in the Indian tradition till this day, many of Bharata’s followers questioned his
views, and the debates born of mutual disagreements helped bring new
insights and enrich the theory generation after generation. For instance,
Abhinavagupta, one of the major contributors to the development of ideas,
denied Bharata’s view that there could be no more than eight rasas, and
proposed quietude (śānta) as a ninth rasa.
The first step toward the next most important development of theory of
rasa was taken when one of the scholars asked a simple but important
question: whose emotions are they, which get transformed into a mood
commonly shared by members of the audience? An initially suggested answer
was that they belong to the character who is presenting through her or his
acting the emotion such as fear or sorrow. But this hypothesis was quickly
dismissed because the character may be fictitious, and may not even a human
being – such as the bird whose wings were cut by the villainous Rāvaṇa in the
story of Rāmāyana. The bird could not have shared the sorrow of Rāma, who
was in deep despair due to the kidnapping of his wife Sītā. The next
hypothesis suggested that the feelings such as sorrow that get transformed
into the mood of pathos belong to the actor who displays the emotion through
his acting. This hypothesis is quickly eliminated, too, since an expert actor
who may have been happy upon hearing a good news such as birth of his son,
could immediately thereafter go on the stage and effectively act out a scene of
melancholy. Neither could the pathos experienced by the audience belong to
the spectators. Imagine, for instance, that honeymooning couple, who would
never have experienced separation in their lives, could get easily immersed in
the mood of pathos while watching Rāma’s wailing upon the kidnapping of
his wife. The conclusion that followed from such thought experiments was
that the aesthetic moods, or rasas, do not belong to any particular individual
involved in the playing or witnessing a drama. In other words, dramatic
portrayal of emotions can lead to the generalization (sādhāraṇīkaraṇa) of
emotions. An implication of the idea of generalization of emotions is that the

26
experience of an aesthetic mood or rasa belongs to a trans-individual domain
of reality into which individual human beings can participate.
It takes just a few steps in the conceptualization of bhakti as a very
deep and all-encompassing rasa. As we shall presently see, such steps were
taken by Rūpa Goswami (1492-1591) and his nephew Jīva (c. 1513 – 1598)
who were followers of the great devotee called Caitanya Mahāprabhu (1485-
1533), who was born about a century prior to the birth of Tukaram.

Rūpa Gosvāmi’s view of bhakti as a rasa

As pointed out by David Haberman (2003) in his introduction to a
recent edition and translation of Rūpa Gosvami’s Bhaktirasāmṛtasindhu,
“Rūpa was not certainly the first one to treat bhakti as a rasa, although . . . it
could be safely said that he was the first to analyze the notion in a detailed
and systematic manner” (p. xlvii). Haberman also points out an important
difference between Rūpa’s view of rasa compared with the view of most of
the earlier rasa theorists. “Rūpa’s understading of rasa differs greatly from
those of other who preceded him. Whereas the previous writers normally
restricted the rasa experience to the limited space of the theatre, he extends it
to all life. Rasa is now not understood to be simply a temporary aesthetic
experience, but rather as the culminating core of a genuine human life”
(Haberman, 2003, p. li). This is, obviously, a great step in the development of
the concept of rasa. Conceived this way, it is placed on the cosmic canvas. As
we will soon note, following this lead by Rūpa, his nephew Jīva Gosvāmi
takes it further up the cosmic order.
According to Shrivatsa Goswami (2003), a contemporary inheritor of
the Rūpa’s tradition of the Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava tradition, for Rūpa “the
emotionally experienced bhakti-prema-rasa is . . . knowable and
communicable” (p. iv). Goswami continues to say that “Rūpa Gosvamin
provided for the first time a total śāstra [science] of bhakti-rasa. The roots of
this development can be traced back, as in the case of many other
developments in Indian thought, directly to the Upaniṣadic phase of the
Vedas. This connection is explicitly stated by Rūpa’s nephew Jīva Gosvāmi at
the very beginning of his Prītisandarbha (pp.1-2). In this context Jīva refers
explicitly to the Taittirīya Upaniṣad (2.7) where the sage describes Brahman,
the ubiquitous ultimate principle of reality, as the same as rasa (raso vai saḥ).
Jīva clarifies how the Taittirīya follows in the very next section (2.8) by
describing how it is through this rasa that one attains Supreme Bliss

27
(ānanda). It is here that the Taittirīya, like the Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad
(4.3.33) describes the Bliss of Brahman as a quadrillion times more joyous
that the highest pleasure attainable by a bright and powerful young man – a
king – to whom an unlimited range of objects of pleasure are available. As is
well known, the fundamentally indescribable Brahman is commonly
characterized in terms of Being (sat), Consciousness (cit) and Bliss (ānanda).
In other words, in Jīva Gosvāmī’s view, bhakti rasa is the same as the
ultimate and infinite form of bliss that is an integral feature of ultimate reality,
Brahman. As noted, Jīva thus clearly connects the “cosmic” significance of
rasa, which was earlier taken out of the confines of the theatre by his uncle
Rūpa. To put this in the context of Tukaram, his exuberant expression of a
universe filled with waves after waves on the ocean of bliss reflect his
experience of the supremely blissful nature of Brahman.
At any rate, to understand the nature of bhakti it is useful – and
necessary – to explore some other important ideas from which Rūpa and Jīva
developed their theory of bhakti as a rasa. As mentioned earlier, the character
of Kṛṣṇa portrayed in the Bhāgavata Purāṇa is the most common source of
inspiration for followers of the bhakti tradition. Small wonder that both Rūpa
and Jīva quote extensively from this most authoritative source. Among other
literary sources we may count two texts of the Sūtra genre, which provide
concise accounts of bhakti in the form of cryptic aphorisms. Of these two
texts the Nārada Bhakti Sūtras (1.2; n.d./1972) defines bhakti as Supreme
Love (parama prema rūpā). The other sūtra text, called the Śāṅḍilya Bhakti
Sūtras (1.2; n.d./1984) define bhakti as the highest love for God
(paramānuraktirīśvare). Rūpa builds his theory further on foundations
provided by these older sources, and following the Bhāgavata Purāṇa, he
extends the list of the nine forms of the expression of bhakti mentioned
earlier.
Now recall that the nine forms of the expression of bhakti were ranked
in an ascending order of degrees of the devotees’ involvement in the practice
of bhakti, with the mere listening (śravaṇam) to stories about God placed at
the lowest level, and total self-surrender (ātmanivedanam) at the highest. The
first six forms in the list of nine, from listening through salutation and
offering food, are ritualistic and routine. They represent, so to speak, the
“garden variety” of bhakti that countless people get involved in with marginal
levels of involvement. The seventh and the eighth forms the list of nine
involve developing a relationship as respectively God’s servant (dāsya) and a

28
friend (sakhya). It is at this point that Rūpa Gosvami (in
Bhaktirasāmrtasindhu, 2. 6) adds three more forms such that the list now
includes the following five varieties: 1. Non-distinct (śuddha), 2. respect
(prīti), 3. friendship (sakhya), 4. parental affection (vātsalya), and 5. amorous
(priyatā, or madhurā). These five forms of the expression of bhakti are
ranked in an increasing order of intimacy between the devotee and the deity.
Thus, in the non-distinct form God is recognized with a positive feeling like
one may have for an acquaintance, but no more. In a relationship of a servant
of God, there is an attitude of reverence toward the master implying a sort of
emotional “distance” between the devotee and the deity. Such distance is
absent in friendship where intimacy comes from an equality of status between
friends. By comparison, when a devotee puts her or himself as a parent as in
the case of Nanda and Yaśodā for whom Kṛṣṇa was an adopted son, the
devotee is in a position of authority, which enhances the level of intimacy to a
level deeper than that between friends. Finally, when the devotee relates
herself as the paramour of her Lord, as in the case of Rādhā or Saint Mīrā, the
intimacy between the two is at the highest level. This form of bhakti is often
considered the highest possible form.
It is interesting that Rūpa describes the various levels of intimacy just
described as levels of “myness” (mamatā). What is implied here is that, at the
highest level, the degree of “myness” is suggestive of the reduction of the
distance between “self” and the “other” down to zero; the “two” become
united into “one”.

Bhakti as role play

Shrivatsa Goswami (1982), a contemporary inheritor of the Gauḍīya
Vaiṣṇava tradition, explains the approach to the path of devotion in a simple
and lucid manner:
Because of its finite basis . . . worldly love . . . cannot lead to infinite
and eternal bliss, and it is to this that the human quest tends. The
limited phenomenal rasa must finally be transmuted into the
transcendent, absolute rasa. To attain such a rasa the devotee chooses a
personally suitable mode of relation with Krishna [sic] from those
exemplified by the people of Vraja. The deep loving relation is
crystallized in certain conceits that a devotee must adopt. One may
regard Krishna as one’s master, charge, friend, or beloved. Such
conceits, remembered from dramatic situations in Vraja and gradually

29
appropriated, give rise to permanent relationships. One comes to
consider Krishna as a master (dāsya), a son (vātsalya), a friend
(sakhya) or a beloved (mādhurya). When catalyzed by ancillary factors,
these modes of intense attraction and attachment (rati), the substantive
causes (sthāyī-bhāva) of love, culminate in the ultimate aesthetic
experience of Krishna-rasa. Such realization is the highest form of
love. (Goswami, 1982, p. 79).
As we shall see later, this approach to role playing is interpretable in light of
the development of role play as a therapeutic technique by J.L. Moreno and
others in modern psychology.

Explanations by some contemporary scholars

As noted, a honeymooning couple can join the audience of a drama
effectively portraying the pangs of separation experienced by a husband
whose wife has been kidnapped – as is the case with Rāma after the
kidnapping of his wife Sītā. The question why the couple witnessing such a
situation can empathize with the character, and even “enjoy” the play is
interesting. The answer is that when a person leaves home and goes to the
theatre she or he temporarily leaves the concerns of the ego behind as it were.
It is the power of stories, plays and various forms of art to allow a connoisseur
to temporarily distance herself from the ego that makes various forms of art
an instrument of enjoyment. This insight is not unique to Indian psychology.
Edward Bullough, a British aesthetician, calls it psychical distance which, in
his view, is “distinguished from physical distance that separates an art object
and the person appreciating it. It involves the “distance that appears to lie
between our own self and its affections” (1912/1957, p.94). Bullough points
out that psychical distance is “obtained by separating the object and its appeal
from one's own self, by putting it out of gear with practical needs and ends (p.
96). . . . If we cannot keep such a distance, a tragedy will simply make us feel
sad, and “there would indeed be little sense in its existence” (p. 112). As we
can see, this view is not different from that of Suresh Dhayagude, a
contemporary author who explains the nature of rasa in the following way:
“Rasa is nothing but an experience of the basic psychological proclivities in
our nature in an ennobled and heightened form without any selfish, practical
and carnal preoccupations” (Dhayagude, 1981, p. 79). Watching a play can
thus be seen as an instrument to draw a person of her egoistic cocoon so that
she is enabled to eventually transcend the boundaries of her ego.

30
As we shall see in the next section, theorists of the Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava
tradition show how another concept from the field of dramatics, namely that
of role playing, provides additional leverage to draw a devotee further away
from her narrow ego into the limitless universe of bhakti-rasa.

Understanding Tukaram’s bhakti in light of Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava views of bhakti

Tukaram was first and foremost a practitioner, not a theorist of any
sort. Indeed he explicitly said that it is better not to bother with books (nako
kāhī paḍo granthāciye bharī, 2324). Elsewhere (3871) he pokes fun at so-
called learned people who use a lot of words asking: can the verbiage
describing rise and curry satisfy anybody’s hunger? I can imagine that,
similarly, contemporary followers of Tukaram may simply ignore writing like
this – or even laugh at it. As noted, Pangarkar has clearly pointed out that
there is neither a historical link, nor a common philosophical basis between
Tukaram and the Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava scholars.vii Then what, some readers may
ask, is the point in discussing Tukaram’s ideas in light of the notion of bhakti
as a rasa?
The answer to this question is simple: Bhakti is not something unique
and exclusive phenomenon which Tukaram practiced, Since it is practiced by
millions over millennia in its various forms, there must be several common
features of the phenomenon notwithstanding the differences of opinion among
followers of its various schools. It should be possible to uncover some of its
common features. When seen from a psychological point of view, bhakti
involves a common feature: focus on emotion and its transformation leading
to a spiritual uplift of the devotee. Among the many forms of the expression
of bhakti, role play has been recognized as an important form right from the
Bhāgavata Purāṇa onwards. It is precisely these two aspects – emotion and
role play – that are explained in some detail by the Gosvāmīs and are relevant
in understanding Tukaram. Moreover, these aspects lend themselves for an
understanding of bhakti in light of some parallels in modern psychology.
This, I hope, will be clear from the points discussed below.
In the light of the list of the nine forms of the expression of bhakti
given in the ancient Bhāgavata Purāṇa it should be clear that Tukaram’s
practices involved pretty much all the nine forms perhaps with a focus on
kīrtanam. In fact there are several long poems (e.g., 201-226) in which
Tukaram enjoys describing the games Kṛṣṇa played as a child win his
playmates in Vrndavan. These poems reflect exactly the kind of “listening”
(śravaṇanam) to stories of Kṛṣṇa as the first and the least ego-involving form
of the expression of bhakti in Bhāgavata Purāṇa’s list of nine. It is needless to

31
go over the entire list of nine forms; what is important is Tukaram’s role
playing in relation to God, and most of all his total self-surrender
(ātmanivedanam), the ultimate form of bhakti.
As noted, Tukaram saw himself in many roles in relation to God, as his
mother, father, younger and elder brother and what-have-you. But from the
account presented above it should be clear that he excelled in his relationship
with God as his friend (sakhyam). It is true, of course that Tukaram often
address God as his mother (māulī, Vithāī). This should not be surprising as
human relations are not cut and dried and separated into non-overlapping
segments. Indeed, as Rūpa points out, “mixed love is a combination of two or
three types of love . . . The particular name is determined according to which
love is dominant” (R. Gosvāmin, 2003, p. 361). It is in this sense that
friendship can be recognized as the most dominant form that Tukaram
cultivated in relating to God. It is also true that he occasionally described
himself a dog at His feet, or even as a broom at the door of His temple and so
on. Such self-denigrating expressions can be viewed as ways in which
Tukaram seems to have tried to completely shed his sense of pride – a step in
the direction of the total surrender at His feet and a consequent “death” of his
ego. This implies the highest form of bhakti described as ātmanivedanam.
Indeed, Tukaram makes it clear (in 2669) that it is the total overcoming of his
ego that he was able to attain self-realization.

Tukaram’s God and his bhakti viewed from the viewpoint of modern
psychology
Indian and Western approaches to psychology developed over centuries
in regions that were continents apart, and in cultures that had minimum level
of contact and mutual exchange of ideas. Naturally there is a wide gap
between their perspectives. Nevertheless, psychology must deal with several
universal aspects of human beings. The differences between them are
attributable to the influence of the distinct cultural values and institutions
which nurtured development of ideas in different directions. In my view,
Indian views of bhakti can be understood from the vantage point of modern
psychology if we take into account differences in conceptualizing set of
common issues in psychology:
(i) The differing approaches to ego in Indian and Western
psychology
(ii) Types of role play and their implications for the ego
(iii) The nature of emotion and its transformation,

32
(iv) Transforming the self/other relationship,
(v) Focus on subject versus object
(vi) The nature of higher states of consciousness: their value and
validation
(vii) The role of saintliness as a dominant value of the Indian culture
(viii) A note about some mutually contradictory statements made by
Tukaram
What follows in this essay from here on is a discussion of Indian and western
views on these issues.

The differing approaches to ego in Indian and Western psychology: As

is well known, Freud viewed the ego as an agency of the id which mediates
between the pleasure seeking id impulses on the one side and the demands of
the superego on the other. In this context, the ego’s role is to protect the
individual from the consequences of the uncontrolled impulses of sex and
aggression on the one hand, and from the excessive demands of the society’s
moralistic demands on the other. The purpose psychoanalysis, then, is to
strengthen the ego so that it can effectively balance the forces from the inside
and the outside.viii Given the medical context in which modern psychology
took its initial steps in development, Freud saw the need to focus on
developing therapeutic techniques to help patients suffering from the
emotional problems of anxiety neurosis.
In contrast with this historical background, major developments in
Indian psychology did not come from the medical context. In the religious
and spiritual contexts in which bhakti yoga developed, a radically different
perspectives on the ego emerged. It is my impression that the “lower” forms
of bhakti cater to the needs of those with a weak ego. When prayer to God
comes out of a feeling of helplessness in facing difficult situations in life, it
indicates the reaction of a week ego. It is true that Tukaram turned to God
under difficult conditions, but he did not ask for any tangible rewards to help
improve those conditions. Nor did he strike any bargains with his God.
Instead he saw his difficulties as a sign of the dilution of the bond of love
between him and God. So he continued to ask God for a greater share of His
love, and to help him in overcoming his selfishness and ego. The higher forms
of bhakti are not meant for those with week egos; they are meant for devotees
with strong egos who keep their frustrations and anxieties in check, and
continue to approach God despite rejection and often ridicule by people in the

33
community. After all it is only those who have money or power who can
donate it; only those in charge of their wits can risk – nay, even demand – the
loss of their ego. Bhakti yoga, like other forms of yoga, is designed to
overcome one’s ego. Such an enterprise does not fit the interests and goals of
modern psychology which is dominated by the demands of the medical
context and the drive to compile piles of data in the name of science. High
priority of spiritual uplift, and the idea that a total annihilation of suffering
can be attained through self-realization have set the enterprise of Indian
psychology in a different direction.

Types of role play and their implications for the ego:As Shakespeare
famously put it, “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely
players.” Within a day we may switch from a parent taking a child to school,
to a citizen obeying traffic rules, to member of a parent-teacher society,
subordinate to a boss, master to an underling and what-have you. A young
homemaker may deftly switch from one set of demands to another of an
infant crying in a basinet, child playing in the backyard, a delivery man at the
door, milk about to spill on the stove, a dear friend calling on the phone – all
within the span of a few minutes. We can switch smoothly from one role to
another in minutes and days, and again across the span of life as inner and
outer changes demand. We can go through such changes without losing a
sense of continuity and sameness of who we are. Erik Erikson (1968) assigns
the task of maintaining a sense of identity to the work of the ego. Then again
a skilled actor can smoothly sail into and out of roles: from roles put on in the
make believe world of the stage to the roles in real life – and vice-versa.
Indeed, the actor will be in serious trouble if she cannot manage to return to
roles in real life after temporarily suspending them on the stage. In sharp
contrast, the role play in bhakti aims at bringing about a total re-orientations
in the way in which she plays her roles in real life. Interestingly, the use or
role play in modern psychology lies somewhere in-between role play in
drama and that in bhakti. As we shall presently note, clinical use of role play
in modern psychology aims at bringing about rather small but useful changes
in the real life of a patient.
In modern psychology Moreno (1946) and George Kelly (1955;
Rychlak, 1983) developed role play as a therapeutic technique to help patients
who have difficulty in playing their roles in real life. In Moreno’s
psychodrama, for instance, a person stressed out while facing a demanding

34
boss at work may be asked to play out his role as an employee in the presence
of a therapist’s assistant playing the role of his boss. According to Moreno,
such role play in the safe sanctuary of the clinic can bring out the patient to
express his fear and views of his boss more freely than in real life. The
clinician uses such outpouring of repressed emotions and unexpressed beliefs
in properly diagnosing the patient’s condition. In George Kelly’s technique
called fixed therapy, the patient is asked to write up a “script” describing a
typical scene from the office situation that normally tends to elicit his
experience distress. The clinician then suggests slight changes in the script,
and invites the patient to play out that script in the supportive environment of
the make-believe office in the clinic. Assuming that the patient gets convinced
that the suggested changes may work if played out in front of the boss, he is
encouraged to change his behavior in real life as per the re-written script.
Moreno sometimes asked his patients to act out a soliloquy in the clinic to
bring out repressed emotions. In Moreno’s psychodrama, as in Kelly’s fixed
role therapy, the attempt is induce changes in the patient within the clinic, and
then to “export” the changes to the real life of the patient to help solve the
problem.
Against this background if we look at Tukaram we may realize that his
daily kirtan at the temple offered him a safe sanctuary from the stresses
caused by a nagging wife at home and a failing business at the grocery shop.
He knew too well that idol of Viṭhobā was not the real God, but he believed
that the idol stood for his God, even as the patient in Moreno’s clinic
imagined that the therapist’s assistant was his boss. When Tukaram addressed
Viṭhobā as if He was his dear friend, he was engaging in a soliloquy –
somewhat like Moreno’s patient under therapy. This role play continued day
after day for years unlike the fifty minute sessions paid for by the patient for a
short period of time. Tukaram’s bhakti, like the patient’s therapy, was
intended to bring about some useful changes in real life outside the sanctuary
of the temple. Despite such apparent parallels, there are of course significant
differences in role play in bhakti and psychotherapy.
First of all, practicing bhakti in a meaningful way through serious role
play vis-à-vis God is very rare; it is a difficult undertaking requiring sustained
effort over a long period of time. It is primarily a self-directed enterprise,
although a guru may provide some direction, or be useful as a model to
follow. In Tukaram’s case, for instance, the mantra given by his guru Bābājī
Caitanya must have been crucial, and perhaps Sant Nāmdev was a model to

35
follow. But no such help would work without his sustained effort in finding
ways to shed his ego. Most of all, unlike a patient who expects to get relief
through reduction of his anxiety and depression, a devotee such as Tukaram
constantly tries to intensify his longing for God. Indeed, the greatest possible
investment of affect in God is the key to the success of bhakti.

The nature of emotion and its transformation: An examination of the

life of Tukaram in light of the theory of bhakti suggested by the Gosvāmīs
leads to the following ideas are presupposed, and are foundational in
Tukaram’s way of practicing bhakti:
(a) The experience of emotion belongs to a trans-individual domain
(b) Joyous experience is an integral feature of reality in which individuals
can participate
(c) Individuals can attain positive experiences through participation in
social situations such as drama or kīrtan
(d) Emotional experiences can be voluntarily manipulated.
These ideas stand in sharp contrast with dominant features of the prevailing
perspectives on emotion in modern psychology. A detailed discussion of the
differences between Indian and Western perspectives in the light of the
burgeoning literature on emotion (surveyed in Lewis and Haviland-Jones,
2000) and on emotion regulation (Philpott and Feldman, 2004; Gross, 2014)
will point out the differing as well as complementary insights on emotions
and their transformation and lead to a deeper and more comprehensive
psychology of emotion. However, it is neither possible nor necessary for the
present undertaking; it would be a promising topic for further study. Looking
at the topic on hand, it should be clear that Tukaram pulled himself out of his
“dark night of the soul” and his spontaneous and exuberant expression of joy
indicates that he reached an impeccable state of bliss. A most crucial element
of this process of uplift was a radical alteration in the self-other relationship.

Transforming the self/other relationship in bhakti: In keeping with the

core of the bhakti tradition Tukaram was engaged in doing kīrtan every day.
These were public events, and the biographers note that they kept on
attracting more and more devotees as his reputation spread. In the form in
which kīrtan is performed in Maharashtra it includes story-telling, singing and
some dancing. (Story telling based on the Bhāgavata Purāṇa is popular in not
only Maharashtra but across India today as the large audiences of Bhāgavata-

36
kathā testify.) As explained by the Gosvāmīs, watching such performances
would transform the spectators’ emotions into enjoyable experience – a step
ultimately leading to super joyous Kṛṣṇa-rasa. For Tukaram a lot more was
involved than performing kīrtans. A very important part of his bhakti was the
serious cultivation of friendship (sakhya bhakti) as indicated by the numerous
“soliloquys” addressed to God in numerous poems. In any case, the most
important part of his bhakti must be the constant effort in overcoming his ego.
There is no formula to suggest how to accomplish this difficult task of the
eradication of one’s own ego. If performing or listening to kīrtan would do
the trick, many devotees could accomplish it. His self-abnegation expressed in
poems where he thinks of himself as a dog at God’s feet or a broom would be
steps in that direction. Let me speculate on what more Tukaram may have
done to overcome his ego.
Insofar as selfish behavior is a clear indication of the workings of an
ego, selfless – or altruistic – behavior suggests itself as an instrument for the
eradication of egoism. As noted, Tukaram spoke of a a simple guideline for
behavior: that helping counts toward merit, while hurting is sinful (puṇya
para upakāra, pāpa te parapīḍā), and he followed this guideline in his daily
life. As the biographers point out, he would never say no to anybody who
asked for help; hurting being totally out of the question. He would not even
accept what was owed to him: as illustrated in his dumping of all promissory
notes he inherited from his father. The instance of giving away most of the
sticks of sugar cane he was carrying to children in the neighborhood is a
rather minor instance of his habit of giving away whatever he had. This
instance suggests that giving must have become a matter of habit and routine,
otherwise it does not make sense how he gave away the only garment his wife
needed to cover herself after her bath. Small wonder that Jijāī would be
extremely upset by such behavior not just once but repeated over years.
Tukaram was a family man; he and his wife had three sons and three
daughters, and we are told that he did his fatherly duties be getting the
daughters married off as per custom. But he was not a doting family man; and
his apparent neglect of the welfare of his family was that there was less and
less room for himself in his life; others came before him and his. Altruism, it
appears, is both a means and an outcome of the loss of ego and its “selfish”
strivings.

37
Focus on subject versus object: The subject/object duality is indeed a
counterpart of the ego/alter duality, and in spiritual pursuits there is a
significant alteration in subject/object relationship to correspond the alteration
in self/other relationship noted above. The natural orientation of all
organisms, including humans, is to be directed toward objects in the
surroundings. Such orientation is demanded by the need to feed and protect
oneself for sheer survival. However, humans have the capacity to look inward
as well. The ancient Kaṭha Upaniṣad notes that all beings by nature are
oriented to sights and sounds coming from the surrounding. But, it continues:
“Some wise man, however, seeking life eternal, with eyes turned inward, saw
the self” (Kaṭha, 2.1.1; see Radhkrishnan, 1953/1994, p.630). The various
spiritual paths are aimed at realizing the true “self” that lies deep inside the
individual. The ego, normally turned outward while dealing with surrounding
“reality”, is the façade worn by the inner self, and the true self is discovered
only after the pretentious ego is set aside. Regardless of this common aim, the
specific modus operandi adopted by the different yogas are different. The
distinctive approach of bhakti yoga stands in sharp contrast with that of the
dhyāna yoga of Patanjali. As such, it will be useful to note a distinctive
feature of bhakti as illustrated in the splendid example of Tukaram and then
point out how it contrasts with the orientation of the dhyāna yoga.
It is possible that, given his reference to having had a conversation with
himself (manāsī saṁvāda, 2481), looking “inward” may have been part of his
practices (sādhanā). However, inward looking may not be typical of the
bhakti-yoga as such; rather, a close look suggest that it may be quite the
opposite. We have noted how Tukaram had said (in 1336) that one should see
Viṭṭhal, speak of Viṭṭhal, do things for Viṭṭhal with one’s heart and soul, and
so on. His most common yearning was to be able to see Him and be able to
touch and embrace (aṅga saṅga) Him. Also he spent good part of his daily
life in singing and telling stories about God. All this implies that the
predominant aspect of his practices involved directing all sensory organs
outward: toward God. In bhakti, mind and senses are consistently directed to
God; a devotee repeatedly and intensely focuses her attention on Him –
whether in the form of a concrete idol or His image in the mind. In other
words the subject-object relationship is directed predominantly toward the
object of worship.
Such outward orientation is exactly opposite to the technique of
meditation proposed by Patañjali to turn attention inward, in a maneuver

38
called pratyāhāra. After this (fifth) stage, a yogi is supposed to keep his
attention focused inward only, resting finally in the Self (puruṣa) at the center
of experience. This should be clear from Patañjali’s description of the
subsequent steps in yogic practice: slowing down the flow of thoughts
(dhāraṇā), sustaining attention a single object (dhyāna), and proceeding to a
graded set of higher states called Samadhi. While in the preliminary state of
Samadhi attention may still be on the image of some object chosen to focus
on, the attention is to be drawn further inwards. Penetrating through the
connotative and denotative meanings as well as the sensory foundations of the
concept of the object, attention is made finally to rest on the subject lying at
the center of the universe of experience (for a detailed discussion see
Paranjpe, 1984).
Regardless of the opposite directions in which attentions is directed: on
object of worship in bhakti, and on the subject of awareness in dhyāna yoga,
in the end the result is that the subject and the object are brought together. The
distance between them brought to zero. This implies the unification of the
subject and object, which is radically different from the ordinary wakeful state
of consciousness where the subject and object are distinct and separate. In
other words, in the highest state of Samadhi, there is a radical transformation
in consciousness, going from the intentional mode to a non-intentional mode.
The nature of such transformation deserves a close examination, and it is to
this issue that we now need to turn.

The nature of higher states of consciousness: their value and validation

: It is well recognized that in the common wakeful state of consciousness our
attention is directed to some object or other, whether the objects are physical
entities in the external world, or objects of thinking and imagination within
the mind. In the Māṇḍūkya Upanisad, this “outwardly” directed nature of the
mind in the wakeful state is termed as bahiḥ-prajñatā. In modern psychology,
following Brentano (1874/1974) it is called intentionality. Most followers of
Brentano has assumed that consciousness is always intentional; no state of
consciousness devoid of intentionality is admitted. In other words, a
subject/object split is presumed to be inevitable. In sharp contrast, the
Māṇḍūkya Upanisad identifies four states of consciousness, namely wakeful,
dream, deep sleep, and the fourth simply called the Fourth State (turīyā
avasthā). In this state there is no split between the experiencing subject versus
the objects of experience; consciousness is not directed either inward

39
(antaḥprañja) or outward (bahiḥprajña). It is in this state that the nature of
the Self (Ātman, puruṣa) is disclosed, and its exceedingly joyous nature is
experienced.
When the subject/object distinction is gone, there is no place for
thought or knowledge which connects the two poles, and hence in the Fourth
State of consciousness the trilogy (tripuṭī) is said to be transcended. That is
exactly what Tukaram says (sāṇḍalī tripuṭī) in describing his highest
experience (in 993). That implies that he had attained self-realization (ātma-
sākṣātkāra), the highest goal which all the spiritual paths such as the bhakti-,
jñāna-, karma- and dhyāna- mārgas aim to attain. This goal is, indeed,
according to the Upaniṣadic tradition, the highest value attainable in human
life: the experience of an incomparable bliss and the radical removal of all
suffering.
It is sometimes suggested that attainment of such a state implies a very
individualistic goal with no benefit accruing to anyone else. This goes against
the notion of the “greatest happiness of the greatest number of people”
proposed as the highest value by Western philosophers like John Stuart Mill
and others. To some extent it is true that some king of “selfishness” is implied
in the intense focus on self that is demanded by the major pathways to
spiritual uplift suggested in the tradition. However, as the example of
Tukaram clearly and abundantly illustrates, the apparently selfish pursuit of
self-realization ultimately results in total riddance of selfishness. Moreover, as
noted, altruism is both the means and the end in the pursuit of bhakti.
Aside from the question of value, another relevant question to ask in
regard to the higher states of consciousness is: what is the evidence
supporting the claim that Tukaram, or anybody else for that matter, has
attained such a state? As a purely subjective state, the state of Samadhi is not
objectively and publicly verifiable any more than are states like wakeful and
dream. As Thomas Nagel famously put it, it is not possible for anybody to
explain “what it is like to be a bat?” Moreover, the experience of the highest
state of Samadhi is said to be indescribable and unspeakable. According to the
Upanisads, its experience such an experience is indicated only negatively: not
this, not this (neti, neti). Not being tied to anything specific, such an account
is not expressible in a proposition that could be falsified through the discovery
of a contradictory state or affairs. Although unfalsifiable, claim to its joyous
nature is experientially verifiable insofar as ways for attaining it are explicitly
stated (in documents describe the major yogas). These ways are also open for

40
anybody capable and willing to follow even as claims of science are open to
verification by following specified procedures under specific conditions by
trained observers.

The role of saintliness as a dominant value of the Indian culture: The

attainment of a high state of consciousness as indicated above is valued not
only because of its putatively blissful nature, but also for the extreme
selflessness and boundless compassion manifest in the behavior of the persons
attaining it. As noted, Tukaram describes (in 993) how, after transcending the
trilogy of knower, object of knowledge, and its knowledge, purpose of the
remainder of his life was only for service to others. Also, as the specific case
of Tukaram illustrates, his life and teachings serve as a guide and source of
inspiration to millions of people for centuries on, thus spreading
compassionate behavior far and wide.
Limitless compassion as manifest in the behavior of Tukaram is viewed
as a mark of saintliness. High value placed on saintliness is a distinct hallmark
of the Indian culture for millennia. It is true that saintliness is highly valued in
many other cultures of the world; the great number of saints respected among
Roman Catholics from around the world is a clear example. However, there is
a difference between the views of sainthood in the Catholicism when
compared with Sufism and Hinduism. In the latter there is no process of
institutional anointing of sainthood based on proofs of a person having
performed miracles. There are legends of Tukaram having performed various
miracles, but his sainthood implies an informal and popular recognition, and
not a matter of institutional stamp. Aside from such differences among
cultures in according sainthood, there is difference in the degree to which
saintliness is dominant within a culture. The differences in the relative
dominance of the value of saintliness is interestingly illustrated in the way it
has influenced the development of psychology in India and the West.
It is interesting that in the US, William James, one of the founders of
modern psychology, upheld the value of saintliness. He devoted a chapter to
discuss saintliness in his popular book, the Varieties of religious experience
(1902/1958). However, James’s followers had very little if anything to do
with saintliness. This does not mean that all of American psychology
followed the ideal of a value-free science. Take for example the work of
humanistic psychologists, particularly Abraham Maslow (1970) and Carl
Rogers (1961). Both suggested self-actualization as the ideal to emulate.

41
Maslow explicitly follows the value cherished by Aristotle, and this indicates
the continued influence on psychology of the dominant values of the culture
of origin. To put is simply, self-actualized person portrayed by Maslow are a
mixture of a hero and a sage, rather than a saint. Richard Coan (1977) has
pointed out, psychology as developed in various cultures around the world has
differentially valued heroes, sages, or saints as ideals to emulate. Small
wonder that the psychological insights of the Gosvamis is influenced by the
concept of self-realization – the ideal attained in real life by Sant Tukaram.
It is interesting to note in this context that recently Paul Ekman (2008),
a leading American psychologist widely known for his work on the
expression of emotions, has turned his attention to the ways in which
emotions could be transformed to enhance compassionate behavior. Ekman
turned his research in this direction under the influence of His Holiness the
Dalai Lama. This is an example that indicates a growing inter-cultural
exchange of ideas in psychology where the values dominant in one culture
can influence the development of psychology in another culture. Given the
clear instance of the attainment of great joy and compassionate behavior in
the life of Tukaram, psychological studies of his life and of bhakti could
advance the ways of using psychology to human good suggested by His
Highness the Dalai Lama.

A note on some mutually contradictory statements made by Tukaram :

It is quite intriguing that according to Tukaram God is both without qualities
(nirguṇa) and with qualities (saguṇa). Also, while devoting his whole life in
searching for God, and also claiming to have directly “seen” Him, Tukaram
also says that, as far as he is concerned, God is dead. Such affirmation of
mutually contradictory statements are bound to arouse doubts about the value
of Tukaram’s ideas among those influenced by Aristotle’s Law of
contradiction, which suggests that two contradictory statements cannot be true
at the same time.
Let me venture to suggest two different perspectives in regard to the
problem of affirming mutually contradictory ideas. First, I have heard it said
about a highly spiritually advanced man that he walked the fine line with one
foot in the domain of nirguṇa and the other in the saguṇa. In other words, it is
possible for some persons to be grounded in the transcendental state of
consciousness which lies beyond the domain of the trilogy of
knower/known/knowledge, and at the same time be also in the wakeful state.

42
This makes it even more complicated than comprehending the nature of the
transcendental state alone. Those who have never experienced such states
have a few alternatives before them: either reject the claims to such
experiences altogether, or ignore them (as many seem to do), or remain
skeptical. Those who do not doubt the credibility of persons making claims
have the choice of verifying the claims. As suggested above, claims about the
nature of higher states of consciousness are in principle verifiable. As Vyasa
put it in his commentary on one of Patanjali’s aphorisms (#3.6), yoga is
known by doing yoga (yogo yogena jñātavyo, see Woods, 1914/1972). This
would be a difficult challenge, but no different than verification of claims of
science that need not only setting of a complex experiment, but also high level
of training in a particular field of science. The main difference is that claims
to gains made by various forms of yoga about the experience of higher states
of consciousness can be publicly verified due to the subjective nature of
experience.
Now, coming back to Tukaram’s view of god as both saguṇa and
nirguṇa, insofar as it violates Aristotle’s Law of contraction. Here we move
out of psychology into the field of logic. Even as Aristotle’s views have been
subject to a lot of debate, the intellectual history of India has also witnessed a
lot of discussion of logical issues of this kind. P.T. Raju (1954) has presented
an overview of the history of related controversies in India. As noted by Raju,
the Buddhist logician Nāgārjuna and Sanjaya before him have considered
more alternatives than the two, namely true and false, considered by Aristotle.
This issue is beyond the realm of psychology, and therefore it is better to
leave the issue to logicians – or perhaps, better to successful practitioners of
bhakti like Sant Tukaram.

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i For an overview of the prominent bhakti traditions, see Sharma, 1987.

The Chaitanya part of his guru’s and their gurus names would suggest the
ii

influence of the Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava school of Caitanya Maha Prabhu and his
followers such as Rūpa and Jīwa Gosvāmi. However, his direct connection with
that tradition is not established by historical evidence (Pangarkar, 1920/1998, pp.
164-166).
A scholarly overview of the ideas about God in the history of India can be found
iii

in two chapters by R.N. Dandekar and one by V.M. Bedekar in Dandekar &
Kashikar (Eds.), 1978.
This is the praphrase of a short stanza of Ādiparva (75.49), a section of the epic
iv

Mahābhārata. The original words are:

na jātu kāmaḥ kāmānāmupabhogena śmyati;
haviṣ kṛṣṇavartmeva bhūya evābhivardhate.
The same words are repeated in the Manu Smṛti (2.94).
v
A reference to the immanence of God in the discourse of psychology should not
look too odd at it would appear on the face of it. Indeed, no less a figure than Jean
Piaget deeply believed in the idea of God's immanence in the universe. As noted by
Michael Chapman (1988), in Piaget's work "An Immanent God is . . . thought of as
affecting the sphere of human life not form without, but from within, by organizing
action and experience in the form of spiritual norms" (p. 71).
vi Please see the previous note about Piaget's view about the immanence of God.
The difference in philosophical foundations between Tukaram and the Gosvāmīs
vii

is that, while Tukaram's view seems to be grounded in the monistic Advaita thesis
of a metaphysical identity between the devotee and the deity, for the Gosvāmīs the
relationship is that of an unthinkable identity-in-difference (acintya bhedābheda).
Let us leave aside here the Skinnerian view that the concepts of self and ego are
viii

“mentalistic” notions, and that they are indicative of the animistic tendencies of
primitive people to put a human face on nature’s forces. The concept of ego can be
seen as a recognition of the tendencies toward self-protection; whether they are
47
called an agency of the id as in the case of Freud, or as a construct validated
through psychometric methods is a moot point.

48